#Essentially Healthy Private

[killbenedictcumberbatchagain]

I'm still reeling from the events of last year. From being assaulted, drugged, miscarrying, being nearly assaulted by a zoophile, losing literally Everything I had, being gaslit and having my privacy invaded by many people close to me, having revenge porn made of me, and finding out I'm being stalked and in danger by way of 24/7 surveillance, I have nearly nothing left to go on. I have been essentially abandoned and had my trust destroyed by many people I considered close to me. And in order to escape that hell I had to get diagnosed with a disorder that essentially discredits me from all my grievances and I have had to return to my childhood home where I'm surrounded by the cluttered, pest-infested trash in which my mother inhabits. I cannot endure this much longer. I almost Died last year and no one who I thought to be a friend ever tried to help me. I am so alone and so, So at the brink of something drastic and permanent. I have to find a way out of this place and into a safe, private, healthy environment. My birthday was just 1 week ago (1/27) And I ran into further abuse and objectification. I just want an end to this iteration of life. I want so badly to rest and heal. Please help me, I'm begging. I am so tired of humiliating myself. Please, share this with people. Allies, pay it forward and help a black queer disabled mentally ill and severely traumatized person not just live, but thrive. The help is out there and I know you're able to do something to alleviate this terror. Don't wait for someone else. I don't care what your reasoning is, just please help me

cash.me/$tomi1

venmo: tominova

paypal.me/tominova

[thoughtfulfiction]

The P Word

Author’s Note: Two fics in two days?

In 2013, Joe sent a dm to a recruiting analyst for scout.com, asking which camps he should attend because he was flying under the national radar.

Most four star recruits get about 20 college offers. He had 12.

At Ohio State he sat on the bench for three years, only gaining attention as a scout team player who would later have to graduate in three years just so he could transfer and get some playing time elsewhere.

That same scout team player would become the best player in college football and a Heisman trophy winner and the number one pick in the 2020 NFL Draft. A few years after that fateful private message to Dave Burk.

Robin Burrow had been there the entire time. Through every shining moment and the times that seemed rather dark. She drove two hours to do his laundry just to make sure he was physically and mentally healthy when he lived in Columbus, has attended every game since he began playing sports, made him snickers salad when he tore his ACL…and when he tore his scapholunate ligament in his wrist. All in all, she’s been a constant presence in the midst of all of the mayhem. To be frank, there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be than between him and anything that could possibly serve to harm him or cause him any pain, no matter how old he is.

That included protecting him from himself.

The last few months had been filled with joy. After the news of his engagement, the wedding planning process had been smooth. You and Robin along with your mom, had gone to several appointments together and Joe had even added his input in most of the details without you feeling like you had to twist his arm and force him to participate.

You were now in the home stretch of the most important day of your lives. Less than two months from now you’d be saying “I do” to the love of your life. And Robin had taken her role as future mother in-law very seriously. You knew that Joe was a mama’s boy, his brothers much older than him with their own mom, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was Robin’s pride and joy. But not in a creepy way that would get them to star in a TLC show. It was just very evident that she was proud of him and his achievements and that she didn’t mess around when it came down to business.

After one of your dress fittings, she pulled you aside. “There’s one quick thing I need to mention to you. You’ll be getting a formal document in the mail in the next few days. Nothing huge, just a formality that Peter and the team drafted up for you to sign. I hate the word prenup but that’s essentially what this is.” She said in a matter of fact way. “We just need to make sure to dot our i’s and cross our t’s if that makes sense. Get the boring stuff out of the way so that we can focus on showering you and Joey with our love on your special day.”

“No that makes complete sense, just send it over and I’ll sign whatever you need me to. Thank you Robin seriously, for everything. You’ve made planning this entire thing a breeze.”

She shakes her head with a genuine smile, giving you a warm hug. “This has been an honor, I’m so happy for the both of you sweetie. I’ll see you in a few days for brunch at your house? The kids are so excited they won’t stop talking about it.”

“Yes absolutely, I can’t wait either it’s been so long since we’ve gotten both families together it’ll be really fun.”

There weren’t many opportunities for your family to interact with Joe’s and vice versa, unless everyone met at a football game but that wasn’t exactly quality family bonding. That felt more like a collective screaming match where the adults pregamed with beer and the kids wore his jersey. Most of them didn’t really know what was going on in the actual game. So you and Joe were going to host both sets of parents, all of your siblings and their kids in order for everyone to really spend time together before the wedding.

A few days later, you were finalizing the menu with the catering company when Joe came home.

“It’s gonna be like Cheaper by the Dozen in here tomorrow,” he notes, grabbing a Body Armour from the fridge. “Are we sure we’re ready for this?”

“We kinda have to be. Should we do smoked salmon or shrimp crostinis?” You held up one of each and let him examine them. He snagged the salmon one first and took a bite then did the same with the shrimp.

“Definitely the salmon. What time is everyone getting here?” The catering people jot down their last notes and head out the door after you and Joe thanked them.

You could tell he was going to need time to mentally prepare in case he got overstimulated. “They’ll be here at 1pm, so you can probably get an early workout in and take a nap afterwards,” walking over to him on the other side of the counter, holding his face in your hands. “I know you get cranky when you’re tired and Uncle Joe needs to be at his best tomorrow because the kids will need a QB for their flag football game.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, sticking out his lips that are begging to be kissed. You happily grant his wish, pressing your lips against his, giving him a quick smooch. He asks for a few more, about to get lost in a full make out session when a stack of papers on the counter catch his eye. Joe pulls back so abruptly that your face smacks against his chest.

“Sorry baby,” he cradles your head, reaching around you to grab the piece of paper that’s on top. You take that as your cue to go after his second apology for nearly giving you a concussion. That chest is a brick wall.

The more he skims the words, the tighter his grip gets on the little sheet and the confused look on his face deepens. “Um…what is this?”

“What is what?” You give him a look that matches his energy.

He holds up the paper. “This. What is this? Where did you get it from?”

You look around the room to make sure you aren’t getting Punk’d. “Wait—are you being serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking,” it wasn’t a question. He’s legitimately starting to look upset. “Who gave this to you?”

“Joe,” you let out a dry chuckle, “your mom did. Said it was a formality and that I should sign it and give it to her so she can hand it off to Peter so your lawyers can process it.” When your fiancé continues to stand there motionless in the middle of the room, that’s when it hits you. “Did—did you not know about this?”

He usually has something to say about everything, so watching him silently shake his head is a little scary. Joe places the first page of the prenuptial agreement on the table with a heavy sigh, visibly trying to compose himself. The man had the patience of a saint, known to have blow ups on the field but that was Football Joe. Off the field Joe was calm and rarely ever let things get to him. You’d probably only heard him yell twice in the entire time you’ve been together. And now he was dead quiet. You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Joe, your mom is just trying to protect you. Get this out of the way so that we can—”

“Please don’t try to defend her right now,” his tone was laced with venom, a seething anger you hadn’t seen before and weren’t too keen on getting familiar with. “I don’t like that this was just drafted, printed and handed to you without my permission. She and Peter shouldn’t have done that. And my mom definitely shouldn’t have ambushed you with this.”

Now he was being dramatic. “Robin didn’t ambush me! She told me a couple days ago and I thought you knew so I didn’t mention it.”

“I would never do that to you,” he says with a pain in his voice that makes your chest clench. “WE, you and I should be talking about this. Not my mom and Peter. Jesus.” He rested his arms on the counter, running his hands through his hair.

You hated seeing him get worked up like this, crossing the room again to place a comforting hand on his back. “Why don’t you talk to her tomorrow, I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you. She most likely just thought she would do this for you so you didn’t need to worry about it.”

“That’s the thing, this isn’t something she should be doing for me. We’re getting married. You’re going to be my wife. There’s no reason she needs to be handing you documents on my behalf like you’re some fucking stranger. I don’t care how ‘busy’ I am. You come first.” You can feel the tension in his muscles even when he stands up to his normal height. He’s really trying to keep it together, giving you an empty kiss on the cheek before heading into his office to cool off. An hour later you head up to check on him, assuming he has his headphones on and can’t hear you, you find that the door is locked.

Tomorrow’s brunch is going to be very interesting to say the least.

Joe surprised you by being in bed by the time you came upstairs to get ready to go to sleep. You thought for sure he’d be on a run to clear his mind. As soon as you climbed in next to him he put his phone away, wrapping his arms around you and giving your body a squeeze.

Whatever private meeting he had with himself must have done the trick because he was actually letting you be the big spoon for once. His touch was soft and intentional, the previously icy aura was liquified and only warm and cuddly Joe remained. “Are you okay?” You asked him and he nodded without looking at you. He just interlocked your fingers in his before sitting up.

“Switch me.” You knew the little spoon wouldn’t last long. “That’s better,” he sighs kissing your head, feeling at home with your arm draped across his waist.

After a few seconds of silence he mutters, “I’m so sorry this is happening. Are you sure you want to sign up for a lifetime of this?”

You look up to meet Joe’s gaze to see if he’s trying to be funny. “A lifetime of you? I can’t think of anything I would want more. The rest of it is just extra, the good and the bad. As long as I have you I don’t care.”

His shoulders sag once again in relief, “good.” Joe peppers a few kisses on your neck, making his way up to your jaw, taking his sweet time until he got to your lips. A joyous hum leaves his mouth as the kiss grows deeper, each swipe of his tongue against yours makes you feel dizzy…love drunk. Nothing compares to the way that Joe kisses you, sensually careful but hungry at the same time, almost as if this is the last thing he’ll ever get to do. This kiss is different, it’s a promise to always protect you, to never let the outside noise sway what his heart knows is true. He’s found the one person in the world that consistently makes his heart sing and no one—not even his mom—will have the final say. And he was going to make that very clear.

When Joe sluggishly came down the stairs the next day rubbing his eyes after his nap wearing a hoodie and cargo pants, you were just thankful he wasn’t in sweats.

“Hi there Sleeping Beauty, I’ve already gotten a few texts that most of them are about five minutes out.”

“Great,” he grunts, parking himself on the couch, “I’m starving,” he scoots around trying to subtly adjust himself.

Joe stares at you , running his hand down your thigh. “Hungry…for food right?” You give him a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah for food. What did you think I meant?” He laughs as he catches the pillow you launch his way and scoot far enough away that he can’t grab you.

“Don’t. Today really needs to be a stress free day. Can you promise you will be nice and not yell at your mother?” And with that statement he is no longer in the mood.

“I will not yell at my mom,” he crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl only like a youngest child could. “Can’t promise I’ll be nice.”

Before you can negotiate any further the doorbell rings and your first guests arrive. Nieces and nephews come running in, suffocating you with hugs and the youngest one tugging at Joe’s legs demanding to be picked up. Less than 30 minutes later the entire backyard is filled with kids playing tag, drinking juice boxes while the adults enjoyed the appetizer spread.

Joe wasn’t making it blatantly obvious that he was mad but he wasn’t exactly hiding it either. He kept the greeting with his parents short, keeping his distance throughout the afternoon focused on entertaining the kids and playing the perfect host.

“I just realized I never asked,” Codie, one of Joe’s sister in laws speaks up. “Where are you two going for your honeymoon?”

“Bora Bora! I can’t wait,” you respond, topping off her wine glass.

His brother Dan’s ears perk up. “We were thinking about going there for an anniversary trip. Are you guys staying in a resort?”

Joe shakes his head, “I got us an underwater bungalow. The view is supposed to be insane.”

“Yeah I bet,” your dad notes.

“Take lots of pictures,” his dad adds in.

He waits for a second taking a mental note of his mom’s silence throughout the conversation, nudging you to make sure that you’re on the same page. By the time everyone was gone you needed something stronger than wine. Robin and your mom insisted on helping you clean up but you let them know that the caterers were coming back to grab everything. As you bid your family goodbye and thanked them for coming, your mom whispered in your ear, letting you know that the man inside was a keeper. You responded by telling her you intended on keeping him.

Once the door was fully closed you could breathe a sigh of relief…until you heard Robin ask Joe what was going on with him.

Here we go.

Joe didn’t respond. He just went up to his office and came right back down with the prenup in hand. “Care to explain?”

“Oh,” she looked rather unfazed, “Peter and I thought that—”

“And that’s where you went wrong,” Joe interrupts, voice surprisingly even. “You and Peter don’t get to ‘think.’ You don’t get to do whatever you ‘think’ I need. You have to ask me.”

You can tell she’s visibly taken aback at how this has gone. “It was not at all my intention to go behind your back. You’re just very busy and now with wedding planning and everything else, it just made sense to get it put into place so you’d have one less thing to worry about.”

“Mom, I get that. But you crossed the line here. I’m an adult who would’ve liked to have a mature conversation with the person I am going to marry about a topic that is extremely uncomfortable for everyone. It is not your job to play the middle man here. There is no middle man. This is between y/n and I.”

The tension in the air was getting a little too thick for your liking. You stood next to Joe, running your hand down his arm trying to diffuse the situation as much as possible. “Okay I think you’ve made your point. Robin, I am not at all upset with you, this can all be resolved rather—”

“I am upset with you mom. There was no reason to hand over that document without at least giving me a phone call,” Joe counters, starting to stand in front of you a bit like he’s physically shielding you from her.

“Now Joey I don’t think your mom meant any harm,” Joe’s dad speaks up seeing his wife almost in tears. “Why don’t we all just take a breather here.”

You nod in agreement.

“I’m so sorry, to both of you. In hindsight that wasn’t the best way to go about it but like you said this is uncomfortable. I thought keeping it casual would remove some of that awkwardness and I just made it worse. I really am sorry.”

Joe still seemed unmoved but you really didn’t think she needed to apologize this much. He just told her he appreciated the sentiments but that she needs to recognize that’s he’s an adult, telling them goodnight and immediately heading upstairs.

You’re left to walk them out alone, giving them both hugs goodbye. “Honey I’m so sorry,” Robin states again, “I never want you to think that I don’t love you or that I was intentionally going behind Joe’s back. I was just making sure we have all of our bases covered so we aren’t sweating the small stuff on your big day. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You’re totally fine, I understand. And I agree. I think he just got a little freaked out at the reminder that his life is abnormal. He wants things to be simple and sometimes they just aren’t. That probably stressed him out a little. Or a lot.”

It feels good to leave their tense interaction with her smiling. Even though it didn’t reach her eyes like usual, it was still a small step forward.

“How can you not be upset about this?” Joe asks after brushing his teeth.

You focused on what was going on at your sink, taking your time to complete your skincare routine. “Because I see where both of you are coming from. You have every right to be angry at her for doing this behind your back. But at the same time I understand why she feels like she should get a jump on protecting your assets.”

“Protect my assets…” he scoffs, “…from you? What’s mine is going to be yours.” He hands you a towel after you wash your face, having memorized the steps at this point.

“Yeah ok, legally. But your accomplishments and accolades are yours. That’s how you got here and your mom saw all the blood, sweat and tears that went into you being in the position you are today. She may have overstepped a little but you’re still her baby at the end of the day and sometimes it’s hard for them to recognize that they have adult children who are fully capable of making their own decisions.” He grabs the moisturizer off the counter and places it in your hand as you laugh, whispering thank you. “My mom has done the same to me, not to this extent obviously because we’re in completely different tax brackets but—they just want to make sure we’re okay no matter what.”

Joe leans against the counter, deep in thought. Growing up with his dad coaching it was usually just the two of them, she drove him to basketball and football practices and tournaments, took him to school and worked the entire day at school and came home still ready to dedicate all of her time to him if he asked. “I was too harsh wasn’t I?”

“A teeny bit? Maybe? I do thoroughly appreciate you looking out for me though. Going to bat for me against your mom of all people.”

He shrugs, giving you a hug from behind, resting his chin on your head. “She protects me so somebody’s gotta protect you. That’s what I’m signing up for and I promise to always take that job very seriously.” I should put that in my vows, he tells himself. He leans over a little more to press a kiss against your temple.

“Is that a promise?”

“That is a promise,” he holds out a pinky, making you gasp as you turn around.

“Isn’t a pinky shake you and Ja’Marr’s thing?”

Joe looks at you sheepishly, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

You lock your pinky in his, kissing the smile off of his face.

That night before he went to sleep, he texted his mom telling her that he loved her. You gave them privacy when she came over the next day, smiling and hugging it out so you assumed everything went well. You hoped to have open communication with your kids even as adults one day, but did not envy the journey that your parents were constantly navigating. This once tiny person you created and had to make sure to teach them everything was now not only getting married and had established their own life but in Joe’s case everything was heightened. She’s been there through her son being the overlooked player who Urban Meyer said threw like a girl to now if he so much as has a paper cut an entire city of people, a whole fanbase is worried and asking for minute by minute updates on his condition. You couldn’t imagine the whirlwind that must be.

So you were going to sign that prenup whether Joe liked it or not.

“We need to decide on bridal party gifts,” Joe suggests a week later. “I was thinking about getting the guys customized golf carts. They could be delivered straight to their houses after the wedding or I could have them dropped off the day we get there and they can drive around the property whenever they need to get somewhere? What sounds better?”

“It sounds like you’ve had this very specific plan and just couldn’t wait to make your big announcement. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Joe laughs, grabbing his water. “You can give them all Cartier bracelets, have the wedding date engraved on the inside. That’d be pretty cool.”

Cool and expensive. “Don’t do that, I can actually hear what you’re thinking.” Curse him for knowing you so well. “We’re only gonna do this once, might as well do it right. Make it a great experience for everyone we love.”

“Fine. You’re right. But we are not doing an ice sculpture then.” He gives you a blank stare but says nothing, both of you know that it’ll be coming back up sooner rather than later. “There is something else we need to talk about though.”

He rolls his eyes, deciding this is the perfect time to get up and put his plate in the sink, like you can’t just follow him. “We really don’t have to do this.”

“Oh but we do. Joe seriously we’re gonna have to figure this out. It’s important.”

He lets out a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before putting his eyes back on you. “I’m just uncomfortable with any conversation that plans a breakup. I don’t ever want to breakup.”

“Then let’s not breakup and we won’t even have to worry about any of this. We’ll discuss the details, I’ll sign it and we’ll never talk about it ever again. Deal?”

You place a hand on his cheek and he kisses the inside of your hand before he speaks. “Deal. I can’t wait to marry you. Even got a countdown on my phone.”

“That’s probably the single most adorable thing you’ve ever said.” He pulls his phone out to show you a countdown app with a timer down to the hour the ceremony is supposed to start. A picture from your engagement shoot is set as the background. “I can’t wait either. I love you, so much.”

“I love you more.”

[localcouchgremlin]

absolutely incredible post response!! thanks nic :D

bit of a weird ask but I saw a twitter post saying they were 'devastated' over what frank said in an interview about performing/writing in ls dunes compared to some other bands (theyre assuming that the 'other bands' means mcr because they cant think of the 20+ other bands that hes been in) and after reading it a second time it doesn't even seem that negative?? it just talks about different processes and his excitement for dunes, but I still feel down anyway now because of that reaction, and it really makes me doubt that part of the fandom's faith in the band and its members im kinda close to quitting the fandom because of this and idk how the tumblr/twitter gang here survives it y'all are troopers, im unsure how to avoid that kind of doomposting

sorry i totally forgot to answer this the other day, i hope you see this!

but yeah, i see the same thing and it is. pretty irritating haha. it speaks to the unrealistic traits and behaviours fandom has applied to these ppl over the years/decades - which are harmless enough on the surface, but left unchecked you end up with doomposting or disproportionate levels of discourse when one of them doesn't behave the way their textpostified personalities would have you believe hahaha. if frank isn't anything but reverential towards mcr then he must hate it. if gerard puts time and work into his artistic and career pursuits that aren't related to mcr he must be giving up on the band like he supposedly did in 2012. if ray, who hasn't done a single interview since 2016, isn't on stage showing frank public affection or admiring him on twitter, he must be bossy and arrogantly taking all the glory for mcr's guitar parts and musicality. if mikey does anything it's gotta have something to do with gerard or mcr because obvs he doesn't exist outside the band etc etc. again none of these things are like. problematic or bad**, just kind of. annoying to engage with as an adult in the space i go to enjoy myself hahaha.

but this specific discussion abt frank implicitly dissing mcr also cropped up after that podcast frank did with travis, where he discussed writing music with ls dunes vs every other band/project he's been involved in. which, let's remember, is a fucking lot. how many albums has frank made or been part of? too many to easily count. only about four or five of those were with my chemical romance. ls dunes is only set apart from the rest because they're currently active after mcr's huge reunion, and they're a supergroup so they're getting a lot of press attention. people have never batted an eye in the past when frank has discussed how great it is to be working with this or that musician on this or that album - it's just the timing of ls dunes and our own high hopes for new mcr music that make people take this one in particular so personally.

on top of that... we've always known mcr has a fraught and stressful writing process??? that is like. a major part of the lore? we're all compelled by the insane amount of unlikely success mcr achieved in their careers, and by the fact that they were always controversial. we reblog quotes about gerard saying mcr's purpose was always to be against something, to undermine expectations, to infiltrate, contaminate etc. i thought this was something we were all drawn to about mcr? so i'll never understand the shock and disappointment when frank makes the simple statement that writing with ls dunes is easier, less stressful, and more lighthearted than writing with mcr. like...duh it is? mcr have always been open about how much they put into writing albums - and also about how they're proud of what they created, and that they consider each other cherished family.

the most annoying part for me is when people take quotes about frank working with travis and twist them into some kind of dig at/criticism of ray. i can only assume these people aren't used to working with others in a creative capacity, especially long term, because i just totally can't understand where it comes from lol. as someone who's read/watched every guitar-related mcr interview i've ever been able to get my hands on: ray and frank have literally never been anything other than fully complimentary of, respectful to, and affectionate with one another. ray was far from the first guitarist frank ever worked with and leagues from the only one. also, creative partnerships are extremely complex and every one is completely unique, with it's own strengths and difficulties. if ray and frank didn't love playing with each other they wouldn't have done it for years and years. that doesn't mean frank can't vocally love playing with other guitarists??? these things are not contradictory and appreciating aspects of one creative partnership is not equivalent to bad-mouthing a different one? like that is just not how it works skdkdjd

anyway i think a lot of it comes down to the fact that, for us, we see these people as parts of my chemical romance. naturally, because that's the reason we know they exist! but all of these people live rich and full and complex lives like any other person. the only parts of those lives that we generally see much of are the my chemical romance parts. we look for mcr in everything they say, which is understandable but unrealistic. all we need to do it keep that in mind imo

**(tho ppl's tendency to pit ray and frank against each other for some reason, which used to be a way common but is unfortunately a sentiment i'm starting to see crop up again in some places, definitely can get. suspicious and uncomfortable. especially considering that frank is the fan favourite so these pointless comparisons tend to err in his favour, and in either direction they tend to be very shallow and uninformed anyway. but that's a separate conversation)

wow i literally did not intend to turn this into a giant essay im so sorry. kudos if you made it this far lol. and i feel you anon, it's discouraging and puts a bad taste in my mouth when i come to this fandom for fun and fulfillment. i wish i had better advice because im feeling a little similar but just try to remind yourself that other people's opinions are just that. i find it helps if you can curate your own dash/feed or make friends in more discussion-friendly spaces like dms or gcs or discord servers. or even a priv twitter account with a few like-minded mutuals where you can vent ur shared frustrations over things without making it a whole big deal HAHAHA. the less time you spend scrolling thru ppl's public posts and the more time you spend diving into interviews, podcasts, videos, the web archive etc to detach yourself a little from group fandom-think the better you'll probably feel about mcr tbh! also long as you have friends or close mutuals that's all that matters imo <3

[pangaeaseas]

Magic Is Masculinity: Or, Lucius Malfoy and How the Wand Makes the Man

One thing I'm always interested in thinking about in HP fic is how to realistically create a society with different mores from our own. If you take the premise that pureblood especially and overall wizarding culture more broadly is different from 1990s Muggle British society seriously, you must consider where social norms differ from 90s muggle norms. I personally am interested in the idea that pureblood families tend to live in multi-generational households with extended families rather than in a nuclear family, for instance, though I don't think this was JKR's intention (but who cares it's interesting). You could claim that LGBTQ+ people are more or less accepted than 90s Britain, depending on what you want to do with your story--and you could also consider that the wizarding world might have completely different definitions of sexuality (like, for example, the Roman use of penetrator vs non-penetrator as the main sexual binary). And we know that what is defined as masculinity and femininity varies massively across time and place.

So I want to think about how gender roles might differ in the wizarding world. There was a post I saw recently that discussed the idea of Sirius feeling affirmed in exploring femininity by being seen as feminine by Muggles while wearing robes, which I thought was a really interesting idea (and one that could apply to any character exploring gender). Of course the essential premise there is that something Muggles read as feminine--robes--are actually an essential aspect of Wizarding masculinity (see that guy who likes a nice healthy breeze round his privates in GoF).

So what else defines Wizarding masculinity? We can go absolutely wild! But I think there's a lot of canonical basis for the idea that one essential part of being a wizard and a man is having access to and control over one's own wand. This raises interesting questions about how characters who can't control their wands might be seen as emasculated (like Ron in CoS and Neville pre-HBP), and is also significant with regards to Voldemort's search for a wand that will allow him to fight Harry, and the period when Harry's wand is broken. So I'd love if people did additional analysis on this topic. But I'm going to specifically discuss the case of Lucius Malfoy, because I think he's a very clear example of how you need to have a wand to be a man.

"The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms. “No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see . . . Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.” Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “My Lord?” “Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.” “I . . .” Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely. “What is it?” “Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy. “And the core?” “Dragon — dragon heartstring.” “Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously. “Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?” Some of the throng sniggered. “I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late. . . . What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?” “Nothing — nothing, my Lord!” “Such lies, Lucius . . .” (Chapter 1, DH)

Having a wand is compared to having an arm: it's an essential part of a wizard's body. All the Death Eaters are shocked by the request. (Interestingly, we know of only two confirmed female Death Eaters, Bellatrix and Alecto Carrow. Bellatrix says that she would gladly give up any SONS specifically to the Dark Lord's service in HBP. This might imply that the Death Eaters are intended to be a majority male organization (though I personally like to explore the idea of there being more female Death Eaters) and so these are men specifically being affronted).

Before his wand is taken, it is specifically mentioned that Lucius appears ill--pale and waxen and yellow. Control of the body and good health is often seen as a crucial sign of masculinity. Lucius has lost this--he cannot control his own body--and is about to lose an important signal of his masculinity, his wand.

Voldemort is also treating Lucius as a child who's transgressed: there is 'no reason for him to have a wand anymore'--Voldemort doesn't respect Lucius's right to have a wand, like he's a child who isn't in control of his own decisions. A main throughline of Lucius's treatment since OOTP is Voldemort's interest in punishing him. This involves reducing him to a child to be ordered around, who can't be trusted with a wand. He treats Lucius as someone deeply beholden to him: Lucius having a wand and having liberty are dependent on Voldemort, instead of characteristics of an adult man with social authority. Voldemort is the patriarch of the Death Eater family.

Voldemort seems to enjoy humiliating him in front of the other Death Eaters: he could have asked him nicely as an equal in private, but he makes a spectacle of it, asking for volunteers he knows won't be appearing, only to single out Lucius and then mock any pretensions he might have to exchanging wands, then intimidating and terrifying him by questioning his loyalty (and the loyalty of his family, which thus insults Lucius's ability as a patriarch). The wand length comparison also serves no real purpose but to emasculate Lucius.

Immediately after taking the wand, Vodlemort also brings up Tonks's marriage to Remus to insult Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix--another insult to Lucius's abilities as a patriarch as he cannot stop his family members from shaming the family through marriage choices. Again, it is delberate that Voldemort does this so soon after taking Lucius's wand. Now that Lucius is wandless, his masculine authority can be questioned.

Lucius clearly wants later to reclaim this lost authority --and implicitly his sense of his own masculinity.

When the Trio is captured, Lucius is extremely excited. He appears to be motivated by a desire to lessen his punishment (which involved Voldemort taking his wand, and said wand being destroyed by Harry):

"Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited. “Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv —” “Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” said Greyback menacingly." (DH)

Greyback says 'Mr. Malfoy' in a menacing way: it seems to be belittling him, reminding him that he doesn't actually have that much power in this scene compared to Greyback, who actually captured them by his own efforts compared to Lucius passively waiting for something to improve his situation. Greyback may be saying 'Mr. Malfoy' to say: all you have is your social position, compared to me--you might have the title of 'mr' but you don't have a wand and you don't have the power to act, so I am more masculine and can threaten you.

It's also really interesting how Narcissa is directing Lucius and Draco in this scene: she greets Greyback and brings him in, she refers to Draco as her son only, she is the first one to instruct Draco to examine them. Malfoy Manor might be Lucius's home, it has his name, but Narcissa appears to act as patriarch in this scene: it's her home, her son, she is greeting visitors and taking command, and she is the one to say 'we need to be sure and shouldn't immediately summon Voldemort' and the one to identify Hermione. This might be the typical Malfoy family dynamic, it might be because Narcissa is the one who still has a wand.

Then Bellatrix comes in, and she orders both Lucius and Narcissa around. She also asks Narcissa what happened, treating her as the leader of the family. Now Bellatrix has always hated Lucius, they certainly didn't seem to get along well during the DoM battle. But here she's just contemptuous of him, and provides key evidence for my wand-equals-masculinity theory.

"“I was about to call him!” said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. “I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority —” “Your authority!” she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!” “This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy —” " (DH)

Lucius lost his authority when he lost his wand. He is no longer the patriarch, the master of the house, specifically because he does not have a wand: Bellatrix then goes on to order Draco around, which Narcissa protests because it's 'her house': a striking contrast to Voldemort calling it Lucius's house in the first chapter, before he took the wand, and to Lucius trying to call it his house. While Lucius has a wand it's his house, but when his is taken it become's Narcissa's (though of course she is talking to her sister about herself, so you don't necessarily have to read that much into it). Interestingly, Bellatrix doesn't give orders to Lucius: maybe because she just doesn't like or trust him but maybe because he doesn't have a wand and is thus useless.

The whole concept of authority in HP--and Lucius, owner of Malfoy Manor, husband and father, has specifically patriarchal authority as Head of his family--is linked to having a wand. Lucius seems to have expected to be able to exercise some control over Bellatrix as a fellow Death Eater and as his sister-in-law who appears to be living with him, but she rejects this possibility by saying he can't control her as a male patriarch might because he doesn't have a wand. Thus he is failing to meet the requirements of being a patriarch in wizarding society. Bellatrix can do whatever she wants in his house, and he has no way of stopping her. She seems to have replaced him as patriarch of the Malfoy family.

The linkage of masculinity with authority with having a wand is made extremely clear through Bellatrix's line. By taking Lucius's wand, Voldemort removed the last semblance of authority and masculinity he had, to humiliate and emasculate him for losing the diary and the prophecy (and I think the broader narrative is doing this to Lucius at least a little as well, he becomes more pathetic and pitiable, because in JKR's view of gender pity is for women).

Later, Lucius's role as a Death Eater has clearly been reduced: Voldemort dismisses his suggestions around the Battle of Hogwarts as only being concerned for his son, and assigns him the menial task of fetching Snape. He has been reduced from advisor to fetch-and-carrier. Lucius's last appearance on page is NOT fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts, appearing only concerned with his son (and JKR often associates concern with a child only over any other concerns with maternity and femininity, but that's another post).

In working on this meta I also had a lot of thoughts about warrior masculinity through martial magic in the Wizarding World, and the idea of a Death Eater specific masculine warrior ideal, but that's another post LMAO. I hope this has been helpful in imagining how magic might affect gender roles!

[theambitiouswoman]

Hygiene tips

Wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water for at least 20 seconds, especially before eating, after using the restroom, after coughing or sneezing, and after touching public surfaces.

Carry a hand sanitizer with you. Make sure the sanitizer contains at least 60% alcohol and rub it over your hands until dry.

When coughing or sneezing, cover your mouth and nose with a tissue or your elbow to prevent the spread of germs. Dispose of used tissues immediately.

Refrain from touching your eyes, nose, and mouth as much as possible, as these are entry points for germs into your body.

Take showers or baths regularly to keep your body clean and fresh. Use soap and water to thoroughly cleanse your body, paying attention to areas like armpits, feet, and groin.

Brush your teeth at least twice a day for two minutes each time, using fluoride toothpaste. Don't forget to clean your tongue, and replace your toothbrush every three to four months.

Keep your nails short and clean to prevent the buildup of dirt and bacteria. Use a nail brush to scrub under your nails regularly.

Regularly clean and disinfect frequently touched surfaces in your home, such as doorknobs, light switches, countertops, and electronics. Also, keep your living space well-ventilated.

Wash your clothes, bed linens, and towels regularly, following the manufacturer's instructions. Use the appropriate water temperature and detergent to ensure proper cleanliness.

Avoid sharing personal items like towels, razors, toothbrushes, or makeup.

Practice good food hygiene by washing fruits and vegetables thoroughly before consumption. Cook food to the appropriate temperature to kill harmful bacteria, and refrigerate leftovers promptly.

Keep your surroundings clean: Regularly clean and disinfect commonly touched surfaces such as doorknobs, light switches, phones, keyboards, and remote controls. This helps eliminate germs that may be present on these surfaces.

Maintain clean and healthy feet: Keep your feet clean and dry to prevent fungal infections. Wash your feet regularly, dry them thoroughly (especially between the toes), and wear clean socks and well-fitting shoes.

Ensure that the water you use for drinking, cooking, and personal hygiene is clean and safe. If necessary, use water filters or boil the water before use.

If possible, use a shower filter.

If you are sexually active, use barrier methods (such as condoms) to protect yourself from sexually transmitted infections. Get regular check-ups and screenings as recommended by healthcare professionals.

Take care of your mental well-being by managing stress, getting enough sleep, engaging in regular physical activity, and seeking support when needed. Good mental health is essential for overall well-being.

Sleep with aloe vera on your face to help with scars and acne.

Massage your body with oils and lotions after shower or before bed.

Eat greek yogurt to help fix PH balance, acne and odor in your private area.

Wear cotton based underwear.

Do not treat your body like a trashcan.

To smell good during the day:

Regular bathing helps remove sweat, dirt, and odor-causing bacteria from your body.

Apply antiperspirant or deodorant to clean, dry underarms to control sweat and odor.

You can also use baking soda and lemon to get rid of under arm odor.

Put on freshly laundered clothes each day. Clean clothing helps prevent the buildup of odor-causing bacteria and keeps you smelling fresh.

When choosing clothes, opt for natural fibers like cotton or linen, which allow air to circulate and help wick away moisture from your body. Avoid synthetic materials that can trap sweat and lead to unpleasant odors.

Brush your teeth at least twice a day, floss daily, and use mouthwash to maintain fresh breath. Don't forget to clean your tongue as well.

Apply a pleasant fragrance, such as perfume or cologne, sparingly. Avoid excessive application, as it can be overwhelming to others. Focus on pulse points like the wrists, neck, or behind the ears.

Keep your feet clean and dry to prevent foot odor. Wash your feet daily, dry them thoroughly (especially between the toes), and wear clean socks and well-ventilated shoes.

Regularly brush your tongue, as it can harbor bacteria and contribute to bad breath. Visit your dentist regularly for check-ups and cleanings.

Drink plenty of water throughout the day to flush out toxins from your body. Staying hydrated can help prevent the buildup of odors.

Certain foods, such as garlic, onions, and spicy dishes, can contribute to body odor. Pay attention to your diet and make choices that minimize strong odors if you are concerned about smelling good.

Keep a small travel-sized deodorant, wet wipes, or refreshing body spray with you to freshen up during the day, especially in hot or humid weather.

Ensure your clothes, towels, and bed linens are washed regularly. Use a detergent with a fresh scent to keep them smelling clean.

Spray perfume on your brush or use natural oils that are safe for your hair.

Wipe front to back to avoid infections. Use toilet paper then wipes.

moisturize your skin.

When washing your hair, make sure you are using products that clean your hair without drying it out.

Keep feminine wipes with you.

[toronto-tree-removal]

Expert Tree Removal Services in Toronto: Why It Matters for Safety & Aesthetics

Introduction: The Importance of Professional Tree Removal

Trees are an essential part of Toronto’s urban landscape, offering shade, beauty, and environmental benefits. However, there are times when tree removal becomes a necessity due to safety hazards, disease, or urban development needs. At Toronto Tree Removal, we specialize in safe, professional, and efficient tree removal services across various neighborhoods, including The Annex, The Beaches, Liberty Village, and more.

In this post, we’ll discuss when tree removal is necessary, the process involved, and how to choose the best tree removal service in Toronto.

When Should You Consider Tree Removal?

Not all trees need to be removed, but some situations demand professional intervention. Here are common reasons why property owners in Toronto might need tree removal services:

Dead or Dying Trees: If a tree is diseased, decaying, or completely dead, it poses a significant risk of falling and causing damage.

Storm Damage: Severe weather, including strong winds and ice storms, can weaken trees, making them unstable.

Structural Damage Risk: If tree roots are damaging underground pipes, sidewalks, or your home’s foundation, removal may be the best solution.

Obstructing Construction or Landscaping Projects: Sometimes, trees need to be cleared for new buildings, driveways, or other landscaping projects.

Invasive Species & Infestations: Trees affected by pests like the emerald ash borer may need to be removed to prevent the spread to healthy trees.

If you’re unsure whether a tree should be removed, our team at Toronto Tree Removal can provide an assessment.

The Tree Removal Process: What to Expect

At Toronto Tree Removal, we follow a structured and safe approach to tree removal:

1. Site Inspection & Assessment

Our ISA-certified arborists first assess the tree's condition, size, and location to determine the safest removal method.

2. Obtaining Necessary Permits

In Toronto, tree removal regulations require permits for trees over 30 cm in diameter on private property. We assist clients with the application process, ensuring compliance with city regulations.

3. Safe & Efficient Tree Removal

Using specialized equipment such as ropes, harnesses, and cranes, we carefully cut and remove the tree in sections, minimizing damage to surrounding property.

4. Stump Grinding & Cleanup

Once the tree is removed, we offer stump grinding services to eliminate the remaining base, leaving a clean and usable space.

5. Eco-Friendly Disposal & Recycling

We ensure that all removed trees are properly disposed of or repurposed, such as being turned into mulch or firewood.

Why Choose Toronto Tree Removal?

Choosing the right tree removal company is essential for safety, efficiency, and legal compliance. Here’s why Toronto Tree Removal is a trusted choice:

✅ Fully Licensed & Insured: We are WSIB-covered and adhere to all safety regulations to protect our workers and your property. ✅ Certified Arborists: Our team includes ISA-certified arborists who bring expertise and precision to every job. ✅ Fast & Reliable Service: Available 7 days a week from 7 AM to 10 PM, we offer emergency tree removal services when needed. ✅ Competitive Pricing & Free Estimates: We provide affordable tree removal services with upfront pricing and no hidden fees.

For professional tree removal in areas like Rosedale, East York, and Forest Hill, contact us today!

Conclusion: Protect Your Property with Expert Tree Removal

Tree removal isn’t just about cutting down trees—it’s about protecting your home, enhancing your landscape, and ensuring safety. At Toronto Tree Removal, we offer professional, safe, and efficient tree removal services across Toronto.

📞 Call Us Today: 647-558-1366 📍 Address: 2 Forest Laneway #304, Toronto, ON M2N 5X7 📧 Email: info@torontotreeremoval.ninja 🌍 Website: https://www.torontotreeremoval.ninja

Citations:

Toronto Tree Removal Services

Tree Bylaws & Removal Permits – City of Toronto

ISA Certified Arborists – Why Certification Matters

[diaper-fetiswing]

🌱 Practice diaper training 22/7 in a healthy way !

To succeed in your Diaper training 22/7, it is essential to approach it with balance and kindness towards yourself! here are some tips for having healthier diaper training :

SET CLEAR BOUNDARIES: Identify the times when you practice your Diaper training and the times when you really need to focus on your responsibilities, this helps maintain a healthy balance!

KEEP IT PRIVATE: Diaper training and diaper fetishes in general is not something that everyone will understand. make sure you preserve your privacy and if you wish to share it with other people, share it only for example: with your wife, and your husband...

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF: hygiene is priority. respect your body and listen to your needs to avoid any health problems!

LISTEN TO YOUR EMOTIONS: if you feel stress and anxiety, (too much) slow down and don't force yourself!

REMEMBER YOUR GOALS: diaper training should enrich your life, not complicate it. If you feel like it's taking up too much space in your life, adjust your practice to keep a balance between your adult life and wearing diapers.

To properly integrate your diaper training into your daily life, you need to find a balance that suits you and corresponds to your real needs! This is why 24/7 is not a healthy practice but 22/7 can offer you a healthy and balanced practice!

[flowersforchoso]

Bi-han as a father.

it takes a while for him to adjust to the concept of fatherhood as a result of the strained relationship he had with his father.

but once he gets the hang of it, he'll be the perfect mix of stern and loving. capable of striking fear in his children's hearts if you threaten to report them, "i'll tell your father" works like a charm to make them act right, but he's welcoming and will never turn his children away or refuse to engage them.

realistically, he would've like 2-3 kids max.

he's a disciplinarian through and through. won't tolerate misbehavior or disrespect, especially if its towards you. he doesn't take kindly to that.

sometimes you feel he's being excessive with it and intervene

"mommy!" your child cries, running to you for protection from their father—a refuge—to which you'd complain that he's being needlessly harsh

"you coddle them too much, that's the problem." he scolds. "no child of mine will be errant"

of course, you get upset at his hard-headedness that barely makes him see from your perspective

and he can tell, because you're no longer receptive to his advances in protest against his behaviour

so he tones down the discipline and tries to be lenient with them. keyword: tries.

nevertheless, he's nurturing and very hands-on. attentive as well. if something is wrong, he notices right away.

will cook for his children because he believes he's the better cook, but they think otherwise, since he just puts lots of vegetables in the food. he wants them to grow healthy and strong

he teaches his children from a tender age to be self-sufficient and trains them to be able to protect themselves and you, if the situation calls for it.

dad time is essential. will take them to exciting places and partake in outdoor activities like gardening, hiking, fishing or simply errands to the marketplace etc. he loves to spend time with them and would crack dad jokes here and there to entertain them. they'll pretend to find it funny.

he's overprotective and strives to be a good role model to his kids.

now if he's a girl dad, there's a slight twist.

his parenting style is much more relaxed due to his mother being the only female presence he had growing up so its a mix of cluelessness and traditional ideals shining through and will mostly take cues from you

training is not mandatory but if they're interested, he would be happy. its not as rigorous and they have the choice to opt out anytime.

he dotes excessively on them that'll make you wonder if this was the same person you married. but it's mainly because he sees them as mini versions of you

at this point, its no surprise he's the preferred parent because of how affectionate he is towards them. and big, strong dad gives the best piggyback rides.

infact, you would have to complain that he's spoiling them too much to which he'd respond

"what's it to you? don't question my parenting" and you leave it at that.

treats them delicately. his paternal instincts go into overdrive everytime and he gets easily worried when it comes to them

when they reach a certain age, he doesn't shy away from topics relating to womanhood. but that doesn't mean he initiates the conversation. he takes on the passive role of listener and further educates himself by asking you questions in private which you tease him for being eager to learn

doesn't joke with his daughters. he's a nightmare of a father nobody would want to deal with because he would raise hell if anyone dares hurt them in any capacity

he's changed so much since having them; has become softened, and is grateful to you for this wonderful gift.

but if he only has sons, its a different story entirely

he's twice as stern and this is because he grew up with brothers so he knows how unruly boys can be

training is mandatory for them, they do not get the luxury to choose. he wants them to be able to protect themselves and you, so he doesn't ever present the opportunity for slacking

in short, he rules with an iron fist. you'd have to remind him that they're his children, not his underlings

struggles with voicing his affection. you'd have to reassure your sons that their father, infact, loves them

and it's only natural they gravitate towards you.

but that doesn't mean he doesn't care for them. because he does. its all about tough love and instilling strong values in them, leaving no room for weakness.

and they constantly want to impress their father. on rare occasions when they do, or bi han is feeling particularly soft, he looks at them with adoration and ruffles their hair or simply utters a "well done" that means the world to them

they look up to their father and are always around him seeking validation

[ladykailitha]

Around the World Part 1

Welcome to the sequel, but not the epilogue! It a bit confusing and I'm sorry. Essentially this story takes place before the sobriety celebration in the last chapter of Icarus. Which I would absolutely read first if you haven't yet. It's 25 chapters of Steddie on tour.

The epilogue takes place SIX years AFTER Gareth's celebration. And is only two chapters. It is an unmasking of The Fallen. I wrote when I was trying to flesh out Shane, Spence, and Simon.

Summary: After a grueling tour, Steve wants nothing more than take a vacation with his boyfriend and just be regular people for three months. Only Eddie isn't just anyone, he's the frontman for the world's most popular heavy metal band. So Chrissy and Robin come long to act as beards (provided they keep their hands off of each other long enough). Join the fruity four as they travel the world looking for the spooky, the kooky, and the all together weird.

~

The tour was finally over and Steve was ready to collapse. He couldn’t wait to be himself again.

It would be two weeks with Jim Hopper and the rest of his band to deprogram them from their alter egos then a three month trip with Robin and Eddie.

Everyone else had made plans too. Spence and Nadia were going to see a few of the national parks. They were going to start with the ones in California and then go from there. They were planning on making it a yearly thing, if they lasted that long.

His friends really hoped they did. One of them needed a healthy relationship that wasn’t kept in the shadows.

Steve showed up first and waited for his bandmates to trickle in. Shane arrived first. With coffee for all six of them. Robin and Hopper included. Steve gratefully took his syrupy sweet iced coffee with a grateful smile.

Shane was doing better too. He had started therapy too after talking with Gareth about his. Gareth had told him that it was better to start when the cracks were beginning to show, then after the damn had burst. And Shane had really taken that to heart.

Him and Gareth were taking a vacation together later in the summer. To places where drinking and partying wasn’t the only way to have fun. Both their therapists recommended it, to have a friend with them who was going through a similar journey to help keep them on the path to recovery.

Simon came in next. He gratefully took his black coffee with two sugars from Shane and flopped on the sofa next to Steve. He was the only one of them that didn’t have plans. But privately Steve thought that was a good thing. He needed to learn to be more independent and not rely on other members of the band so much.

Then it was Robin and Hopper together, they were talking about business things that made Steve’s head spin. He knew it was a necessary part of what they did, but he was glad he someone else to do it for him.

They each took their coffees from Shane with grateful mumbles and sat down in each the arm chairs.

Spence arrived last and looking rather harried.

“If I see one more out of state driver thinking that they know how to drive on the instate better than Californians I might actually commit murder.”

Shane held up a white Americano and Spence broke down into tears. “I love you, man!”

Spence gave him a huge hug and Shane just patted his back awkwardly. Once Spence stopped crying he went to go sit on the sofa with Steve and Simon.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a sniff. “It’s just been a horrific morning and the sweet smell of coffee was like balm on my soul.”

Steve was about to ask what was wrong, when Hopper cleared his throat. “All right, everyone. I’ve made everyone videos that I want all you of you to study for the next couple of hours and then we’ll slowly work on deprogramming all of you.”

They buckled down and got to work. Steve kept an eye on Spence though. And when they both got a break he pulled his drummer aside.

“Hey, bud,” Steve asked soothingly, “what’s wrong?”

Spence ran his fingers through his long curls and sighed. “Nadia has to go back to India for a few months because her grandfather is dying. Only she’s not sure how long it will be so most likely the vacation is off.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “And you’re not going with her, why?”

Spence raised his head and blinked back at him. “What?”

“You’re a multi-millionaire, dude,” Steve pointed out, “you could go with her to India. Meet her family, enjoy and learn a whole new country and culture.”

Spence’s eyes went wide. “I–I didn’t think of that...” he made a dive for his phone but Hopper was faster.

“It can wait until you’re done for today,” he growled. “You have a lot to do before you can contact people in your life.”

Spence blushed a dark red.

“Holy fucking hell, Spencer Peters,” Hopper snapped. “I told you not go see her. And ya did it anyway.”

“I figured I was okay,” Spence muttered. “After all I don’t talk as Azrael.”

Hopper smacked the back of his head. “Yeah and how did you explain your rough voice?”

“Traveler’s cough?” Spence said with a wince and a shrug.

Hopper squeezed the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb and sighed. “Don’t do that again, yes?”

Spence nodded, wide eyed.

Things progressed naturally from there. Every day, them becoming more like themselves and less like two separate people.

On the last day of “training” Robin came bouncing up to Steve.

“So...” she said nervously, “Vickie wants us to take a fourth on our vacation so it doesn’t look like I’m chaperoning you. Preferably another woman.”

Steve sighed.

He really should have seen that coming. Even though Robin/Celeste are known homosexuals, having another woman there would dispel the rumors that Eddie and Steve were dating.

“It would have to be someone straight,” he said, resigned.

“Would another chaotic bisexual work?” Robin asked chewing nervously on her lower lip.

“Chrissy.”

Robin grinned. “Yeah. It’ll be awesome because like me she was friends with the band before she became their manager so her and Eddie are really close, like you and me and with her with us, you ‘dating’ a manager isn’t as gold digger-esque as dating a international rockstar. Plus, she really likes the spooky and supernatural stuff too, so she wouldn’t be a killjoy about it–”

Steve grabbed her by the shoulders and said firmly, “Breathe.”

Robin took a massive inhale and gulped.

“I don’t mind Chrissy coming along,” he said with a wry smile, “but are you sure you don’t just want her along because you have a crush on her?”

She opened her mouth to refute it, but Steve raised an eyebrow and she slammed her mouth shut.

“That’s what I thought,” he said smugly. “Just know you cannot do anything even remotely couple-y with her otherwise that will completely counter the whole reason she’s there in the first place.”

Robin raised her hands in surrender. “I promise to keep my hands to myself until we get home.”

“Then of course she can come.”

“Yay!” Robin cried jumping up and down.

~

Steve was packing for his trip and was starting to worry that maybe this was a bad idea. He hadn’t thought about how it would look with him spending so much money on clothes and accommodation. Travel and food made sense on a PA’s salary, but staying in the places that Eddie would want to stay in without being labeled a gold digger was starting to weigh on his mind.

Which is of course when Eddie came to his rescue without him even needing to say a word.

The man in question came bounding into his room, him long since having had a key to the place, even well before he knew Steve was Abbadon. It was just now, he also had the biolock to Steve’s studio, too.

“Baby,” Eddie said giddily. “I found these haunted bed and breakfast places we can stay in on trip. With motels on standby in case they really are haunted. What do you think?”

Eddie let out a startled squawk when Steve tackled him onto the bed and completely ravished him.

When they were lying in bed afterward Eddie asked what that was about.

“Like, I loved the welcome,” he hedged. “But damn sweetheart, what did I do to deserve that in particular?”

Steve blushed and tucked his head into Eddie’s shoulder. “I was worried about it looking like I have too munch money for a PA or looking like a gold digger, then you come in with a plan of small bed and breakfasts and motels and I honestly couldn’t love you more in that moment.”

Eddie blinked for a moment as he took that in.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “you’ve gone on more lavish vacations with me before, what’s all the worry for now?”

“It’s just after the tour and the press accusing me of riding on your coattails and only being your friend for your money...”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie cooed, pulling Steve in impossibly closer. “I’d forgotten about that bullshit. Of course you’d be worried about that.”

“And then you came barreling into my intrusive thoughts,” Steve huffed in faux annoyance, “and just by being your sweet lovable self, scared off all my doubts and worries. Which is why I absolutely could not keep my hands off of you.”

Eddie tilted his head to the side. “I approve.”

Steve giggled and rolled on top of him to shower him with kisses. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie murmured. “So the B&Bs are a hit?”

Steve sat up, straddling his hips. “Yeah, Eddie, it’s a hit. It’s perfect and low key. Most of those places wouldn’t even recognize you.” He paused for a moment. “Wait... that’s why you picked it isn’t?”

Eddie blushed and shoved a lock of hair in front of his face, nodding shyly.

Steve started kissing him again and again. “I think it’s a perfect idea, honey. I love that you thought of everything. Now we can absolutely go and everyone can have a good time. Thanks to you.”

“I want to take all the credit for be smart,” Eddie said bashfully, “but I was just going for as much fun and as silly as possible.”

Steve kissed him fiercely. “Well, still take credit, babe, because you cinched it for everyone.”

“Mmk,” Eddie said, then he grabbed Steve waist and flipped them over. “For being so sweet, I think it’s time I repaid you.” He slid down Steve’s body, hands roaming over sensitive skin the further down he went.

Steve let out a gasp as Eddie’s mouth enveloped around his dick. It would be sometime before either of them got out of bed.

~

The day of their departure came and all their bandmates came out to see them off. Simon had decided to take a wine tour of Italy and France to brush up on his language skills. An endeavor Robin heartily endorsed.

Steve secretly hoped that he would find a nice European woman to settle down with and get married. He could bring her back to LA so that it didn’t break up the band, but...

Yeah, he knew it was pipe dream. Simon still got too far into his head especially with his anxiety.

They hugged and kissed everyone goodbye and started their journey of all things, spooky, kooky, and the bizarre at Alcatraz Prison.

The long white corridors and echoing chambers was exactly what they wanted in a place they visited.

They all listened with rapt attention as their tour guide went on about the notorious prisoners and the daring escape that to that day was still unsolved. They even talked about how the Mythbusters had proven that they could have survived.

That night in their first haunted bed and breakfast, they pulled up the episode on Chrissy’s laptop and they all huddled around it to watch.

Then the girls went into one room and Eddie and Steve went into the other. They probably could have afforded to have all of them having their own room, but Eddie and Steve wanted the privacy. The one place they could act couple-y.

“Just think!” Eddie said excitedly. “All the mobsters that were interned there. Machine Gun Kelly! Al Capone! Fucking Al Capone! Whitey Bulger!”

Steve nodded. “And that famous escape from the Anglin Brothers and Frank Morris! God, that place was creepy as hell though.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “If that’s what solitary is like it should be against the law. What the honest fuck.”

“Just don’t commit any murders and I think we should be okay,” Steve assured him, rubbing his arm gently.

Eddie cocked his head to the side and put his finger to his lips thoughtfully. “No promises!”

Steve laughed and tackled his boyfriend to the bed. “God I love you.” He kissed Eddie deeply. “How quiet do you think you can be?”

“Right...” Eddie snorted, “like I’m the loud one, Mr. Screamer.” He casually flipped the two of them over, Steve giving a surprised yelp. “Do you think you can be quiet or do you think we need to gag you?”

Steve’s eyes went wide and his jaw went slack. He never thought he’d like the idea of a gag, but with Eddie, he was learning all sorts of new things about himself.

“Ooh...” Eddie said with a grin. “Someone just bluescreened over that suggestion.” Steve could only nodded. “You stay right there, pumpkin, let me go find something to gag you with.”

Steve nodded again, even more enthusiastically then before. He watched eagerly as Eddie went digging through their luggage, hoping he found something quickly.

“Ah ha!” Eddie cried, holding up his prize. It was a blank bandanna with white skulls on it. “This’ll do!”

He came bounding back up the bed and tied it over Steve’s mouth. “Now you just lie there, princess. I’m going to take good care of you tonight.”

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

I was going to start from scratch (meaning just putting my permanent list down and have ten new people request to be tagged), but there are a couple from my permanent list that aren't on the list for this one, and as I really don't want to have to go line by line (I will fuck up and do it wrong), I'm just keeping the list from Icarus across the trilogy, sorry!

If you are on this list and want to be removed from this and future sequels, let me know!

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

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10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[satancopilotsmytardis]

(Getting) Better Together

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Commissioned by an anonymous user. Dabi did not know that he was an omega, and he can’t say that he ever really wanted to find out that he was. He just wanted to join the League of Villains and destroy his father. But when the League’s doctor refused to clear him for active duty, he really thought the next step would be getting kicked out. He didn’t think that he would suddenly have the guy who tried to kill him trying to help him through this entire situation. 

Contents: ABO, Alpha!Shigaraki, Omega!Dabi, Recovery from malnutrition/starvation, Mating Cycles, Heat/Ruts, Sex Ed, Discussions of past child and spousal abuse, Infertility, Sex Toys, Porn, Loss of Virginity/First Time, Anal Sex, Grinding, Cumming in Pants, Wet and Messy, Praise Kink, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Knots, Dabi has genital piercings, Shigaraki has a massive cock. 

Word Count: 19249

Given that the new boss nearly killed him, Dabi really didn't think that the situation with the League of Villains would have anything over the usual jobs that he's done with other crews of criminals. But the next day, when he and Toga come back in after getting the few things they had kept at the safe house Giran had them held up in, Kurogiri informs them that they'll be living on the floor above the bar with Shigaraki. They each get a private, barely furnished room with a lock on the door, and they'll be able to buy whatever they want to decorate their space with the money that they're going to get for being on retainer, training, and running whatever small jobs the League has for them before they debut. They are also informed that there is a grocery list on the refrigerator and that as they need things, they can add it to that. On Wednesdays and Sundays they'll get a delivery of whatever they're missing. He's also not expecting them to be told that the League has a doctor on-call and that they will need to schedule a check-up with him over the course of the next week to ensure that they're healthy and that they have any medicine that they need as they get started in the organization. That's pretty strange. 

But nothing is as strange as the doctor coming back into the examination room he's been sitting in for half an hour, and getting a somewhat bewildered look. 

"What's up, doc?" He asks, not appreciating that he's somehow managed to be even more of a freak than he already is. 

"I have the results from your test." 

"What do I have, like seventy incurable diseases or something?" It would be his luck. 

"No," but there is definitely something, given the tone. "You reported being a beta?" 

"...yeah?" 

"I have to inform you that your designation is actually that of an omega." Ujiko tells him, looking him dead in the eye. Dabi stares back. 

"What?"

"It appears that you've had extended periods of malnutrition and are severely underweight for your height. Being in such a state, your body seems to have essentially 'turned off' all of the sex traits of your designation, allowing you to pass for a beta. You'll need to have another examination to determine the health of your reproductive system." 

Dabi is so stunned that he doesn't even find the words to protest. 

///

It's another hour and a half later when he is finished, feeling a little humiliated after the entire thing, though luckily a different doctor, someone else on AFO's payroll who is actually an expert in Omega anatomy took care of that, and they're in the room with he and Ujiko to determine what he needs to do going forward. 

"Mr. Dabi--" 

"Just 'Dabi'." He says numbly. 

"Dabi," they correct, their voice gentle. "I am very sorry to inform you, but it appears that the damage sustained by your body from your burns as well as the extended period of malnutrition and high-stress has... rendered you infertile." 

Oh. That's supposed to be a bad thing. Omegas are supposed to be all about having lots of pups. But Dabi feels some relief sweep through him for the first time since he got the news. "Okay, is that why I've never had a heat?" 

"In part, maybe. But that is more likely to be related to the weight and malnutrition. We're going to prescribe some shakes that you can drink to help get your daily nutrients more readily, and we recommend you start eating a diet that is rich in fat and protein." The omega doctor gives him a pamphlet that outlines how he should be structuring his meals to ensure that he's putting on weight and Ujiko goes in for the kill, 

"Until you gain ten kilos and have your first heat, I am not marking your chart as 'field ready'." 

"What? But I've been fine. I can do my job! Just give me suppressants!" 

"Not having your heat for so long is not 'fine'," The other doctor tells him, using that infuriatingly gentle tone again. "Extended stress like this can cause a whole host of severe medical issues that can dramatically shorten your lifespan." Like he doesn't already have a short one of those. "Now that you'll be getting the nutrition your body needs as well as having a safe place to sleep, you're going to start off by feeling much, much worse as your hormones begin to equalize." They keep talking for a while, loading Dabi up with about five more pamphlets for him to read and Dabi wonders if the League was really worth all the trouble it's turning out to be. 

///

When he gets back to base that night, he goes straight to his room, and spreads out the pamphlets on his bed, trying to read through them all, but feeling like all of the information is just sort of slipping off of his brain from his shock. It takes until there's a soft knock on his door for him to realize that it must have been hours, that he skipped eating, which he's probably going to be in trouble for if AFO doesn't just decide that he's not worth the trouble of keeping around and throw him to the streets again. 

He manages to get up and go to the door. 

Shigaraki is standing on the other side, and yeah, it must be late, because he's not even wearing the hands anymore. "Here," Dabi looks down at his hands and finds a small box that claims to have a phone in it. "My number and Kurogiri's is already programed in. If you need a teleport, just text him and he'll open a portal." 

"Oh. Thanks." 

"...The doctor didn't clear you for missions." It's not a question. But the tone of it rings a bell in the back of Dabi's mind that, for as much as they're villains, means that Ujiko didn't tell Shigaraki why he wouldn't clear Dabi. "If you're using anything harder than weed, you shouldn't be here." 

"I'm not on drugs." He says a little numbly. "I'm an omega." 

He says the words half because he doesn't know if he believes them. Says them out loud himself and makes them horribly, achingly real. 

Shigaraki blinks, and then frowns, his hand moving to scratch at his neck as Dabi just holds onto the phone box like somehow that will help him feel grounded from the mess of his emotions surging through him. "...If you're pregnant then this isn't a good place for you either. We're going to start a war, Dabi. This isn't a place to raise a pup if that's what you want." His voice isn't gentle like the other doctor's was. It's clinical. "If you need treatment as you decide what you want to do, we can provide that, but we won't be able to keep you here if you can't be active. I can speak to Giran, he might be able to take you in as a broker-in-training--" 

"I'm not pregnant." Dabi tells him. "I didn't know." It sounds so pathetic when he admits it, and he doesn't know why he does. He tried to kill Shigaraki two days ago. He doesn't even like him. 

There's another long pause, and then he hears Shigaraki take a slow breath. "Okay. Do you want me to come in?" 

Dabi doesn't know what he wants, but he steps aside. Shigaraki closes the door softly behind him and sits on the crate that is serving as his desk, picking up some of the scattered pamphlets from the bed. Dabi manages to make his legs move so he can sit back down. 

Shigaraki starts to read him the pamphlets, pausing to make Dabi repeat back the things he's read so he knows that Dabi is starting to pay attention. 

///

He's going to be a mess. Once he comes out of the shock of learning his real designation, Dabi finally has that sink in. He is going to have his hormones flooding him all the time and because it's going to be the first time, it's likely that he's going to have such intense emotions that he's going to cry at the drop of a hat or get particularly vicious out of nowhere. He shouldn't be around any other omegas that he doesn't want to form an intense pack bond with, and he should be very, very careful about what alphas he associates with, because he's probably going to go back and forth from wanting to be mated to his brain turning completely off and able to be commanded without even needing a real order. None of the rest of the League are omegas though, so that's something. But Shigaraki, it turns out, is an alpha, along with Muscular, Magne, and Toga, though she's young enough that his body won't register her as a potential mate. 

Shigaraki keeps him away from the other alphas, and offers to have Kurogiri be the one who brings their work back and forth if that will make him more comfortable. But Dabi hasn't told any of the others. As far as they know, his scars are the reason that he's not allowed to do field work right now, and he's been avoiding them, hoping they think he's got an infection or something so that they don't ask what's going on. But Shigaraki is the only other person he's told, and he doesn't know if he'll manage to figure out how the fuck to do this on his own if he has to.

Shigaraki, thankfully, doesn't say anything about that yet. They don't know when his first heat is going to hit, but he doesn't ask, or assume that he's going to be allowed to knot him like a toy-- use him the way that Enji used to use his mother. And Dabi keeps his mouth shut. He goes online and reads forums and websites that are dedicated to helping omegas through their cycles and people are constantly arguing back and forth about if a toy or a person is better to get them through their heats faster, but that's not the first thing he has to deal with. 

No, the first hard thing that hits him through this transition is trying to eat. 

It's so stupid, he has been half-starved and has eaten spoiled food, or even rotten food when things were really bad, so many times in his life, but having to put on the weight he's being asked to is hard. He is supposed to start his day with a nutrient dense protein shake that has a chalky flavor that is absolutely not 'vanilla' no matter what the bottle says it is, and is so thick and rich with fat it coats his tongue like there's a waxy film on it. He fucking hates it, and it's so much liquid that he feels like he's stuffed to the gills before he even starts the day. After the shake, he usually gets an hour or two of studying villain shit, apparently taking on some of Duster's administration work, of which there's a lot, because he can't go into the field. During this time, he's supposed to have another high protein snack, even though he's already full. Then he gets to go work out. Putting on muscle is a good way to get his body up to weight, and he has always liked training, so that isn't a hardship. It's just that afterwards he has to eat a full lunch that is also high in protein. In the afternoon he is supposed to finish anything that he didn't in the morning and have another snack. He usually finishes around mid-afternoon, and then he waits for dinner, alone in his room, makes himself eat again, and has to have one final snack before he gets to go to bed. 

His isolation also means that all of these meals are taken in his bedroom, which now has a proper desk, a mini-fridge, microwave, and a hot plate. He can actually cook rudimentary things if he wants to, and he doesn't even have to wash the dishes, he just puts them in a bin that goes outside of his door so that Kurogiri or someone can take them downstairs to the dishwasher. But he can't bring himself to cook. He can't bring himself to do much of anything but the bare minimum, and that's not good enough. When he goes back to the doctor for another checkup, he's only gained .3 kilos at the end of the week which is lower than the average person who is on a refeeding treatment. At this rate it will take him far too long to get to a healthy weight, well after the League is supposed to debut in its new form. It takes about half an hour of him nearly pleading to get the goalpost moved. Seven kilos and one heat, if he can hit that and comes out of it not half-dead or having lost the weight again during the heat, then he'll be cleared for the summer camp job. 

It doesn't feel like a victory though when he goes back to his room and has to sit alone inside of it, staring at the fridge full of food he doesn't want to eat and trying to hold back tears as he feels his body betraying him again.

There's a soft knock against the door and Dabi shuts the fridge and calls, "What, Duster?" Because Shigaraki is the only one who ever comes to see him now. He must want the files that he was reviewing. Potential recruits for the summer camp job, that he's not going to be able to go on unless he gets his shit together. There's a slight pause, but Shig opens the door. He's not expecting him to step inside, flinch, and then close the door swiftly behind him. 

"Are you okay?"

He's really not expecting it when just that is enough to push him over the edge and have his seams aching as blood beads up under them. He made himself stop crying years ago. He thought that all of his tears got burned off with most of his skin on the mountain. But Shigaraki asks him one question, and he immediately bursts into the closest thing he has to tears. 

"Shit, Dabi--" Shigaraki moves into his space, his hands reaching out towards him, and Dabi can't help it, he flinches back, sparks leaping up to his skin to defend himself. He knows that this is pathetic, that this isn't what Shigaraki thought he was signing up for when he brought him to this place. But he can't help it. That doesn't mean he's going to let the other kill him though. Shigaraki immediately takes a step back, holding up his hands, his smell starting to pulse out through the room. It's gentle and comforting, not at all the acrid angry smell that he'd been when he first tried to kill him, and that scent takes all of the fight back out of him as he sobs harder. "Can I touch you? I promise I'll be careful." 

It takes him a second. He’s never wanted anyone in his personal space before, but he feels like he needs Shigaraki right now. He manages to cool his skin down, and lets out such a pitiful sound, a watery whine that he's never heard himself make. And then he gives a tiny nod. Shigaraki moves over to him and chuffs comfortingly, reaching with one hand, a finger curled into his palm, to wipe away the blood from his cheeks, and the other wraps around his shoulders as he pulls him into a hug. He keeps him close and it... feels so good for someone to comfort him. No one has done that since Natsuo, and as much as he loves his brother, even in his memories he wasn't great at it. He was young, they were both young. He shouldn't have put that on him. 

It takes an age for him to stop crying, and when he does, Shigaraki just gets him to sit down on his bed, and Duster goes over to the bathroom and wets a washcloth before he joins him and starts to wipe the blood off of his cheeks. He does it so softly, but his seams are aching so badly from the wounds being freshly torn open. He waits until Dabi's face is all clean and he's just letting his shame saturate his body before he speaks again. 

"Sorry... hormones, I guess." 

"You don't have to apologize, Dabi. When your cycle is under control, you'll be back to normal and driving me absolutely insane again." Shigaraki sounds more patient than Dabi would have ever given him credit for before. "Your room reeked of distress before you started crying, do you want to tell me what's wrong? Did something happen during your check-up?" 

"... I'm not gaining weight well enough, and I've already been struggling to eat as much as the doctor is telling me to." He admits softly. "This is a waste of time. I'll get my shit and go--" 

"I think that's a bit premature, Dabi." Shigaraki tells him. "It's only been a week. If you're having a hard time with the meals, there are other things that we can try. What don't you like about them so far?" 

It takes him a minute, but Dabi makes himself talk, and Shigaraki surprises him again by sitting there the entire time and listening. 

///

The next morning Shigaraki comes into his room with his groceries on one arm. He splits Dabi's nutrient shake in half and makes him put half of it in a weird cup that he then puts in the freezer, and only has him drink the other as Shigaraki chops up an onion, a red pepper, chilis, and minces some garlic. He puts one of the pans on the little burner and moves to put the vegetables in, but Dabi steps in, not wanting to be completely babied and also--

"You can't cook them without putting something in the pan, they'll stick!" 

"It's a non-stick pan." 

"It's a shitty non-stick pan that looks like it's been hacked at with a machete for ten years. If you don't put something into it, they'll stick." 

"Fine, you can help." He almost sounds smug when he says it, and Dabi wonders what the play is, other than making his room smell like onions. "Put a couple of spoonfuls  of the Greek yogurt into a bowl with the garlic and season it with whatever you like on your eggs." 

"What the fuck are you making?" Dabi asks, in utter confusion as Shigaraki opens a can of tomatoes which he hasn't ever used in a breakfast dish before, and once the other vegetables are sweating, pours the tomatoes in as well. 

"It's a loose take on shakshuka, I used to have it when my teacher and I were in North Africa." He cooks them for a little while as Dabi goes ahead and adds the garlic to the yogurt and digs out a bottle of hot sauce that he got and puts in a couple of splashes of that along with some salt and pepper. When the liquid in the pan has reduced a lot, Shigaraki adds some seasonings to the pan, and then uses the spoon to make two wells in the vegetables, and cracks in two eggs. He covers the pan and takes out a small thing of pita bread. 

In a few minutes, once the eggs have set, he takes that pan off the hot plate and puts it on a trivet, so he can warm the bread in a second one. That doesn't take long, and when it's all finished, they sit with the big pan between them, a plate and bread in front of each of them, and Shigaraki puts the yogurt sauce on top. He uses the pita bread to break the yolk of his egg and scoops up some of the mixture. Dabi hesitates, but he's usually not a picky eater, and he has to eat anyway. So he follows his lead. 

It's definitely different from anything he's had before, but it doesn't taste bad, and after how miserable his meals have been for the past few weeks, he isn't about to complain. Not really. He is going to badger Duster though. "Needs salt." 

"Add salt then." 

"Why did you make me breakfast?" 

"I made us breakfast," Shigaraki tells him, "That's high in protein, and hopefully tastes better than your shake?" 

"...Yeah?" 

"Good. Eat." And that's all he says about it. 

Dabi decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth and they eat the shakshuka as Shigaraki changes the discussion to the files he was working on yesterday. That discussion goes on for so long, that he doesn't notice when they finished off the pan, or when the dishes and trash got cleared away into the bin and bag to be removed, but when they're done, Shigaraki is still talking as he gets out three small containers and a few more pouches from the grocery bags. 

He only gets derailed momentarily when Shigaraki asks, "Do you like sweet things, savory things, or salty things?" 

"What?" 

Shigaraki doesn't repeat the question. 

"Uh, I don't love sweets." He says after a second.

Shigaraki puts one of the pouches back in the grocery bag and steers their conversation right back to work. He keeps Dabi talking as he finishes with what he's doing, and when they've pretty fully debriefed, he suggests, 

"I'm going to go change, and then we can go to the training room together." 

Dabi glances at his phone, surprised that it's already after ten. "Oh, okay. Why are you joining me? I promise I'm not about to have another breakdown." He's not sure if that's true. He might. He doesn't know. 

"I need to work on rebuilding muscle too," Shigaraki tells him, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He pulls the fabric up and Dabi sees that the other man is nearly as thin as he is, though he doesn't look hollowed in the sick way that Dabi is now seeing in the shape of his body. But the vivid, angry raised circular scars that dot his side speak to exactly why Shigaraki isn't at his physical peak. He knows from the reports that he also got shot in the leg at UA. "I figured that it would be easier if we did it together. Is that alright?" 

He doesn't want to be babied. He doesn't need to be. The hardest things he's ever done, he's done alone. He can get through this too. But there is a little voice in the back of his head that says he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to be alone again. 

"Okay."

Shigaraki smiles at him, and it's a very tentative thing. It almost looks like it hurts, like he hasn't smiled for any reason in a long, long time, and his face kind of forgot how to do it. Dabi isn't sure he remembers either. 

An hour later when they're both catching their breath between sets, Shigaraki pulls the three little containers out of his bag and offers him his choice. One has cheese, nuts, jerky, and a few grapes in it, another has a homemade trail mix with a few different kinds of nuts, some pretzels, and dried fruit, and the last has some slices of celery, a little portable cup of peanut butter, and some raisins. Dabi picks the trail mix, and Shigaraki eats the celery, before they get back to work. 

When they go back to base, Shig lists out a few options for lunch and lets Dabi pick one, and they cook it together. He hasn't cooked with someone else since he was a child, and he feels small again cooking next to Shigaraki. But it's different than it was when he was young. He was... always anxious when he cooked back then, always waiting to ruin something and prove to Enji that he was right to cast him aside. With Shigaraki he doesn't have to worry about that, because Duster clearly does not know his way around a kitchen and breakfast was a fluke. But they make lunch. And they make another snack to have between that and dinner, and when dinner rolls around, they have that too. Before Duster leaves for the night, he has Dabi take the shake out of the tiny shitty freezer and Shigaraki makes him shake the cup for a minute, and he hears the stuff inside get thicker and thicker. When he opens it, Duster offers him some different ice cream toppings, from toasted peanuts to strawberry sauce. Dabi doesn't like sweets, but he puts the chocolate sauce and some peanuts on top and eats the second half of the shake like it's ice cream. It's still not great, but it is miles better than it was all the past week, and Dabi tries to remember how to smile too as he thanks him. 

///

The rest of the week follows this trend. The day after the first, he and Shigaraki sit down and they plan their meals and snacks for the rest of the week, sending whoever goes out to do the grocery shopping to do that, and then Duster kicks out all of the others so that Dabi can go down to the kitchen. He didn't realize how skittish he would be, but yeah, the thought of being open and exposed is making him want to ignite or pull his skin off. They cook and meal prep for the rest of the week, but by the time they're done, Dabi is letting out the most pathetic sounds that he's never heard from himself before, and he's shaking like a leaf. Shigaraki chuffs at him again and leaves everything downstairs a mess as he ushers him back up to his room, but even that doesn't feel safe anymore.

Shig makes him sit on the edge of his bed and pulls out his phone. A second later he goes to the door and pulls a shipping box through it that's nearly as tall as Toga. Dabi doesn't have his head on straight enough to even manage to ask what the fuck that is, and he doesn't end up needing too as Shigaraki drags it over. 

"Okay, here. Why don't you make a nest, Dabi?" 

Dabi knows that nesting is a thing that omegas are supposed to do on their heats, and when they're still sharing a bed with their pups. It's supposed to be a comfortable, secure place that helps make them feel safe. It's supposed to be instinctive, but as Shigaraki starts to take out the piles of pillows, blankets, and sheets, he feels lost. Shig waits for him to move and Dabi hunches in on himself, 

"I... don't know how." It's supposed to be easy, isn't it? But looking at all of this shit, he can't imagine how he's supposed to make the pile of it more comfortable than just curling up on his little bed and pulling a blanket over his head. 

Shigaraki pauses. "Okay. Neither do I." Dabi wonders how he can keep being made to feel even more inadequate than he was before. "But I've made a blanket fort before. Do you want to try that instead?" 

"...Okay." 

He and Shig move the two chairs that they've been using to work in front of the bed, about a meter from the edge of it and apart from each other. Then Shig looks around until he finds one of the specific packages and has Dabi tear it open and spread it out in the square of space that they've made for themselves. It's a pad of some sort that has been vacuum sealed and compressed in on itself, and when they leave it alone on the floor, it starts to re-inflate, and fill out the space. Shigaraki has him opening the other blankets while he gets the thin into a mattress cover that crinkles, the label from that proclaiming it will fit most nest pads and that it's waterproof so that, Dabi blushes, slick won't leak through and ruin it. They start to put down pillows and blankets together, and there are so many of them. Some say they're very soft, some say they retain smells better than others, some say they're waterproof, and a million other things that Dabi didn't know that omegas would want, or not want in their nests-- and it occurs to him then, that maybe Shigaraki doesn't know either. Maybe he just bought a little of everything hoping that one of them would work for Dabi. 

It takes them about half an hour to get all the blankets and pillows settled inside, the nest nearly twice the size as his bed, and at the end, they use the backs of the chairs as posts, holding up two sheets that they secure together with clothes pins over their head that they stretch in a canopy over the nest by tucking one side under the edge of his mattress and draping the rest. It casts the underside in shadow and Shig holds open one of the flaps of the fort. Dabi hesitates, but crawls inside, and watches the flap close. He listens to the other moving around the room for a few minutes and feels... so small as Shigaraki cleans up the mess from all of the packaging. He feels small, but... not bad as he stays in the fort, feeling the heat of his body seeping into the air around him. It's going to get very hot in here if he leaves it like this. 

Dabi kneels and reaches for the joint in the sheets, and he unclips a few of the clothes pins in the middle of the sheets, using them to open up a vent that also serves as a skylight, letting in a little more light and allowing the heat to vent a bit more. Then he's left sitting alone and the doubt starts to creep in again. 

"Can you either come in or get out? I feel like a dumbass sitting in a pile of blankets with you just staring at it." 

"Who said I was staring at you?" 

"Are you?" 

"...Are you sure you want me to come in?" 

Dabi pulls one of the pillows close, making himself as small as he feels. "...Yeah. Not going to jump on your knot. I'm not in heat yet, Duster."

Shigaraki moves around the room again for a second, and then he hears him kneel down. He opens one side of the sheet and hesitates another second before he climbs in with him. They move around a bit, getting to a point where they're both comfortable and Shig gives him his afternoon snack. Dabi isn't expecting for that to make a warm contentedness roll through him and banish away the stress that had come from being downstairs so thoroughly, but as soon as he has his trail mix with three jerky strips, he starts to... purr. 

He's never heard that sound out of his throat. He's never even heard an omega do it in person. His mother certainly wasn't purring at all in his memories. But he starts to make that sound. It's awful. It's rough and stuttery, like his body is trying to shake off a decade worth of rust to figure out how the fuck he's supposed to show that he's... happy. He doesn't know if he's been happy since he was five. Shigaraki lets the sound ride, just sitting with him, taking out his phone as Dabi eats his snack and clicking away on some mobile game.

They stay in the nest for the rest of the day. And when Shigaraki leaves for the night and Dabi has to contemplate taking down the sheet so he can get into his bed, he can't bring himself to do it, instead climbing right back into the secure pile of pillows. It's only when the other man is gone, that Dabi realizes the alpha left his scent all in his blankets. That even though Dabi's natural scent is all but gone because of his burns, that Shigaraki's has layered through the space. It's soft and warm, telling Dabi that he was content in this space too... that the alpha was pleased with what they put together, which makes him purr again. And beyond the emotion the can place in the scent, his nest just smells good with Shigaraki's smell like chai tea and the breeze on a stormy day. He didn't used to like the rain. It could fuck with his quirk, it made finding places to sleep absolutely miserable, and it invited sickness into his body. 

But it's hard to think of a time he's ever felt safer or more cozy as he curls up with Shigaraki's smell in his nose. 

///

Shigaraki makes the doctor move back his appointment for the end of the month, and when he goes back, he's up by two-point-three kilos. He looks like it too, able to see the way his stomach isn't so flat that it's practically concave, and his face doesn't look so sallow anymore, his cheeks rounding out a little again and making him... look a little more like his mom. Fluid retention, the doctor tells him, since he's also been exercising and trying to gain muscle and not just fat, he might lose the water weight again and start to see that weight increase much more gradually. He stops having to drink the nutrient shakes now that his diet is more balanced, as long as he replaces the calories that he loses if he removes that from his diet. 

He gets back to base and finds that Shig is restocking his fridge with snacks and bursts into tears again because of his stupid hormones, and from the relief. This is all even more ridiculous given that as soon as he is allowed into the field, he'll be racing towards the confrontation with his father and his inevitable end. But he's realizing now that if he hadn't ended up here, if Shigaraki had kicked him out the second that he found out he was too weak to be useful right now, he probably wouldn't have ever even made it to standing in front of his father, let alone able to fight him. Duster takes his outburst this time with more grace, immediately chuffing at him and pulling him close. He holds onto him for a few minutes as Dabi ruins his shirt, and then he makes Dabi sit so he can lose his jacket and shoes, before he ushers him into their nest. He climbs in too, bringing Dabi's water bottle, and letting him get the stupid amount of bloody tears out of his system. 

In about half an hour, once Dabi has stopped crying and he's gotten most of the gross blood off of his face, he manages, with a fair amount of embarrassment, "I'm on track for weight gain again." 

But Shigaraki doesn't mock him for having a meltdown over good news. He just smiles, and it looks better than it did at the start of the month because he's been doing it a lot more. "Good. As long as you have your heat, no matter what the doctor says, I'll let you come on the training camp mission if you feel up to it."

Dabi blinks, "What?" 

"You're underweight, and you need to keep getting better, but if you want to debut with the others, I'll let you. My leg is still recovering. I won't be able to run when we need to, so my teacher has decided that I have to stay here and monitor your progress over coms. Someone will need to stay out of combat and coordinate movements. You can make sure that no one can get near you, and I can have a nomu keep an eye as well. As long as you don't overdo it, as long as you think that you'll be ready for that, I'll let you go." 

He is very, very lucky that he doesn't start crying again. "Thanks, Duster." 

"Just keep this up. Go wash your face, I'll get lunch." 

Dabi does as he's told, and they resume their schedule for the rest of the day. When they're finished much later with all of their work and have eaten their meals for the day, they tend to stay in the nest for another hour or two, Shig playing his game and Dabi reads, sometimes. Sometimes he just listens to Shigaraki's soft breathing, and soaks in his scent.

He's sleepy and content when he mumbles, "You're a much better alpha than I thought you were when we met." 

He's not expecting the long stretch of silence that comes after those words and he wants to take them back. He didn't mean for them to be an insult, but they definitely sound like one in hindsight. 

"I don't think I was a very good one when we met." Shigaraki tells him. "My teacher doesn't have a designation because of his quirk. Neither does Kurogiri. I wasn't allowed to socialize with many other people. I don't think I knew how to act before then. But... being around you is helping." He says it like a confession, turning to look at him finally. "I know that you're still the same rude asshole that I hired-- against my will--" Dabi appreciates the jab. It makes the rest of his words feel like they aren't scraping his skin raw. "But beyond that, you're someone I am responsible for. Someone I need to look out for and make sure that you're taken care of. I'm starting to feel the same way about the others. Starting to think about what it would be like to not be alone-- to... have a pack." 

Dabi doesn't want to start crying again, so he tries sarcasm to push through the lump in his throat. "If you give me a nomu, I'll tell everyone that you're a perfect alpha." 

Shig laughs, a short, soft thing that makes his insides feel warmer. "And what do I have to do to make that something other than lip service?" 

"Be perfect." 

"I'll do my best." 

Dabi isn't sure which one of them moves first, which is probably strange because they move so slowly. But neither of them stop until their lips are pressed together. Dabi doesn't start to panic until the second after they're kissing, as he feels the cracked texture of Shigaraki's lips against his and he has to immediately wonder what his scars feel like under his skin, if this was stupid, if he should pull away quickly and make an excuse about his hormones acting up to get the other to leave him alone and not bring up this again. Then Shigaraki wraps a hand around the back of his neck and tilts his head to the side slightly, changing the angle and making it feel like their mouths were made to press together like this. Dabi's breath is caught in the back of his throat as he realizes that this is the first kiss he's ever had. He's pretty sure he shouldn't be kissing his boss who also tried to kill him once, but it's hard to focus on that when the movement of their lips makes his skin tingle softly. 

When they part, Dabi hopes the ache across his seams is still just from him bawling like a baby earlier, and that he's not turning red. But it gets a little more intense when he sees Shigaraki's eyes searching his face, a heaviness there that makes that tingling in him feel even more intense. 

He doesn't think he means to say, "Spend my heat with me?" As the first thing out of his mouth when he finds his voice. He doesn't know if it's really a good idea to go from his first kiss to asking for Shigaraki to be his first time when he's going to be out of his mind from his hormones. But Shigaraki doesn't balk at the suggestion, doesn't immediately shoot him down and makes his embarrassment any worse. 

"I'll stay with you and help you prepare. Ask me again when it's closer. After you've had a little more time to think about it, okay?" He pairs the words with pulling Dabi close again, his lips falling against the crown of his head this time instead of his own, and Dabi feels so warm, the words not stinging like rejection. 

"Okay." His hands curl into fists against the blankets so he resists the urge to tangle his fingers into his shirt and press his nose against his neck so he can drink in the warmth of his smell. Shigaraki stays with him for another hour, and that's enough for now.

///

They don't touch like that again, but Shigaraki does make him sit down with his laptop no matter how loudly Dabi protests as humiliation roars through him, and makes him actually look at heat supplies. Those range from more waterproof blankets and special smoothies like his nutrient ones to make sure that he stays hydrated and keeping his weight where it's supposed to be while he's on his heat, to toys. 

"I am not buying a dildo." 

"Technically the League of Villains is buying you a dildo." Shigaraki says without blinking. "And you're going to want it if you decide you want to spend your heat alone. Having a knot is going to be the only relief you'll get from everything, trust me. I had to spend a few of my ruts without anything to help and I was miserable and about two seconds away from decaying my own dick." He pauses, "You might also want to get some quirk canceling cuffs if your quirk is going to be so high. I don't want you to set your nest on fire." He just goes on like this is a perfectly normal, and not entirely humiliating thing to be talking about, "The doctor mentioned you might have cramping, didn't he? We should get you a heating pad too." 

Dabi throws up his hands and slinks down into the nest. "Fuck it. If you're not going to listen to me, then you can buy the heat supplies! You know more about it than I do!" He grabs one of the blankets, pretends it's not deliberately the one that Shig was laying on last night and burrows underneath it. 

"You're acting like a child." 

Dabi blows a raspberry at him to prove his point, flicking him off as he does. But Shigaraki closes the laptop and shifts their conversation to the much more comfortable topic of work, and he hopes that means this discussion is over. 

///

It's two days later, very deliberately when Shigaraki has his own appointment with the doctor, that Dabi hears the thump of a package being delivered outside of his door. He hesitates before he climbs out of his nest, feeling like even just the distance between his nest and the door is too exposed. Still. It might be groceries, so he has to get out of the nest and he makes himself go over to it, poking his head  out and seeing a large box. He pulls it into his room and closes the door swiftly, finding a knife to cut open the tape. He chitters happily when he pulls out another new blanket for his nest, but removing that lets him see some of the other boxes beneath it. On top is a heating pad in a long flat box and beside that is another that happily proclaims that it is an eight inch dildo with an insertable knot in 'glacier blue' that comes with an attachable suction cup or pillow strap base. 100% silicone and body safe. 

Dabi lets out a humiliated keen. 

///

It takes him about an hour, but he eventually forces himself to take everything out of the box and sees that Shig did get him plenty of the heat smoothies that he loads into the fridge until they're needed, along with some quirk suppression cuffs, and special cleaner for the dildo to get it sanitized and ready for use. He really doesn't want to use that, doesn't want to take the dildo out of the box, but he's so morbidly curious about what a knot even looks like, given he hasn't ever even seen one before, that he can't help opening up the packaging. The garish box makes way for bubble plastic and a silky black bag to put the toy inside after use, and an entire booklet of warning and safety tips. He is genuinely worried he's going to need those quirk cuffs if he keeps getting any more overheated from his embarrassment, but he proceeds anyway and opens up the second layer of packaging and gets his eyes on the toy. 

Eight inches is a lot bigger than he thought it was. Dabi lets out another miserable keen. The dildo looks very realistic-- other than the fact it is the neon blue of the packaging, of his quirk, but the head looks like a real cock, and the shaft is detailed with thick winding veins that go down to the last three inches of the toy and then abruptly swells with two bulbous shapes on either side, changing the shape drastically from his own cock and making him a little dizzy. How the fuck is he supposed to get this inside of him? Dabi would have a better chance of shoving an orange up his ass. He is still staring at the thing, completely intimidated, before he hears Duster's soft knock before he lets himself in, the same way he has been for weeks now. 

Dabi looks up at him, not knowing at all what his expression might be saying, but at least Shigaraki immediately loses any words as well as he sees the neon toy in his hand as the door shuts softly behind him. 

"You're a fucking pervert!" He throws the dildo at the other and then darts down into his nest, grabbing one of the pillows that is saturated with Shigaraki's scent and pulling it close to his chest, like that can comfort him. Duster's smell is comforting, even if he has half a mind to kill him for this humiliation. He doesn't hear the thunk of the toy hitting the other or the floor which means that it's probably dust now if he caught it, and Dabi doesn't know if he's glad to be rid of it, or if he really shouldn't have done that. Shigaraki is trying to help take care of him. He's not supposed to be an ungrateful brat about that. 

But Duster moves towards his nest and he sees his shadow as it falls across the front flap of the entryway. "Why are you upset, firefly?" Shig's voice is gentle and patient and the pet name makes Dabi's cheeks feel even warmer. 

"I don't want heat toys." 

"Can you explain why not?"

It's so hard to try and think straight through the high whine of panic that feels like it's going through his head, but after a minute Dabi forces himself to start talking.

"I don't want to have to use those. I don't want to be helpless for a week, in pain, and vulnerable. I don't want to be out of control again. I-- I don't want to get pregnant, I don't want to be claimed, I don't want someone to hurt me like-- like my mom." He can taste smoke on the back of his tongue, hates how weak he already sounds, "I don't want to be an omega." 

Shigaraki is quiet for a long moment as he processes Dabi's latest fucking breakdown, but when he does start to speak, he lets out a soft sigh first. "Dabi, you know that you can't change that." 

"Fuck you." He also knows he's being over-emotional, but he doesn't actually want to hear that right now. 

"You can't, firefly. This is something you're going to have to deal with for the rest of your life. But you won't be in pain forever," he keeps his tone low, though that doesn't impart as much gentleness as Dabi might have expected. "It will only be as your glands wake up for the first time. You won't be helpless. The cuffs I got you can be taken off whenever you want to, and they can't be locked. If anyone tries to hurt you, no matter how deeply you're in your heat, you'll be able to set them on fire, Dabi. Your heat is going to make you extremely, extremely horny, but it's not like what people say about being 'out of control'." Shig promises. "You won't completely forget where you are or get so mentally fatigued you lose your sense of self-- not unless you're completely dehydrated, and that's not going to happen because you're going to have your full fridge of smoothies to drink while you're in heat. The doctor told you that you can't get pregnant, and if you're still scared about it, a silicone toy won't be able to do that for you anyway, Dabi." 

There's a small pause and then he goes on, "I don't know what happened with your mother," and if there is a verbal signpost for 'and I don't want to touch that with a ten foot pole', Shigaraki is waving it, "But as long as you're here, you are not going to be claimed by anyone unless you change your mind and decide you want that. You're going to have your heat in here, in your nice, safe room, with the locks on your door, and everything you need so that you don't have to worry about anything but making yourself feel good. By the time you're finished, you're going to feel so good, and I'm going to let you use Kurogiri as your personal errand boy and let you send him off to get you anything you want as you recover. You won't have to see anyone until you're ready to be a pain in everyone else's ass again-- and especially mine." 

Dabi doesn't say anything for a long moment after he stops speaking, but when he does, he's still got his face half-buried in the pillow. "You're a bastard." 

"Why?" 

"You just called me irrational for like five minutes straight instead of being even vaguely sympathetic, and you completely shot me down while doing it like I wouldn't notice." 

Shigaraki snorts and seems to think his petulance means that he's not likely to get kicked out again, and he pulls half of the sheet aside so that he can start to crawl into the nest to join him. "I can be sympathetic if you want me to be, but you know you're being irrational." Dabi's face goes hot again when he sees that Shig is holding the dildo. "I wasn't shooting you down, firefly. I'll stay and help if you want me to, but I want you to have explored all of your options first. I don't want you to ask me and regret it." He didn't dust it by accident, and as he crawls up to him, Dabi hides his face in the pillow to block him and it from his sight. 

"And you bought me a dildo that I won't ever be able to use!" He hears the toy thump into the blankets and Shig chuckles softly before he's carefully catching Dabi's wrists. He pulls a bit, but Dabi holds the pillow tighter. He'll smother himself with it if it means that he won't have to look at him right now.

When he won't let up with the pillow, Shig gives up on it, and just presses a kiss to the top of his head instead. "Why not, Dabi? Even if we do spend your heat together, if my rut doesn't trigger during it, you'll still need something inside when I can't give it to you." 

Dabi didn't really think of that, but he isn't about to say that. Besides, it doesn't address his biggest gripe about the toy, namely, "It's huge! Knot aside, eight inches of anything is not going inside of me!" 

He's not expecting for his outburst to be met with a sudden shift in Shigaraki's scent. Something that he's never smelled off of the other man before and that surprises him so much that he immediately forgets his stubbornness and looks up to see Shigaraki's face. His eyes are a little wide, his mouth parted in slight surprise, and embarrassment is spilling from his pores. 

Dabi's brain comes to a screeching stop and neither of them say anything for a handful of agonizing seconds. 

"Wh-- D-Did you get that because--?" Dabi's eyes flick down, but at this angle, he can't really get his eyes on Duster's crotch. "No. No. You wear skinny jeans all the time. You couldn't possibly--" 

"I thought," And Duster's voice is a little higher, a little more breathless, "that would be a good warm-up. But we can get you something smaller if you'd prefer." 

"'Warm-up'?!" 

///

It is devastating in such a particular way to learn that Shigaraki apparently has a monster cock that Dabi is going to have such a hard time of dealing with that the other man thought he would need something to practice on even when his body was going to be absolutely gushing for it, but they don't actually linger on it for too much longer that night. They eat, and they talk about other distracting things, and pretend that they aren't both embarrassed about the way they are fumbling towards... sleeping together. 

But Shigaraki has decided that embarrassment is the enemy by the next night, rather than the natural next step in this whole situation, and comes to Dabi's room with determination, a bottle of whiskey and a six pack of soju, and his laptop, not even blinking when he asks, "How much sex ed have you had?" 

Dabi almost immediately overheats from the instantaneous spike of adrenaline. 

Shig won't be dissuaded though, and once they've had dinner and are settled into their nest, he queues up the first video that he's downloaded for them to watch. 

Dabi isn't expecting the video to be almost presented like a nature documentary, though it's all animations with a soothing female voice narrating. It starts at the very beginning, stating that all humans start as betas in the womb, but that just like their primary sexes, another set of genes gets activated resulting in alphas and omegas, and if those genes aren't activated, then betas are born. Alphas and omegas are both recessive traits that have a complex presentation that crosses over a couple of different gene markers like eye color and hair do, which can result in them being much less common than betas, who don't have any of those genes to turn on or off. That's also why it's so rare for alphas and omegas to be born from two betas having pups unless they have an alpha or omega ancestor. 

The video goes on from there, describing that the early markers for their designations are in their DNA from early in their development, but that they can't be judged by anything but medical testing from when they're born until they hit puberty, despite common superstitions. During puberty, the genes turn on again as the pituitary gland activates the pup's primary puberty. When that activates for male alphas, it means they develop their ability to knot, while female alphas will find what appeared to be their clitorus lengthening, which is actually their penis pushing out of their body. Their testes stay internal, which can make it harder for them to produce healthy sperm, but they also should, unless there's a medical problem, have a working uterus as well which allows them two avenues for their fertility. That's interesting, if nothing else, but when the section about omegas starts to play, he does his best to not sit up straighter as he listens. 

Female omegas have larger glands along their vagina than a beta or alpha female that help them with the extreme production of slick, as well as a secondary set of muscles inside of their vaginal opening that allow them to 'lock' a knot inside, helping to ensure a higher chance of impregnation within a single mating session. Male omegas don't have a typical vaginal structure, they have something like a cloaca, with the slick glands in their anus along with the additional muscles for locking in a knot. But when those glands start to swell to produce slick, some weird skin flap that the video compares to the thing that closes the esophagus and trachea when eating, closes off the actual rectum, ensuring waste can't be pushed into their vaginal canal when they're being mated. 

The video goes on from there, explaining how when an alpha goes into rut, they will grow more sensitive to smells, more restless, and more aggressive with other alphas, or anyone who seems like a threat to the idea of them getting a mate. Omegas, on the other hand, start to have anxiety about their environment, and will instinctively seek out comfort, food, and the companionship of those they trust, to help take care of them when they're in their heat. It's apparently not uncommon for omegas to gather for their heats at times, creating a large group nest if they don't have mates to take care of them, and then spending their cycles together, taking care of one another, male omegas even producing sterile heat fluid instead of semen. A good heat, one where the omega has the supplies they need, if they've been eating, staying healthy, and feel safe, won't be the agony that Dabi has thought of it all of his life. His mom wasn't safe at all, she definitely wasn't healthy when she was so stressed out of her mind he remembers her leaving frost on everything that she touched. She had a bad mate. Her heats saturated their house with the scent of her pain and misery-- though that was under Enji's possessiveness and determination. 

The video finishes, and Shig finally cracks open the bottle of whisky, having refused to let him start drinking until he watched the video. 

"Questions?" He asks, seeming to still refuse to be bothered as Dabi happily takes the drink and doesn't bother to sip at it and enjoy the flavor, just wanting the burn of something that isn't his blush. 

But he doesn't get a refill until he's managed to mumble, "Not really about the... biological stuff. That was... pretty thorough." 

"So what about the non-biological stuff?" 

Dabi is definitely blushing hot enough that it's probably visible even through his scars. "I don't know. I guess what it's actually like?" When it's not awful, "What's your rut like? Have you been with an omega on it before?" He wouldn't have had the balls to ask that a month ago, but Shigaraki is the one insisting they do this whole song and dance instead of just letting Dabi get overwhelmed when his heat triggers and go from there. 

"I am territorial, I get more irritable, the itching under my skin gets," he winces slightly, "really bad until my cycle actually starts. The first few times, I didn't have anyone around, and I didn't have any toys, and I felt like I was going to stroke myself raw. Later on I got a couple of things that made it easier for me to deal with in the periods of time when I wasn't consumed with my lust." He hesitates for a second, "I have had two of my ruts with an omega." 

Dabi waits, but more details don't seem to be forthcoming. "C'mon, Duster, you can't leave me hanging. Was omega pussy not all that it was chalked up to be?" Maybe that's why he's being so dodgy about this. Maybe he doesn't want to spend Dabi's heat with him. Maybe he doesn't... want him.

"She was fine. During our cycles, I would say she was exactly what I needed, but I didn't know her very well, and I was glad to be rid of her when our cycles were over. I only shared my cycle with her because I needed to lower the scent of my hormones so that I would be able to make my debut at UA and have the scent patches actually work."

"Oh." Dabi hasn't ever heard of an alpha or beta using scent patches. Normally omega use those so that they can pass as betas, because omegas are still often thought of as nothing more than baby making devices. With the patches, they can pass as betas. "Okay, sorry for pushing, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's fine, Dabi. It's just not something I can give you a lot of details about. Sex, especially on my cycle, is good. I enjoyed it, she seemed to as well, but it really wasn't that different from sex in general, it was just a lot more frequent and longer than usual. Whatever you're used to, it will be like that, just heightened." He hesitates, "You were upset about the dildo," Dabi blushes and pours himself a new glass. "Have you... never tried anal before?"

Dabi is glad he's pouring because it means that he doesn't have to look up when he admits, "Never tried... anything before, Duster. Think my hormones were too fucked up to let me have a sex drive." He's sure he's going to burn his ears the rest of the way off from how hot they are, "Never even touched myself before."

He doesn't know if he was really expecting mockery. Shig has been really, really good about not mocking him about any of his inexperience and not asking about why he's so fucked up. But he doesn’t think he was expecting the other's natural spicy scent to go so much hotter and roll out through the air in their nest and send a different kind of warmth under his skin. Dabi nearly fumbles the bottle as he looks up and finds red eyes boring into him.

It takes him a second to find his tongue and croak out, "Oh my fucking god, you are such a pervert."

Shig has the good grace to look a little chastised, trying to reign in the way Dabi's admission spiked his arousal so completely. "It's just... very flattering that you would ask me to be your first."

"Yeah, super flattering, so flattering that you finally smell excited about getting to stick your enormous dick in my ass. I can't believe that you have a virginity fetish. You're a weird reclusive gamer. You're supposed to be the virgin!" Dabi huffs.

"Is that so?" Duster doesn't bother to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"Yes." He refuses to look at him, actually taking his second drink a bit more slowly, trying to pretend he doesn't feel a little dizzy from how good he smelled when he was getting hot, and like that smell isn't sitting in their nest all around them. He doesn't want to embarrass himself anymore.

"Are you just going to pout for the rest of the night, firefly?"

Dabi doesn't answer, obstinance the only path forward for his dignity.

"...Do you want to watch some other... unconventionally educational videos about shared cycles?"

"What the fuck does 'unconventionally educational' mean, Shigaraki?" Dabi asks. The other doesn't offer up an answer immediately and Dabi puts the pieces together, "Porn?! Are you asking me if I want to watch porn with you?"

"You asked me to spend your first heat with you and what it would be like. I'm not saying that all porn is realistic, but porn with actual actors on their cycles is much more realistic than anything else. Because instincts are so high, they can't have a crew on set, they just hunker down, turn on the lights and cameras, and do their thing for their cycles, and then it gets cut down to the hottest parts in the editing room. But that might help you get a better idea of what it looks like from an omega's perspective when it happens." 

"You just have an answer for fucking everything, don't you?" 

"If I didn't try, you wouldn't want to follow me , would you?" 

Dabi wants to light him on fire. But that would mean burning up their nest that is so cozy and smells so good with the lingering threads of Shigaraki's arousal in it. So Dabi drinks his second glass, and then curls up more snuggly in the pillows and blankets. "Fine." 

He barely keeps himself from giving Shigaraki so much shit when he doesn't have to go searching up this kind of content, instead just navigating over to his saved files. 

///

They watch three videos. The first is with a male alpha and female omega, the second with a female alpha and male omega, and the last with a male alpha and male omega. Each of the videos has a different porn premise attached to it that Dabi is extremely embarrassed over, the first being a repair person who wanders into the house because the omega hit her cycle too fast to cancel, and she all but throws herself at him. She seems to have a very, very good time though. The second is a femdom playing with her sub, with leather, latex, whips, and chains all in play in addition to their cycles. And the final one is about an omega who has gotten in too deep with his loan shark and is offering up his cycle in exchange for a clean slate. Dabi learns two things from these videos: One, Shigaraki is absolutely a massive kinky pervert whose brain is totally rotted from porn because he doesn't even smell hot while they're watching these together. And two, that... it will be different than he thought it would be. Because the actors remember that they're actors even when they're in their cycles. Their movements get a little sloppy, the cameras having a hard time finding good angles sometimes because they forget that they don't have a crew or director to move the cameras, but they never forget the scenario when they're spouting off their dirty talk. 

Seeing that he won't be completely gone or catatonic the way his mother had always seemed before she went into rut and after she came out of it, means that watching all of these was worth it in the end. It's a relief that he doesn't really even have words for when they finish. He'll still be him in his heat. Duster will still be himself if he goes on his rut too. They're still not finished with the last video, but Dabi uncurls himself from the nest and reaches for Tomura's sleeve. 

Shig blinks, turning to him immediately, "Is it too much, firefly? 

He shakes his head weakly, feeling his embarrassment make his temperature rise again. He pulls on his sleeve a little more insistently and Shig gets the picture, turning his body more towards him, and Dabi leans in. Duster wraps his hand around the back of his neck again, touch always so light and careful, and pulls him in for the kiss he wanted. 

The kisses they shared before were soft and slow, and this one is definitely both of those things, but it's different this time. Because this time, there is a spark that is coursing beneath it. Something that makes Dabi's skin tingle before he's even started to open his mouth for it. And when Tomura's tongue slips inside, Dabi can't help it. He loses control of his scent the way Shig had earlier, and even though his glands are extremely damaged across his neck and wrists, he's only wearing thin sleep pants, and the faint sugary smell of his arousal starts to fill the space between them. He's about to pull away and make some kind of excuse, he doesn't even know why he would do that when they are... something. Definitely having serious conversations about fucking as soon as his heat hits at the very least. Being aroused with him shouldn't embarrass him, and when Tomura's scent starts to get hotter in response, Dabi's relief is immeasurable. 

Tomura knows what he's doing, so he takes charge of the kiss as the sound of the couple fucking spills through the speakers. He licks inside of Dabi's mouth and shows him how that can feel good. He encourages him to tilt his head, to move his lips, to use his own tongue, nervous as he tries to mimic the movements. He doesn't know if he's doing well or if his inexperience is what's making this hotter for Tomura, but he stays smelling warm with his arousal as he kisses Dabi again and again until it's Dabi pulling back with a soft gasp before his teeth are clenching down to keep any other sound out of his mouth. 

There's a deep, unfamiliar ache that is starting in his pelvis and it sours his scent with pain. 

Shig pauses and looks at him, confused. "Are you alright, baby?" 

"I-- I think," he swallows his pride. They were barely making out. "I think my glands are trying to work." 

Tomura blinks, and then his whole expression brightens. "That's good, firefly." 

"Tell that to my fucking nerve endings." 

Tomura has the gall to laugh, but then he moves to press another kiss to his forehead and pause the video. "I'll get you some pain medicine and your heating pad. If it goes away, then you're not in pre-heat yet." 

"And if I am?" 

"Then I'll stay with you, if that's still what you want, Dabi." 

He makes himself meet his eyes. "Okay." It's easier to say that than so bluntly admit to him that's all that he wants. Shigaraki has been with him through every step of him trying to get healthy. He's... the only person Dabi has ever trusted like this. He knows that he'll take care of him and make sure that he feels good. He believes him when he says that he'll be a perfect alpha for him just to prove that he's worthy of everything Dabi has chosen to trust him with. 

And he thinks the other knows him well enough to infer all of that from the simple answer. It earns him another kiss against his forehead and then Shig confiscates the alcohol and gets out of their nest. When he comes back, it's with one of his water bottles from the fridge, the heating pad, and some medicine, and he stays with Dabi as the pad heats and medicine kicks in. 

The ache goes away after about half an hour, but Shig stays for at least a little longer than that, with Dabi curled up against his side, his arm wrapped around him, and tracing the patterns of his scars over his shoulder. He must stay for a little while because he lingers long enough that Dabi falls asleep and can't remember being moved. 

///

Dabi wakes up with sweat soaking his skin, and the pain from the night before so, so much more intense than it was then. Intense enough that Dabi lets out a pitiful whimper and immediately fumbles to turn on the heating pad again, even though it's already sweltering in the enclosed canopy of their nest. Their nest. His and his alpha's. Dabi whines softly, looking around. Tomura isn't here. He doesn't usually stay the night, he knows that, knows that he always comes to see him early in the morning, but he wants him now. 

Okay, well, if he has to wait for him, he can at least fix their nest. Dabi liked being closed inside of the fort, but it's far, far too hot for that now, and the blankets and pillows are a mess. He takes down the overhead sheet, opening up the nest to the cool air of the rest of the room, and then he starts to shift things around. He lays out the waterproof blankets just over the round futon that makes up the base of the nest, to keep it clean, and then he starts to push the pillows around, building up an edge around each part of the bed until there is a rim around the entire thing that makes it feel secure. Dabi feels a tickle in his throat and tries to cough it away, but it persists, and as he lets out the next slow breath, his whole chest starts to hum softly. It takes him a second to realize that despite the discomfort in his pelvis, he's purring as he puts all of the super soft downy blankets Tomura got for him back into the nest. The blankets smell like them too, and as much as Dabi just wants to curl up in the mound with his face in those, he knows that he has to keep being good if he wants to retain permission to go out on the League's debut. 

So Dabi crawls over to the minifridge, really not trusting his legs to not shake badly if he were to try and walk there instead. He doesn't feel hungry, he's just hot, hurting, and anxious. Doesn't matter. He has to be good and make sure he eats something. He usually waits to have breakfast with Tomura, but he wants his alpha to make him feel better, and he will always prioritize making sure that his physical needs are met first. So Dabi takes one of the heat smoothies, something that he can have cold, and something he won't have to worry about having to prepare in any way. Tomura got him the fruity kind instead of the artificially sweet ones and Dabi likes it a lot more than his nutrient shakes. He drinks it quickly, liking the way the chill settles in his stomach, and then refilling his water bottle from the little pitcher in the fridge before he gets the pain meds from the night before and crawls back over to his nest. He turns on the heating pad even though he's already a little too warm, and takes the pills. It's with some hesitation, but he digs out the quirk cuffs from the 'heat box' and puts those on, allowing his temperature to lower enough he doesn't think he'll bake himself alive curling up tight in the blankets with the heating pad until Tomura comes in.

He pulls the blanket that the other man had been laying on the night before right up to his nose. His smell is so good. All that hot spice of an alpha, but the calm pulse of rain going over it all. It's so... reassuring. Tomura has made himself kinder, softer, more responsible for him. He's been spending every day with him despite all of his own work just to make sure that he's alright. He's embarrassed him a lot, but all because he wants him to feel better. Because he... believes he's worth the time. He didn't just throw him away when he needed that help to be everything that he thought he would be when he hired him. He cares about him. Dabi doesn't know if he's had someone who has done that since he was a child. 

It takes another half an hour before Shig knocks on his door and steps inside, and as soon as he does, Dabi is squirming because the discomfort and anxiety switch abruptly to a sharper pain and an overwhelming pulse of heat that goes through his body and tells him that yeah, this really is happening. It's not just a little pang like the night before. He's going into his heat. 

Not even twenty-four hours ago, that prospect terrified him. Now Dabi starts to purr loudly as soon as Tomura takes a step into the room. The pain is more intense, but that's okay because it means his body is doing its best to try and get itself ready to help make both he and his alpha feel good. 

"Tomura," he whines, trying to push himself up in the nest, wanting to bring him closer as fast as possible, even if that means trying to put weight on his shaky legs. 

"Oh, firefly, don't move--" He throws the lock shut and slips out of his shoes at the door, before crossing the room and immediately kneeling down at the edge of the nest. But he doesn't come into it right away. 

"Duster," he sounds more petulant this time, reaching for him again. 

"I know," he says placatingly, "but are you sure--" 

"Get in here and show me how this is supposed to feel good or I'm going to set you on fire!" 

Tomura laughs at him again and reaches into his back pocket, taking out a set of leather gloves with the index finger cut out of them, and slips those on before he climbs into the nest with him. "Okay, baby boy, don't be cranky." He pulses out the smell of his contentment, and Dabi whimpers as that pain gets a little bit sharper and makes him squirm as his legs press together instinctively. That hurts, but the rest of his body is starting to feel tingly, and the smell of Tomura's happiness makes him a little light-headed. He wants his alpha happy. It means that he did a good job remaking their nest. And Tomura doesn't just stop by reassuring him with his scent, he also gathers Dabi close and nuzzles along his shoulder, dragging his nose up the side of Dabi's neck as he holds him, and murmurs, "You did such a good job getting everything ready, Dabi. I promise I'm going to take care of you just as well." He rubs his scent into Dabi's skin and all of the sudden that pain inside of him snaps. 

Dabi lets out an animal keen that he didn't even know he could make as the pain disappears and instead his system is absolutely flooded with the arousal that he thought he should be expecting as an omega in heat. He feels his slick pulse hot down his legs and soak through his pajama bottoms immediately as his cock hardens to the point of aching in a matter of seconds. Holy fucking shit. Dabi doesn't think he's ever felt arousal like this-- no, he's positive that he hasn't. That this is the most intense form of need that has ever been pushed through his body. That he wants to be touched right now, more than he'd even wanted to stop burning in the moments before he'd died. Dabi tangles his hands in Shig's hair, feeling how soft and thick it is, and pulls his face up from his neck so that he can crash their mouths together. 

Tomura's scent is going thicker in the air, even as he lets out another breath of laughter against his lips, which is why Dabi doesn't bite him hard enough to draw blood as he tries to get his tongue into his mouth the way it was last night. His alpha chuffs at him softly, and his hands, made gentle to protect him, are wrapped around his body, pulling him closer even though Dabi is making such a gross mess as the slick smears all over his skin. Dabi saw how much those other omega's could produce, he knew that people called omega's on their heats a 'slip 'n slide', but he had still half thought that it was a figure of speech. He understands just how sincere those things were now as he feels his pajama bottoms clinging to his legs as every drag of Tomura's tongue behind his teeth has a fresh bit of his slick leaking out of his hole with no signs of stopping. Dabi is pretty sure he won't stop until Tomura has his knot sunk deep inside of him and he's full of his cum. 

He doesn't think that last night he was thinking about how good his alpha tastes, but underneath the flavor of his toothpaste, he can find traces of his scent lingering on his tongue, and Dabi would give up breathing entirely if he could just keep licking out that flavor from his mouth. Dabi lets out a moan loudly enough he's a little worried about how thick the walls are as Tomura makes him part, but consoles him by licking across the seam of his chin and nipping at his jawline like his scars aren't even there. Dabi is pretty sure he should be bitching at the other for being gross, but instead the thought of being tasted, of being claimed by the alpha is making him even harder. It's a surprise to him when he realizes that his legs aren't clenched tight together anymore to try to smother the pain of his glands, and instead he's opened them up. That he's wrapped them around Tomura's thigh so that he can rub himself against his leg, his cock aching and leaking almost as badly as his hole as he tries his best to get the other to keep making him feel good. 

Tomura lets out a growl that he's never heard before, a sound so deep and low that it vibrates through Dabi's body and leaves him gasping out another moan. "That's it, baby boy," his voice rumbles against his skin as he noses at his neck, licking at the place where his scent gland should be burned away and making Dabi moan again. He is pretty sure he didn't want to be claimed, but when Tomura gives a gentle nibble against that place, Dabi gets dizzy from how good that it feels. Shig's hands wrap around his hips and he coaxes Dabi's hips into moving against his leg. "I want you to feel so good, firefly. Show me what you like." 

Dabi feels dizzy from how thickly their smells are swirling around the air between them and he's pretty sure that he should just push down his pants so that he can fist his hand around his cock, but he doesn't want to stop clinging to Tomura. Like if he lets go of him, the alpha might abandon him even though he's being swaddled in the reassuring scent of his arousal. But it feels so good to rub himself against Shigaraki's thigh. He's more solidly muscular underneath his jeans, and the thick denim is giving him a tantalizing texture even through his pajama bottoms. He ruts his hips up against his leg again and moans, dropping his head back against the pillows. Tomura chuffs with his approval, leaning over him and grinding his thigh up between Dabi's legs more deliberately, putting more of that wonderful friction against his body. 

"That's it, beautiful. You can have anything that you want. Just let me make your body feel good." 

He's pretty sure that if he weren't plunging deeper and deeper into his heat, he might have protested. He might have been embarrassed over how much of an absolute mess he already is, but it's hard to care about anything else than how good his body is feeling and how nice it is that his alpha is being so sweet and gentle with him. Tomura presses his neck to Dabi's as he lets him move his hips more and more frantically against his leg. The touch of their skin there bleeds out across their entire nest and somehow sparks pleasure behind his eyes like a firework nearly as bright as the actual friction that he's getting against his dick. The way that their scents tangle makes the whole room smell like completeness. He's not alone. He's not hurting. He's with his alpha, and he's going to be safe, cared for, he's going to get to feel good for the first time in his life, and he doesn't have to be scared. He's not going to be abandoned. 

Those thoughts, possibly more than anything else, are what allow Dabi to let go of the last lingering threads of stress in his body and let him sink deeper into the hazy warmth of his heat. He ruts his hips harder and faster, until even just one more little twitch is enough for him to feel his orgasm washing through him for the first time in his life. It isn't like the way that he expected it to be. He thinks that he expected him to feel like he was going to ignite again, and maybe he would have if he didn't have the suppression cuffs tight around his wrists, but instead what he notes is that the pressure growing along his length makes his balls draw up tight to his base like if he were cold, so tense and feeling so full that he's not surprised that he can't keep it all inside. And at the moment of release, his entire cock feels like it's pulsing the sharpest pleasure he's ever felt along each inch of him. It makes the muscles of his thighs shake and fall slack as he feels the forceful ejaculation spill all over the front of his pajama bottoms in ropes that almost ache as he feels each spurt of his cum release from his body. Dabi is breathless from how good it feels, and it takes him a long moment to realize that he's moaning so loudly that his voice cracks as the sound rattles out of his throat. 

"Fuck, that's it, Dabi. You're so cute, little omega," his tone is so teasing, but he can't even protest it when being called that has him letting out a little chirpy noise of bliss. He's the omega. He's the one who's being cute. No one has ever called him cute before. No one has ever helped his body feel good like this before. "And you smell so good." Dabi isn't sure that he's been paying attention to anything but how good Tomura smells, but he does try to find his own scent in the tangled mix of them. He normally doesn't think that he smells like anything other than smoke and burning, but now he can smell himself. There is an overwhelming sweetness coming off of his skin, something that reminds him of caramel, though there is still a little tang of burning in it. The edge of his fire that darkens the smell with a touch of his smoke. He doesn't think it smells that good, but he doesn't really like sweets anyway. "Let me get you out of those wet clothes, baby." 

Dabi is reluctant for it, only because it means that he, apparently, has to let go of Tomura. But his alpha makes it an easier thing to do by making sure he's laying against the nice warm nest, and presses kisses to his lips and across his face, letting out his own deeper, satisfied purr as he does it. Tomura leans back and pulls away his own shirt, his skin, Dabi notices distantly, starting to get warm for the first time against his own. His body is always so cool to the touch, but he likes this a lot. It makes it feel like he's actually seeping into the other's skin. Then he reaches for Dabi's soaked pajama bottoms and Dabi trembles as he makes his soupy muscles work to lift his hips enough for Tomura to pull the fabric off of his legs. 

When he's naked, Dabi is still feeling off-balance, but he tries to push himself up so that he can roll over. Tomura pauses him with his hand against his chest, eyes roaming over Dabi's body like he wants to eat him alive. "Where are you going, firefly? Do you want to stop?" 

Dabi whimpers. He doesn't want that at all. Not when his cock is still just as hard as it was before his entire length was dripping with his cum. His insides feel like they're coiling tighter and tighter, desperately searching for a knot to hold on to. "No, alpha," he doesn't think that's what he meant to call Tomura, but the word slips off his tongue before he can stop it. It doesn't seem like it's a bad thing though. The other man gives another one of those low chuffs of approval and Dabi swallows whatever's left of his pride and keeps going. "...I was going to present," he feels his cheeks go a little hotter. "The way all of the omegas in the... videos did." 

"Oh, precious," Tomura leans in and nuzzles their noses together before peppering his hot face with kisses. "You don't have to do that unless you want to. I would be perfectly happy for you to stay just like this so that I can see how cute your face is when I have you cumming on my knot." 

Dabi lets out a whine that is nothing but humiliation as that has his hole clenching needily and sending a fresh pulse of slick down his thighs. "Need it, Tomura. I-It hurts." He thought he was supposed to stop hurting once he got so hot, but he feels miserable as he waits to get more. 

"I'm sorry, firefly, I'll help you feel better." He promises, his eyes dragging down his body. His hands follow the path of his eyes, tracing over his shoulders, down his chest and rubbing his thumbs over his nipples. The feeling of the soft leather against his skin makes him moan again. His nipples are already more sensitive from his piercings, but the way that they feel now is far more sensitive than they ever have been before, and Dabi finds himself moaning and arching into each touch. Tomura starts to let out a continuous, deep purr as he touches him, hands moving away far too soon so that he can bring them down along Dabi's stomach, one dipping between his legs, and one covered finger, and one uncovered, running up his aching cock, and smearing through his cum. "Never been touched before, but you couldn't help decorating your pretty cock just like the rest of you, could you, baby boy?" 

Dabi can't form a coherent sentence to answer him, he's too busy spreading his legs even wider and scratching his nails up Shigaraki's back. Tomura wraps his hand around his cock and gives him a stroke from root to tip, his length already so soaked that his glove glides across his skin and sends fresh pleasure going through his body. His hand doesn't stay there either though, and Dabi is about to beg for it back, before he sees that Tomura's eyes are starting to glow from how high his instincts are going. And then his hand is moving down, knuckles rubbing against his balls, and then pushing back-- 

He can't believe that just having Tomura's fingers rubbing against his hole can feel almost as good as it did to ride his thigh. "Alpha!" 

It gets him another growl, Shig's scent going hot and him moving his hand to the back of Dabi's thigh, holding his legs open as wide as they can go, and then grinding his still clothed cock against his hole. Just that pressure there has Dabi mewling, his breath hitching in his throat. "You were so nervous before, little one." Tomura's voice sounds deeper, richer in some way that Dabi doesn't quite understand, but that makes his own instincts feel like they're about to go insane. He wants to have him, wants to have more, but he doesn't know how to get it. "Are you ready to feel what your body was made for now?" 

Yes, yes, that's exactly what he wants. "Please, alpha," he pulls at Shig's shoulders, trying to get him to lean in again. He'd give him his mouth, his throat, every inch of his body if he brings him through this the way he promised to. 

Tomura kisses him again, but Dabi is sure he's doing it mostly to distract him from immediately protesting when his hips move away from his own again. But the kiss is good, beyond that, because his alpha's fangs have dropped, and Dabi realizes what that rumble in his voice must have been. The edge of command that he was trying to keep at bay as Tomura starts to fall into his rut right alongside Dabi's heat. He can't help but chirping and purring, wrapping his arms around his neck and arching up against his body to show his pleasure as his alpha proves exactly how badly he wants him as his hormones rush to meet Dabi's own. 

The other moves over him for a second and then there's the sound of heavier fabric hitting their nest before Tomura is lowering his hips back between Dabi's legs again. His hands curl around his hips and he angles Dabi's body up a bit more so that he can rub the hot head of his cock through his slick and between his cheeks, before teasing against Dabi's hole. Whatever thread of sense was left in him frays apart in his hand at that feeling. Tomura is big. Anything is big against his hole that hasn't ever had something trying to push inside, and he is breathless as the worry that it won't fit comes rushing back. But the wave of lust that follows immediately on its heels drags him under the tide and makes him delirious. 

Whatever tangled scent he's putting out, the tiny whimper that slips from his throat, has his alpha chuffing and nuzzling against his cheek. He licks his skin and that helps to soothe his anxiety a bit. "It's alright, firefly, do you want to start slower?" He shifts to get his hand back between them, bringing his fingers against his hole again which is definitely less intimidating, but not at all what his body wants. "Can open you up just like this. Have you bounce on your pretty toy until you're desperate to be full of my cum." 

His instincts are screaming against his nerves, telling him that he wants that, not to be stuffed up with some toy. He wants his alpha's knot. He wants Tomura to be the first person he has inside of him. He wants to be good for his alpha and help him through his rut the way he promised he would help Dabi through his heat. The way he's been helping Dabi ever since he got here. It's so hard for him to find his words, but he has to manage it if he wants to do any of that. "Just want you, Tomu." His voice is weak and breathless, the need pulsing under his skin like a second heartbeat. 

"Yeah?" There's no mistaking the possessive, pleased rumble in Tomura's voice as he says that. "Okay, baby boy, do you want me to help you relax? It will make it easier." He asks, nosing at his skin and scenting him as many times and ways that he can as he moves so his cock can rub against his hole again. He teases around his rim, both of their skin getting even more soaked as he does so, because Dabi's body is so close to getting what he needs and he can barely string together a coherent thought in his head. He doesn't manage to make a coherent word, just whining high in the back of his throat as he nods his head frantically, holding tight onto the other as he tentatively grinds his hips back so that he can feel him a little more as well. Tomura gives him another slow, deep kiss, and then he breathes, his eyes glowing so bright as they look into his, "Relax."

Dabi's muscles go so weak. He didn't even realize how much he was holding back, but he barely can keep his hands over the other's shoulders, and his legs fall open as wide as they can. There's a fresh gush of slick pouring into their nest as those internal muscles finally loosen from the perpetual tautness that has been plaguing him since he woke up this morning. He lets out a low breath and starts to purrs softly as Tomura starts to press inside. 

He is big. He's so big, and his head is blunt, and he surely can't actually be made to fit a knot inside of him the way he saw those other omegas take it. But his body is helpless to try and tense as Tomura rubs against him a few more times, each rock of his hips teasing him with a little more pressure until his hole is being forced wider around him. 

The moment that his head presses inside of him with a soft pop, Dabi sees stars. The pressure of having something inside is beyond anything he's ever felt before, and even just his head is so much and his instincts cry out how good it is. He hasn't ever felt this good in his life. Even his first orgasm can't possibly compare to how wonderful he feels having his alpha starting to open up his body and push inside. Tomura chuffs and licks at his neck, telling Dabi without words that he's still so safe, that he's not going anywhere, that he's going to keep giving his body this pleasure that he doesn't have words for. He is going to make him feel better and better, until he can't keep it contained anymore and he falls apart completely, and then Tomura will probably keep giving kisses to all of his scattered parts. 

His alpha goes so slowly, pressing in inch by delicious, agonizing inch, and there are so many of those. Dabi didn't get a good look at him, but he would absolutely believe from how blindingly full he's feeling, that he's definitely getting more than eight inches of him. And by the time their hips are flush, they're both panting. Dabi's whole body is shaking, his eyes squeezed tight, some bubble of emotion in his throat that he doesn't have a name for as he's given what he needs. Tomura presses kisses to his face, over his forehead, his eyelids, along his cheeks. He purrs for him in response, and slurs around his own tongue that seems to have gotten heavier with his pleasure and heat, 

"Shh, it's alright, firefly. You're okay. You're doing such a good job, baby. You took me all the way inside your very first time. Your body was made for this, precious. You're perfect." 

Perfect. Dabi hasn't been perfect for such a long time. He thought he didn't believe in perfect anymore. But when Tomura says it, when he manages to open his eyes and look up at him, seeing his hair wild and mussed from how he's been pulling at it, seeing the flush across his cheeks that has finally brought life into his pale skin, his red eyes that are still glowing so brightly as he looks at him with no hesitation, no doubt, only a naked, searing affection-- Dabi can believe it again. Maybe not about him. But Tomura promised he would try to be a perfect alpha for him. Dabi isn't sure what else he could possibly do to prove he is like this. He doesn't know what the fullness behind his ribs is, but it's almost as distracting as the fullness inside of his hole, and the way that his body chooses to deal with the first is by forcing more bloody tears down his cheeks in a soft sob as he clings to Tomura. 

"Alpha," he doesn't have to explain that he's not crying because he's scared, or because he wants to stop. Tomura can feel him, can smell him. He knows what Dabi means and he just starts to purr for him again, even louder, as he licks and kisses the bloody tears off of his cheeks like he doesn't have to be ashamed of his ruined body. He proves to him that he wants him anyway when he rolls his hips into Dabi's, moving his cock inside of him and making every inch of his desperate hole light up with the need to be filled even more. 

"Let me love you slowly the first time," Tomura murmurs against his skin. "And then I'll give you anything else you could ever want for the rest of our cycles, firefly." 

All Dabi can do is give a weak nod, more tears trickling down his cheeks. He doesn't think he's heard anyone use even the vaguest concept of 'love' when it comes to him in over a decade. He'll take as much of it as he can get from the other man right now though. 

Tomura does go slow. He starts just by rolling their hips together in slow, undulating movements, teaching Dabi's body how to move along with them. Each one makes him a little more breathless than the last, the movements warming up his insides, getting them a little more relaxed, and not already clenching onto his cock so tightly when his knot hasn't even started to swell yet. He does it no matter how much he must also be wanting to fuck him hard and knot. He gives it to him gently because he wants Dabi's first heat to be enjoyable more than he wants to make up for the two unremarkable ruts he had before him. But when he's starting to whimper and try to make the soft rhythm a little more impactful, Tomura starts to draw his hips back. He slips a few inches of his cock out of Dabi's body and then rolls his hips again, sinking back inside. And oh! The pressure was good before, the rolling movements were so nice to stretch him open and made his insides feel warm and soft. But the friction of having Tomura's thick cock slide back as deep as it can go, that is delicious. Dabi keens, and the sound hitches on his breath, and then is nothing but a purr as he wraps his legs tight around Tomura's waist so that he can keep having that immediately. 

Tomura kisses his skin so gently, kisses his lips, keeps making sounds that tell Dabi how good he's being for him, how good they're making each other feel. But he keeps their pace slow, like he said he would. He doesn't pound into his hole the way they watched the other alphas do to their omegas in the videos. He just gives him his cock slowly and perfectly over and over again until there is nothing but their pleasure cycling between their bodies. 

Dabi's second orgasm feels so different from his first as it builds in his body. The health video said that the internal stimulation would pull the attention from his cock, and it absolutely has. He's sure he would be complaining about how long he's been so hard if it weren't for the fact that every measured thrust inside of him is turning every muscle in his body into liquid heat as his pleasure builds under his skin until he's sure that he's going to erupt. But he isn't going over the edge. It's like Tomura is holding a lid over that peak, and he is absolutely helpless not to obey and wait for him as he tries to get more. 

He doesn't understand what he was making him to wait for until he starts to feel his hole being forced to stretch a little wider again as he feels his alpha's knot start to swell. "Are you ready, firefly? I want to make you mine so badly. Want to have my spend soaking your insides, want your slick to smell like me for the rest of your cycle. Want to see you crying as you cum on my knot as I push inside." Tomura's voice is so thick with his own arousal, his growls and purrs slurring the words, his fangs glistening, and eyes still ruby red as he speaks. 

Dabi doesn't have words for how badly he wants that too, but his body is able to answer for him, a fresh gush of slick going across his thighs to help open him up even more for his alpha's knot, as he feels a pain in his jaw for the first time as his own fangs drop to show his alpha he doesn't just want his knot, but that he would take his bite as well if he deigns to give it to him. 

Seeing his teeth like that seems to strip away the last little bit of Tomura's measured control. He can't help the snarl he lets out, the sound demanding, possessive, and good instead of frightening. A sound that tells Dabi that he's so completely and deeply wanted that his alpha would kill anyone who might ever be stupid enough to try to take Dabi away from him. He kisses him hard and their fangs click, and their lips bleed, and that tangle of their blood on their tongues might as well be a drug from how high it sends Dabi into the clouds. He doesn't think that he'll ever have words for how perfect he feels like this. Even more perfect when his alpha builds their pace. Dabi holds onto him tighter, meets each one of his harder thrusts that has their bodies making obscene sounds as they move. 

The moment that Tomura's knot forces its way inside of him, swelling completely as he starts to cum, Dabi's nails tear through his back as he arches hard and cums with him. Stars explode through his body, that eruption actually a series of supernovas going through him as his alpha makes him feel so good that Dabi is certain without the cuffs, he would have become a sun from how he feels. His walls clench down so hard on Tomura's length, letting him feel every perfect, pulsing inch of him as he cums so much. Dabi has been soaked practically all morning, but nothing could possibly have prepared him for feeling the way that this does, now that he's being filled with the other's seed instead of just having his slick rush out of him. There's so much of it, it makes him feel blindingly full, and it is so satisfying in a way that his animal mind can't possibly articulate. He just knows that he's supposed to be satisfied. That he's supposed to feel like his purpose has been met and be ready to settle and cuddle for a while until they unlock. 

But Dabi wants it even more, and he's barely noticed that he's spilled his own cum between their bodies for a second time before he's starting to roll his hips again. Tomura chuffs at him, the sound absolutely amused. He can't thrust inside of him the way he was before. Not when he's locked inside. But he can do that good rolling thing that they were doing before. 

"You want more, precious?" 

Dabi manages a nod, and Tomura gets a hand under the small of his back and uses a strength that Dabi didn't know he had to lift him. Tomura lays back in their soiled nest and gets Dabi's knees wide around his hips, pressed into the bedding. "Okay, firefly, find what feels good," he murmurs, his eyes still glowing and his own arousal not fading in the slightest. "If you do a good job, I'll get to fill you up again without even taking my knot out of your pretty hole. Won't that be nice, baby boy? You'll be so full of my cum." He moves his hand to Dabi's lower abdomen, not minding the cum that gets smeared obscenely over his gloves. "Mm, maybe you'll get so full that I'll be able to see it." 

That has no right to make him so blindingly needy so immediately on the heels of his last orgasm, but Dabi can't do anything but keen and start to try to work out how much he can actually fuck himself on his alpha's cock before his knot shrinks. 

///

The rest of their cycle is a blur for the most part. Dabi just knows that he felt perfect, that Tomura took such good care of him, that he made sure he ate even though all he wanted was to mate and sleep. That he held him close and kissed him. that he never once tried to bite him, no matter the fact that Dabi essentially used his throat as a chew toy after their first round because he wanted Shigaraki to own him so badly. But he didn't let his neediness sway him. He also has the vague memory of being stuffed full of the dildo and his alpha's cock at the same time and how good that felt too, how his alpha called his hole so greedy even though it was his first time, and how that embarrassment had just made everything feel even better. But he doesn't think about that too much when they come out of their cycle. 

What he thinks about instead is the fact that Shigaraki doesn't pull away. He helps Dabi clean up his space and remake his bed. He orders them a bunch of food and then they both go into the shower together and wash each other's hair and skin until they're clean. He brings Dabi right back to his now clean bed once they're dry, and then he slowly and meticulously scents every inch of Dabi's skin, and lets him do the same. Then he holds him close and lets him lick and nuzzle at his throat, purring all the while until their food arrives. Tomura makes sure he eats every bite of what he needs to make up for all the activity, and in a day or so, when their hormones have cycled lower, and Dabi admits that he's dreading having the examination that he was told he would have to after his heat, Tomura asks if he wants him to come with him. 

He holds his hand the whole time, and gets Dabi bitching and arguing with him over nothing to distract him from how vulnerable he feels laid out on the doctor's table. 

///

"That's dumb as shit, Shigaraki." Dabi snaps as they debrief with the others. 

"Toga--" 

"Already has an assignment. If she can get the blood of as many students as she can, then we'll be in a way better position to infiltrate the school later on, either by using her, or Twice's doubles. Unless your almighty teacher is going to actually disclose who the spy he has in UA actually is?" He challenges. He swears to god that Spinner and Compress have backed off a little from the table, but he doesn't give a shit. If they think that this is going to escalate and want to be pussies about it, then that's on them. 

Shig scratches at his neck, his mask on and hiding his expression from Dabi, but he knows that the other man isn't pleased. But he made Dabi the leader for this job. He's going to lead, and he's going to prove that no matter how much time he was absent from the training with the others, that he's not weak. He's back, he's better, he absolutely deserves the position that Shigaraki has given him, and not just because all of them know he's taking his knot as often as he can get it, even with their cycles over. "Fine." 

Dabi tries not to be too smug over that and goes right back to laying out where the others will be when they hit the summer camp. 

By the time the meeting is done and Dabi has done the requisite socializing with the others, he's more than ready to be back upstairs in their room. Duster still technically has his own room, he still pretends to sleep there when his teacher calls and asks how things are going, but not five minutes after Dabi's inside, the door is opening again for his alpha, who steps inside and immediately pulls the hand from his face. It soothes him immediately to see his face again. He got so used to being able to see him, that whenever they're doing villain shit with the others and he's hiding, Dabi feels an uncomfortable distance between the two of them. 

But Tomura looks at him, and he's not frustrated with him snapping or talking back to him during the meeting. He knows exactly what to expect from Dabi at this point. He just looks lightly chastising as he steps into his space and wraps his hands carefully around Dabi's hips. Dabi starts to purr immediately as he leans in to get his kiss, but Tomura doesn't give it. "You skipped your afternoon snack, firefly." 

"Moonfish was having one of his, and it put me off my appetite. Figured we could make up for it tonight and order something terrible." 

Tomura hums and gives him his peck then. "Yeah? Terrible how?" 

"Something super greasy and bad for us so we end up not wanting to move for the rest of the night." So they can curl up in his bed together, cuddled close while Dabi watches Tomura play his games and he gets to feel cherished the way that Tomura hasn't stopped letting him feel since their cycle. 

He gets another kiss and a soft purr out of his alpha too. "If you wanted pizza that badly, you didn't have to make an excuse, baby boy. You want potatoes on it?" 

"Yeah," he doesn't need to stay in Tomura's space, he barely let him even get into the room, but he likes being close, and his alpha doesn't seem to mind, letting him tuck his head against his shoulder so that he can breathe in his scent like he's been starving for it all day. "Thanks." 

"Anything for you, firefly." He presses a kiss to Dabi's temple, and Dabi lets his own purrs start to rumble quietly between them. He knows that. Tomura will do anything for him, and at this point, Dabi is pretty sure that despite all of his good sense, that sentiment goes both ways. 

He enjoys this closeness for every second he can get it, only relenting when his stomach growls, and then, as soon as they've actually ordered their food, they're settling into the bed to be close again until it arrives. He thinks that he might not be the only one who was a mess before he got here, but he's just glad that they're both so invested in getting back on the right track. Just glad that he has Tomura with him, because he doesn't think he would be able to enjoy being an omega as much as he does now if he didn't have such a perfect alpha right beside him. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment/ask!

[doctoratecuddles]

Something I find interesting about Kittycorn's few supporters is that they yell out "WE ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT MENTAL HEALTH! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT COPING ACTUALLY IS!!! THIS WAS ALL PRIVATE BEFORE EVERYONE LEAKED THESE!!" when time and time again its shown that kitty has crossed the boundary of "coping" into fetishization and suibaits the minute it comes out. obviously, before anyone takes this ask in bad faith, I don't want kit to do anything drastic and hope she can get the actual help she needs that isn't people that feed into her addiction and enable her through discord. Kittycorn is in a really bad place, yes, but that does not excuse her weaving in dog whistles/code words, edited out dialogue and interactions that can bank off plausible deniability, and having teenagers work on her comic way after she herself was no longer a teen (not using the word minors to show how bad this actually is and not some "internet drama"). Kittycorn consistently has this victim mentality of "I'm a mentally ill so actually. i'm free from all blame" when that isn't the case and people, kitty included, aren't really getting it I myself am severely mentally ill and have been assaulted by a family member and the last thing I want to do is put the abuse I went through in my projects turning it "cutesy", what I would be doing is not coping, ESPECIALLY if I showed it to people and would have me stuck in that trauma silently stewing and essentially causing myself harm. What is also an issue Kitty's supporters don't really seem to get an idea of is what she was doing is essentially exhibitionism, even if you can excuse the content squeak showed the public, its still exhibitionism when shown to squeaks friends and wasn't really "private" as people claim it to be if former friends/team members can easily pull out things shes said/drawn. What kitty is/was doing isn't healthy and has far since crossed the line of "coping" and the excuse of trauma or the famous "my therapist said its okay" line these types of people like to use, i'm assuming its when its JUST you doing it in a safe controlled environment offline and not a platform (especially as big as Kitty's was). all in all, the constant enabling Kittycorn has gotten is actively harming her. even the "words of encouragement" saying that shes never done anything wrong despite multiple people coming out saying that what Kitty has done hurts since fen has been secretly fetishizing their traumatizing experiences in secret and getting off on having people beforehand being none the wiser interact with these characters, especially with Howie apparently being Ally/her fursona's step brother being romantic or Sly and Eve's far fetched "conflict" and drawing them making up and hugging. I wish the best for Kitty and hope she gets the real help she needs (or at least people that will call her out for her behavior) and that she doesn't do anything drastic.

POP OFF HOLY SHIT

[madamejadex]

Do you believe relationships should always have the same dynamic? Like domme/sub wise. Cause I honestly think that in any relationship you need to tiptoe the lines and reverse the roles sometimes, otherwise you might create a power imbalance that might seed into other parts of a partnership. I also think that the dommes need to let go sometimes and just be led. Do you ever get that urge?

Hi there,

I truly appreciate this question, and I think it’s a conversation more people in the lifestyle need to have openly.

To start this off, I want to be very clear: I’ve never been interested in a 24/7 D/s relationship which I feel you might be referring too.

And it's not everyone who can handle a 24/7 D/s relationship. Some don't crave it at all, some find it interfering with their day to day life. And for some it works wonderfully.

For me well, I love the beauty of power exchange within a scene, but that dynamic doesn’t extend into every corner of my daily life. Outside of a scene or our sexual part of the relationship, I don’t feel the need to dominate my partner. I don’t go around at home issuing commands or expecting constant submission. That’s not what I want, and it’s certainly not what I need to feel fulfilled. In fact, many of my past partners have been strong-willed, ambitious, and incredibly independent persons. And I loved that about them.

Because to me, there’s something incredibly attractive about a woman who commands her world with confidence, and yet chooses to surrender to me in a scene or sexually. That contrast, that conscious, and offered submission, is what makes the experience so rich and meaningful for me.

And when the scene ends? I have no problem letting someone take care of me. I don’t see that as weakness or loss of power. I see it as partnership. I want tenderness. I want laughter. I want shared responsibility and affection outside of the playroom.

So for me being a Domme doesn’t mean I need to be in control every moment of my life. It doesn’t mean I can’t rest in someone’s arms, or be soft, or let someone care for me.

But what it does mean for me is that I know exactly where my power lives. I know how to hold it with intention, not ego. And it's not that I haven't experimented, because I have and it's also how I’ve come to understand something essential about myself, and that is that I'm not someone who thrives in submission. Not even a little.

It’s not where I find pleasure. It’s not where I find connection. In fact, trying to step into that space makes me feel disconnected from my partner, from myself and from my body. And the truth is, I wouldn’t last long in a submissive role without unintentionally breaking the foundational elements of any healthy dynamic: respect, surrender, and trust.

I know I’d end up topping from the bottom. I know I’d start resisting direction not because I wanted to play, but because it would feel wrong in my bones. And that’s not fair to anyone, least of all the person I’d be playing with, or someone I'm in a relationship with.

I would never want to humiliate someone I care about by putting them in the vulnerable position of trying to dominate me when I’m emotionally and erotically closed off. It would be a betrayal of their trust, and frankly, a disservice to their power.

More than that, I’ve lived the consequence of ignoring this about myself. When I first started to experiment with BDSM I had a partner who tried to force submission out of me. Who believed I could be made to bend, that dominance could be taken rather than offered. And the result wasn’t growth or intimacy, it was rather traumatic to be fair, and it left a scar that still reminds me why honoring who we are in this space is non-negotiable.

So no, I am not submissive. Not privately. Not secretly. Not with the right person. And I don't see that my dominance have created an power imbalance in my everyday life outside of sex or scenes. Because I know how to rest when I’m with someone who sees me, not as a role to be maintained, but as a person with a full emotional range. It all comes down to this: know yourself. Honor that. And make space for your partner to do the same. Because no amount of longing, love, or lust is enough to sustain a dynamic that asks you to deny your truth or to try change who you are to please someone else.

In D/s, as in life, authenticity is everything.

xo Miss Jade

[mariacallous]

Carlin Casey first considered the idea of human starvation when he was seven years old. Back then, in 1992, his mother, Mary, read aloud to him and his little sister, Karina, from an unusual bedtime story, Anne Frank’s “Diary of a Young Girl.” The family led a life of relative abundance. At their pueblo-style home in California’s Coachella Valley, Mary blasted Madonna in the kitchen as she made her kids burgers or big plates of spaghetti, lighting candles and burning essential oils (“for the vibes,” Carlin told me). Curled up in bed, listening to his mother describe Anne Frank’s privations, Carlin wondered, what was it like to experience a hunger so cutting? “Now, when I look back on it,” Carlin said recently, “I think maybe that was my mom’s way of trying to warn me—trying to prepare me for how cruel the world can be.”

The memory returned to Carlin years later, in August of 2022, when his then partner, Eric, drove him to Banner-University Medical Center, in Tucson, Arizona. The pair walked into the emergency room. There, Carlin found his mother, looking skeletal in a hospital bed, wearing a diaper. When he’d last seen her, that spring, Mary was a healthy hundred and forty-five pounds, her cheeks bright. Now she was so emaciated that Carlin gasped. “She looks like a famine victim,” he told Eric. He stepped closer.

Mary’s hair—once long and lustrous, a lifelong point of pride—was matted to her head, Carlin noticed. She weighed ninety-one pounds.

“What happened to you, Mom?” Carlin asked.

Mary could barely speak. She worried that Carlin wasn’t actually Carlin. She’d spent the whole night screaming in pain and fear. Her jailers, she believed, might come back for her. “You don’t understand,” she told her son, who she thought might be a robot, or a co-conspirator. “They’ll do whatever they want!”

Carlin told his mom that he would investigate. He’d figure out how she had wound up in such a dire condition, and he’d identify who, exactly, was responsible.

“They aren’t going to let you,” Mary replied. She tried to weep, but her body was too dehydrated to make tears.

Carlin had no idea he was stepping into a scandal that involved health-care corporations with, in at least one case, an annual revenue of roughly a billion dollars—a scandal that implicated core institutions of American public life and affected a shocking number of victims across the country. At its worst, the wrongdoing involved state-sponsored homicides of the most vulnerable citizens, covered up by private companies and county officials.

At the hospital, Carlin had a conviction he later came to regard as painfully naïve: that he could expose whatever horrible thing had happened to his mom, and put a stop to it.

“You wait and see,” he told Mary. Carlin trusted that he could bring about a reckoning.

More information can be found at Starved for Care.

Growing up, in San Diego, Mary Faith Casey could easily access delight. She’d accompany her mother, an amateur astronomer, to the planetarium, or spend long days with her older sister Michelle, climbing around the exhibits at the natural-history museum in Balboa Park, where their mom had a job playing reel-to-reel films. In high school, Mary grew interested in fashion. She’d sew miniskirts and halter-top dresses out of glittery fabrics she bought at a thrift shop, and she wore her shiny blond hair past her waist. Michelle noticed Mary’s depth of feeling. “She was a very sensitive, very kindhearted child, and empathetic to the point of extremes,” Michelle said. “She was also naïve to her physical beauty, so I often felt I needed to protect her.”

The girls’ mother, Phyllis, struggled with bipolar episodes, so Mary lived with her father, who’d served in the Air Force and worked in supercomputing. Mary’s siblings were scattered across various living arrangements. As Mary and Michelle grew older, they would visit their mom every other weekend in Pacific Beach, where the girls would walk to the ocean and sometimes hitchhike home without Phyllis seeming to mind. “It was Mary who fought to keep us together as a family,” Michelle said. “That was her rescuer instinct.”

When Mary reached her mid-twenties, her life took a glamorous turn. She fell in love with a handsome tennis player who coached celebrities at a local country club; they soon got married. The newlyweds designed a comfortable home, filled with Mexican pottery and delicate, cactus-patterned tile, and surrounded by bougainvillea blossoms and palm trees. Mary gave birth to Carlin in 1985, and to Karina four years later. The young couple went to parties at desert estates, for which Mary would blow-dry her feathered bangs and wear bedazzled jackets with shoulder pads. Through her husband’s tennis coaching, the two sparked a friendship with the Nike founder Phil Knight and his wife, who flew the couple to Europe on their private jet. In the summertime, the Caseys travelled to Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, where the kids splashed around in Hayden Lake and rode Jet Skis with their mom.

Mary’s personality began to palpably shift as the kids approached adolescence. Mary had brought her mother, who had suffered multiple mental-health crises, to live with the family; Phyllis then fell ill with metastatic lung cancer, and Mary served as her caretaker. Mary’s marriage deteriorated, and after her mother died, in 2000, she became severely depressed. Mary had experienced previous mental-health dips—two bouts of postpartum depression, for instance. But this time she began drinking heavily, and developed a new volatility from which she couldn’t seem to return. “Before, she’d have outbursts, but she could always get back into mom mode,” Michelle told me.

Mary and her husband divorced in the early two-thousands, when the kids were in their teens, and sold their house in the desert. Karina had gone to live with her dad, and Carlin with Mary’s younger sister Kaj. After her marriage ended, Mary fell for one physically abusive man after another. “It was self-punishment,” Michelle said. Mary lived off the funds from the sale of the house for a while, but soon she found herself sleeping in women’s shelters and hotels, and she landed in jail on vagrancy charges. She had been diagnosed as having bipolar disorder and was later diagnosed as having schizophrenia. At times, she went on medication and, to family members, seemed more like her old self. But she was bothered by the attendant weight gain and lethargy. “I feel half dead, and I can’t be creative,” she’d tell Michelle. So she’d let her medication slip. Initially, Mary would have a flash of pleasure as “the natural high of her mania returned,” Michelle told me; she could stay up late using her collection of gel pens to craft vibrantly colored cards for people she loved. Inevitably, though, the same cycle of addiction and incarceration would repeat.

From jail, Mary would send sweet letters to her kids, festooned with hearts and stickers. “I love you,” she’d write Karina, “with the heart of a lion.” She’d often include an earnest token of maternal care: a rectangular card that promised, “This coupon entitles Karina to mucho hugs and kisses,” or a “Prayer for Stress” that read, “Quiet my anxious thoughts.” Both her children struggled. When friends from high school asked Karina where her mom was, she’d keep it vague—“San Diego,” she’d say. She and Carlin held out hope that their “real mom” would return: the good-natured woman who’d sewn their Halloween costumes by hand (a green T. rex for Carlin one year, and a sequinned disco queen for Karina), and who, whenever they were sick, held a Gatorade bottle to their lips and a washcloth to their foreheads. “When she was on her medication, her daily life was completely different,” Karina told me. “We could tell right away when she’d been off it. She’d go into a tunnel, and we had to protect ourselves.”

By the time the pandemic began, Mary, in her early sixties, was homeless. Carlin, now in his thirties, had recently moved to Tucson, and Mary followed him there. Carlin found this stressful. “She was good at disturbing my peace,” he told me. She hallucinated that Carlin had been kidnapped and tried to break into his home to rescue him. Police arrived at the scene, interviewed Mary, and let her go, but she wound up in police custody again the next day, after assaulting a man who’d tried to help her. She was released on probation, the terms of which required her to maintain an approved residential address. But Mary lacked a job and slept in a tent encampment in a park. She hadn’t fully processed that, in Tucson, her homelessness could be treated as a crime.

On April 30th, 2022, a security guard at a local business plaza called the police to report Mary as a nuisance. The police found an outstanding warrant for Mary, tied to her failure to register her address. Officers arrested her on a probation violation and drove her to the Pima County Jail.

Mary declared her mental-health troubles to jail-intake officials. An administrator logged her as “alert,” “responsive,” and “cooperative,” and recorded her affect as “flat.” Soon afterward, she told a nurse that she was “extremely disappointed” with herself, and was suffering from severe depression. When Michelle, who lived in Encinitas, California, learned of her sister’s latest arrest, she reached out right away to Mary’s public defender, Darlene Edminson, saying, “Tell Mary we love her, and we’ll do what we can to help.” Michelle and Kaj felt certain that they’d hear from Mary soon. Instead, the family was met with “radio silence,” Michelle told me. “That was the beginning of the end.”

If you’ve ever considered calling for help during a loved one’s mental-health crisis, you’ll know the potential terror of getting law enforcement involved. People with untreated mental-health issues are sixteen times more likely to be killed during a police encounter than others approached by law enforcement, according to the Treatment Advocacy Center, a nonprofit that works on behalf of people with severe mental illness. Your friend or family member might get harmed by police, or they might get jailed in the midst of a psychiatric episode—a far more common outcome than a police killing, but one that can also prove lethal. “This could honestly happen to anyone,” Carlin told me. “Mental illness doesn’t care how wealthy you are.”

For decades, America relied heavily on psychiatric asylums to treat���or, in many cases, to warehouse and neglect—people with serious mental-health conditions. Then the grand project of “deinstitutionalization” began. In signing the 1963 Community Mental Health Act, President John F. Kennedy promised that dysfunctional asylums would be emptied out and replaced with a robust, well-funded network of outpatient-treatment providers and community behavioral-health services. But the funding for that vision never materialized. Instead, new policies criminalizing poverty and addiction swept up people in severe psychiatric distress, who often ended up in county jail—where, with the rise of the cash-bail system, they might languish for months or even years, simply awaiting their day in court. The number of people jailed pretrial has nearly quadrupled since the nineteen-eighties; people with mental-health issues tend to be detained significantly longer than the rest of the population. Today, the nation’s three largest mental-health providers are New York’s Rikers Island, L.A. County’s Twin Towers Jail, and Chicago’s Cook County Jail. According to a recent report by the Pima County administrator, more than half the people locked up at the local jail have, like Mary, a mental-health condition that requires medication.

After Mary was arrested, Michelle and Kaj bought her items from the commissary online: a tube of cocoa-butter lotion, a pack of playing cards, some Kraft jalapeño spread, a flour tortilla, and a pair of reading glasses. Mary’s family also tried to put money in her online account for virtual messaging, but they were told that she wasn’t eligible for the service. Weeks passed, and Mary remained incommunicado. She had entered some mysterious vortex.

In May, Mary’s jailers brought her to a court appearance, where she admitted to her failure to reside at an approved address; the court found her in violation of her probation and sent her back to jail to await sentencing. Her jailers didn’t bring her to subsequent mandatory court dates, including a hearing in late July, to determine if she was mentally competent to be sentenced.

Finally, on August 16, 2022, nearly four months after her arrest, Mary entered the courtroom in a wheelchair. The judge had no inkling of Mary’s former radiance. Still, he seemed stunned by her skeletal frame.

“What are we going to do, Mary?” Judge Howard Fell asked. Mary, who’d been chatty and energetic just months earlier, was too far gone to speak.

“She is, as you can see, a shell,” Edminson, her public defender, said. “She needs care immediately. She looks like she’s dying, Your Honor.”

Fell said, “I know.” He set aside Mary’s charges and sent her to the emergency room. There, doctors began an effort to save her.

Carlin and Karina hastened to the hospital, with Karina driving from the Coachella Valley, where she still lived. Mary looked, as Carlin put it, “like a Holocaust person.” Her legs and feet were covered with open sores. She moaned, “Torture!,” and cried out, “I don’t have an esophagus!”

For nearly a month, the hospital tried to bring Mary back to life. Then its ethics committee convened to discuss her case. When Mary was admitted, she had been suffering from “severe” malnutrition, a physician noted. Any further interventions on her behalf, the committee concluded, would be “medically futile.” Mary was released to hospice care. The family loaded her into a rented van and took off for Kaj’s house, in San Diego. Karina was, like her mother, an unrelenting optimist. “She’ll recover,” she told herself. “How could she not?”

Carlin had begun to investigate his mother’s fate. “I kept wondering, who was working in the jail, and why weren’t they doing their job correctly?” he told me. He eventually learned that her medical care at the Pima County Jail wasn’t handled by the county alone. Instead, the county had contracted with a private company, an Alabama-based firm called NaphCare. “We can’t just let this slide,” Carlin told his partner, Eric. “This company’s treatment is absolutely careless.”

Eric, a former paralegal who sold purses online, was doing his own research. The more he learned, the more appalled he was by the corporate model for correctional health care. Local jails, as the holding pens for people whom our society would seem to want to disappear, tend to be governed by a simple philosophy: Let’s spend as little as we can. But the severe medical and mental-health needs of the jailed population make this a daunting task. Jail deaths, too, pose a steep cost; they often lead to litigation.

Since the seventies, private companies have offered a solution by taking health care out of the counties’ hands. Often, a company like NaphCare signs a contract with a county to provide medical and mental-health care at a capped cost; any additional money expended on care comes out of the corporation’s earnings. The companies often try to control their costs by understaffing, Eric concluded from his research. According to a 2020 examination of jail-death data by Reuters, jails that provided health care through the top five companies in that market—including NaphCare—had death rates that were eighteen to fifty-eight per cent higher than those of jails whose medical services were publicly managed. Of the five companies studied, NaphCare had the highest death rate across a three-year period. Eric spent nights at his laptop, downloading legal filings against NaphCare that alleged horrific deaths from neglect or substandard care. “I kept wondering, why on earth did Pima County hire them?” Eric said.

Eric had an idea for Carlin: they should file a “notice of claim” against Pima County officials, asking them to preserve all records tied to the case. Eric wrote up a twenty-four-page notice to the county; in it, he asserted that NaphCare was a “clear and present danger” to people with health problems in the Pima County Jail. He wondered what would happen if the facility in question were an amusement park or a day-care center. What if, year after year, such a place “continued operating in this manner, with this level of human misery, neglect, and death”? The answer, Eric wrote, was obvious: “It would be shut down in a heartbeat.” (A spokesperson for NaphCare said, “Our goal is transparency, and we have a robust mortality and morbidity review process. We have taken over healthcare operations for many of the most challenging correctional facilities in the nation, and we have lowered the rate of mortality in those locations over time.” The Pima County Sheriff’s Department declined to comment for this story.)

After filing the notice, Eric turned to finding the Casey family a lawyer. He compiled a list of twenty potential firms. One, a small practice in Seattle called Budge & Heipt, was unusually seasoned in holding corporations and counties accountable for jail neglect.

“This isn’t our first rodeo with NaphCare,” Erik Heipt told Carlin and Eric, on an early call. His firm was representing the family of a fifty-five-year-old named Cindy Lou Hill in a lawsuit against NaphCare; Hill had died of a ruptured intestine while awaiting trial in Spokane, Washington, after abysmal care at the county jail. (NaphCare was ordered to pay roughly twenty-seven million dollars in damages; the company has appealed the judgment.) “This is a multibillion-dollar industry dominated by a few major players,” Heipt’s colleague, Ed Budge, explained. “NaphCare is one—they were getting nearly eighteen million a year to provide medical and mental-health care at the Pima County Jail.”

The firm also had experience with cases involving starvation. Recently, Budge & Heipt had represented the parents of an eighteen-year-old named Marc Moreno. Marc’s father had taken him to a county mental-health crisis center during a serious episode. A counsellor there found Marc talking to angels and turned him over to police for a ride to the hospital. Instead, officers took him to the county jail, on two outstanding misdemeanor warrants for a traffic violation. The jail, which had outsourced its medical care to a private company that’s now called Wellpath, put Marc in an isolation cell and took little action when he stopped eating and drinking. He died eight days later, of dehydration; records show that he had lost thirty-eight pounds. (Wellpath settled the case for four and a half million dollars, but did not admit wrongdoing.)

Budge & Heipt started representing the families of people who’d been neglected by jail medical staff in 2003. “For the first fifteen years of doing this work, we weren’t contending with the trend of privatization,” Heipt said. “Now the corporate presence is the norm, and sometimes the operations of the entire jail can be private.” The firm was inundated with such cases, and could litigate only two or three each year. The intake form the lawyers had received about Mary Faith Casey stood out. Most of all, the lawyers noticed the precipitous drop in Mary’s weight under county custody. Heipt recalled thinking that this was the res ipsa loquitur of the case. He told me, “In Latin, it means ‘The thing speaks for itself.’ ”

After leaving the Tucson hospital, Mary’s family set up a nursing station for her at her sister Kaj’s house. There, Karina mirrored her mother’s nurturance from years before: she pressed a washcloth to Mary’s face, and held Gatorade to her lips. Karina painted Mary’s toenails fuchsia, and cooed sweetly, “Are you a little kitty cat?,” as she curled up beside her mom and stroked her head.

“Slowly, she became more trusting,” Karina remembered. “She’d say, ‘I really want a quesadilla,’ and I’d make it for her.” At night, Karina slept beside Mary, just as they’d done in the Coachella Valley.

That first week after Mary’s release proved oddly healing for Karina. Mary apologized for how out of control her life had become. Karina said, “I’m not mad at you, Mom.” She fixed Mary’s rat’s-nest hair, which required a pixie cut that made them both laugh. Karina’s aunts also doted on Mary, bringing her Pringles and poundcake. “I think all of the women around her made her feel safe,” Karina told me.

On a Thursday evening, Karina was eating Chips Ahoy! cookies when her mom said, “I want some!” Karina was glad to hear it; she fed the cookies straight into Mary’s mouth. “She was so happy,” Karina said, recalling how they’d both giggled as they snacked. The next morning, Mary did not wake up.

The coroner’s office arrived that afternoon. As two men hauled Mary’s body to a van, a country song by Chris Stapleton, “You Should Probably Leave,” played on a portable radio that Kaj had bought for Mary:

I know you, and you know me, And we both know where this is gonna lead. You want me to say that I want you to stay, So you should probably leave.

The exit music felt fitting to Karina. Mary’s cause of death was found to be protein-calorie malnutrition, an apparent result of her prolonged starvation in the county jail. Now, Karina and Carlin both felt, the work of understanding what had happened to their mother could begin in earnest. How many others might have starved to death?

During the past year, I found it hard to explain, to family and friends, a strange truth. I was reporting on places where starvation and dehydration deaths had unfolded across a span of weeks or months—but these were not overseas famine zones or traditional theatres of war. Instead, they were sites of domestic lawlessness: American county jails. After meeting Carlin and Karina, I identified and scrutinized more than fifty cases of individuals who, in recent years, had starved to death, died of dehydration, or lost their lives to related medical crises in county jails. In some cases, hundreds of hours of abusive neglect were captured on video, relevant portions of which I reviewed. One lawyer, before sharing a confidential jail-death video, warned me, “It will stain your brain.” It did.

The victims were astoundingly diverse. Some, like Mary, were older. Some were teen-agers. Some were military veterans. Many were parents. In nearly all the cases I reviewed, the individuals were locked up pretrial, often on questionable charges. Many were being held in jail because they could not afford bail, or because their mental state made it hard for them to call family to express their need for it. (These jail deaths would not have occurred, several lawyers pointed out to me, in the absence of the cash-bail system.) Others were awaiting psychiatric evaluation or a court-mandated hospital bed. Often, the starvation victims were held in solitary confinement or other forms of isolation, which is well proved to deepen psychosis. Some were given no toilet and no functioning faucet, or were expected to sleep on mats on concrete floors, in rooms where the lights never turned off.

My search for these cases began with a tip about Mary’s death. From there, I set out to answer Carlin and Karina’s question: Was their mother’s starvation an anomaly, or a sign of something larger? I came upon another case, and then another. Eventually—after interviewing more than a hundred sources nationwide, visiting with surviving families, travelling to jails in Michigan, Louisiana, Arizona, and Tennessee, and uncovering thousands of legal records, from medication logs to autopsy reports—I’d accumulated a file that included deaths from starvation, dehydration, and neglect in county jails across nearly every part of the country.

One victim, a thirty-eight-year-old mother named Shannon Hanchett, ran a beloved bakery in Norman, Oklahoma, where locals called her the Cookie Queen. A lawsuit alleged that she died after being locked in a processing cell where she lacked sufficient water and hardly ate for eleven days. She’d been arrested during a mental-health episode at a cellphone store. According to medical records I reviewed, she’d lost thirty pounds while in jail.

Another victim, Keaton Farris, was a twenty-five-year-old nature enthusiast from Lopez Island, off the coast of Washington State, near my parents’ home. Keaton had a supportive family and an exuberant mind. “He loved getting his hands dirty in the garden, and he was a flower guy,” his father, Fred, told me. Online, Keaton gushed about his love of the Salish Sea, beside which I’d spent many days as a teen: “Thanks sea, for being so big, blue and neat. You too Sun, for your brilliant awesomeness.” He died of dehydration and malnutrition at the Island County Jail, in northwestern Washington. Jail officials had cut off the water to his cell for four days. Keaton’s death was a reminder that not all the cases involved jails that outsourced medical care to private companies. The sheriff of Island County, Mark Brown, apologized to Fred and acknowledged, in a public report, that his own staff was responsible. Fred told me that, both before the apology and after, he had protested regularly outside the jail, often joined by a crowd.

Nearly every starvation or dehydration victim had been arrested in the midst of a mental-health crisis, often on petty charges tied to their psychiatric distress. In Jackson County, Indiana, Budge & Heipt reached settlements with the county and a private medical contractor, Advanced Correctional Healthcare, on behalf of the family of a twenty-nine-year-old victim named Josh McLemore. McLemore’s family had sought help when he was having a particularly bad episode of schizophrenia, and an ambulance took him to a hospital. But McLemore pulled a nurse’s hair. A security guard saw the incident and called the police, who arrested him. According to the family’s lawsuit, no medical or mental-health intake was performed at the jail, and McLemore, who was held in a windowless cell, began to fear food and water. In three weeks, he lost forty-five pounds. At that point, a staff member tried to get him medical attention, but it was too late. McLemore died of starvation and multiple organ failure. (Both the county and Advanced Correctional Healthcare denied wrongdoing.)

Several of the people whose cases I examined were, like Mary, criminalized for being unhoused, or for falling asleep where they weren’t allowed to do so. In Florida, a twenty-three-year-old named William Herring was arrested for sleeping on a bus-stop bench. He lost eighteen pounds in fifteen days in the Broward County Jail, where Armor Correctional Health Services was the health-care contractor, before dying of what the medical examiner deemed suicide by way of “prolonged fasting.” Alan Thibodeau, a single father who had been his parents’ caretaker, got arrested during a mental-health episode in which he wandered into a stranger’s home and fell asleep. “This was so, so preventable,” his family’s lawyer, James B. Moore III, told me, explaining that Alan had entered the jail at a hundred and seventy-eight pounds; he died there, under the care of a private medical company called Southern Health Partners, weighing barely a hundred. “He had a really strong support group and family who loved him,” Moore said. “He didn’t fit the profile you might assume.” (Armor and Southern Health Partners did not respond to requests for comment.)

One symptom of schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and other mental-health conditions can be a refusal to eat and drink. According to a paper recently published in a peer-reviewed medical journal, “food refusal” and starvation are “an important but underappreciated consequence” of psychosis. In county jails, people suffering from acute mental-health distress sometimes stop eating; they may fear, as Mary did, that their jailers are trying to poison them. Others simply decompensate to the point that the simplest acts of self-care, including eating and drinking, become impossible. When people like Mary are deprived of proper psychiatric medications, therapy, and other treatments, and placed in restrictive confinement, incidents of starvation and dehydration aren’t anomalies. Instead, they are predictable medical emergencies, requiring swift intervention by trained clinicians. “When someone in a jail stops eating or drinking, it’s extremely dangerous,” Craig Haney, a professor of psychology at the University of California, Santa Cruz, told me. “It’s a crisis that requires moving someone immediately out of solitary confinement, or out of a traditional jail setting, and into a psychiatric facility, for close clinical care and observation.”

Together with Eliza Fawcett and Matt Nadel, at the Investigative Reporting Lab at Yale, I identified more than twenty private correctional-health-care companies that were responsible for providing care in jails where deaths from alleged neglect occurred. As Moore put it to me, “The private medical providers have different names, but it’s the same results.”

Moore told me that many of these companies’ psychiatrists meet with ailing inmates virtually, from out of state, for only a matter of minutes, leaving entry-level nurses to oversee care in the jails. “You can’t have a licensed practical nurse running a jail for three hundred people who have more mental-health needs than ever before in history,” he said. “It generates profit for providers. But it’s designed to fail.”

Other legal experts told me something similar. “Right now, we have multiple starvation cases, and multiple dehydration cases, too,” Dan Smolen, a civil-rights attorney in Tulsa, Oklahoma, said. “I believe this is the civil-rights violation of our lifetime.”

Smolen stressed that the wrongful-death lawsuits against private medical providers in jails may represent only a small fraction of cases. “A lot of these deaths go unreported,” he said. Sometimes the victims get transferred to a hospital after they lose consciousness in their cells; the resulting fatalities usually get left out of jail-death logs, as Mary’s was. Other times, the responsible parties engage in active subterfuge. In a half-dozen cases I examined, companies or counties falsified records, deleted crucial surveillance videos, or purposely purged documents. After Marc Moreno’s death, for instance, a judge censured Wellpath (then called Correct Care Solutions) for “obstruction of the truth through the permanent deletion of countless emails”; the company, the judge noted, had “decided to begin a new document destruction policy in the middle of litigation over a teenager’s death.”

What’s more, jail-death data are surprisingly hard to obtain. In most states, the details are not publicly accessible. When my colleagues at the Investigative Reporting Lab and I filed more than two dozen public-records requests with local sheriffs, many stonewalled us; most didn’t seem to keep clear data on starvation cases. We sought detailed records, for instance, on any fatalities in Los Angeles County jails since 2015 that showed a cause of death related to dehydration or starvation, offering up a long list of search terms. We heard back from the sheriff’s department: it was “unable to identify any records as responsive” to the request. But, when it later provided a list of all in-custody jail deaths in the county, we discovered cases such as that of Sergio Silva, who, at thirty-three, died of “dehydration due to history of mental confusion.” (His cause of death was listed as “natural.” So, too, we found, are the vast majority of starvation and dehydration deaths in jails.) We also requested a list of inmate deaths at the Pima County Jail since 2019 associated with a similarly long list of search terms, and we asked that, if such data were not available, we be given a list of all deaths by natural causes or else all jail deaths. The sheriff’s department replied, “We do not have any inmate deaths that meet this criteria.” We later discovered that at least twelve people, most of them under fifty, had died of “natural causes” during the time span we’d specified. Where had the evidence of these deaths gone?

Starvation deaths, though often unreported, do not go unwitnessed in jails.“These deaths are so prolonged, with tons of people observing them, and each death could easily be stopped at any point in the time line,” Smolen said. “So it’s crazy that that many people would allow this to happen.”

In such cases, law-enforcement officers—but also, at times, doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel, mostly working for private corporations—watch for days, weeks, and months as ailing people waste away in their care. Many of these deaths could have been prevented by providing people like Mary with their required prescriptions, or by insuring that they were able to attend their court dates (which, quite often, might have led to their release). Even once the victims stopped eating or drinking, they still might have been saved by swift clinical intervention and psychiatric hospitalization. Most of the victims’ names likely remain unknown. As Eric, Carlin’s former partner, put it to me, “I often think about how rare it was that Mary at least had a family that was in a position to file a legal claim.”

Sometimes the victims screamed out for help or for water. Holly Barlow-Austin did both in the days before she died, at forty-seven, in the Bi-State Justice Center, in Texarkana, Texas. Barlow-Austin had serious health issues that the jail’s private operator and medical contractor, LaSalle Corrections, neglected to treat, leading to sudden blindness. She found it difficult to locate the food and water in her cell and began to go without it. In jail footage that I reviewed, obtained by Budge & Heipt, she realized that she’d knocked over a precious cup of water with her foot, tried to drink from it, and curled up in a fetal position when she found that it was empty. Another day, she screamed and waved her arms, seeking help from a nurse. The nurse looked at her, then left, jotting, according to records, “0 needs voiced” and “0 distress noted.” Barlow-Austin died the following week, of meningitis and other complications. (LaSalle Corrections and other defendants agreed to a seven-million-dollar settlement.)

In some instances, these individuals suffered a fate I would have thought impossible in the twenty-first-century United States: they were left to be fed on by insects and rodents. The body of Lason Butler, a twenty-seven-year-old dehydration victim in South Carolina, showed “possible postmortem rodent activity.” (According to a civil lawsuit, Butler’s mother had tried to contact her son; a corrections officer allegedly told her, “All we can do is pray for him.”) In Memphis, Tennessee, I visited the jail where Ramon McGhee died, at forty-two. McGhee’s mother had purchased pizza and hamburgers for him from the jail’s commissary. She told me that McGhee didn’t receive the meals, or his psychiatric medication. According to McGhee’s preliminary autopsy report, he was plagued with “extensive insect infestation.”

Our President has come unusually close to one site of this scandal. In the summer of 2023, Donald J. Trump rolled up in his motorcade to the Fulton County Jail, in Atlanta, Georgia. He was booked and fingerprinted on multiple felony charges, as Inmate No. P01135809. Last spring, a fund-raising e-mail contained a signed personal statement from Trump describing his experience. “I want you to remember what they did to me,” it read. “They tortured me in the Fulton County Jail, and TOOK MY MUGSHOT.”

Trump wasn’t wrong about the Fulton County Jail’s capacity for torture. The previous year, a thirty-five-year-old named Lashawn Thompson had been sent, pretrial, to the jail, where NaphCare was the medical provider. Thompson, who was assigned to the mental-health unit, never made it out. Malnourished, dehydrated, and deprived of his prescribed medications, he died of neglect, including “severe body insect infestation.”

“Those circumstances were far from isolated,” Kristen Clarke, then an Assistant Attorney General at the U.S. Department of Justice, said in July, 2023, as she announced a civil-rights investigation into the jail’s conditions. “Following Mr. Thompson’s death, evidence emerged that the mental-health unit where he died was infested with insects and that the majority of people living in that unit were malnourished and not receiving basic care.” According to an internal NaphCare report, every single person in the mental-health unit—some hundred individuals—suffered from lice, scabies, or both. “Greater than 90% of affected inmates were significantly malnourished with obvious muscle wasting,” the report continued. This January, the D.O.J. sued Fulton County for the jail’s “abhorrent, unconstitutional” conditions; the county agreed, in a settlement, that the jail would come under federal oversight.

NaphCare remains the jail’s medical provider, and received nearly thirty-seven million dollars from Fulton County last year. The company’s C.E.O., Brad McLane, told me that the jail was “one of the most difficult places we’ve operated,” and that “the safety and security issues were severe.” He added that NaphCare had been responsible for bringing many of the abuses there to light: “We sounded the alarm over the issues that we were seeing, as far as the lice, scabies, and ectoparasites, multiple times,” McLane said. “I believe we’re doing better, but we had some periods of time where we were at the point of ‘If this doesn’t change, we have to just end this contract and leave.’ ”

Fulton County is hardly unique. What I found in a year of studying deaths related to starvation, dehydration, and neglect is hard to describe as anything other than a pattern of widespread torture of people with mental-health issues in county jails. In Shannon Hanchett’s case, Smolen, who filed the lawsuit, watched more than a hundred hours of footage from her last eleven days of life, at a jail in Cleveland County, Oklahoma, where health care was provided by Turn Key Health Clinics, which has since rebranded as TK Health. During this time, the Cookie Queen, a mother of two, had been placed in a concrete cell with no toilet, sink, or bed, where she fell deeper into psychosis. At one point, Smolen said, no one opened the door to Hanchett’s cell for five days straight. She was rarely given water and discarded much of her food. Finally, jail staff found her naked and unresponsive on the floor. Smolen told me that he watched as jail and medical staff mocked Hanchett, laughed at her, and dragged her from one place to another, semiconscious, to determine what to do about her condition. They left her in a medical cell with a cup of Gatorade, which she was unable to drink. According to a nurse’s records I reviewed, Hanchett stated, “They are going to kill me.” The next day, she was found dead. According to the Oklahoman, a state medical examiner ruled her cause of death as “natural,” likely caused by a heart defect with dehydration as a contributing factor. (A judge initially indicated that, without additional evidence, he would dismiss Smolen’s lawsuit; after obtaining the sealed surveillance footage, Smolen filed an amended complaint describing what he’d seen. A representative for TK Health told us the company could not discuss details of the case but “vehemently disagrees” with the complaint’s assertions. The Cleveland County Sheriff’s Office did not respond to a request for comment.)

In some cases that I scrutinized, medical examiners concluded that the death was a homicide. In San Diego, Lonnie Rupard, a forty-seven-year-old father who was arrested on a parole violation, died at the county jail after losing a third of his body weight amid untreated psychological distress. “While elements of self-neglect were present,” the medical examiner ruled, “ultimately this decedent was dependent upon others for his care; therefore, the manner of death is classified as a homicide.” After the dehydration death of thirty-eight-year-old Terrill Thomas, in a Milwaukee jail, three staff members were criminally prosecuted for having left Thomas without water for a week; they reached plea deals that involved jail time. In a highly unusual twist, the medical contractor involved, Armor Correctional Health Services, was also criminally prosecuted, successfully, on seven counts of intentionally falsifying medical records and one count of abusing or neglecting a resident in a penal institution.

Increasingly, families have argued that their loved ones’ deaths should be recognized as killings—or even as intentional murders. Such was the case for Rodney Price, who devoted his life to working in California prisons as a corrections officer, only to have his own brother, Larry, die of starvation and dehydration in solitary confinement in Fort Smith, Arkansas. Larry, who suffered from schizophrenia, owed a hundred dollars to get out on bond.

Rodney had always valued his older brother’s “loveful” attitude: how he enjoyed imitating the Three Stooges and sharing jokes and updates from Fort Smith, where they’d grown up. When Rodney saw the autopsy photographs of Larry, he told me, “it blew my brains open.” Rodney had, as part of his job, monitored prison conditions to insure that people with mental-health issues were placed in proper, legal confinement. Now he flew back to his home town to interview county officials and detectives investigating Larry’s death. He gathered reams of notes in a big blue binder, to prove that his brother had endured months of solitary confinement without proper medication; across the front, Rodney wrote, in thick marker, “#JUSTICE FOR LARRY EUGENE PRICE JR” and “#121 POUNDS.”

Rodney hired Budge & Heipt to help him sue Sebastian County and Turn Key, the medical provider at the jail. He also wanted to push for policy change, suspecting that more losses would follow his brother’s. (I later confirmed his fear, uncovering a Navy veteran’s apparent death by neglect in an Arkansas jail.) “I think of what happened to my brother as a murder,” Rodney told me last summer, from his home in Elk Grove, California. “A murder by officials who never took responsibility. Who is going to hold them accountable? The state? No. The feds? No. The only one who is working to hold them accountable is my attorney, and myself. And this is America?”

Some nights, after trying to manage his stress by running or rollerblading, Carlin would stay up late in bed on his phone, researching the Pima County Jail. On Instagram, he found a Tucson-based group called No Jail Deaths. The group had a list of demands, and a clear mission statement: “To get justice for the lives lost in the Pima County Jail,” it read, “to memorialize each person the jail has stolen from us.”

Carlin appreciated that the group engaged in acts of civil disobedience. Dozens of locals, many of them moms and wives of the dead, had been holding regular vigils and protests in front of the jail. Mostly, they gathered peacefully, holding candles and laminated posters featuring images of those who had died there. But, the winter before Mary starved, the sheriff’s deputies had declared that the protesters were engaged in an “unlawful assembly” and tried to boot them off the property. Some eighty people had refused to budge. They’d blown vuvuzelas, struck a jail-shaped piñata, banged pots and pans, set off fireworks, and called out the names of their loved ones, according to the Tucson Sentinel and the Arizona Daily Star. Carlin sent the group a message: Could he get involved?

Last February, Carlin gained another ally. Budge & Heipt had hired a former A.C.L.U. litigator, Andrea Woods, who had extensive experience suing county jails for civil-rights abuses. Woods arrived for her first day at the firm’s Seattle office to find a sixteen-page memo in her e-mail about Mary Faith Casey. “This is your case,” Budge told her.

The firm had already obtained more than a thousand pages of jail records in Mary’s case. Right away, Woods noticed alarming details. On April 30th, the day of Mary’s arrest, an emergency medical technician notified NaphCare that Mary was “REQUESTING TO BE PLACED BACK ON PSYCH MEDICATIONS.” But Mary, as far as Woods could tell, did not receive them. She was seen by a NaphCare nurse that day, but the nurse, Woods alleges, did not insure that Mary got prompt access to a psychiatric provider. According to Woods, NaphCare’s records indicate that, for much of the time that Mary was jailed, the company did not have a chief psychiatrist for the site, despite the fact that its contract with the county required it to do so.

Within weeks, Mary, untreated, had stopped eating regularly, according to other jailed women, who informed the staff. In late May, she finally saw a NaphCare mental-health worker for an initial evaluation. He observed that she was having trouble with “perseverating, loss of interest, and rumination.” He filled out a “treatment plan” for Mary, which recommended meditation and “deep breathing.” The worker thought Mary showed “good insight and desire for improvement,” and he recommended that she see a psychiatric provider to get the prescription medications that had helped her to function in the past, with her long list of clear diagnoses: post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and more.

Still, Mary went weeks, and then months, without her medications, Woods found. On June 8th, a behavioral-health staffer for NaphCare wrote her colleagues an e-mail with the subject line “Concerns,” explaining that she was worried about an “older gal”—Mary—who was “weak,” “feeble,” and “despondent,” and who, according to peers, “eats/drinks very little if anything.” On June 12th, a nurse prescribed an antidepressant, which, alone, was inadequate. On June 25th, when NaphCare staff checked Mary’s weight, they found that she was down to a hundred and six pounds. In mid-July, the nurse who prescribed the antidepressant noted that Mary was lying in bed, “deteriorating” and not responsive, and decided to discontinue her sole psychiatric medication, calling for follow-up “in 30 days.” He referred her to the medical team for “significant weight loss.” By August, Mary showed little will to live. “I am stuck,” she told a nurse, crying out in pain. “I can’t walk, and they do not believe me.” Jail records noted that she “was having trouble speaking and kept licking her lips to get moisture.”

Mary had been in the Pima County Jail twice before, in 2020. The facility had a contract with another health-care company, Centurion, at the time, and her experience was different. When she was first booked, that October, jail-intake officials recognized her acute mental-health needs right away. (Mary had mistaken the intake professional for Karina, and kept saying, “Mommy loves you.”) Within forty-eight hours, Mary was moved to Sonora Behavioral Health Hospital, where, after being given proper medications, she was described as “talkative” and “cheerful.” In her psychiatric progress notes, Mary’s chief complaint was that she was “helpless, passionate, and romantic.” By late November, she was booked back into the jail. Within the first ten days of her confinement, she saw a mental-health practitioner with prescribing authority, and she was promptly medicated, never missing a single dose, according to Woods. She gained weight and left in better health than when she’d entered.

This time, Mary looked famine-struck and spoke mostly in pained moans. When a mental-health worker expressed concern and pleaded with her to eat, Mary replied, “I tried to drink the Ensure but it tasted like glue. They’re putting glue in the Ensure to punish me.” In August, she was sent to the hospital four times. “I think she is stable to return to jail,” a note in her medical chart read. During Mary’s final hospitalization, before she was released to hospice, she sobbed that she had “ruined everything.” She’d wet the bed, she explained, and she thought that this was “why she does not deserve her health.” She reported severe hopelessness. She said that she was hungry, but didn’t “know what to do about that,” because “she would not be able to swallow anything.”

What stood out to Woods was how many paid professionals had witnessed Mary’s decline across her nearly four months of starvation and heard her cry out in distress. “The company was way, way, way below the standard of care on mental health,” Woods told Karina.

Both Carlin and Karina found the slow-moving nature of their mother’s crisis one of the hardest details to accept. Mary, Carlin told me, had always been a protector. “She was always helping homeless people,” he said, “to the point that it bothered me!” When he was in middle school, he said, she “would take this one homeless woman shopping at Mervyn’s, the department store, and buy a bunch of clothes for her.”

Karina agreed that her mom’s empathy for strangers could be so intense as to verge on a liability. She told me about how, when she was seven, they were cruising down a cactus-lined thoroughfare in the desert when Mary spotted a minivan pulled over in the dirt. A man appeared to be physically abusing and berating a woman beside the car. “My mom pulled right over and told the woman, ‘Get in!’ ” Karina said. “The woman didn’t speak English, but she grabbed her infant from the back of the car and came running over to our car.” Mary hit the gas. “She was driving all crazy, like a bat out of hell,” Karina recalled. “Don’t worry, we’ll lose him!” Mary shouted. Escaping the abusive man’s tail, Mary sped to a nearby hotel, where she rented the woman and her child a room for the night, hugged the woman, and said, “You’re safe now.”

One afternoon, after Woods had gone through Mary’s case file, she gathered the family on Zoom and shared a surprising document. On June 5, 2022, three urgent requests had appeared in Mary’s name. But the “audit photo” on the intake forms wasn’t of Mary. In her place was a much younger person, with dark, warm eyes, thinly pencilled brows, and a wide, shiny forehead. Another incarcerated woman appeared to have impersonated Mary, in a desperate attempt to get her some help.

“Have not been feeling well,” a medical complaint, filed at 7:36 P.M., read. “Have not been eating nor drinking my theeth [sic] hurt my body hurts I need to be seen asap please.”

The second message, a few minutes later, was a mental-health request. “I need help,” it read. “I feel like I’m too far gone and no one can help me I need too [sic] be seen asap please I feel miserable.”

The third request sought dental services. “My mouth hurts really bad,” it read.

After Woods presented the documents, Karina grew emotional. “If they’d done something to respond, we probably wouldn’t be here now,” Karina said. Instead, Mary’s weight had dropped, by August 4th, to seventy-six pounds, according to records. That day, Mary’s cellmate, a different woman, told a mental-health practitioner that Mary hadn’t eaten or used the toilet in four days, and that, when she’d offered Mary some fruit, Mary had whispered, “It won’t go down.” A few days later, Mary finally got her psychiatric medications. She was seen by a psychiatrist, who placed her on a full slate of the sorts of drugs that had helped her before.

Karina found some small comfort from learning that others had tried to save her mother. “It’s broken my heart, for the longest time, because I knew if my mom had seen anyone in the state she was in, she would have helped—she would have gotten herself in trouble or risked anything, if it came to that,” she said. “When I see how NaphCare did nothing for my mom,” she said, “I think, Is that the level of treatment their family members would deserve?”

The strangers’ attempts to help bolstered Carlin’s faith, too. He wanted to know what it would take, in civil litigation, to prove that NaphCare had violated the Constitution. On April 25th of last year, Budge & Heipt filed a landmark civil case, on behalf of Mary Faith Casey’s estate, against NaphCare. The suit also named Pima County; Sheriff Chris Nanos, who oversaw the jail; and several medical providers who had treated Mary through NaphCare—two doctors, two nurses, and a mental-health professional. (The medical providers have all denied wrongdoing. Pima County and Sheriff Nanos filed a motion to dismiss several claims in the case, which was largely denied.) The case alleged that NaphCare’s policies and practices at the Pima County Jail—including inadequate staffing and poor psychiatric screening—had caused Mary “to receive constitutionally inadequate care” and “ultimately to die.” “What we’re trying to do with this case, and so many others, is to make it really expensive for jails—and, even more so, for private health-care companies—to kill people,” Ed Budge told me.

(The NaphCare spokesperson said that federal privacy law prohibited the company from discussing Mary’s case in detail, but that the version of events outlined by Budge & Heipt was “inaccurate” and “demonstrably false.” She added, “Patients sometimes refuse care or medications. While we make an effort to educate, encourage, and support compliance, we must also respect their legal right to refuse treatment.” The spokesperson noted that “the individual you are inquiring about was transferred to two separate hospitals on four different occasions—and was repeatedly returned to the facility by hospital staff.”)

Mary’s family saw their mission as even larger than penalizing poor medical care in jails: they wanted to change how people in mental-health crises get handled by the justice system. They were heartened to hear that, last fall, Rodney Price had succeeded in holding his brother Larry’s jailers accountable in Arkansas; the Price family had won a record-setting six-million-dollar settlement against Sebastian County and Turn Key. (“There’s no good way to spin it, so why try?” Hobe Runion, the county sheriff, told me of Larry’s death. “It’s horrendous, and I can’t make excuses.”) But Mary’s family shared Rodney’s conviction that real justice would have to go well beyond an isolated payment. Michelle, her sister, felt clear about this. “We know that Mary is one of many,” she said.

Working with the researchers at the Investigative Reporting Lab, I studied more than forty lawsuits involving claims of starvation, dehydration, and severe neglect, filed against more than a dozen correctional entities and county governments. We found that, again and again, taxpayers ended up paying multimillion-dollar settlement bills for actions that killed off members of their own communities. But most major correctional-health-care providers, too, were saddled with millions of dollars in liability, raising the question: would it have been so expensive, after all, to provide adequate psychiatric care for people like Mary?

Three of the largest correctional-health-care corporations—Corizon (now YesCare), Armor, and Wellpath—have filed for bankruptcy in recent years. Wellpath, which filed this past November, has been hit with more than fifteen hundred lawsuits claiming inadequate medical care of incarcerated people. “A big part of this industry’s business model is filing for bankruptcy, cleansing their balance sheet of responsibility for their misconduct, and then starting all over again,” Bianca Tylek, the executive director of Worth Rises, a nonprofit that fights the commercialization of corrections, told me. I asked Tylek, a former investment banker who has studied hundreds of correctional-health-care contracts, if she thought the industry was lucrative. “It’s only lucrative because the industry is based on stealing,” she said. “They’re stealing billions of taxpayer dollars and not providing constitutionally required services to the people in their care, services they were contracted to provide. They are using the bodies of incarcerated people to extract wealth.” (A spokesperson for Wellpath said that filing for bankruptcy had allowed the company to improve its financial organization and better serve its patients. YesCare did not respond to a request for comment.)

I met Ryan Dreveskracht, a civil-rights lawyer, at a beer garden in Seattle. His firm, Galanda Broadman, was suing NaphCare for several cases of alleged medical neglect in jails. He’d taken on the case of Javier Tapia, for instance, who’d lost his lower leg after a blood clot went untreated at the Pierce County Jail, in Washington State. “Tapia was made to sit in solitary confinement while his foot and leg literally rotted off,” Dreveskracht said. (This month, a federal jury ordered NaphCare to pay twenty-five million dollars to Tapia. NaphCare said it plans to appeal.) Dreveskracht wanted to talk about the McLane family, which owns the company—about the founder, Jim, and his son Brad, who’d stepped into the C.E.O. role after an esteemed career at the Department of Justice. “As a family-owned company, they’ve been totally insulated from accountability,” he told me. “It’s just like the Sackler family and opioids—they’re making money hand over fist. But no one knows their name.”

Brad McLane, however, proved willing to talk with me. He shared his vision for how private contracting, done right, can improve the quality of care in county jails. “One strength we offer is economies of scale,” McLane told me recently, on a Zoom call from his office, in Birmingham, Alabama. “If you’re just one county working to provide health care in the jail, you’re going to have limited resources,” he said. “One of the things we’ve built over our thirty-five years is that we have over eighty corporate nurse practitioners and mid-levels who are working around the clock.” McLane expressed pride in NaphCare’s efforts to test new models for mental-health care. He touted, for instance, NaphCare’s Mental Health Stabilization Unit, at the Hillsborough County Jail, in Florida, through which the company provides treatment to severely mentally ill people in a less restrictive setting.

In his youth, McLane had little interest in his family’s correctional-health-care business; he was passionate, instead, about “saving the environment.” After graduating from Georgetown Law, he became an attorney at the Department of Justice. “I was doing a lot of Clean Air Act enforcement, trying to clean up coal-fired power plants,” he told me. But then his younger brother, who was slated to take over NaphCare, died unexpectedly, and McLane agreed to assume his place. “There are definitely a lot of things I’ve had to unlearn to be good in this job,” he said. “You do the best you can to continually improve and learn, and accept that sometimes we do have, obviously, losses in the jails.”

Though many civil-rights attorneys see health-care contractors as distinctly responsible for such losses, they rarely consider the companies to be the only or even the central reason for dysfunction in county jails. “Why should people working in jails be the ones having to deal with the convergence of so many social crises—poverty, education, housing, and the total lack of access to mental-health care?” Margot Mendelson, the executive director of the Prison Law Office, in Berkeley, California, asked me. Mendelson strongly opposes the privatization of jail health care—“It’s a repulsive social choice to put a dollar sign on this public system,” she said—but, in her view, the much bigger problem is that jails are “totally ill-suited” to being mental-health-care providers. “Where is the infrastructure that isn’t the jail, to address the mental-health crisis we’re in?” she asked.

NaphCare recently underwent a national expansion. “There’s unprecedented demand for our services,” McLane told the Birmingham Business Journal last June. The company has created what it calls a Proactive Care Model, which it advertises, online, as a method “to identify medical and mental health concerns during intake for early treatment intervention.” McLane also told the Journal that NaphCare is eager to pioneer the use of artificial intelligence to manage jail health care. “We’re looking at developing a chatbot for jails and prisons,” he said, “that will interact with our patients in terms of helping them with their mental-health needs.”

Carlin Casey believes that, given how human employees have failed to provide proactive care to his mother and countless others, NaphCare chatbots won’t suffice. He finds the company slogan jarring: “We Treat Everyone How We Want to Be Treated.”

In the Business Journal interview, McLane was asked, “If you could give your 18-year-old self one piece of advice, what would it be?” McLane’s advice was sound. “Just enjoy the time you have with friends and family and people you care about,” he said. “They’re not around as long as you might think they’re going to be.”

Last June, I made my way to the radiant heat of the Coachella Valley, to visit with Karina on her mom’s home turf. Karina had offered to give me a tour in her S.U.V. “Still surrounded by palm trees and cacti,” Karina said, pointing to her childhood home. We idled in front of her bedroom window, where her mom had read Anne Frank’s diary to her and Carlin, and where she’d learned that human beings could starve. “It terrified me!” she said, of the book. The block was dripping with blooming jacarandas, and magenta flowers that made me marvel.

We stopped at a coffee shop near the country club where Karina now works, helping corporate C.E.O.s race sports cars. She carefully placed a stack of letters on the table. Nearly all the envelopes were bright with crayon drawings of hearts, or filled with rainbow “Smooch Smooch” stickers, or stuffed with confetti. In each letter, Mary wrote, from jail, of her love for “my Bee” or “my honey” or “my Baby.”

One letter was particularly hard for Karina to reopen. Months after her mother’s death, she’d been cleaning off a table when she spotted an envelope with her own handwriting. She’d written to Mary at the Pima County Jail on Mother’s Day, and had always assumed her mom had received the note.

“I want you to know that despite the challenges you’ve faced you have so many beautiful qualities about you as a mother and person,” Karina had written. “You have always been the most caring, loving and giving woman.”

The letter continued, “I hope that we can get closer in time, and things turn around for you. Maybe some year even spend Mother’s Day together!!”

Karina realized that her letter had never reached Mary. The jail had returned the envelope, rejecting the type of stamp Karina had used.

I asked Karina what she thought Mary would think of the lawsuit against NaphCare and Pima County. We were back in the car and driving past the spot on the highway where Mary had once pulled over to help the woman who was being abused by her male companion. “She’d see this case,” Karina said, laughing, “and say, ‘Hell yes, fuck those guys, and shut them down.’ ”

Last summer, I also flew to Tucson. Carlin had hoped to show me his mother’s writings, too. But his spirits were down, and he wasn’t sure that he could do it. In the meantime, I’d made plans to meet with some of the women who’d been leading recent protests at the Pima County Jail. All around the country, I knew, groups of grieving family members were mobilizing like this. Often, they were winning significant fights against jail expansions. One of the most active participants in No Jail Deaths, a woman named Stephanie Madero-Piña, offered to take me to the jail, where she’d held up a bullhorn at multiple protests. She wanted the community to know what had happened to her former husband, Richard Piña. Years ago, Piña had proposed to her live on the radio, as the station played “Chapel of Love.” He later developed an addiction, and, during a stint at the jail in 2018, he contracted an infection, Madero-Piña said. He was transferred to a hospital, where he died. “He’d been sick for about three weeks,” she’d told the crowd at a protest. “If he’d gotten any kind of medical, he probably could have lived.”

When we met, Madero-Piña wore pink eyeshadow and a beautiful purple dress; her long, freshly curled hair draped down her back. She mentioned that her husband wasn’t the only loved one she’d lost at the jail. Her niece’s boyfriend, twenty-two-year-old Jacob Miranda, had also died there, of a fentanyl overdose.

“You may think this won’t happen to you,” she said. “You may think, Oh, not my kid. But, I’m promising you, that’s not the case. It’s hard for us mothers to do the work that we are doing, but, if we can save some other people from this pain, it will give some kind of meaning to our loss.”

Later, Madero-Piña and I ventured to the park where Mary had lived in the months before her arrest. Madero-Piña often distributed food and supplies at the park, and we met a few of the people who spent nights there, in tents or sleeping bags, beneath large palms. The police, several older unhoused people explained to me, were making their lives increasingly difficult by staging regular raids. “They took my propane burners for cooking, and that was an essential part of my life,” one man, who’d been unhoused for more than a year, said. The police stripped him of other valued possessions, too. “My dog is everything to me. I lost her bedding and her food and her heat-sensitive shoes. They came at 6 A.M. with two bulldozers. I lost everything.”

Madero-Piña and I passed out cans of tuna, slices of strawberry shortcake, and other snacks to a few dozen people. Afterward, she told me that she’d recently got the first part of a two-part tattoo. She rolled up her right sleeve to show me. “Honor the dead,” it read. “Next week, I’m getting the other half,” she said. “It’ll say, ‘And fight like hell for the living.’ ”

Carlin was also involved with a mutual-aid group that volunteered in the park; he’d donated clothes, and he hoped to join them on a weekend mission soon. For now, he’d been exercising, practicing songs for a local men’s choir he’d joined, and trying his best to take care of himself. “I’ve inherited a lot of the mental-health problems that my mom suffered from, and I’ve attempted, so many times, to get help from the proper authorities, and it’s been a fucking terrible experience,” he said, over the phone one afternoon. “What is it going to take for society to realize that, if people want to make a change in their life, you should try to help them? The floodgates should open, and the help should come.”

To Carlin, the crisis in county jails isn’t just about starvation deaths like his mom’s—it’s about preventing the mass criminalization of people like her. He wonders, what if we didn’t use jails as our primary mental-health-care providers and instead offered better access to addiction services, mental-health treatment, and housing? In Denver, a nonprofit recently tried giving a universal basic income of a thousand dollars a month to a large group of unhoused people. A year later, nearly half the participants had housing.

In the early days after Mary’s death, Carlin used to crack open a Bible that she had sent him as a gift, not long before she’d starved. On the inside cover, his mother had inscribed a message to him. “You don’t deserve to feel like a lost sheep, stuck and hopeless,” she’d written. She encouraged him to check out Isaiah 43:18. Together, one recent afternoon, we looked up the passage. “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past,” it read, addressing how people might live amid impossible darkness:

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness, And streams in the wasteland. 

[glowettee]

Hi Mindy!!! I hope you’re doing well, and I just wanted to say that I love your posts. Really well written and thought out!

I just wanted to ask.. can you create a guide for preparing to a completely new school which isn’t, like basic? Not in a mean way, but lots of the advice on the internet is generic.

For any extra info, I’ll be joining in the second semester, so there’s plenty of time to make long term changes. It’s also a private school, but I don’t know if that will make a difference.

Thank you in advance 💖 love you!

hi sweetness! @prettieinpink thank you for your adorable ask 🌸 i'm so happy to see this from you!!!!! i'd love to help you from personal experience, and things i documented being in private school. please make sure you look at the 10 secrets because they're super helpful and things i've personally used. i'm going to pour my heart into this comprehensive guide for you. transitioning to a new private school mid-year can feel overwhelming, but i've got you covered with everything you need to know! love youu <333

the ultimate guide to conquering your new private school journey: a glowettee exclusive

by mindy ♡ @glowettee

pre-arrival preparation (1-2 months before)

academic groundwork:

request detailed course syllabi from your future teachers

create a comprehensive academic portfolio of your previous work

research the school's grading system and academic expectations

familiarize yourself with any specialized learning platforms

set up digital organization systems (i use notion + google calendar + xTiles)

purchase textbooks early and start preliminary reading

research the school's academic support resources

understand the homework and assignment submission policies

social preparation:

create a private social media presence specifically for school

research student organizations and clubs that accept mid-year members

join class-specific group chats or discussion boards

study the school's social media presence to understand culture

prepare conversation starters based on school activities

research any school traditions or special events

understand the social hierarchy (yes, private schools have these!)

identify potential mentor opportunities or buddy systems

practical essentials:

develop a morning routine that starts 30 minutes earlier than needed

create a capsule wardrobe that aligns with dress code

invest in high-quality school supplies that last

organize your study space at home

set up a dedicated homework station

create emergency supply kits for your locker and bag

establish a meal prep system for lunch and snacks

plan transportation routes and backup options

digital organization:

set up a comprehensive notion dashboard (i'll share my template soon!)

create specific folders for each subject in google drive

download all necessary academic apps

set up a digital calendar with color coding

create assignment tracking spreadsheets

establish a backup system for important documents

organize email folders for school communication

set up notification systems for important deadlines

mental and emotional preparation:

start journaling about your goals and fears

establish healthy boundaries for social interactions

create a stress management toolkit

develop positive self-talk mantras

plan regular self-care activities

identify potential support systems

create a growth mindset framework

establish regular check-in times with parents/guardians

first week survival guide:

day one essentials:

arrive 30 minutes early

bring extra supplies

wear something comfortable but polished

pack emergency essentials

keep your schedule easily accessible

bring a small notebook for important information

have your introduction speech ready

prepare questions for teachers and peers

social navigation:

observe before participating

sit in different locations to meet various groups

join lunch conversations naturally

show interest in others' experiences

take notes on names and interests

identify potential study partners

respect existing social dynamics

be authentically yourself while observing school culture

long-term success strategies:

academic excellence:

create weekly study schedules

establish relationships with teachers early

join or create study groups

maintain detailed notes from day one

schedule regular review sessions

utilize teacher office hours

keep a detailed assignment tracker

create subject-specific study guides

social integration:

participate in school events

volunteer for school activities

join at least one club or team

attend school sports events

participate in school traditions

create study groups

organize small social gatherings

maintain connections with existing friends

personal growth:

set monthly academic and social goals

maintain a gratitude journal

create a personal development plan

establish healthy stress management techniques

develop time management skills

build positive relationships with staff

create a balance between academics and social life

regularly evaluate and adjust your strategies

pro tips from my experience:

keep a spare set of supplies in your locker

create a school-specific emergency kit

maintain a digital photo of your schedule

establish a homework routine from day one

create a support network outside of school

document your journey through photos or journals

maintain open communication with teachers

celebrate small victories and progress

10 secret tips that transformed my private school journey ♡

the bathroom rule always scout out the least-used bathrooms in your first week, but don't just look for any quiet bathroom - look for one that's strategically located between your most stressful classes. trust me on this - i found my favorite quiet bathroom on the third floor of the science building, and it became my secret sanctuary for quick meditation breaks, makeup touch-ups, or just moments of peace between classes. the lighting there was immaculate for those confidence-boosting mirror talks, and it was far enough from the main hallways that you could actually hear yourself think. i even started keeping a small essential oil roller in my bag to make these mini-breaks feel more spa-like. this space became my personal reset button during hectic days, especially during exam seasons or when social dynamics felt overwhelming.

teacher connection hack bring a small notebook specifically for writing down personal details teachers mention (their favorite books, coffee preferences, hobbies, their children's names, or even their pets). this isn't about being a teacher's pet - it's about building genuine human connections. i started bringing my teacher's favorite starbucks drink on presentation days, remembering to ask about their weekend plans they mentioned, or sharing articles related to their interests. not only did it make their day, but it also showed i paid attention to details. these small gestures created authentic relationships that made a huge difference during finals week, college recommendation season, and even when i needed extensions during tough times. remember, teachers are people first, and when they see you acknowledging their humanity, they're more likely to understand yours.

social currency secret keep a small emergency kit with hair ties, bobby pins, bandaids, mints, tampons/pads, tide-to-go pens, pain relievers (if allowed), small sewing kit, clear nail polish for tights runs, double-sided tape, and even a phone charger in your locker. nothing creates instant friendships like being the person everyone knows they can count on for emergency supplies. i actually met my best friend because i had a spare hair tie when she desperately needed one before her presentation, and that simple moment turned into a three-hour conversation after school. this kit isn't just about having supplies - it's about being the person who thinks ahead and cares enough to help others. i started keeping track of what people borrowed most often and would stock up accordingly. it's like having your own little convenience store of kindness.

the popularity paradox here's something no one tells you - in private schools, being overly eager to be popular actually makes you less popular. the social hierarchy in private schools is often more subtle and complex than in public schools. i learned to focus on being genuinely interested in others instead of trying to fit in, asking thoughtful questions about their interests, and remembering small details about their lives. surprisingly, the moment i stopped trying to be part of the "it" crowd was when people started naturally gravitating towards me. i focused on developing my own interests and passions, which made me more interesting to others. the key is to be confidently authentic rather than strategically social. this approach not only helped me build real friendships but also protected me from the exhausting game of trying to maintain a carefully crafted social image.

the uniform advantage even with strict uniform rules, there are always creative ways to stand out while staying within the guidelines. i invested in high-quality accessories that complied with dress code but made my uniform look more polished - pearl earrings, delicate necklaces, classic watches, and subtle hair accessories. these small details helped me feel more put together and confident. but it's not just about the accessories - it's about how you wear the uniform itself. i learned that having my shirts professionally pressed, skirts properly hemmed, and shoes well-maintained made a huge difference in how put-together i looked. i also kept a small steamer in my locker for emergency touch-ups. this attention to detail showed respect for the school's traditions while allowing my personal style to shine through in acceptable ways.

the lunch table strategy don't commit to one lunch table for at least two weeks, and be strategic about your rotation schedule. i created a subtle system where i would sit with different groups each day, making mental notes about the dynamics, interests, and personalities at each table. i rotated between different groups, which helped me understand the social dynamics better and prevented me from being boxed into one clique too early. pay attention to how each group interacts - some tables are for studying, others for gossip, and some for genuine conversations. i kept a small note in my phone about each group's interests so i could contribute meaningfully to conversations. this strategy gave me the freedom to form genuine connections across different social circles and ultimately helped me choose where i truly felt comfortable. by the third week, i had a clear understanding of where i naturally fit in, rather than where i thought i should be.

the academic alliance create study guides and share them with classmates before they ask, but make it systematic and sustainable. i started a google drive folder with my notes and study guides, organized by subject and topic, with clear summaries and practice questions. it naturally evolved into a collaborative study group where everyone contributed their strengths. i became known as someone who not only shared resources but also helped others understand how to create their own study materials. this approach created a reciprocal learning environment where everyone felt comfortable asking for and offering help. i even created templates for different types of assignments that we could all use, which saved everyone time and helped maintain consistent quality in our work.

the extracurricular edge join at least one unexpected club that's not typically "popular," but don't just join - become actively involved in ways that showcase your unique talents. i joined the astronomy club despite it being small, and instead of just attending meetings, i started organizing stargazing events and creating instagram-worthy posts about our activities. this not only helped grow the club but also showed others that you can make any activity exciting if you're passionate about it. the unexpected benefit was meeting people who shared my genuine interests rather than just social aspirations. these authentic connections often lead to the most meaningful friendships and impressive college application stories.

the social media strategy create a finsta (private instagram) specifically for close school friends, but treat it as a carefully curated space rather than just another social media account. wait at least a month before adding anyone - this gives you time to understand the social dynamics and ensure you're connecting with the right people. i used my finsta to share study tips, funny school moments, and support for others' achievements. it became a safe space for sharing real moments with trusted friends, away from the pressure of maintaining a perfect image on main accounts. i also used it to organize study groups and share helpful resources, making it both social and practical.

the legacy link learn about your school's history and traditions from older students, but go beyond just knowing the basics. i spent time talking to seniors, alumni, and even teachers about the school's evolution over the years. understanding why certain traditions started, knowing the stories behind school legends, and learning about notable alumni helped me feel more connected to the school community. i created a digital notebook of these stories, which became a valuable resource for other new students. this knowledge made me feel like part of something bigger than just my current school year and helped me appreciate the school's culture on a deeper level.

personal advice from my heart to yours:

sweetness, i want you to know that the first few months at a new private school can feel like you're learning a new language - everyone seems to know the words and customs except you. i remember feeling so out of place during my first semester, constantly second-guessing myself and wondering if i was "doing it right." that feeling of being an outsider would hit me hardest during school traditions or inside jokes that everyone else seemed to understand instinctively. i spent countless nights journaling about feeling like i was watching my school life through a window, wondering when i would finally feel like i belonged. but here's what i learned: that feeling of being an outsider is actually your superpower. you have fresh eyes to see things differently, and that perspective is valuable. you notice things that others have become blind to, and you bring new energy to old traditions. your unique viewpoint can actually help breathe new life into established social circles and activities.

the most important thing i wish someone had told me is that it's okay to take your time finding your place. private schools often have students who've been together since kindergarten, and it can feel impossible to break into those established circles. but here's the truth - while everyone else is trying to maintain their image and social position, you have the freedom to be authentically yourself from day one. you don't have to carry the weight of years of expectations or predetermined roles. focus on building genuine connections rather than strategic ones. keep your grades up, but don't let academic pressure steal your joy. document your journey - take photos, keep a journal, save little mementos. these will become precious reminders of your growth. remember that every single person who seems perfectly adjusted now once stood exactly where you are, feeling exactly what you're feeling. and most importantly, remember that the version of you that walks into that school on day one isn't the same version that will emerge at the end of the year - and that's exactly how it should be. you're not just adapting to a new school; you're growing into a newer, stronger version of yourself. embrace this transformation with open arms.

sending you the warmest hugs and all my support! feel free to message me anytime for more specific advice or just to chat about your journey 🤍

mindy x

p.s. would you loves be interested in detailed posts about my notion templates and organization systems? let me know in the reblogs/replies!

[babybluesays]

List of headcannons because I feel like it

Chosen is generally a hungry person

In AvA II and III, Chosen really decided to just go munch on almost everything. Settings buttons, whole ass fonts and texts like he's PacMan or smth... so I like to think that this stems from Cho just liking to eat in general

Like, if he gets stressed he gets hungry. You give him comfort food on a bad day, he'd feel a lot better. He likes eating that much. Though I can imagine him having to restrain himself due to the very active lifestyle he lives (and a possible intense fasting and workout regime to sustain his body the best it can so he can fite)

2. The Hollowheads are crybabys

Some more than others, but I like to think that every generation of Hollowheads is in some way or another a crybaby. Vic and Cho have, like, a LOT worth crying over. Stress, anxiety, depression, nostalgia even... but you'll never see them crying in front of anyone. They're hunkering down someplace private, popping out the fine glasses, fixing theyselves a martini or a shot and drinking the night away (#justiceforchoandviclivers)

Meanwhile your two little shits, Dark and Sec are more so on the spoiled side of crying. Dark just seems like the type who would cry easily as a preteen and throw a whole fit over a lot of things. He likely carried this with him into adulthood, though I can picture Cho helping him practice to keep it under wraps.

Second is just very emotional in general, and he's also been somewhat sheltered so he tends to have bigger reactions to new things. He seems like the type who would cry if you put him in enough pressure. Full on sink to the floor, sob in his hands and scream at everyone to get out the room and then just lay down and cry silently. Kinda like the Box episode

3. The Hollowheads and Noogai were a family in the past.. for a little while

This is sort of morphing into an AU, but for the damnest reason I'm so fixated on this... the idea of Dark and Cho locating Noogai's new PC and returning to him after realizing living in the Outernet sucks with no food or shelter. Victim being this gentle but wise ghost who haunts Alan's devices and fulfills his role as Dark and Cho's oldest brother. Dark and Cho would actually have a healthy, non-destructive relationship with each other AND Alan, and they were actually a family

Then Second is drawn, TCO's return, and suddenly Chosen feels more drawn to the baby than he does to his scrawny little brother. As years go by and Second learns to walk and talk and play and learn about life, Dark is now a preteen and grows more bitter to Chosen, feeling as though he's been betrayed an abandoned. Granted, Chosen rarely hung out with him like they used to. Essentially, Noogai was the caring but severely absent father, Chosen was the stressed older sibling trying not to crack for everyone's sake, Dark was the enigmatic, bitter middle child, and Second growing up in the ever increasing hostile environment, with Victim being the peacekeeper and keeping them all glued together.

Dark, psychotic as he is, developed the ViraBlade in the hopes of erasing Second for good. Cho didn't like that, they fite, Vic is powerless, and let's just say a few wrong swings leads to an almost fatal injury onto Second's little body. Pissed beyond belief, Noogai kicks the two out and then they're forced to band together to survive however they can in the Outernet. And after evaluating that they're only good for fighting, they decide there's no other option...

Meanwhile, the impact on Second's body awakened the first spurs of his power within him. And Noogai decides to heal him and use him for animation practice instead, to slowly rebuild and reshape him from the traumatic injury. He just didn't know Second would come alive again... wow that sure dragged on...

4. Chosen is emotionally bound to Second

Since Second is basically the reincarnation of Chosen, I like to think they're more connected than even Noogai realizes. Chosen loves the little guy more than you'd know, and would honestly do anything for him. I'd like to imagine that throughout season 3 of AvA, Chosen's gonna be catching a lot of bullets for his little bro

He probably also does it out of regret of failing to do the same for Dark, and now his trauma is being projected into his actions. He is very overprotective of Second but he tries his hardest to keep himself on the ground, and understands that Second is old enough to keep himself safe. If only he knew, though...

5. Victim and Second are identical in appearance

While Second may be the Chosen One's "Return", I don't think it means his entire appearance has to revolve around that . I actually like to think that he has a frightening resemblance to Victim. If you pulled down their hair, and gave them the same clothes.. he'd look exactly like him. Only littler.

Because realistically, Second is living the life that Victim could've had the chance to live. And there are a lot of parallels in his life compared to Victim's. Second's gang is rainbow colored, Victim's is black and white. Second is a creator, Victim comes off as a distruptor. Second's environment is warm and bright and welcoming, Victim's whole facility is so bland and lacks color, it's almost unfriendly.

[thoughtportal]

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FOFA is designed to make it easier for private companies to log more public forests in ecologically irresponsible ways that’s disguised as “wildfire strategy”, with clear origins rooted in misinformation and fear, instead of facts about forest ecology and the real causes of those fires.

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We have decades of hard science clearly showing the negative impacts of clearcutting and aggressive industrial logging in all our forests that come in the form of loss of carbon storage, biodiversity, resilience to wildfire, drought, landslides and sedimentation of streams that destroys salmon runs, as well as job losses and community collapse through commercial over-harvesting…and yet this bill aims to increase the ability for private logging companies to destroy our public forests with virtually no oversight or accountability.

FOFA doesn’t invest in the best solutions or do enough to protect our communities, and yet it has recently passed the House and is at risk of making its way through the Senate. If it passes, it will solidify some truly awful logging practices into legislation at a time when we need management practices backed by science and facts more than ever.

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