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[andrewjcalvert]

Website : https://www.andrewjcalvert.com/

Andrew J Calvert offers specialized coaching services for leaders, focusing on career transition, life coaching, and sales coaching. With a diverse background in sales leadership, customer service, and sales operations, Andrew brings a wealth of experience to his coaching practice. He emphasizes a personalized approach, helping clients align their careers with their personal goals and motivations. His services are available in various formats, including digital coaching tools and one-on-one sessions.

Twitter : https://twitter.com/Calverta

Linkedin : https://www.linkedin.com/in/andrewcalvert/

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[ascendwitaviva]

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[joeloverture]

a lesson in condom sense | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist pairing: dbf!joel miller x sex shop employee!reader summary: [no outbreak] the last customer you expect to be waltzing into your secret day job is your dad's best friend. you can only fight the tension between you two for so long before giving in. warnings: (18+ mdni) what it says on the can: reader works at an adult store, many sex toys referenced (& used!), age gap (mid 20s/early 50s) brief mention of sex work, don't follow reader's example, joel buys a fleshlight, joel fantasizes about you, brief mention of bondage, mostly pwp, reader humps a chair + gets caught doing it, mild exhibitionism, 'just the tip' that leads into unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, joel uses a vibrator on reader, degradation, praise, soft dom!joel, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n] word count: 6.5k a/n: condom sense is, in fact, a real sex shop that exists and serves the DFW metro area, so not exactly austin, but the name was too perfect not to pretend. unlike these two, please favor condom sense and wrap it up. dbf sex shop joel won the poll for my next wip, but expect coach!joel pt. 2 to be right around the corner.

Admittedly, working at a sex shop isn’t the highest point in your life, but it certainly isn’t the lowest, either. The 40% off employee discount does soften the blow of lying through your teeth at cookouts. Saying you’re working at Walmart while trying to navigate a competitive job market goes over better than saying you work at Condom Sense.

All things considered, it’s not the worst place you’ve worked. Your manager, a 60-year-old stuck in the 70s named Sally, is much more lenient than your past bosses. You get to recommend toys to the girls that come through, and you also get the satisfaction of them coming back to sing your praises. Condom Sense never would’ve been your first choice of work right out of college, but now you almost mourn the day you’ll have to leave.

Thumbing through an old issue of Cosmopolitan, your bubblegum is beginning to lose its flavor. The tinny noise of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” purrs out of the ancient radio sitting alongside tentacle dildos. It’s still a little weird to have a constant audience of whips, handcuffs, vibrators, fleshlights, and everything in between, but since your bedside drawer has gotten fuller with every shift you take, you really can’t judge anything stocked here.

The later shifts are normally slower, especially this close to 11:00. Sometimes there’s a gaggle of sex workers outside of the door, dressed skimpily no matter how biting the rare Texas cold is, but that isn’t the case tonight – you’re the only one here, feet kicked up on a pink stool.

As if the world has it out for you, the rust-eaten bell lets out a metallic jingle, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of having to put your Cosmopolitan away. Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Someone whose vibrator gave out on them, someone who needs lube, or both.

“Welcome to Condom Sense,” you put on your customer service voice, reluctantly bouncing off of the stool. You flip your magazine shut and toss it onto the counter, breaking into a crouch to finally make yourself useful by restocking the condom display. “Let me know if you need anything.”

A small grunt comes in response, and then some heavy footsteps carry through the store. Great, even better, you think to yourself, it’s a man.

The crowd that’s attracted to Condom Sense is mostly college-aged or middle-aged women, not with too much wiggle room in between. It’s Texas, after all, where ownership of more than six dildos is “prohibited”. Sometimes there’s a stray overeager boyfriend or creep with a receding hairline, but normally Sally is right around the corner to tell anyone out of line to scram, waving around a broom as if trying to fend off a stray dog. That’s not the case tonight.

You hold your breath and keep putting boxes of Trojans into the glass display case. Whoever’s in here is quiet, at least, not the type to ask for help or make too much of a ruckus with knocking shelving units over. Hopefully you can get him checked out quickly so you can close up and head home.

You stay like that for five minutes, sorting through boxes and marking stock until a throat clears in front of the counter.

Jolting up, you smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes, fiddling with your nametag. “Hi, yes, you all seeeee-”

Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Apparently Joel Miller does. You know, your dad’s best friend.

Maybe it’s because you’re surrounded by phallic dildos, maybe it’s because you’re goddamn stupid, but Mr. Miller, who seems to be fresh off of a worksite, looks good. Even though there’s an unmistakable surprise stricken across his brown eyes and a splotch of dirt on the slice of neck above his flannel collar, his hair is mussed perfectly, his scruff tamed along his jawline. Your eyes flash down to what he’s holding: a fleshlight.

You hate how quickly your mouth goes dry at the thought of Joel himself thrusting desperately into the dumb toy, and worse is the thought of him using your cunt to get off instead. You’re quick to remind yourself. Off. Limits. First of all, you don’t fuck customers. And you definitely don’t fuck customers that are your dad’s best friend.

Joel’s fist tightens around the box as if trying to obscure what you already know. His face is redder than you’ve ever seen it, cheeks like apples. In the end, it’s him who speaks first. “This ain’t a Walmart, hun.”

Your face heats up, and you shrug. “Pays well.”

“Can’t blame ya there,” he nods along. “‘S been a while. You alright?”

“I mean, I work at a store called Condom Sense. What do you figure?”

“C’mon now, can’t be that bad,” Joel grins at you.

“It isn’t,” you concede. You look him up and down again, trying really hard not to spend too much time on the toy in his hand. “Long day… contracting?”

Joel lets out a long, winded sigh through his teeth. “Yeah… my guys fucked up our concrete job. Had us there two hours longer than we were s’posed to be. Probably gonna be another long one tomorrow.” He runs a hand back through his already disheveled hair, his nose flaring. “Not your problem though, sweetness.” His eyes flick over you, over the counter and the neon signs behind you. “Your daddy know you work here?”

You freeze, eyes widening. “He’d have a cow, Joel. And if you think you’re about to hold this over my head or somethin-”

“Woah, woah, now when did I ever say any ‘a that? That’s none of my business, hun. You’re an adult, as long as you're gettin’ paid and you’re comfortable? I don’t see the issue.”

You nod, heart slowing to a steadier pace, or at least as steady of a pace as it can manage with Joel standing on the other side of the counter holding a fleshlight. “So, uh, relaxing night in or…?” You swallow hard. Professionalism, you remind yourself.

Joel laughs, an almost nervous sound as he rubs the back of his neck. “Just… a bit dry lately, I guess.”

“First time buying?” you ask with a raised brow.

“That obvious?” He slowly slides the box across the counter to you, and you inspect it under the fluorescents.

You hum under your breath, tilting the box away from you to get a better look. “Not a bad first choice. I’ve heard good things. Since it’s your first time, are you more of a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, or do you have some massage oil or lube?”

Joel stares at you, almost sputtering as his lips try to form words. “What?”

You shake your head, veins suddenly iced over. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t be asking-”

“No, no, not a problem, sweetheart. It’s your job. Just… don’t expect to be hearin’... that from you.” He chuckles, but it sounds strangled. “I… normally spit. ‘S faster.”

Joel, desperately shucking off his belt and pants, pulling his hardened cock out, spitting into his hand so he can wrap his fist around himself. That first groan of pleasure he lets out, hand moving up, down, up, down. He treasures his alone time so much that he has to be the type to savor it– but you can’t think that far. Your tongue darts out to swipe along your lower lip, and you swear Joel tracks the movement. Your chest is tied up in knots.

“Well, you’re gonna want a heating massage oil. Moves it along easier, feels realer, y’know?” You reach across the counter and pluck a blue bottle from the display. “This is our bestseller.” Mustering up the most casual smile you can give him without wincing, you tap your fingers along the countertop.

Joel looks between you and the bottle, gnawing nervously at the inside of his cheek. “Thanks, hun. That’ll be it, then.”

You ring him up, sinking the fleshlight, the oil, and a complimentary toy cleaner deep into a bag that says THANK YOU four times along the side. The printer buzzes as it spits out his receipt, and you hand it all to him. He gives you a nod, casual, simple. You could keep it that way, a tiny interaction isolated to the four walls of Condom Sense, but you feel the words knocking at the backs of your teeth.

You’re saying them before you can second guess them: “Enjoy yourself, Joel.”

He makes eye contact for what must be the first time that night, eyes murky with something that, if you were more gullible, could come across as want. “I will, sweetheart.” Joel nods, wrapping a large hand around the bag. You don’t watch him leave, but you do hear the ring of the doorbell as the door knocks shut. It’s not enough to distract yourself from thinking of what his moans sound like.

Joel sweats like a whore in church the next time your dad calls him. He practically is one when he thinks about what it’d be like to be inside of the divinity of your body, a rosary of sweat collecting on his neck. He’d say every prayer if it meant he got to keep thinking of you like that – feels realer, a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself.

It’s shameful, the way he thinks of you, the daughter of the man he considers his best friend. But he can’t make himself stop. Every time he pulls the fleshlight out of his drawer, you appear in his head. Sometimes you’re bent over the counter, whining as he rolls his hips into yours. Sometimes he rucks up those fucking skirts you wear to shove his face between your thighs, lets you soak his face as you pull his hair. Sometimes you’re riding him, moving how he shifts the fleshlight over his leaking cock.

Every time, regardless of what he imagines, he shakes himself loose in post-orgasm bliss, guilt chewing at his stomach. Every time he passes Condom Sense on the way to a job, he wonders if you’re working. What’s a respectable amount of time to stop in for a second sex toy purchase? Joel wouldn't know, and he doesn’t want to be selfish. Money doesn’t grow on trees, unlike his arousal. The fleshlight is already miles better than his own hand, and he worries what he might say if he sees you bouncing around, say, restocking dildos.

He manages to keep his self control. He doesn’t get on his knees and confess his sins to your dad on the phone, or when they run into each other at home depot. By some miracle, he doesn’t get any further than flicking his turn signal before immediately turning it off when he passes Condom Sense.

And then he has the dream.

It’s his day off, a Sunday, and he wakes up to his dick softening and his cum drying on his abdomen and all of the hair spattered there. There’s traces of the dream in reach, tugging on the harness he’d tied around your body to pull you back on his cock.

This time, he can’t shake himself loose.

He’s standing in Condom Sense by ten in the morning, running his hands down his sides and feeling oddly exposed, as if every camera or wandering employee can see the shame painted on his skin much like his cum had been. He hopes you’re not here; he’s not sure he can handle it, but he is sure of the arousal that would brim in his lower belly at the mere sight of you. It’s bad news – everything about this is bad news.

You’re bad for Joel, and you have been ever since he saw you for the first time after your college graduation, partying in your old man’s living room. Four shots deep and a feather boa around your neck, wearing a low-cut top as you scream-sung Dolly Parton into the busted karaoke machine from your childhood. That was the first time he ever saw you as anything more than your dad’s little girl. It should’ve been the last, too.

Joel takes a relieved breath when there’s no immediate sign of you in the store, but you very well could be squatting behind the counter like last time. There's a woman in a pink polo shirt with bangle bracelets standing over by the wall of ropes, reorganizing and sucking on her teeth. 

He doesn’t even know what he’s here for – he’s chasing something he can’t have, or at least a semblance of it. The obvious choice is the restraints from his dream, but he has nobody to put them on, no skin to feather with kisses as he pulls them secure. Another fleshlight would be greedy.

And then he hears it. The unmistakable sound of your voice, a shockwave to his chest. He slips behind a display, almost ready to make a beeline for the door when you say, “We restocked the wands.” Joel glimpses you through the grid of butt plugs he’s hiding behind, where you’re waving around a rectangular white box. “You were asking for recommendations, right? Well, this one’s a trooper.”

“That so?” your co-worker clicks. “Might be too intense for me. You’re known to be an overachiever.”

“No shame in a little overstimulation,” you shrug.

Joel slams a fist on his chest to stop himself from hacking out a surprised cough. His thighs go hot, a warmth that spreads between them and tightens his pants as he thinks about you with a wand to your glossy clit, hips squirming for more and less all the same.

“Yeah, for you. I’d be bawlin’ into my pillow in two minutes.”

“It’s my favorite! Only just gave out on me yesterday… had her for years, though. My old faithful. Have to say, it’s a little rough waiting for my next paycheck. Nothing else does it for me. Feels fucking incredible.”

Joel walks out. Not because he wants to, but because if he doesn’t, he won’t be able to stop himself from spending almost a hundred dollars on that wand and handing it to you in broad daylight. It occurs to him on the uncomfortable drive home, hard and throbbing between his legs, that he wants to be the source of your pleasure, to make you feel good.

It’s a damning thought for a man like him, but not damning enough.

Pent up is one way to describe the way you’re feeling.

After the unfortunate passing of your trustworthy wand, your fingers nor the rest of your collection of comparably wimpy toys, have been able to do the trick for you. And the worst part of it all? Your paycheck is still three days away.

You’d like to say not getting off in four days is the source of all of your arousal, but you’re not a liar. At least, not to yourself, because you wouldn’t stand at the podium and confess your nastiest Joel-centered fantasies to his face. It’d been bearable when it was only him fucking the fleshlight taped to the backs of your eyelids. You blame it on the pervy part of yourself that’s always rubbed her thighs together from watching a man get himself off. It’s no longer bearable when you start envisioning him moaning your name while he rocks his hips into the toy, chasing his release.

No, it’s not bearable at all.

Sitting behind the same counter you’d checked him out at makes it worse, roughly the same hour of the night that he’d popped in the other day. You keep thinking of how he looked at you, first caught like a deer in headlights, then almost shy, a word you’d never once use to describe the man you’d come to know as your dad’s best friend.

An even more pervy part of yourself, the same one that hopes he thinks of fucking you when he fucks his recent purchase, slowly rolls her hips into the stool. It’s imperceptible, not something that has a chance of being picked up by the camera. You grind your clothed, needy pussy onto the pink vinyl cover, smothering a whimper into your fist. The seam of your shorts catches on your clit, snuggled between your folds. Your arousal clings to the gusset of your drenched panties. Pleasure spools in your stomach, winding around your cunt and spine. 

You curl in on yourself, burying your head into your folded arms and panting as you grind on the stool. You let yourself pretend it’s Joel’s lap; the mound-like shape of the foam beneath isn’t at all close to what Joel’s bulge must feel like, but with every press of your hips, it matters less and less.

The taboo of it all, knowing you’ll have to go into the security system and delete the footage once you’re done soaking the vinyl, being in view of the unlocked door, is doing just as much for you as your vibrator back home would. So much so that with your head tipped low, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hips canting back and forth, you don’t even notice the rusted rasp of the bell above the door.

You don’t notice a damn thing until a strangled sound comes from the front of the store.

Your head snaps up so fast that you go toppling off of the back of the chair, just barely able to catch and prop yourself up on a shelf behind the counter. An embarrassed cough knocks its way out of your gut. Too taboo. You’re still panting when you’re stricken by a passing thought: you’re definitely going to lose your job, the last one this part of Austin seemed to have to offer. Shit.

Your dignity on the other hand is long gone, somewhere in the smear of arousal you left on the stool. “Sorry – fuck! I’m sorry,” you blurt out in a last-ditch effort to keep your job, fingers crossed that it’s someone who understands or at least doesn’t care.

When you look up, you get none of that. For the second time this week, you get Joel Miller. Joel Miller with his messed up hair and work-worn hands, slack jaw and rapid blinking.

You must be matching his expression now, mouth opening and closing with your eyes widened in the ultimate form of disbelief. Your head bows and your chin meets your chest. Apparently it wasn’t enough for your dad’s best friend to buy a fleshlight from you. He also had to find you getting off in public. 

“Joel, shit, I’m so sorry,” you start, planting the heels of your palms on your temples. Your legs feel weak, a death sentence with your sluggish, blistering heartbeat. Joel’s silence bears down on you, an inescapable weight, and you’re talking before you can stop yourself. “I– I’ve just been so pent up…” Cheeks burning from the inside out, you scrub your hands from your forehead to your chin.

“Shut up,” Joel says stiffly. A wince cleaves its way out of your body.

Another apology sits on your tongue. “I’m s-”

He cuts in, “Knock it off,” and that’s when your eyes drift lower. Below his belt buckle, but not much further. How could you look any lower when his cock is rock fucking hard in his jeans, fighting against the denim? You whimper, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together. “Jesus, are you in fuckin’ heat?” Joel snaps.

It doesn’t achieve the desired effect – you just let out another whimper, your arousal still clinging to your thighs. “Joel, please.”

Joel pinches his nose bridge. He shakes his head, dissolving into a muttered swear under his breath. “No, hun. Not gonna end up balls deep in my buddy’s little girl, even if you beg real pretty for me.”

“Why not,” you practically whine, pushing off of the shelf and walking closer to him. He only folds his arms over his broad chest as if to keep you away.

His voice is strained. “Baby–” Your heart flutters. “Can’t do that to your dad. You’re just houndin’ after a poundin’, ain’t ya?”

“I am,” you huff, brain clouded by the arousal that’s currently casting a shadow through all of your being. “Please, I haven’t come in days.”

Joel hisses at that like he’s in pain. He shakes his head again, much faster. There’s a line of remorse pressed between his brows, but it’s far overpowered by the pressure of his cock pulling his jeans taut. “Your little ‘massager’ quit on you, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip. Right on the money. “How’d you know?”

“Came in for… somethin’... the other day. Heard you fussin’ about it to your co-worker.” He shrugs.

You’re burning up, a match struck against the gritty concrete of Joel’s voice. It doesn’t matter that he’s a customer, doesn’t even matter that he’s buddies with your dad. You just want him to replace your aimlessly working fingers at night. You want release, and you want it with him. Begging won’t get you there with Joel, you’re realizing, even if all you want is to get on your knees and cry for his cock. You need to rile him up until he breaks. “Needed another pocket pussy to put your dick in?” you tease.

“Watch yourself,” Joel says. “You really that cock starved, darlin’, that you’d beg your daddy’s friend to stick it to ya?”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk. “What is it you said? A bit dry lately, right?”

“I clearly got more self control than you, hun.”

You say, “Nah.” Your smirk widens, and you take another dangerous step towards him. “You’re hard as a rock, Joel Miller. Bet you were thinking about sticking it to me all along. That’s why you came back, huh? Get another glimpse of me for your spank ban-”

Joel seals the distance between you two, fist going to curl up around your jaw and squeezing. Your mouth pops open, a choked whimper dislodging from your lips. “You got batteries behind that register?” He asks, voice stern. His eyes are all pupil, plunged into black. You struggle to nod in his grasp. “Grab ‘em.”

He leaves you standing in front of the door, buzzing with nervous energy as he walks towards the vibrator section. Your stomach does what feels like ten cartwheels in a row. You lean over to the door, flipping the sign to closed and drawing the curtain shut before practically jogging to the batteries.

You grab the type your beloved wand takes, not even concerned with cashing him out before he’s in front of you again, slicing into the box with his truck keys. You slide the batteries over, and he’s peeling apart the plastic to expose your favorite pink wand, armed with six different settings that never fail to make you come. You only notice you’re rubbing your thighs together again when he gives you a sharp look while he’s popping the batteries into the proper compartment.

He pats the counter. “Up.” You hop up, maybe too eager, your eyes big and needy. Joel grabs you by the shoulder and leans you back, starting to work on the button of your jeans. “This is how this is gonna go,” he says, voice hardened with an order. “You want me to stop, say so. I’m gonna put this wand on your achy little clit, gonna make you feel better, because you ain’t slutty enough to be humpin’ a chair.” You nod so fast that you’re surprised your head doesn’t fall off. “Not gonna give you my cock, got it?”

“G-got it,” you get out shakily. He taps your hip, and you arch off of the counter so that he can yank your jeans and panties down, leaving you spread out and exposed.

 Joel spreads you with his pointer and middle finger. “Shoot, baby, you poor thing.” He runs a thumb through your seam, thumb coming up sticky with your wetness. “Drippin’ like a faucet.” He brings his thumb up to the corner of your lips, and you greedily take it into your mouth, tasting your musk off of his callouses.

“That’s it, suck it like a good slut,” he coaxes as you run your tongue along his skin. He pulls away with a pop and weighs the wand in his hand. Flicking one of the buttons with his freshly-sucked thumb, the toy whirrs to life and thrums in his large hand.

You squirm below him and his intense gaze, gripping the edge of the counter for any semblance of purchase you can get. Without warning, he places the toy down onto your clit. Your vision crackles black at the edges as you cry out. You writhe underneath him, hips helplessly bucking. Joel laughs, the bastard that he is, and rolls it along your sensitive nub. It moves freely with the help of your wetness, and even on the lowest setting, it’s more than you thought it would be.

It helps that Joel’s the one using it on you, knowing just went to add extra pressure and lift up, and it also helps that you’ve been untouched by even yourself for the majority of the last week. You push your palms down on the counter and desperately grind your hips against the wand’s head. Your head lolls back, the neon signs on the wall behind you shining on your sweat-slick skin. 

Joel flicks between two of the settings, a constant push and pull between low and a little higher, the sort of sensation that has your stomach stirring. “That feel good, hun? Better than rubbin’ this needy pussy on that stool, I bet.” You let out a pitchy sound of half-disagreement, half-pleasure in response, managing to push yourself up on shaking elbows to get a good look at him. He’s still hard, if not more than he’d already been, rolling the wand in easy motions against you. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. Not a bad thing that you only think with your cunt. ‘S cute,” he coos at you. His words make you gush.

“M-more,” you rasp, hips stuttering. You crave more, more of him, even though he’s already denied you that much. There’s a supernova of need flaring inside of you, enough to crack your lips into a ragged moan. Your cunt tightens, squeezing out more of your arousal. You crave him inside of you, buried deep and rolling his hips into you. “Joel, I need – need your cock.”

He turns it up, notches it to a faster pace that engraves pleasure onto your swollen clit. “No you fuckin’ don’t. Quit your mealy mouthin’ and take what I give you. You were ‘bout to spray your whore cum all over that chair, this should be more than enough.” Joel punctuates his sentences with hard jabs of the wand against you, drawing pathetic moans from your chest.

“J-J-Joel! Fuck!”

“J-J-Joel,” he mocks above you, shaking his head. His dark hair flops around with the movements and his tongue sneaks out to lick his lips while he watches you quiver below. “Yeah, you’re in heat alright.” Joel’s hand goes to the hem of your shirt and yanks it up, and your trembling hands help him lower the cups of your bra so he can grab and knead your tits.

His thumb circles your nipple when he turns it up to the highest setting, the one that makes your clit go numb and your back arch. You hardly have time to choke out, “Cl-close!” before Joel rubs the wand just right.

As your orgasm soars through you, you can hear him saying Attagirl, give it to me, so pretty when you come through the veil of your hearing’s fuzziness. You whimper, still rolling your hips as your fingers clamp around his over your tit, and he rubs circles into your palm while you ride it out. “That’s it,” he says when you come down fully, starting to shiver away from the pressure of the vibrator. He lowers it until it stalls in his hand and sets it down on the packaging.

“Good?” he asks, reaching up to stroke your cheek.

“Good,” you nod with a tiny little sigh.

You manage to haul yourself up fully onto your elbows, thighs still trembling. When you look him up and down, you notice two things: there’s the tiny etching of guilt in his eyes, but his cock is definitely still hard. Joel breathes out your name when you reach for him, cupping his sizable bulge through his pants. He hisses. “Can’t be doin’ that, baby.”

“Why?” you ask, lips contorted into a pout. “Because you’re scared you’ll bend me over and fuck me?” You feel his cock twitch under your hand. His resolve is breaking, and you’re loving it. “Just the tip, Joel.”

He winces from your words, but he looks at you, right down to your still-dripping cunt where your release trickles down your inner thighs and your seam. When you spread yourself out for him like he had done and run your finger tip along your opening, that seems to be the last straw. Joel curses under his breath and g0es to make quick work of undoing his belt with one hand, his other still holding yours. “Ju– just the tip,” he reiterates, voice stony. 

Joel pulls himself free, groaning when his cock springs up. A noise of surprise catches in your throat when you see him in full. He’s even bigger than he looked in his jeans – which you had no idea was possible. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Just gonna give you the tip, remember?”

“Yeah,” you exhale on a shaky breath.

Despite his insistence, he still reaches out for the condom display next to you, already popping a box open. You grab his wrist urgently, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. Want – want you like this.”

“We shouldn’t,” he says, still holding the box. “I mean, hun, this joint is literally called Condom Sense. Oughta have some, shouldn’t we?”

“Don’t care.” You gather some of your cum on your fingertips, wrapping them around his head so you can brush over his slit. His hips jump, a dead giveaway to what his answer will be.

He grunts, tossing the box somewhere off to the side. “You protected? Clean?” You nod, victorious. “Alright,” Joel sighs. Apparently coming all over his fleshlight isn’t enough, because Joel bends over the counter and dips his head to press his lips against your clit, kissing before he sucks gently on it. You yelp, but quickly feel that heat returning and sparking in your core. He licks at your entrance, swirling his tongue around. “Taste fuckin’ delicious, baby.” You have a feeling he isn’t prepping you for the tip anymore, even more so when he pulls back to feed your cunt two of his fingers.

You whine, desperately rolling your hips down against his thick fingers, fucking yourself down on him as he opens you up properly. He curls his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot inside of you. Your stomach twitches. “That it?”

“Mhm,” you whine, and he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, always sure to brush your g-spot. The heel of his palm slaps against your clit and you whine, looking at where his fingers fuck into you. It’s an obscene view, his knuckles drenched in your juices while you clench down around him.

“Good girl,” he sighs when he finally pulls his fingers from you. He gets a good grip on his cock, rubbing the head through your slippery, sensitive folds. He coats it in your arousal before notching it at your opening. When he pushes in, he stays true to his word so far, but the tip is enough to make the room spin all over again. You squeeze down on him and he groans a rough, “Fuck. So goddamn tight.”

His words make you clench again, and his head tips to meet your shoulder blade, body poised at an awkward angle while he fights to stay at least partially outside of you. “Didn’t expect you to feel this fuckin’ good, sweetheart. So fuckin’... good.” He gives you shallow thrusts with the tip, just barely enough to slip in and out of you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as if trying to keep himself quiet, trying to steel himself into remembering who he’s on top of and who he just made come. 

“Joel,” you whine, carding a hand through his hair and tugging lightly until he brings his eyes on you. “Fuck me.”

For once that night, it’s enough. With his eyes on you, he eases into you, groaning with every inch he gives you until he’s bottomed out in your cunt. With all of Joel’s prepping, there’s no pain, only the fullness of what it’s like to throb around him, to leak down his cock. Your fist tightens in his hair when he pulls out of you only to slam back into you. You look down where his body almost covers yours, and through your silhouettes, you can see the stretch of your arousal sticking to his happy trail, stretching between your skin. The room does spin, now, a blur of pink and pleasure.

Joel says, nipping at your ear, “This what you wanted? Wanted me to stretch you out, make you take my cock like the whore you are?” He rolls his hips into yours and effortlessly finds your g-spot like before. Your legs scramble for purchase, wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush against you. His happy trail, spattered with your arousal, rubs against your clit. You grind your hips down, dig your nails into his biceps, desperate to meet his thrusts. When you don’t respond, he pinches your nipple, and your legs wind even tighter around him in surprise.

“Yes! Wanted it – wanted it when you first walked in, fuck,” you whine.

Joel smirks into the place between your shoulder and neck, kissing up the expanse of your skin. “Horny little girl. Bet you went home so excited to put that wand on your pretty clit, only to find out it quit on ya.” You can only moan, boneless and foggy underneath him as he rocks his hips into you. “Fucked my fleshlight thinkin’ of you, but I bet you already knew that, didn’t you? Wanted to bounce you on my cock so bad. Fuckin’ choking me like I knew you would.”

“Fuck me like you fucked it, then,” you say in a rush, your whimpers still poking through your sentences. “H-hard, Joel, want it rough.”

Joel grunts, twitching inside of you from your request. “Shit, can’t say no to ya. Gotta have… gotta have a goddamn death wish or somethin’, baby.” With that, he finds a punishing, ravenous pace, the filthy noises of his body slapping against yours filling the store from wall to wall. He grins. “But you like it, dirty girl. Can feel ya gettin’ close. C’mon, gimme another, baby.”

You come with a cry, soaking his cock, eyes watering from relief while you grip him. Warmth seeps into your bones and turns your brain to mush, electric from dopamine. You go limp on the ledge while he continues fucking into you, voice filling your ears, “That’s it, that’s my girl, fuuuuck, way better than that fleshlight. Shoulda bent you over the counter and fucked you that first night.” You moan at the thought, pussy still clenching his cock. 

You’re too busy coming to notice him reaching to the side, retrieving the long-forgotten wand. You could scream when he touches it to your clit again on the medium setting, and then your thighs are shaking around him even stronger and you’re coming for the third time that night, launched from one orgasm straight into another with Joel hovering over you, still fucking into you. “Fuck, again?” he asks, voice layered with disbelief. “Such a messy pussy, baby. Drippin’ down my thighs. Gonna make it even messier, pump you full ‘a my cum, sweet girl.”

Your vision whites, palms slapping on the counter before he wraps his hand back in yours like before to ground you. You squeeze his hand and moan in response. He turns the vibrator back to low and keeps rolling his hips into you. “Close, baby, gonna shoot this load up your pretty pussy.” Joel’s forehead drops to the counter, still mouthing at your neck when you feel him jerk inside of you. You feel the warmth of his cum spill into you while you still flutter around him, his debauched moans filling your ear as he empties himself into your cunt.

Both of you are breathing heavily by the time he pulls away from you, you laying down on the counter and staring at the ceiling tiles. They’re unfocused and blurry in your post-orgasmic bliss. You blink yourself back to reality, giving him a look with your hooded, tired eyes. His chest rises and falls, mouth and softening cock smeared with your cum. He’s looking at you with the same eyes you’re giving him, something crossed between incredulity and shamelessness.

Joel fishes around in his back pocket before finding a red flannel handkerchief, which he’s careful to dab at your inner legs. You’re both silent until he separates from you with a peck to your forehead. “Did good for me. You’re, uh… really somethin’, sweetheart.”

You grin at him. “That mean this is gonna happen again?” You ask as he tucks himself away and buckles his belt. You stuff your tits back in your bra, pulling down your shirt and securing your pants and shoes from where they’d long fallen into piles on the floor.

“Don’t jump the gun, baby.” He rubs the back of his neck and licks his lips. “But I ain’t rulin’ it out.”

A cocky smirk tugs at your lips, and you hop fully off of the counter, tugging your jeans up your waist. Joel taps the vibrator box when you’re all done. “Cash me out?” he asks, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket and grabbing his wallet instead.

You nod, scanning the damaged vibrator box and batteries and reading off his total. You bag up the soaked vibrator, the on-the-house toy cleaner, and the rest of the batteries he’d bought. “Here you go,” you say, holding it out for him.

“Nah, hun. That’s for you. What use am I gonna get out of a vibrator unless it’s makin’ you come?” He pats the back of your hand and slides the bag across to you again.

You stare at him, fighting not to let your jaw loosen. “Joel… that’s a lot of money.”

“And you deserve to come as much as you want, got it, pretty girl?” He smiles at you with a shrug as if he hadn’t just wrung three out of you within an hour. “Besides, you have my number. You know who to ask if you ever need someone to talk you through it.”

You choke, nodding dumbly at his proposition. So definitely not ruled out.

“Thank you,” you say, bringing yourself to match his smile.

He gives your hand a squeeze and says, “See you later, sweetheart,” before heading out.

And sure, this entire thing is a tornado that could toss up your life like a trailer park, but for Joel? You’d let it happen.

[thebadmintonhub]

Badminton for everyone at The Badminton Hub

No matter your age, it is important to keep fit. But a lot of the exercises or fitness options around you are a young woman/man’s game. Lifting heavy weights, running miles and miles or heavy and difficult training is not something everyone can do. These forms of exercises do not have to be the begin all and end all of your fitness journey.

A sport like badminton is an accessible way to keep fit for every age group. The best part is that you can find professional badminton coaching near you now! The Badminton Hub is the best place for players of every level and age group to get their start on the court. At The Badminton Hub, our students are given training that keeps them fit and on top of their game.

Keep your reflexes and your mind sharp as you embark on your fitness journey with The Badminton Hub. Our coaches are holistic and the best professional trainers in the sport. We have everything a player might need to keep their body fit as a fiddle. With badminton you can keep fit without the strenuous and complicated routines of a gym or other fitness spaces.

The Badminton Hub’s goal has been and always will be the betterment of our players. We want to make sure that the people we coach are learning more than the sport. With our training programs and state of the art equipment and amenities, you can be guaranteed the best coaching in the sport and a system that is made to help you succeed. Whatever your goal, we can help you achieve it.

It is important to keep your body active and stay in shape because health is wealth. This might seem like a hard and arduous journey to embark one but it doesn’t have to be. Join The Badminton Hub and watch your body and mind transform. Give yourself the best to be the best version of yourself. Give yourself the opportunity to grow and evolve into a person who can take on any and every obstacle. Choose The Badminton Hub today!

If you’re looking for private badminton coaching sessions, or group sessions with players at a similar level, https://thebadmintonhub.com/

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

It's Flawless, Really Something

Roy Kent x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Language, flirting, a pervy parent, non-academic activities in the classroom

2.6k words

Teach Me Tonight Masterlist

“Did you save me that biscuit?”

Roy Kent leaned forward, hands on the plastic table, and smiled at you. His eyes were bright, and his black leather jacket hugged him deliciously; he was perfect, you thought. Stupidly, ridiculously, wonderfully perfect.

“Only if you’ve got exact change,” you managed to joke, holding out your outstretched hand.

Roy looked surprised at your teasing reply. Surprised, but also pleased. After your talk with Leanne, you’d made the terrifying decision that you were going to flirt with Roy Kent. You liked him, you knew that much. He clearly liked you, at least a little. And if he was ever going to ask him out, he, like any other man, needed a little encouragement.

With a content chuckle, the coach reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of quid, definitely more than the cost of one chocolate chip cookie. He pressed the money into your hand, curling your fingers into a fist as his warm grip lingered.

Despite your immediately wavering bravery, you held his gaze, not caring that he could probably see the way you gulped at his touch. “That’s a little too much, Coach,” you hummed.

“Consider the rest a tip,” he answered, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. “For exemplary service.” He tilted his head at you. “How long’re you here for? Do they let you take a break, or do I need to call the union?”

“Maybe another half hour and then I’m pretty much done.” You smiled, not caring that there were students, and parents, and other teachers flittering around. “Why? You want to buy me a lemonade or something?”

He shrugged and picked up a chocolate chip cookie. “Or something,” he echoed with a wink. “Have fun.”

You watched unabashedly as he walked away, to where his sister and Phoebe were waiting for him. He handed the cookie to a bouncy Phoebe, while his sister waggled her eyebrows at him. Roy gave his sister a shove before glancing back at you, his smile widening when he caught you staring.

As you were wondering whether Leanne would kill you if you left her alone, Mrs. Seling rushed over mischief all over her face.

“Teresa’s dog got sick,” she said in place of a greeting. “We need someone in the dunk tank, just for twenty minutes until it’s Mrs. Halpern’s turn. Can you do it?”

Shit. The damn dunk tank. Every year, teachers brokered deals and offered bribes to avoid having a shift on the stupid thing, treating it like the torture chamber it was. The water was gross and weirdly warm. The air was freezing cold when you were soaked. Students lined up in droves to try to dunk their teacher into the water, and, worse, dads lined up to see the results.

Of course, Lee chose that moment to absolutely betray you and busy herself with selling brownies to a student’s grandmother, leaving you only able to smile weakly at Karen and mumble, “I guess.”

So, there you sat, hating the fact that you’d chosen today to wear a light-colored shirt to go with your jeans, but thankful for the fact that your students had terrible aim. Phoebe O’Sullivan stood among the gaggle of children who were desperate to see you fall into the tub of water that you tried not to think too hard about; her uncle stood not far, eyebrows raised in amusement, trying not to think too hard about how you’d look once you got dunked.

Normally, Roy thought of you as cute, pretty, adorable. An absolute distraction. But the thought of you in a soaked shirt, material clinging to your body… fuck, he needed to get his thoughts under control. After all, he hadn’t asked you out yet, hadn’t kissed you yet. But fucking hell, his mind was racing as he tried not to turn into a teenage boy with fantasies of a beautiful teacher in a wet t-shirt.

“Uncle Roy, you should try!”

Phoebe’s little voice dragged him out of his increasingly adult thoughts. “Hmm?” He stared at the ball in his niece’s outstretched hand, quickly comprehending what she’d just said. “Oh. Sure.”

He stepped up after watching one of Phoebe’s classmates throw a very wild pitch. Your eyes found his, carrying a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. He knew he could hit that stupid red target; he was a retired athlete, after all. A flick of his wrist, and you’d be soaked from head to toe.

But he saw the way Jack Price’s dad was leering at you, the way that fucker always did when his wife wasn’t around. And he felt that tightness in his chest again, the tightness he’d had that day at the zoo when he watched that skeeze put his hand on your shoulder. No way was Roy going to let slime see his personal fantasy.

Besides, you’d probably appreciate Roy not dunking you, right? It’d be rather gentlemanly. And you seemed like the type that wanted a gentleman. And Roy wanted to be what you wanted.

So, he gently tossed the ball, shrugging at you when it hit the backboard instead of the target.

“Thank you,” you mouthed, warming away that tightness in his chest. The relief and gratitude on your face was worth looking like he couldn’t throw a damn ball, as well as the fifty pence the ball had cost.

As he pondered how he could leverage his chivalrous gesture to finally ask you on a date, someone tapped his shoulder.

Jack Price’s dad smiled at him, that stupid, sharkish smile, tossing a ball up and down. “Guess you’re not as good at pitching as kicking, hmm?” he joked, as if they were the kind of people who joked with each other. “Watch and learn.”

Your gasp was sharp as you felt the bench disappear from under you and were instantly underwater. Dammit. You’d almost made it the full twenty minutes dry as a bone. Fucking Mr. Price and his fucking cricket hobby. You came back up rapidly, cheeks burning as the kids cheered on the sight of seeing their beloved teacher soaked.

To add insult to injury, Mrs. Halpern stood beside the dunk tank, ready to take your place. You clambered out of the dunk tank, shivering in the approaching evening air. All you wanted to do now was go home, shower, and put on your warmest pajamas. Never mind letting Roy Kent buy you a lemonade. You were cold, wet, and, admittedly, a little embarrassed by the way your shirt clung to your skin.

But you grabbed your things and put on that fake smile for your students who giggled over your misfortune and tried to make a speedy exit. Unfortunately, Mr. Price slowed down your plans.

“No hard feelings, right?” he hummed, eyes everywhere but your face. “It’s for a good cause, after all.”

Instinctively, you crossed your arms, attempting to hide as much as you could. “Of course,” you murmured, making a pathetic attempt to sidestep him.

He blocked your path, eyeing your figure. “Need help with those wet clothes?” he whispered as his hand landed on your shoulder, the way it had at the zoo.

“Oi.”

As you shrugged off Mr. Price’s hand, Roy Kent approached, peeling off his leather jacket. “You must be fucking cold,” he mumbled. Pointedly ignoring Jack’s dad, he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders. “How about that lemonade?”

“Thanks,” you sighed as Mr. Price scampered away. “But I should probably head home. Need a shower after being in that thing.” As you spoke, you did your best to ignore the feeling of Roy Kent’s jacket hugging you, enveloping you in the scent of whatever wonderful cologne he was wearing, a cologne he’d picked out in the hopes of bumping into you today.

“Sorry the jacket’s not more comfortable,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you can just give it back to me Monday. Keep you warm on your way home.”

You shook your head. “I have a sweatshirt in my classroom. I can just throw that on.” Seeing the slight disappointment in his brown eyes, you swayed forward slightly, batting your eyes at him- something you weren’t sure you’d ever done. “Walk me to my classroom?”

There was that smile. That fucking smile, the one that was bright enough to make you forget Roy Kent’s infamous rage, the perfect smile you wanted to kiss right off his bearded face. He kept on smiling as the two of you slipped away from the fall festival.

He liked seeing you in his jacket. It was just big enough to look cozy wrapped around your shoulders, and he cherished the way you tugged it tightly around yourself. Admittedly, he was a big jealous of the way his jacket got to be wrapped around you. He wondered if it would smell like you when he got it back; probably like the dunk tank water, unfortunately. Maybe he could offer it to you again sometime. Maybe even after a date.

You quickly unlocked your classroom and led Roy in, trying not to flinch when you heard the door close, silencing the already distant sounds of the festival. Neither of you bothered with the lights, instead letting the last of the sun softly illuminate the classroom. Roy followed you to your desk, wondering if you wanted him to leave or stay, and hoping beyond hope that it was the latter.

“Oh, here.” You slipped off his jacket and handed it to him. “Thanks again, Coach. Very chivalrous of you.” Your smile was probably the most confident he’d seen, playful and teasing. It was probably his favorite smile.

“Any fucking time,” he breathed. He was fighting so fucking hard not to stare at you. He knew he wasn’t a married dad like Mr. Price or the others, and he was pretty sure you liked the way he stared at you- but still. He didn’t want to be grouped with them, a creep who ogled you like a piece of meat.

But fuck, you were making it hard. That shirt clung to you like it wanted you even more than Roy did, flaunting the body you usually covered with cute dresses and jean jackets- a body Roy really liked. You pulled your dripping hair up in a clip you found on your desk, exposing a neck that Roy was sure would look great with a few marks on it. And you gazed up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, as if you were going to ask him a question.

He cleared his throat. “You headin’ home after you grab your sweater?”

You nodded absently. “Probably.” You took a tiny step back, hitting the edge of your desk. “You sticking around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m with, uh, my sister and Pheebs.” Despite his best efforts, his eyes wandered. Fuck. “Sorry,” he muttered, wincing when he realized how obvious it was; he might as well be drooling.

You cocked your head at him. “For what?”

He shook his head, ears burning with shame and, if he was being really honest, desire. “For fucking…. Staring.” He made himself look you in the eye, which was somehow worse. “’m sorry.”

To his surprise, you smiled. “Don’t be. I… I like it when you stare.”

“Do you?” His voice was quiet, as if he thought being any louder would scare you off. “Why?”

You shrugged and hopped up onto your desk. “Because it’s you,” you said simply. Feeling dizzy from the way Roy looked at you, you reached out and touched his hand, grazing his skin with the tip of your finger. “You’re… you’re the kind of guy a girl likes to have staring.”

There it was. Since the first day of school, when he saw you in your little white sneakers and jean jacket, he’d been waiting for a clear sign that you were just as infatuated as he felt. And now, in your dark classroom, with your eyebrows raised and your hand on his and your lip caught between your teeth, Roy finally had his fucking sign.

He took a step forward and settled himself between your knees. Watching you carefully, he put his hands on your waist, digging his fingers into the soaking material of your shirt. You tilted your face towards him, finally giving him permission to do the one thing he’d been desperate to do since the moment you met.

Your lips were soft, even softer than Roy had let himself imagine. He had often wondered what kind of ChapStick he watched you apply on warm afternoons; cherry, he realized. Fucking cherry. For the rest of his life, he knew, whenever he tasted cherry, he’d be thrown back to this moment, kissing the pretty teacher in her classroom, amazed that someone so sweet would kiss someone so fucking miserable.

And kiss him you did. You brought your hands to the back of his head, pressing your chest flush against his. His hands fisted at your shirt, tugging it up a little so his fingertips could brush over your soft skin, still wet from the dunk tank, but quickly heating up as you deepened the kiss. Roy let you take the lead; he waited until your lips parted to open his own mouth, and your tongue was the first one to tentatively flick against his.  

He groaned softly into your mouth and let one hand cup your face, thumb caressing your heated cheek. He could get used to this, Roy thought. Used to your cherry-flavored kisses and hands in his hair and body pressed against his, and used to your sweet smiles and shy giggles and bright eyes. He wondered briefly what other things he could look forward to getting used to.

“We,” you huffed into the kiss. “We should go before-” Your breath hitched as Roy’s mouth wandered to your jaw. “-before someone sees us.”

He sighed against your skin. You were right. Roy knew you were fucking right. This was a school. You were in your classroom. As exciting and tempting as it was to keep going, he needed to respect that. After harshly pressing his lips to yours one more time, he pulled back.

“Let me take you out,” he all but begged. “On a fucking proper date.”

Your smile was brilliant. “That would be lovely, Coach.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, the hand on your waist giving you a gentle squeeze. “I think you can call me Roy now.”

“Right.” You giggled, that adorable bashfulness returning, somehow even more endearing now. “That would be lovely, Roy.”

Fucking hell, his name sounded good coming out of your mouth. It sounded so good he couldn’t help pulling you in for another kiss, a slow, tender one.

“Any chance you’re free tonight?” he breathed.

You nodded. “I just need to go home. Shower away the dunk tank.”

Roy did his best not to let his mind wander to that shower. “Right. Right.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ve got to drop my sister and Phoebe at home. Think I could come around at eight?” He kissed your jaw. “We could go get a drink. I can stare at you some more.”

“Sounds perfect.” With a teasing shove to Roy’s chest, you hopped down from the desk and grabbed your sweatshirt from where it hung over your chair, quickly pulling it over your head.

The two of you ambled out of the classroom wearing matching grins and blushes. It was a good thing your classroom was clear across campus from the festival, because it was painfully obvious that the two of you had just been pawing at each other.

“Be ready at eight,” Roy hummed, intertwining his fingers with yours. “And get ready to be stared at all night.”

“Looking forward to it.” You leaned forward and kissed his lips quickly. “See you in a bit, Coach.”

Roy growled at you, a playful, sexy sound.

Your laugh warmed his chest. “Roy,” you corrected as you squeezed his hand. “See you in a bit Roy.”

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[fairvstairs]

ANDREIL WITH KIDS!

So I've seen a lot of people say that Neil and Andrew wouldn't be good with kids/wouldn't like them but I think that it's much more complicated than that.

Of course I don't view them as the types to see kids and go "OMG so cute I want to hug them" but I also don't think they would hate them on sight. I have spent my life basically surrounded by children and let me tell you, some of them? They are really little shits. But after all, they are just tiny people, you are gonna find some assholes.

Kids are so much more complicated than people make them out to be and it really pisses me off. They are learning how to be in this world so they basically copy the behavior they see in the people around them, good or bad. They want attention, they want to have fun, they want to be loved, they want to explore and, most importantly, children want to trust.

("I was seven, I believed him.")

They don't understand 'stranger danger' or why someone would want to hurt someone else and some of them manage to become amazing human beings even if they didn't have a good role model.

So I think that if Andrew ever stumbled upon a kid crying his eyes out because he misses his mommy he wouldn't be annoyed. A child feels safe with his parent. What's wrong with that? And Neil looking at a child play, run, laugh, be happy, wondering when all that joy was beat out of him.

And the other foxes' kids? Children with parents that weren't supposed to make it but fought hard as hell to maintain their place in the world when everybody kept trying to steal it from them?

The Foxes know Neil and Andrew, they learn how to behave around them when everybody thinks they are just rude (they still have bad days) and their kids learn too. Especially because I don't think any of them are gonna be strict parents so the little ones understand that when they say "no" they really mean it.

The first years are hard, they do nothing but eat, sleep, cry their lungs out, poop, throw up on everybody and drool while making sounds that Matt swears he understands ("It's their way of communicating!"). Neil doesn't really like being around them, not since a random kid got scared after looking at his face, but his nieces and nephews (don't argue with me on this) grow used to him pretty quickly and really like the texture of his skin, because of the scars. Andrew treats them slightly better than he would any other adult: he doesn't talk much around them but he's always aware of every move they make. He picks them up when no one else is around and plays make-believe with them, he spoils them with sweets ("Andrew! Now he's never gonna go to sleep." "That seems like a you problem.") and often insults their parents.

Things get easier over the years and, before you know it, Neil and Andrew are the go-to for every problem the kids, now teenagers, have. It goes from "Uncle Andrew do you want to help me pick a dress for the prom?" to "I think my friend is in a really dangerous situation at home, what should I do?". The kids slowly become their own people but the foxes never stop protecting them. Every single one of them makes sure that all the kids get to have what they didn't.

I don't think Andrew and Neil would ever have kids of their own but they are bound to retire someday. Maybe Andrew starts to work in child services and maybe Neil becomes a little league coach, it doesn't really matter to them what they do as long as they give these children second chances. Second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as they get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give them.

-

Not trying to push a "yay kids!" agenda on you but I'm just tired of people hating children for being children. The foxes would be very disappointed.

(If you already saw this, no you didn't)

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Taking Care

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, RAPE/NON-CON

Summary: Commissioned by an anonymous user. Dabi and Shigaraki didn't start their working relationship off on the best foot, and to be perfectly honest, his view of his new boss isn't exactly favorable. But Shigaraki does seem to be trying to do better by the League, and him, in his own way. It's probably not his fault that he was socialized to be a total creep too. Dabi really shouldn't have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Contents: RAPE/NON-CON, brief descriptions of violence and vomiting, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, non-consensual body modification, natural lubrication, anal sex, anal fingering, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, creampie, brief feminization, molestation, abusive relationships, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, yandere!Shigaraki, dead dove: do not eat

Word Count: 10871

He is never gonna say that he 'hit it off' with the boss when they first met. Though, Dabi will say that's in part to the fact he could very clearly tell that Shigaraki wasn't the boss. He was just another over-confident jackass who had a bigger villain actually calling the shots from the shadows, and Dabi can't stand working with people like that. The guy's fucking second was giving him orders and trying to coach him into making smarter choices in his villainy and stepped in and stopped their fight before they could even really get started, and Dabi was left with a bad taste in his mouth and with the constant thought that the boss was a little pathetic. But the League was offering room and board, and a chance to fuck with UA again, even targeting his father's perfect creation, and Dabi had stuck around anyway. 

And for a month, his image of who Shigaraki was did not get any more flattering. He was absolutely a puppet for AFO and a spoiled brat on top of that. He felt entitled to anything he wanted and no one had ever told him 'no' or had shown him how that wasn't how the world actually worked. Well. It's not how the world is supposed to work, but Shigaraki does get whatever he wants as long as he proves to AFO he actually put at least a tiny crumb of effort into why he wants whatever it is that he's asking after. Dabi hates that too, but he keeps his mouth shut. The rest of the League is made of people so clearly desperate for somewhere to belong, and wanting to ensure their youngest members aren't exposed to the truly heinous parts of this world, that they are softening the work for them and trying to grow into a close-knit crew. But Dabi doesn't have the time or any interest in that bullshit. If he's joining a crew backed by AFO it's all going to be in service of ensuring that he burns Endeavor alive. He doesn't bother 'bonding' with the rest of them, he just works to ensure that he gets what he wants out of this arrangement. 

He feels like that might be happening when Shigaraki ends up making him the leader for the summer camp job. He isn't sure why he chose him over Compress, but he doesn't give a shit if it means he gets to be in control of how they hit the camp and who they go after primarily. He can make sure he's the one to see Shoto. The downside of all of this is that he also has to spend long hours planning with Shigaraki. They do most of it after the others have cleared out or gone to bed for the night, assessing their skills during the day, and planning around them at night where they don't have to worry about them confusing brainstorming for their final orders. Dabi doesn't love spending hours with Duster at night, but at least when they aren't being watched by AFO or Kurogiri, Shigaraki forces himself to behave a bit better. He acts more like an adult and less like the teenager he still is. 

It's during one of those late night planning sessions Dabi stretches, cracking his back, and feels his shirt ride up a bit. When he glances back, he can see that Duster is watching him. It's automatic to flip him off as he speaks, "What are you staring at, handjob?" 

"How far do your scars go?" And Shigaraki, among many other things, is incredibly blunt, so Dabi really isn't surprised that he'd asked. 

"None of your business, weirdo." They're sitting at the bar and he's ready to get up and head to bed, the two of them having gotten to a good stopping point for the night, when Shigaraki leans over and cages Dabi against the edge. He automatically tries to twist away, his temperature spiking hotter, as four cool fingers brush his side and start to push up his shirt. "What the fuck--" 

"Hold still or I may slip." Shigaraki's voice is flat and almost bored as he slides Dabi's shirt up his chest and side, red eyes dragging over him, far too intense for the tone he'd used. Dabi goes stock still as his deadly hand moves up his body until his shirt is pressed up beneath his arm, and Shigaraki hums, the other palm moving over his skin. He doesn't know what the other wants from him but he really doesn't want to end up dead because he's careless with his quirk. "You're already so damaged--" Dabi didn't know he could bristle any further, but he feels smoke and sparks behind his tongue as he grits his teeth. "If I don't know how bad it is, then I can't help make sure it doesn't get any worse." He brushes his thumb gently over one of the lines of staples curving over his side, and Dabi's anger, his breath, catches in the back of his throat. 

That's what this is? Concern? Some deeply weird, fucked up version of it from how poorly socialized Shigaraki is, but still. Concern all the same. Duster's hand moves over his chest, flicking his thumb over his nipple with a little snort as he does, sending an uncomfortable twinge across his nerves as the piercing there makes him so sensitive the bud hardens immediately. He only has three fingers against him then, and Dabi feels safe enough to bat away the touch. 

"Hands off, freak. I don't need you to take care of me. I know what I can handle." 

"I'm going to take care of you anyway." Shigaraki tells him without a hint of irony. "So you can tell me what you need, or I can figure it out for myself." He doesn't stop Dabi as he straightens his shirt and slips from the stool, fully intending to go upstairs and get stoned before going to sleep. 

"Whatever." He doesn't want Shigaraki, AFO, or the League to know anything about him. It'll just make it harder to escape them if he decides they aren't his best option in the long run. He heads upstairs and Shigaraki doesn't stop him. 

///

After that, though, he starts to notice little things that change around the base. Only he and the vampire kid are living here for the time being, and he really doubts she's the one who put a fancy antibiotic wound cream in the medicine cabinet of their shared bathroom, sitting right next to his toothbrush. For a second, out of sheer stubbornness, Dabi considers ignoring it. He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and he doesn't need a brat like Shigaraki thinking that he's reliant on him for anything. But the logical part of his mind knows that he should take whatever help he can get. The whole point of being here is to get strong enough to kill his father. If he wants to do that then having his skin falling off is only going to make it more difficult. 

He starts to use the wound cream and realizes over the course of a week and the wave of exhaustion and relief that comes in its wake, that keeping his body at a low fever was only keeping weak infections at bay. They were still there and fighting to really make him sick for, well, he's guessing it's been a long time. But the medicine actually kills them and starts to let him heal a bit. Which, in turn, makes him fucking exhausted and starving all the time. He's been trying to eat better here now that he has access to non-spoiled food readily all the time, but he has an appetite for the first time since he was a kid. 

And he doesn't mention that, doesn't usually eat around the others, but he starts to notice the fridge and pantry is stocked with more and more every week. Healthy things, for the most part, but tons of protein bars, fruit, and the like, some of which he recognizes as brands that his father and other heroes endorsed because they helped them to put on and maintain a healthy weight and muscle mass. Dabi is thin as a rail, a side-effect from three years in a coma and seven starving on the streets, but maybe... maybe he can put on a little more muscle if he takes advantage of this. So he uses his phone to look up how to recover from long-term malnutrition and how to safely get his body used to a calorie surplus instead of a deficit. 

And about two weeks after Shigaraki felt him up while they were alone, he tells the entire group that they have a doctor-- the one who makes nomu, but is apparently a real doctor during office hours-- who is happy to see them all for check-ups. Dabi wants to be annoyed about that, but Magne perks up immediately and asks when the soonest she can get in is. So maybe, just maybe, this isn't actually Duster taking the opportunity to show him that he absolutely meant what he said before. Maybe he just actually wants to make sure they're in better condition than the first group he took to UA was. 

It doesn't mean he isn't acutely aware of how smug Shigaraki seems when Twice is bitching a few weeks later as he re-takes Dabi's measurements, the old ones no longer sufficient because of how much healthier he's gotten since he took them before. 

///

Hitting the summer camp is exhilarating. Getting to overcome forty students and six pros with a crew of nine outshines whatever the fuck Shigaraki had been trying to do in his original debut. Being able to snatch their main target and getting to stand there and watch his brother, his father's perfect creation, desperate and failing, had put a delight under his skin he wouldn't have words for if he ever were asked to describe it. But he locks that away and acts as unaffected as he always strives for, especially with AFO breathing down their neck as they get back to base. 

They get the kid situated, debrief, prep for the next steps of their plan, and try to get some rest. Even without three of their number returning, it was a resounding success as far as their leader and his teacher are concerned. 

And when that all falls apart, Dabi is out for the majority of the fight. 

He wakes up, his head throbbing, the room spinning, and desperately needing to puke, which he does almost immediately, barely managing to roll onto his side to keep from choking on it, and definitely splashing the side of Duster's sneaks with sick. But he doesn't get decayed for that. Shig just gives him a tissue from his coat pocket and reaches over for a water bottle. He doesn't have any pain medicine, not that Dabi expected that given they're hiding out in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse, but it would have been a nice surprise. He sits up a little, and Shigaraki helps him, one hand staying at the back of his neck, palm cool, and thumb rubbing soothing circles there like that could help take away the ache in his skull. 

Dabi swishes the first sip around in his mouth and spits further away from them to clear the taste before actually drinking some of the water and wiping up his mouth. "Sorry," because he might not like the guy most of the time, but he doesn't hate him enough to think he deserves to get puked on when he clearly got him out of getting arrested while he was knocked out. "What happened?" 

Duster reaches over and sticks a hand into Dabi's coat pocket, which even through his headache, sends a mixture of amusement and annoyance through him, before he draws out his cigs. And yeah, fine, he could definitely use one of those too. He sets a spark on his finger and lights up for them both, and Shigaraki actually takes his mask off so he can smoke before he starts to speak. 

///

Which is how the kind of good thing that the League had going, turns to absolute shit. He doesn't hesitate to stress that them traveling in a big group like this is going to make it damn near impossible for them to actually move without being spotted, and since they're currently going to be on a cross-country tour to try and find someone who will actually give them an ounce of the resources that AFO promised to his supposed successor, splitting up is their best option. If he does this entirely so he can make sure he is as far away from the rest of them as possible as they get a taste of the way that he's been living for the past seven years, then that's his business. But Shigaraki only lets him go under the guise of 'recruiting', like they could get anyone that wasn't complete trash to join up with them now. 

But that's what he's off doing when Shigaraki calls him in the middle of the night. He killed a few potential recruits today, using his flames to burn their heads from their shoulders, and going through their pockets yielded him enough cash to get a motel for the night and a real meal, so he's honestly doing better than he has been for a while, and it's deeply tempted to not answer his phone and just enjoy the rest of his night in limited luxury. But when the first call goes to voicemail, it immediately starts ringing again so he huffs and snags it off the sheets, cig between his lips and taking a deep pull before he answers, 

"What, Shigaraki?"

There's a slight pause and then he hears Shigaraki let out a slow, low breath. "Magne's dead."

And Dabi is suddenly a lot less annoyed with the call. 

Shig explains what happened, Twice not communicating with him or Duster, Overhaul being more than they thought they were getting involved with, Magne and Compress rushing in to defend the group, and Magne being splattered all across the warehouse. It sounds horrifying and all, and the group is apparently using the last of their funds on a back alley medic for Compress so that he doesn't bleed out or die of an infection. 

"What about after?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Once Compress is stable-- What are you doing after?" There's another pause and Dabi feels his temperature starting to creep a bit higher. "The fucking dregs of the Yakuza just killed and injured members of your crew-- if anyone finds out about that after the shitshow you and your teacher put on in Kamino, then we are all fucked. The League has already lost almost all of our credibility after you used us to build it up again after your first fuckup at UA." 

"Dabi--" And he can hear him scratching at his skin, can hear that venom starting to build in his voice that usually precedes one of his temper tantrums. But Dabi isn't Kurogiri or All For One, and he's not in this game to cater to anyone else's ego ever again. 

"Shut the fuck up." He snaps before the other can get going, and the hiss of his voice actually does stop the other man in his tracks. "You're the leader, no more 'second tries', no more 'do-overs', no more fucking training wheels. You either figure out how to fucking lead this group, do what you fucking said you were going to, and be worth our time-- or you cut us loose, Shigaraki. We aren't just characters in your games that you can move around however you feel like. We're your crew, you have a responsibility to take care of us and when you don't-- Your actions have consequences, and it's about fucking time you grow up and start acting like it." He doesn't even wait to see how that lands. He hangs up, turns off his phone, and goes to take a cold shower before he literally sets himself on fire again from his fury. 

///

He doesn't hear from Shigaraki or the rest of the League for nearly a month. Instead he gives up on the pretense of recruiting for the League, goes back to his old haunts and takes whatever arson jobs he can get. Unsurprisingly, after word has spread about what he did at the summer camp, he has a lot more opportunities for those kinds of jobs than he did before. Dabi doesn't like that this is what he's left doing, but he will do whatever he needs to in order to survive. He just didn't think he would be back in survival mode so soon. He thought that he was finally setting himself up to be the monster he always promised his father he would come back as. But he is making due. As fucking always. 

He probably should have ditched the phone that he was given, but he figures that if Shigaraki is so useless, then it's unlikely that he'll have gotten back any of the resources he needs in order to use it to track him. And he's not in the position to throw out a perfectly good phone when he's still squatting in abandoned buildings for at least three nights a week when he can't find or afford a shady enough motel to stay in. Dabi is in an empty apartment building, glass and worse is scattered across the first floor, and the the windows are all boarded up, but he has a pretty good idea of when a building has been in disrepair for long enough that it's likely to fall on his head, and he figures it's safe enough to go up a few levels. He almost laughs when he finds a door someone locked that whoever went through the place and cleared out, didn't bother to open, and he melts the handle right off and goes inside. The lock and whatever fear of the upper levels other people had, kept this room from being trashed, and he throws his backpack into a corner of the one room that has carpet. It's not much, but he'll be happy to have something soft under him besides his coat. 

He's settling in for the night, a protein bar shoved between his teeth as he uses his hand-crank battery pack so that his phone will be able to charge while he's sleeping, when said device begins to ring. It does that occasionally, but it's usually someone contacting him for a new arson job. This is the first time he's seen Shigaraki's name appear on his caller ID in ages. Dabi sincerely considers not bothering to answer him. It's an impulse, a whim, maybe a little bit of hubris because he's curious to see if Duster is calling to grovel for him to come back because everything's falling apart even worse since he left, but he answers anyway.

"What do you want, Shigaraki?"

"Dabi," And Shig sounds a little breathless for a second, and Dabi is about to hang up because if he is being chased down by heroes or something, Dabi is going to burn his phone and chuck it out of the nearest window. "I've been working on making sure that the League gets reparations for what happened to Magne and Compress. We're on the verge of using the heroes to destroy the Yakuza and obtaining a new weapon that is capable of destroying quirks." He takes a breath and continues, more evenly, "In two days we're going to destroy the last of the Yakuza on a public stage, we can do that without you, but I want you with me."

There's something about the intensity in his voice, something that eclipses anything that he heard from him in Kamino, and the part of his mind that has been looking out and trying to protect him since he ended up on the streets, stirs restlessly in the back of his mind. But the more immediate part of him is curious, if nothing else. "How exactly are you gonna do that, Duster?"

And Shigaraki starts to explain his plan and what the League have been up to in his absence.

///

Two days later he is warring with the exhilaration in his body from putting on such a display, seeing Shigaraki and Compress tear Overhaul's arms off, and the constant, and heavy motion sickness that keeps going through him from Spinner's awful driving. It's really a lot, and he's so glad that when they lose the cops and teleport to the base that Shigaraki and the others have been using-- an empty administration building on the edge of an abandoned warehouse district that has two shower stalls in the boys and girls' bathrooms and that they've scrounged around to find any vague cushioned furniture so they would have something better than the floor to sleep on-- Toga and Twice really do want to go shower and recenter themselves after a month undercover in a high-stress environment before the League celebrates the end of such a long plan that's finally come to fruition. Spinner goes to ditch the car and Compress goes to use his still lightning fast sticky-fingers, and his maskless face to go steal them some libations and food for the celebration. Which means he somehow ends up 'alone' with Shigaraki. 

He hasn't been alone with Shigaraki since he walked into this shitty little hideout yesterday afternoon, and that had been kind of by design. He still doesn't know what to think about the fact that the rest of the League treated him like he's been out trying to recruit and gather resources for the group this whole time, like he didn't just fully abandon them and make his own way when he realized how utterly fucked they would be under Shigaraki's leadership without AFO at least funding them in their downtime to make that worth it. He is fully planning on just going into the corner and taking a nap while Duster plays his game or something, when Shigaraki catches him with four fingers around his wrist. Dabi's temperature creeps up, ready to turn the hand into ash if he tries to close his fingers around his wrist. 

"Let go." 

"You're not going to leave again." He tells him, and Dabi is reminded again that he and the League are the first people Shigaraki has ever had to deal with who could say 'no' to him if they wanted to. He thinks this socially inept loser is actually asking him, maybe pleading, for him to stay after being down a valuable player for over a month. 

Dabi eyes him. Shigaraki isn't wearing his mask at the moment and his eyes are intense as they search his face. He pulls at his hand, and Shig's grip tightens for a second before he lets go. But his fingers follow his skin even as he pulls away, the pads of his fingers brushing down the back of his hand. "Depends on if you can make this arrangement worth my time again." 

"I'll be worth it." He promises. "I'll take care of you." 

The intensity of the words makes something in him wary, but a larger part does feel some measure of smug satisfaction that his words, of all things, were what were able to snap Shigaraki from the pampered delusion of his youth. Good. Still. Dabi scoffs and rolls his eyes, going to claim the cushiest couch for himself. "Yeah? We'll see about that, Duster." He grumbles before getting on the couch and turning away from him. He fully intends to sleep while he can. The rest of the League hasn't figured out that they need to take rest whenever they can get it because at any second they could be on the run, but that's not his responsibility to teach them. 

Duster leaves him be as he curls up, but Dabi swears he feels his eyes on him the entire time it takes for him to actually pass out.

///

He does stick with the League after that. He isn't sure he meant to, but Shigaraki always keeps him close. He never lets on to the others that Dabi is always a split second from abandoning them, and they seem to think he's part of their big happy 'family'. He's only allowed to go out recruiting when the League is getting ready to leave a location, and then he meets up with hopefuls in an assigned location that Shigaraki has picked out, close enough for the League to be nearby, just in case he needs assistance. Dabi can't say he loves being babied, but he understands why Shigaraki and the rest of the League are so worried about him going off on his own. He just hopes they get over it soon as he burns another group of eight hopefuls to death. He uses the last of his flames to light a cig and starts to head down the alley. 

"Well, if that's the rejection process, I might have my work cut out for me." He doesn't recognize the voice immediately, and that means he isn't shy about sending a blast off in that direction so hot that he knows it can cause concrete to crumble. There's a blur of red and yellow and his eyes track it to the opposite end of the building, a blur that he is not happy about seeing is the number two hero lands there. He has his hands up in surrender as he crouches on the edge of the building, a dumb, goofy smile on his lips. "Whoa there, hot stuff! I came for a chat, and you're really gonna blow both our covers if you set fire to half of the street." 

"Back off hero, or I'll turn you into fried chicken." 

"That is my favorite food, but not really what I'm going for." He resituates himself on the edge of the building, sitting on the ledge and kicking his feet like he's got nothing to worry about. Like Dabi doesn't know that birds burn. "I was hoping we could have a chat about how interested the League of Villains would be in having a hero in their ranks." 

And Dabi knows heroes better than any of the League. He knows the awful things they get up to behind closed doors, he knows how corrupt the HPSC is, and he knows that no matter how talented he is, Hawks should have never climbed the charts so quickly after his debut, and definitely didn't do it without someone's help. "You want to join the League?" He wonders if the others are close enough today to hear that. 

"Sure do, hot stuff. I--" he definitely has his whole speech ready to go and whatever, but Dabi cuts him off. 

"Then you can go through our official channels and prove you’re worth my time." He takes a few steps forward, very clearly still heading to leave. "You start proving you want a working relationship by letting me fucking leave." And the bird's wings fluff a little, twitching with his agitation as this very clearly doesn't go the way he was trained to expect it would. Dabi raises a brow at him and ashes his cig. 

"And how do I go through your 'official' channels?" 

"If you're worth the League's time, then you'll figure that out like even those ash smears did, pigeon." He says blandly and starts to walk. 

Thankfully, Hawks lets him go, and Dabi makes sure he's lost his tail before he goes back to the others. 

///

He's not expecting Shigaraki to look half-crazed when he gets back to base, but as soon as he's inside, the other man is catching his wrist and dragging him right off into the nearest mostly private area in the base. Duster has gotten worse and worse about invading his personal space, but he doesn't put up a fight this time as he cages him up against a wall, eyes wide and desperate as they look at him like he doesn't know if Dabi is real. 

"You aren't going out on any more recruitment jobs, you're staying with me." 

"If I don't go out you're gonna have to send Twice, and we all know how well that went last time." He only lets himself be that cruel because he knows that no one else is around. "Besides, having a spy-- even an untrustworthy one-- could help us get access to more--" 

"No." And he has never heard or seen Shigaraki have such vitriol in a word, not even when talking about destroying All Might at the beginning. "He's the fastest hero in Japan. He could have killed you, he could have taken you away, I am not risking losing you, Dabi. We're leaving tonight, and you're going to stay close so that I can keep you safe." 

A part of Dabi really wants to protest that. He wants to snap at Shigaraki and tell him that he doesn't need to be watched like he can't take care of himself, but there's another part that can't help feeling a little... good from how protective Duster has been since he started to get his shit together. He may have swung hard in the opposite direction of treating the League like pawns, but the fact he changed his outlook at all means that he really is listening to them when they talk. He needs to find a happy medium, but Dabi thinks he will the longer that he has to figure things out. "...Fine." It's not like he really thought Hawks was a good idea. 

Duster lets out a breath, slow and even, and hides away the desperate thing he just showed him. Dabi expects that to be it, but Shig reaches for his face. He's pretty sure he's the only one who Shigaraki touches so much, but he tries to ignore that as his cool knuckles brush over the back of his cheek. "Stay with me?" 

"You're such a freak. I'm not going anywhere." He rolls his eyes, batting away his hand before he feels how his temperature started to creep higher. 

But he keeps his word. He doesn't go out recruiting again, he ignores the calls from an unknown number that try to come through, he sticks with the League. Shigaraki always seems to be hovering around him and in his space, orbiting him like he's the center of his whole world and the new version of himself and the organization that he's starting to build. Dabi can't say he hates that. He hasn't been important to anyone for so long, so he stays, and the League grows, and Shigaraki changes. 

///

They take over the MLA, they heal from their injuries, they are able to gather resources and plan their attack. And when they do, it's with Shigaraki fully nomu, with all of AFO's quirks at his disposal. It's a year of planning and everything else, but in one year, they are ready for their war. It only takes Shigaraki one hour to kill Best Jeanist, Hawks, Eraser Head, Mirko, and half a dozen other less well-known heroes. He even harvests the ones that he can, their broken bodies being snatched from the battlefield by the doctor for future nomu. And in the middle of all of that, Shigaraki having teleported around to find his targets and get the heroes more and more on edge and scrambling, their soldiers were moving in, destroying local police and hero agencies, cutting into infrastructure and wiping out power in large sections of the country. But in all the ones that do still have power, when Endeavor is called to the HPSC building because the world is burning all around them, Dabi airs his video, he tells the world his name. 

And he and Endeavor die together just the way he'd always planned. 

///

There is a persistent, and unfamiliar, ache under his skin. The air feels like it's a little too warm, and there is a heavy exhaustion throughout him. Hands move over his skin, firm and bringing with them a soft towel that he realizes is wiping away something from his body that feels oily and is filling his nose with an unfamiliar chemical smell. But he doesn't hurt. All he remembers from the moment just after he watched his blue flames boil Enji's eyes out of his skull until the sockets were spilling cerulean fire, was a sharp satisfaction and an overwhelming pain as they both crumbled away to ash. He opens his eyes, surprised that he still has his, and finds himself looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. The lights aren't too high, and he tries to figure out what's going on. 

Shigaraki is leaning over him, washing away a thin purple liquid from his naked skin, and Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat. He was definitely missing limbs by the time he had his father pinned, his skin was gone in so many places. But it wasn't smooth and black like it is now. There are patches of skin, like there were before, that are still his original skin tone, but the rest of it doesn't look like the knotted scar tissue he knows to expect. There are no staples either, just faint lines of pink scars around where the different sections meet.

"You're finally awake, firefly." Duster's voice is breathless as he sees his eyes open, as he shifts to feel how this is his body, he can feel it all, can see himself. 

"What--" 

Shigaraki's hand curls around the back of his neck and Dabi is speechless as he leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead. "It doesn't matter. You're here, and I promise I'm never going to stop taking care of you." He rests their foreheads together, and Dabi is still and silent because he has no idea what he should do as he grapples with the fact he's still alive. 

///

Shigaraki, seeing as Dabi's awake, helps him into a fancy bathroom off of the side of the lavish room, making him sit on a shower stool, but letting him wash away the lingering liquid as he calls in the doctor. Dabi knows what happened to him before he speaks to Ujiko. Looking in the mirror, seeing the sections of his body that have the distinct skin of a nomu, seeing out of eyes he's certain should have been destroyed-- he knows that Shigaraki or someone must have pulled him out of the crater that was supposed to be his and Enji's gravesite, and send him to be fixed. They brought him back from the brink of death. Dabi isn't sure if he's happy about that or not. 

But he cleans himself up and submits himself to testing. He's the same kind of nomu Shigaraki is. His physical strength will be insane, he shouldn't have any worries about rejecting the other tissue that was grafted on him. He will be ageless, healthy, and stable for as long as he lives, and as long as he checks in with the doctor from time to time if he does notice anything strange. And then the doc leaves and it's just him and Shigaraki alone again. There's a strange numbness that has gone through him throughout his waking and he doesn't know where to even start with it. All he manages to do is turn to Duster and ask, 

"What happened?" 

Shigaraki threads their fingers together, no longer needing to worry about his quirk destroying anything he doesn't want it to, and smiles at him, warmer and realer than any he's ever seen on the other man's face before. "We won, firefly." 

///

He finds out over the course of the next two weeks that the League, Shigaraki, didn't just win, he devastated Japan, and every foreign military that tried to come into the country to stop him. He ensured that all of his people would have exactly what they needed and over the course of the twenty-two months that Dabi was in the tank and being treated by the doctor, Shigaraki has started rebuilding Japan with himself as its king. He is actually the king now, and the only heroes left in the country are the ones who are being systematically hunted down by his people. He took the world for himself and shattered it into pieces, but he's creating something new now. The others are all off doing their own work to those ends, and none of them know about Dabi surviving what was supposed to be his final fight. 

"I knew I would bring you back," Duster tells him. They're sitting out on the porch that wraps around Shigaraki's house. It's not a palace, though it's essentially treated as such by the rest of the world, it's just a nice house sitting on top of a mountain. On top of Sekoto Peak. Because Shigaraki wanted something here for him after finding out who he was. They don't have to stay here if he doesn't want to, they can go anywhere, he can have whatever he wants. But Dabi just feels numb. He wasn't supposed to live to see the end of the war, the rebuilding efforts, and it feels like every ounce of drive that was in him from before has been stolen away. He keeps wondering if he could burn himself again faster than this new body could regenerate. He wonders even if he did, if Shigaraki would just spend another two years fixing him. "But I didn't know how long it would take. I wanted them to go out and build their own lives now that they can without fear." 

Shigaraki is holding his hand. He holds his hand a lot. Runs his knuckles over the back of his cheek, catches him around the back of his neck and presses kisses to his forehead. Dabi keeps meaning to rebuff whatever weird familiarity Shigaraki is displaying, but he feels like all the things he notices about his surroundings are being filtered in through a fog, and he forgets about saying something because he doesn't even think to until hours after the touch happened.

"I can call them back, when you're ready to see them." 

Dabi doesn't know if he's ever going to be ready for that. He hasn't even asked what happened to the rest of his family after he killed Endeavor, and Shigaraki hasn't offered the information either. If he can't manage that, he doesn't know how he's going to even pretend to not be numb when the others see him. 

///

He's been awake for a month in this haze, so thick that he actually did ask Shigaraki to bring the doctor back again because he was kind of worried that his brain was going the way that the gray and black nomus do. But Ujiko had just looked at him with barely constrained pity and informed him he was showing symptoms of depression. Dabi had let out a bark of laughter at that, and it was the first time he'd laughed since he woke up. It felt like glass shards in his throat, and did not convince anyone that he was alright. He tries to get given work to do, something, anything to try and make this awful numbness go away. But working on how to run a country is no more or less exciting than running the PLF, especially since Shigaraki is still keeping him secret. 

He tries to train, and when Duster sees him going outside, he catches both of his hands and pulls him to a stop. 

"What?" He asks, barely registering it as he pulls him in closer, and brings his knuckles up to his lips. He needs to tell Shigaraki to stop doing that. 

"You can't train, firefly." 

"Why not?" 

"After how badly you hurt yourself, do you really think I would let you have your quirk?" Shigaraki says, pressing his cheek to his knuckles. "No, precious. You can have it back when you're all better and I know I can trust you again." 

And the first flicker of something cuts through his numbness. A sharp, hot indignation that-- that doesn't make his temperature creep higher from his quirk. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He snaps, yanking his hands away from the other. "You don't get to choose if I deserve my quirk or not--" that anger, that spark, takes away the numbness that he has been drowning in for so long now. "You don't get to decide if I live or die! You shouldn't have brought me back! I wanted to die! I meant to die! You took everything from me!" His face doesn't hurt when the tears start to slip down his cheeks and he wipes at his cheek with horror, seeing translucent, healthy tears on the back of his hand. Duster took away every inch of him, replaced the things that were broken but were his, with something that so clearly–

Shigaraki catches his wrist again, squeezing hard enough that Dabi gasps as he feels his bones grind against each other as he does it. Red eyes burn into his as he yanks Dabi closer, his other hand clasping around the opposite bicep in the same bruising grip. "I took care of you. I took care of the League. I made certain that you would be safe. You're mine," he tells him, and there is a madness in his eyes as he says it. Something that puts a sharp spike of fear in him and-- and reminds him of how his father used to look at his mother before Shoto was born. 

Dabi only lets out a thin whimper, a sound he's never heard himself make before as he's held helpless in Shigaraki's grip. It doesn't matter if they're the same breed of nomu, Shigaraki has All For One, he's holding him. He could kill Dabi right now if he wanted. And then he could bring him back and do it again. 

The mania in his eyes dulls a bit. He pushes it away, and they go to that unbearable softness again. Duster sighs quietly and loosens his grip before shifting a hand to his chin. "I know that you're not feeling well, precious." He says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, breaking a stream of his tears. "I'm sorry for yelling. Why don't you come with me to the kitchen and I'll make you some tea?" 

Dabi tests his limits, and is allowed to pull out of his grip. He doesn't have words as he shakes his head slightly and flees back to his room, but at least Shigaraki doesn't stop him from going.

///

It takes him hours after dark for him to be able to curl up in his bed and try to go to sleep. He kept ignoring Shigaraki's weird behaviors before because he just thought the guy was poorly socialized, but now he realizes that he's the only one he touched like that. That he never did it in front of any of the others either. He doesn't know what the others would think about this, but he wants out now. He just doesn't know how he's going to get it. Shigaraki owns Japan. He's in charge of everything, which means that unless he is willing to learn how to get by on his physical strength alone, lose his quirk forever, and be willing to kill the League and whoever else Duster sends after him, there is nowhere in all of Japan where he can go. 

He isn't asleep, not when those thoughts are rolling around in his head, but he is dazed and bleary when all of the sudden his bed dips. Dabi jolts, turning, trying to lash out with his quirk, and not finding it again as Shigaraki gets into bed with him. He catches his arm as he swings it towards him and barely blinks before he leans over him, his other hand against the mattress and caging him in. "It's just me, precious." 

A sharp fear he's never felt before starts in his gut and Dabi tries to pull his hand away, but he's held in place so that he can't sit up, "Shigaraki, get out of my room." His voice sounds thinner with that fear. He needs to break whatever delusional claim the other man thinks he has over him before this gets any more out of hand. "I don't want you in here." 

"I know you're upset, sweetheart," Dabi is far more than that when Shigaraki calls him that as he shifts closer. He tries to squirm out from under him, but the other man is so much stronger than him, and he keeps him exactly where he wants him on the bed as he forces a leg up between one of Dabi's own and pins him to the bed with his weight. Terror sears across his nerves and he tries to fight harder, tries to tap into the strength that this body is supposed to have, but he doesn't make the other flinch in the slightest as he does. "But I don't want you to go to bed angry." With him pinned from the waist down, Shigaraki reaches for his chin and holds him still. "I know this isn't what you planned, I know that taking away your quirk doesn't seem fair, but, precious, can you blame me?" 

He sounds like this is all perfectly reasonable, like Dabi is the one who is being insane. 

"When you had it before, you were going to kill yourself, baby. You were going to leave me. After you promised you weren't going anywhere." He leans closer and Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat. "You said you would stay, firefly." There is a sharper ache in the look that he gives him now. "I need you with me, precious." He doesn't wait for Dabi to try to find his words, he just holds him still as his lips seal over his. 

Dabi keeps his lips pressed tight, he tries to turn away, but the grip on his chin holds him still as Duster kisses his mouth. He kisses him like this is something he's been waiting to do for so long, and a horrible sickness goes through him as he wonders if he did wait to do this, or if the reason he had been so unfazed by cleaning him up and helping him shower, was because he's already had his fill of his body while he was sleeping. Shigaraki doesn't care how unresponsive he is, he shifts his fingers up his jaw so he can press hard at the hinge of it, until Dabi knows his bones will break, or he'll have to open his mouth. The sharp pain is enough to have his eyes watering again, and his mouth opens with a sob. 

Shigaraki doesn't care. He licks into his mouth, holding his jaw open so that Dabi can't even try to bite him, as he licks deep inside. Duster takes like cold rain, and Dabi feels like that flavor is somehow sinking through his skin and all the way down to his bones. He wishes he were still feeling so numb as he lets go of Dabi's wrist to shift closer instead. Dabi tries to push against him, tries to pull on his hair or scratch his nails through his shirt, he tries to get away. He tries. Shigaraki doesn't even seem to notice. 

He pulls away, resting their foreheads together. "I've been waiting for you for so long, precious. I was so scared that I wouldn't get to make this new world for you."

Dabi shakes his head, weakly, tears dripping off his cheeks. "Shigaraki, let go of me, please." 

"Never again, firefly." He promises, kissing at the tracks of them again. "The whole world is mine now, and I've been waiting so long to share it with you." He strokes his thumb over his cheek and kisses the edge of his lips. "My queen." 

"I'm not yours--" Dabi yelps as pain lances through his cheek. It's not the same as burning, not the same as a bruise or broken bone. It feels different and wrong. And the pain comes with a soft crack as his skin shatters under the effects of Decay. He tries to thrash away, and Shigaraki holds him to the bed, but doesn't make his head crumble into nothing as he lets out a strangled cry. 

"Shit, I'm so sorry, precious. I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry." Shigaraki grabs him again, not in the same places as before, catching him in a hug and pulling him in, onto their sides so that he can hold him close, tucking Dabi's head against his chest as he strokes his hair and Dabi sobs, his own hand going to his shattered skin as he shakes. It takes about half an hour for the new healing to knit his skin back together, and he can't stop crying the whole time. He cries for his quirk, he cries for the body that hasn't been his own since the moment he was conceived, he cries for the end he was denied so someone else could use him for their twisted delusion. He cries and cries, and Shigaraki holds him and strokes his hair. He kisses the top of his head, and he tells him softly, again and again, "It's alright, precious. Nothing is ever going to hurt you again. I'm going to keep you safe, baby boy. It's all going to get better, firefly. I love you so much." 

It takes a long time for him to find words again, and when he does he only manages to say the other's name. "S-Shigaraki--" because he is terrified if he tries to protest again, if he tries to tell him this isn't love, this is something sick and twisted, that he'll be hurt again. 

Duster doesn't make him find words, he just tries to pull him into whatever soft hazy place he believes that he's living in, by kissing him again. He kisses him over and over, only parting enough for him to suck in a breath and let it back out on a fresh sob as his hands start to move over his body. He hadn't really dressed for bed, he'd just taken off his t-shirt and lounge pants and climbed in, and Shigaraki takes advantage of every inch of his naked skin. His hands move over his back, stroking around his sides and up to his chest to tease at his nipples. His piercings were all removed when he was in the tank, but his nerves, all of the new nerves all over his body that aren't broken and constantly screaming his pain, they somehow feel even more sensitive than before. 

Dabi's stomach floods with sickness as he realizes what he's angling for to put this 'argument' to bed, to prove how much he 'loves' him. "Shigaraki--" 

"Use my first name, precious. I want to hear it. I've been waiting so long to hear your pretty voice again, sweetheart." He breathes against Dabi's lips desperately as he kisses him again as he pushes him back onto his back, this time forcing Dabi's thighs wide around his hips. He can't help it when his breath hitches again as he feels Shigaraki's cock pressing against his as he's forced to this angle. He hates himself for the way that a jolt of pleasure goes through him there even as this only makes his fear sharper. 

"Tomura, please, I don't--" He pinches a little more roughly at Dabi's nipples and he whimpers but shuts up. Shigaraki wants to play this game. He wants to pretend, and he's going to make Dabi pretend too if he doesn't want this violation to be as physically painful as it already is in other ways as Shigaraki licks and nips along his jawline. 

"You don't have to be nervous, precious." He breathes against his skin. "I'm going to take such good care of you in our bed too." 

He doesn't bother to protest again. He knows it's not going to save him as his mouth settles against his throat, licking and biting like he wants to leave marks that he can't now because his skin is black there. Shigaraki starts to rock his hips into his, slow rolling movements that Dabi wants to twist away from, especially when they... start to feel good. He bites on his lip hard, trying to keep the only sounds coming out of him his soft sobs, as his cock begins to stir. But Shigaraki feels him, of course he does, and he smiles sweetly at him before his mouth moves down his chest to replace one of his hands. His other slips lower, catching the back of his thigh, pushing his boxers higher so that he can have his hand against his skin and drawing soothing circles there as he grinds against him. Dabi is pretty sure the petrichor taste of him is sinking past his skin and going all the way into his bones, settling there into a heavy, inescapable chill as his body, untouched for so long, starts to warm to his touches. 

The tears never hurt as they slip over his cheeks like they used to, and they never stop. Shigaraki's touches never hurt, and he never stops either. He pulls back for long enough to pull away his shirt and then he is kissing him again, his hands going down Dabi's hips and forcing them up so that he can pull away his boxers. Dabi tries to twist away instinctively, his body unable to suppress the urge when he doesn't want that. Shigaraki bites his lip so hard that he starts to bleed and he makes himself be still under him again. His erection doesn't even have the decency to flag as that fresher fear and pain go through him. His skin is so desperate for a touch. Even before he was supposed to have died, even before the League, it had been at least a year since anyone was willing to go to bed with him, and no matter how much his mind recoils, his body longs for pleasure. Shigaraki licks away the blood from his lip and murmurs, 

"You look so beautiful blushing like that for me, precious." His hands move over his body and he leans back to really look at him. "I wish I could have seen you before, but we were always so busy with work. I promise things will be different now. I'm going to make sure that you never have to lift a finger for anything else ever again." 

"Tomura, we don't have to," do this? Change how things were before? What? It's so sharply clear that this is all Shigaraki has wanted out of him since Overhaul. 

"I want to, precious. I want to make you feel good. I want to make every part of you mine. I want to make love to you, Dabi." He wishes so badly that he had burned hot enough to have only been ashes in the wind, and for the first time in his life, he doesn't know if he means when he was twelve or when he killed his father. 

Shigaraki kisses him again, his hands moving down his body, one wrapping around his cock and stroking him slowly from root to tip and Dabi hates himself for how loudly he moans. It feels so sickeningly good that his toes curl against the sheets and his cock starts to drool so much so quickly. He bites into his lip this time and tries not to squirm and have that pleasure turn to agony as Duster's eyes stay so pleased and adoring on him as he strokes his cock a few more times before he, thankfully, lets go of him. 

Then his hand moves over his balls and behind him. No, no, no-- His fingers, only wet with his pre, circle his hole, and Dabi grabs onto his shoulders, his nails biting into his skin. He's not even bothering to try to push him away, he's just bracing himself for the pain of being opened, or being raped by the thick cock he can see outlined in Shigaraki's pants, without proper preparation. But when Duster starts to rub around his hole, Dabi feels a surreal, unfamiliar ache in his pelvis before he feels-- he yelps as something warm and wet starts to slick his hole and Shigaraki's fingers as he rubs them over him. 

"Wh--" 

"That's it, precious. Getting so wet for me," and his voice is thicker with his lust. "I knew my baby girl would be so needy after having to wait so long to have me." 

He understands then, as Shigaraki circles him one more time before he pushes his finger deep inside, sliding along his wet walls without the discomfort he was expecting, that he didn't just have the doctor fix him. He had him made perfect for his delusions. He had his 'queen' made so that he could fuck him whenever he wanted. Dabi squeezes his eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears spill down his cheeks as he realizes that he probably tailor made his body to react to his touches. Made it impossible for him not to... like it as he's violated. 

Shigaraki rubs his finger along him, until Dabi is panting and keening softly as his cock leaks heavily against his stomach, and his hole is all but gushing slick as he puts in another. He sinks them inside and scissors them just enough to get him used to a stretch, strokes just long enough to ensure that his prostate is sensitive and making him moan with each little brush against it, before he kisses Dabi again and pulls his fingers out. 

"Tomura, please," and he wants to think that he's begging for him to stop. He knows he doesn't want this. But his body is lost in the heady, unwanted pleasure that is being forced across his nerves. He wants to die. He wants to be fucked. 

Shigaraki won't let him do the first, not when he thinks he owns him. But he takes the second for himself. He strips away the last of his clothing and Dabi shifts, twisting his torso so that he can hide his face against the pillows so he at least doesn't have to look at the other man as he wraps his hand around his thigh and holds him open and at the angle he wants, as his other hand steadies his cock so he can press inside. Dabi hates himself for how good it feels, how much wetter he gets, how loudly he moans, as Shigaraki feeds his massive cock into his body. He's breathless and soaking the pillow with his tears as the other man bottoms out.

"Fuck, precious, you're so tight." He leans in and kisses his cheek as he starts to rock his hips into him in slow, gentle, rolling thrusts that make certain every one of Dabi's nerves is stimulated and suffusing his body with pleasure. He laughs softly and Dabi wishes he could burn him alive. "First time you've had something inside since I brought you back, huh, precious? Guess that really makes you mine." He teases like they're lovers. As far as he's concerned, they are. 

And Dabi's body agrees as he starts to shift, angling his thrusts deeper, dragging their skin against each other slowly, kissing and touching wherever he can reach. He forces his pleasure to go higher and higher, and no matter how good it all feels, Dabi knows that it's wrong because his quirk isn't racing to meet him. His body gets warmer, but only the way a normal person’s would. Only reminding him with each sobbed moan and whimper as Shigaraki wraps his hand around his cock and begins to stroke, that his body isn't his. It never has been. It belonged to his father's ambitions first, then it belonged to his revenge, now it's Shigaraki's and he's never going to be able to escape. 

It's not an escape, but it is a relief when his pleasure goes so high that he can't fight it back any longer. His mind goes blissfully blank as he arches and cums, his insides tightening around Shigaraki, and pulsing just as much as his cock as he spills his release. His whole body feels consumed by the pleasure and he cries and cries as Duster keeps moving inside of him. He pushes him past the oversensitivity, telling him the entire time how beautiful he is, how much he missed him, how much he loves him, how he's never going to let him go again. He talks, and touches, and rapes him, and Dabi's body doesn't have the decency to be disgusted. He gets hard again, and this time, Shigaraki only lets him cum when he finally does, lacing their fingers together and kissing him sweetly as he fucks him full of his cum, until Dabi's mind gives him another few seconds of reprieve as his orgasm drowns him again. 

///

Shigaraki barely lets him be alone after that. He is with him in his bed-- their bed-- when he sleeps and wakes. He is with him when he eats, when he goes anywhere in the house, and if he has work to do, he brings Dabi to his office and he does his work, while holding one of Dabi's hands so that he can't go far. Dabi has to ask to even go to the bathroom when he needs to, and if he's not back in a timely enough fashion, Shigaraki comes looking for him. Now that he's shown his hand, proved to Dabi he is insane beyond anything he could have guessed, he doesn't bother to hide his obsession anymore. He keeps Dabi close, he pulls him into his lap for kisses and wandering touches that could turn deadly, or at the very least, painful, at his slightest whim. He slips his hand into his pants whenever he feels like it, either stroking him off or fingering him until he's dripping and trembling through his orgasm. He kisses away his tears and tells him how beautiful he is, how much he loves him, as he does, and Dabi lets him. 

He's not numb anymore. 

No, Shigaraki keeps him close, he dotes on him and adores him, and Dabi moves past the anguish. He moves past the regrets and wishes that he had just died when he had the chance. Wishing for those things won't save him now any more than it did when he was a child. He learns what Shigaraki wants from him, and when he wakes up in the morning a week after the first night that Duster forced his way into his bed, Dabi rolls into his chest and nuzzles his face up under his chin, pressing a kiss there, just beneath his jaw. 

"Morning, Tomu." He mumbles. 

Shigaraki's hands against him twitch, tightening just the slightest bit. "Morning, precious. Did you sleep better last night?" No secret now that they're sharing a bed that he has nightmares. Of the fire, of his father, and of Shigaraki too now. Dabi doubts he'll ever stop having any of those, but he shrugs. 

"Do you have a meeting this morning?" He asks instead. 

"Why, baby?" 

He kisses up his jaw until he reaches his ear. "Wanna see if I can take your cock without having to prep. You made me perfect for you, didn't you, Tomura?" 

"You were always perfect, firefly." Shig breathes, catching his chin and looking into his eyes. Dabi doesn't know if he'll ever learn to fake whatever he's going to need to in order to make Shigaraki believe his words are real. But he has time. He'll never get older, never be hurt again so long as he plays along. He can pretend. He wonders if Shigaraki can see those thoughts in his eyes as he looks at him, his gaze calculating. Dabi will play along. He'll do it until his mind shatters and he really does fall in love with this monster, or until Shigaraki sinks so far into his delusion that he never sees it coming when he burns him alive. 

Dabi knows how to bide his time to destroy someone. When he does it this time, he's going to make sure that no one is around to ruin the finality of that action. "I love you." He says on a breath, and Shigaraki smiles at him sweetly even though his eyes are still sharp. 

"I love you too, precious." They're both lying when they say it, but Dabi at least understands that his own words aren't just a lie, they're a promise. He will either love Shigaraki, or he'll kill him. Time will tell. 

[writingquestionsanswered]

How many words is too many? I have written over 80,000 words already and don't have a computer to edit properly. I've already decided to split the story among multiple books. But how many should each be? I am aiming for a basic novel to a little bit longer, but as a first-time author, I don't want to write something too long and not get anyone to read it.

Finding Your Story's Target Word Count

"How many words is too many" depends on what you're writing. Every type of story and every genre has a different word count range, and the specific ranges vary depending on who you ask. Here are some general ranges you can target...

Story Type:

Short Stories - 1,000 - 5,000 words Novellas - 20,000 to 50,000 words Novels - 50,000 - 110,000 words Epic Novel - 110,000 words and up (though these are rare)

Age Category:

Middle Grade novels - 25,000 - 40,000 words Young Adult novels - 45,000 - 80,000 words New Adult novels - 60,000 - 85,000 words Adult novels - 65,000 - 110,000

Genre:

Literary novels - 80,000 to 110,000 words Romance novels - 50,000 to 80,000 words Fantasy novels - 90,000 to 110,000 words Mystery novels - 70,000 to 90,000 words

It's important to remember that a book series isn't one long novel chopped up into smaller books. Each book in a series needs to have its own story arc. In other words, a beginning/inciting incident, middle/rising action, and end/climax and denouement. That said, you will need to look at the completed story and identify the natural story arcs that exist within it to figure out where each book should end and the next book should begin.

Something else to consider is your publishing goal. If you plan on pursuing traditional publishing, you might look into writing an in-depth summary of the entire story and working with a developmental editor or book coach to figure out how to best divvy up the story between books. That way, you'll ensure that book one is as strong as it can be, which will increase the likelihood of getting a book deal. After that, if your book sells well enough to warrant the publishing of the next book, you will have some guidance on where to go from there.

If you're planning to self-publish, you can still look into working with an editor or book coach, or even a critique partner, or you can just make the best decision you're able to about how to divide each book. Again, what matters is that each part of the story centers on its own individual story arc.

Something else to consider: if you have a really long story that you want to chop up into pieces rather than individual books, you might look into posting it as a serial on a site like Wattpad, Kindle Vella, Ream, or similar services. Serialization allows you to take a long story and chop it up into sizeable pieces, such as "episodes," and then you don't have to worry so much about dividing it up into books with their own individual story arcs.

One final consideration: Not having the ability to edit properly is not an excuse to publish an unedited work of fiction. No one wants to read an unedited story, even if it's chopped up into pieces. If you want to publish this story, whether online, traditionally, or self-published, you need to find a way to edit it properly and make sure you're putting a tight and polished version of the story out into the world.

Here are some additional links:

Self-Editing Tips Editing Tips Ten Ways to Cut Your Word Count

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[greatwesternrailway]

I made Eras Tour bracelets of all the times Taylor Swift references trains in her songs. The colours are inspired by different trains and railway liveries. Excessive details under the cut:

"You know that my train could take you home" from Willow. Inspired by Great Western Railway's Intercity Express Trains. It's the train I catch most often, it's my train!

"I knew you, stepping on the last train" from Cardigan. Inspired by the subway cars in New York City, which I think of as having blue seats but it seems yellow/orange is just as (or more?) common. Idk I've never been to New York, my whole knowledge of the subway comes from Broad City and pictures of dogs in Ikea bags.

"I jump from the train, I ride off alone" from The Archer. Inspired by ye olde American locomotives like the Union Pacific No. 119. This lyric evokes Wild West imagery for me and this type of engine is what my British brain thinks of as a "cowboy train".

"Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train" from The Last Great American Dynasty. Inspired by the steam locomotives used in the 1940s by the New York, New Haven, and Hartford Railroad, which is what Rebekah Harkness would have rode up on. Sadly I couldn't find a good colour image of one, so I leaned into it and chose a greyscale colour palette. As it happens the engines were almost certainly black anyway so it's fine.

"Silence, the train runs off its tracks" from Sad Beautiful Tragic. Inspired by my boy Thomas the Tank Engine. There are a lot of derailments on the Island of Sodor, the Fat Controller should probably have been sacked.

"Northbound I got carried away, as you boarded your train south" from I Look in People's Windows. Inspired by the London Underground map. I didn't have any brown beads so the Bakerloo line has been reassigned orange.

"We wait for trains that just aren't coming" from New Romantics. Inspired by the British Rail Class 195 trains created for Arriva Rail North, the network so incompetent that even the Tories had to re-nationalise it. Those trains just weren't coming.

"You took the night train for a reason" from Champagne Problems. Inspired by the British Rail Mark 5 coaches used on the Caledonian Sleeper Service.

"Some trains you can't catch again, you've gotta leave it as it was" from Tim McGraw - Acoustic Demo. This is a deep cut that I expect even a lot of Swifties wouldn't necessarily know, but I've always loved this lyric. It totally recontextualises the song and ironically is a much more adult sentiment than the lyrics of the final recording. Inspired by the livery of Anglia Railways, which are the trains of my childhood. Anglia Railways has been sold and rebranded several times since then, so they are quite literally the trains I can't catch again.

I imagine that Taylor Swift has not been on a train in many years, for obvious reasons. However I appreciate her continued use of train imagery in her songs and I hope she never ever stops :)

[allthecanadianpolitics]

A Penticton city councillor has been arrested and charged with historical sexual offences against a youth in Ontario. The Sarnia Police Service has charged James Miller, 59,  with two counts of sexual interference and two counts of sexual assault on a person under the age of 16 related to incidents in 1989. "Earlier this year, the Sarnia Police Service Criminal Investigations Division received a complaint regarding historical sexual offences [in 1989]," the Sarnia police said in a statement. "These offences occurred during a period when the accused volunteered as a youth basketball coach.  The victim, now an adult, was a young person at the time."

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Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[blue-bujo]

Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter One

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader

Will try to update roughly every two weeks

Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game

Words: 1.9K

Content: Kent-level language (you know what you're in for)

Cricket. Polo. The real football.

There were many popular sports in England, but the downfall of all of those was the fact that they were all at the mercy of the weather. That was why, in your humble opinion, the best sport in the world was bowling.

You were fully aware that the rest of the world definitely didn’t consider it a real sport, and that was fine. But to you, it was the best. No other sport could be enjoyed by 4 year olds and 94 year olds at the same time, all while having full access to a pitcher of beer and never being rained out. Nor did any other sport create friendships so instantly while in good natured competition. It certainly had for you.

You, the army brat, who had moved every year and always ended up being the new kid with the accent different from everyone else’s, had always found common ground in whatever bowling alley had been closest to base. Bowling was its own language, its own gateway into other people’s lives. When you’d finally stayed somewhere for more than two years when you were in high school, you’d made yourself a fixture at the lanes. You stayed in England for college – no, university – and worked your way through every beer league and youth camp you could. The bowling alley was your home, and you ended up staying even after your father retired from the army and returned to his hometown with your mother. Your place was here, behind the counter and coaching leagues.

It was a shallowly connected life. You had a few friends from your own league, as well as your coworkers, and some regulars that you absolutely loved, but mainly, you saw people for five minutes while they paid and figured out which size their rental shoes needed to be before they went to the lanes and you watched from a distance, telling yourself that it was fine.

One day, and especially lonely one, you were scheduled to work a children’s party. You were slightly hung over from the pitcher you’d shared at your league the night prior, and weren’t looking forward to all of the noise that children would inevitably cause. Taking a preemptive Excedrin, you pulled up your hair and braced for the worst.

The birthday child was a blonde girl who was all smiles, leading seven little friends and their adults behind them. You plastered on your best customer service smile and got through the chaos of check in, shoes, snack bar follow up, and lane assignments, then collapsed in your chair to stare into space for a while, until someone needed you.

The respite was brutally short.

You didn’t notice at first, but eventually you realized that you had somebody standing at the side of the counter. It was because of his shirt. Anywhere else, it would have stood out obnoxiously, but the red, orange, and yellow tie dye blended into the colorful walls. You turned quickly once you realized he was there.

“Sorry, I zoned out,” you blurted. “How can I help you, sir?”

The man – you recognized him from somewhere, you realized, but you couldn’t place where – startled at how quickly you acknowledged him. He had very expressive eyebrows, which shot up his forehead in surprise. He pointed at the lanes where the blonde girl’s group was bowling and grunted, “One of the little shits that my niece is friends with threw a ball right after another kid and hit the thing that pushes the pins out of the way, and now it won’t go back up. Can you fix it so their days won’t be ruined?”

You couldn’t tell if her was mad at the lane or at you; it seemed like he was angry in general, judging by the deep creases between his eyebrows. Best to take a cautious approach with him.

“I can’t fix it, but I can call the tech. Just a second.” You grabbed the intercom, but didn’t click it on. “It’s the gate on 15, yeah?”

“The what?”

“The black sweepy thing, on Lane 15?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Quickly, you called out, “Pete, I need a gate reset on Lane 15, please” over the speakers. Then you turned back to the tie dye man.

“Cheers,” he said. “Phoebe will be happy now.”

“That’s your niece? The blonde girl?”

He nodded. “Yep, that idiot.” He smiled and waved toward Phoebe, who was trying to get his attention. “She made me this shirt. I wouldn’t have picked it, but she made it, so I wear it to all her things.”

“It’s a good look. Matches the décor here,” you teased. “I almost didn’t see you, and you were right in front of me.”

A grunt was the only response you got. Fearing you’d been rude, you cleared your throat and continued. “Well. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, if you guys need anything else. You know where to find me.”

Another grunt, and eyebrow guy was gone, leaving you to put your head on the counter in embarrassment. That was so awkward!

You stewed in your awkwardness for another half an hour; nobody else came in to distract you. Distraction didn’t come until you got a call from the snack bar, signaling that they needed you to run the pizza to Phoebe’s group. Inwardly groaning, you picked up the tray and a stack of plates, and expertly balanced them as you walked to Lane 15. Phoebe and her friends were excited to see you, and their enthusiasm evaporated some of your self-pity. These seemed to be good kids.

“Okay,” you said, putting your hands on your hips and leaning down conspiratorially, “I only have two rules for you. Rule Number One: No pizza or drinks on the approach. Rule Number Two: I don’t want to see any pizza fingers in those balls, because someone will have to clean them.” You pointed at yourself as you said “someone,” which made all the kids laugh. “And Rule Number Three-”

“You said there were only two!” interrupted a young boy. Tie dye guy glared at him.

“Well, I lied,” you shrugged. That got a laugh from everybody. “Rule Number Three: Help Phoebe have a happy birthday!”

All of the kids cheered. Satisfied, you walked over to their grown-ups. “If you guys need anything, I’m Splits.” You tapped your nametag, bearing the kitschy bowling nickname that the manager had made you pick. “I’ll be at the counter.”

Your nickname drew a few chuckles and sympathetic smiles. One of the younger adults, who you also recognized in addition Phoebe's uncle, fixed you with a flirty look.

“Do they call yah that because you can do the splits, or…?”

“No, because I leave plenty on the lanes.”

He looked like he was trying to come up with another quip, but Phoebe’s uncle elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, Jamie. Not everyone loves you.”

Jamie, unperturbed, elbowed him back. “Whatever, Coach. It was worth trying. Sorry, Splits.”

You realized where you had seen him before. AFC Richmond was the local football club, and the young man was none other than Jamie Tartt. And now that you had figured out who he was, you had to ask, no matter how much it pained you…

“Can I get a quick photo? The owner likes us to whenever we have a celebrity guest.”

Jamie’s chest puffed out before he looked at tie dye man; you got the feeling his coach had lectured him before about showboating. “Sure, yeah, if that’s how it’s done here.” He checked his hair and grabbed a bowling ball. “Where do you want meh?”

“Uncle Roy should be in the picture, too!” piped Phoebe, shooting her uncle a pout. “He’s more famous that Jamie!”

The man you’d talked to at the counter, who you recognized but didn’t know where from, was named Roy? And Jamie had called him “coach?” Was he Roy Kent? How had you not realized?

It had to be the tie dye. Had to be.

“Fuck no, I’m not getting in a picture with that prick.”

“Please, Uncle Roy?” pleaded Phoebe. “It is my birthday.”

A grunt. You were beginning to think that they were his primary language, in combination with swearing. Roy Kent stood up, rolled his eyes, and got next to Jamie Tartt, glowering.

You reached into your back pocket and took out your phone to check how things looked. Bowling alley lighting was never great, but it was especially bad today. Jamie popped, because of course he did, but Roy melted into the wall, his obnoxious shirt effectively camouflaging him.

Thinking quickly, you went to the racks, grabbed a bright blue bowling ball, and brought it to Roy. He just stared at it.

“And what am I supposed to do with this? Throw a fucking strike on camera?”

“No, I just need you to hold it,” you huffed. “The camera can’t see you; your shirt blends in too much. Just take this, please, and this can be over.”

Without giving him a choice, you pushed the bowling ball against his arm. He took it awkwardly, his fingers brushing yours. You thought he shrank into his shoulders after that, but it could have just been him settling the weight of the ball, so you couldn’t be sure.

You took the picture and sent it to your manager, who started freaking out and texting a sentence at a time, but you retreated back to your counter after that. The rest of the afternoon went quietly. Phoebe’s party ended, and you watched as Roy and Jamie gathered all of the kids’ rental shoes and brought them up to you to return.

Sorry for flirting with yah earlier,” said Jamie, dumping an armful of footwear. “Old habits and all that.”

“It’s no problem,” you replied.

He gave you a wink and sauntered off. Then Roy deposited all of the shoes he was carrying.

“Thanks for being cool. Phoebe enjoyed it.”

“My pleasure. Sorry for the picture.”

“It happens. People are weird about fame.”

“Sorry all the same. Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward.”

Roy Kent wouldn’t look at you, and instead focused on a spot on the counter. Then he gave a last grunt and walked away, sticking out a hand to hold Phoebe’s. You watched them leave before grabbing a bottle of disinfectant to spray down the shoes. As you did, you mused that, for being a football manager and a player before that, Roy Kent was really awkward when it came to being recognized.

The sound of running feet tore your attention away from your thoughts. You looked up, ready to shout at some kids for horseplay, but it was Phoebe, running back to the lanes and grabbing a jumper that she had left. Then she jogged back to the desk, stopping on the way out.

“I had a really fun time,” she said.

“I’m glad,” you replied warmly. “I hope to see you come back.”

Phoebe smiled. “I think I will. I overheard Uncle Roy telling Jamie that he shouldn’t call strangers ‘fit,’ even if they are, and I think they were talking about you. Bye!”

She pranced off to rejoin her uncle where he was waiting for her at the exit, taking his hand once more. You could see them talking, and something she said made him look up abashedly at you. He held your gaze for just a moment, then threw Phoebe over his shoulder and stomped away. You had the rest of the night to ponder the fact that Jamie Tartt and maybe Roy Kent had considered you attractive. It made up for the awkwardness of the photo. Almost.

[fatliberation]

When We Leave NEDA Behind, Where do We Go?

A Guide by Sharon Maxwell @heysharonmaxwell

NEDA has a long history of harming the communities it is supposed to serve. As we #leaveNEDAbehind, I encourage you to follow the following ED orgs who are committed to serving and supporting ALL folks with eating disorders.

The National Alliance for Eating Disorders

The National Alliance for Eating Disorders (“The Alliance”) is the leading national non-profit organization providing education, referrals, and support for all individuals experiencing eating disorders, as well as their loved ones. The Alliance’s services include:

Educational presentations and training days

Free, weekly therapist-led support groups nationwide (virtual and in-person) for those experiencing eating disorders and for their loved ones

Support and referrals through both a free helpline and comprehensive referral website/app

Direct, low-cost, life-saving, outpatient treatment to underinsured and uninsured adults in the south Florida community.

Unique and empowering Southern Smash scale smashing events and SmashTALK panel discussions.

@alliancefored | #notonemore | allianceforeatingdisorders.com

Project HEAL

Project HEAL (Help to Eat, Accept, and Live)’s mission is to break down systemic, healthcare, and financial barriers to eating disorder healing. Project Heal’s goal is to change the systems and, in the meantime, to provide life-saving support to people with eating disorders who the systems fail.

Project HEAL’s services include:

For those unsure of the next step in their eating disorder healing journey, Project HEAL provides free, impartial Clinical Assessments, followed by a comprehensive report with diagnosis, clinical recommendation, and referrals.

For those struggling to access treatment through their insurance, Project HEAL’s Insurance Navigation Program helps individuals understand their often confusing benefits and advocate on their behalf to get their treatment covered.

Project HEAL connects people to free Treatment Placements through the HEALers Circle, a national network of facilities and providers at every level of care. They also offer paid scholarships with providers with shared identities.

Project HEAL offers one-time Cash Assistance grants of $500-$1,500 to individuals who are unable to afford tertiary costs related to their treatment, i.e., housing and travel costs or insurance deductibles.

Crisis Textline: text HEALING to 741741 | www.theprojectheal.org

FEDUP

FEDUP (Fighting Eating Disorders in Underrepresented Populations) is a collective of trans+, intersex, and gender diverse people who believe eating disorders in marginalized communities are social justice issues. FEDUP’s mission is to make visible, interrupt, and undermine the disproportionately high incidence of eating disorders in trans and gender diverse individuals through radical community healing, recovery institution reform, research, empowerment, and education. FEDUP’s services include:

Support groups: FEDUP Closed Support Group for Gender-Diverse Folx, Support Group for Caregivers and Loved Ones of Trans & Intersex People With Eating Disorders, and Closed Support Group for QTBIPOC With Eds

Listing of FEDUP approved providers of therapy, counseling, nutrition services, and recovery coaches

Educational content about eating disorders

A conference for researchers, advocates, and clinicians in the eating disorder field where all attendees are empowered to participate, share their expertise, and learn from one another so that they can incorporate approaches that work - for our patients, our communities, and ourselves

@fedupcollective | fedupcollective.org

Nalgona Positivity Pride

Nalgona Positivity Pride is an unconventional eating disorder awareness organization that shines a light on the often-overlooked societal factors that perpetuate unrealistic and oppressive beauty and health standards. NPP offers a vial space for BIPOC to celebrate and embrace their bodies and identities. Nalgona Positivity Pride’s services include:

Education, such as public speaking services for universities, mental health and eating disorder organizations, and more as well as social media content

Consulting services for eating disorder providers and women of color entrepreneurs, including social media, branding, and event planning. Also, size diversity, creating eating disorder informed media, eating disorder harm reduction

An eating disorder harm reduction hub, including The EDHR Course and The EDHR Harm Reduction Community Services

2 eating disorder support groups: Sage and Spoon and The Eating Disorder Harm Reduction Community Circle

@nalgonapositivitypride | nalgonapositivitypride.com

Body Reborn

Body Reborn is a restorative space for people of color with disordered eating.

Body Reborn’s services include:

The Healing Collaborative - A free 8-week program for people of color. The program consists of three pillars: (1) Body Liberation, (2) Peer Support, and (3) Lifelong Community.

A non-hierarchical, discussion-driven conference that centers experiences of marginalized people in eating disorder care

@bodyreborn | bodyreborn.org

MEDA

MEDA (Multi-Service Eating Disorders Association) is dedicated to the prevention and compassionate treatment of eating disorders, so that every body has access to recovery and support. MEDA’s services include:

Assessments to individual therapy and groups, tailored treatment referrals. to hight levels of care, skill sessions to hels reach meal and snack goals, and 24/7/365 community available

The Sooner the Better helps communities learn the signs and symptoms of disordered eating, exercise, and body image.

MEDA offers presentations from a skilled mental health clinician on a variety of topics including Body Confidence, Eating Disorders, and Promoting Positive Body Culture in Your Schools and Homes.

MEDA also offers high-level clinical trainings for professionals working with eating disorders whether it is in the field of medicine, mental health, or education.

Annual national conference bringing over 275 people together to discuss the latest in eating disorder research and therapies

“Networking with a Purpose” meetings where clinicians come together to learn about specific aspects of treatment

Two graduate clinical interns are trained at MEDA every year, where they are supervised by clinicians and work directly with clients and loved ones.

@recoverwithmeda | medainc.org

ANAD

ANAD (National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders) provides free peer support to anyone struggling with an eating disorder. ANAD’s services include:

Eating Disorder Peer Support Groups

Recovery Mentorship Program offering free eating disorder support online for those who struggle with eating disorders but are motivated to recover. ANAD mentors are people who have walked the difficult road to recovery from their eating disorder and are recovered for at least 2 years.

Eating Disorder Treatment Directory

ANAD Approach Guides are designed to educate and “guide” its community on a wide range of topics, such as caregiving, pregnancy, binge eating, and navigating life after treatment.

@anadhelp | anad.org

heysharonmaxwell.com | #leaveNEDAbehind

[stellar-haikyuu]

stellar's haikyuu ocs! ☆ timeskip jobs

I'm still wondering how to go about their individual introductions, but I figured it would be fun to share my Haikyuu original characters' future professions! This post will also feature their names and their meanings hehe. ♡ Feel free to leave any thoughts or questions hehe I'll be more than happy to overshare! (Unfortunately, I still find drawing quite difficult, so I use this picrew by veluv_art to help make my visions come to life.)

Works as a pediatric speech-language-hearing pathologist

Plans to specialize in augmentative and alternative communication (AAC)

Collaborates with Ennoshita whenever he is given pediatric cases

Works as a volleyball coach for Niiyama Girls High School

Plans to coach the Japanese women's national team and youth/under 19 representatives team

Works as a preschool teacher

Employed in the same facility as Inuoka

Supervises or leads workshops at her sister's dance studio every other weekend

Works as a video game developer

Plans on spearheading the creation of more sports games

Also works as a freelance graphic designer

Plays volleyball with the former Date Tech members

Works as a family medicine resident/doctor

Employed at the same hospital as Shirabu

Does free consultations for families who cannot afford health services

Works as an author of both children's and adult books

Writes under two pseudonyms and is employed at the publishing company Akaashi works at

Privately posts fanfiction online

Works as a food and lifestyle vlogger

Promotes Kita's rice farm and Onigiri Miya

Also works as a soundtrack composer for small film projects and games

Works as a professional volleyball player

In the same team as Kanoka (Hikari Pharmaceutical Red Rabbits)

Also a member of the Japanese women's national team

Works as an artist

Sells merchandise such as stickers, crochet items, keychains, you name it

Co-owns an art makerspace with Himekawa

Works as a psychologist in the private and school setting

Plans to specialize in child psychology and play therapy

Often asks for Hirugami's insights for cases needing animal/pet therapy

Works as a disability/accessibility advocate and consultant for the Paralympics

Hosts accessibility workshops for workplaces and universities

Hyakuzawa always promotes her advocacy projects on his social media and volleyball interviews

stellar's masterlist

[coochiequeens]

Yes I already covered this and how Nessa’s car was vandalized. But I will always share stories about the gender cult threatening women.

A popular TikTok comedian has reported her car was vandalized following a series of videos she did criticizing non-binary activist Jeffery Marsh for allegedly inviting minors to communicate with him privately.

Shumirun Nessa, also known as @therealoverloadcomedyon TikTok, became the target of trans activist aggression after posting a series of videos responding to non-binary content creator Jeffery Marsh. In her first video, dated February 22, Nessa took issue with Marsh’s “therapeutic services,” some of which appear to be geared towards minors. 

In Nessa’s video, she showed a few seconds of a close-up of Marsh wearing green eyeshadow, false eyelashes, and speaking through clenched teeth as angrily told his viewers to “stop telling trans people we’re inspirational.”

Mimicking Marsh’s pressed tone, Nessa tells Marsh: “Stop telling kids to go on your Patreon and chat to you privately without their parents knowing.” Nessa ends her video with a facial expression characteristic of her comedic styling, one which has earned her over seven million followers on the TikTok platform.

Following her critique, Nessa became the target of backlash from trans activists, who accused her of mischaracterizing Marsh’s intentions towards minors and likening her words to murder and violence. While many replies to Nessa’s video thanked her for her cadence, others took the opportunity to attack her appearance, religion, and political views. 

“Please show us proof.. or are you just accusing someone with hearsay? Allah would be proud..NOT,” one user wrote in response to Nessa’s February 22 video.

Another commented: “This is transphobic. I have made excuses for you when you previously did problematic things but this is definitely far past the line. You are spreading harmful rhetoric that gets trans people murdered.” 

Despite being a Bangladeshi woman who was born in and lives in England, one user @bluebelleofthesouth2.0 responded to Nessa’s 18-second clip with information regarding “child marriage in the Middle East.” 

The woman shared the screenshot of information with a caption addressing Nessa directly:

“I genuinely liked you before this. Now I see you so fucking differently. Jeffrey isn’t fucking doing that shit and until you can provide proof that they are SIT DOWN… But we have proof of what men in your culture do every fucking day to little girls.”

Another user responding to the clip accused Nessa of “tokenizing” herself for “white supremacists,” and suggested that Nessa “really need[s] to go with the ethnic project.”

One non-binary TiktToker named Chelsea Hart responded to Nessa with an emotional two-minute video which she has since made private. In the video, Hart proclaimed that Nessa had “put Jeffrey’s life in danger and put every nonbinary person and trans person’s life in danger with [her] behavior.”

Hart said Nessa’s humorous TikTok was the “third time [she] has seen this lie about Jeffrey.” Hart declared that “recently, a bunch of conservatives have made it a point to edit Jeffrey’s videos in such a way that it leaves out the context that Jeffrey is a counsellor and a coach helping adults deal with childhood trauma.”

She says she does not know how Nessa got “swept up into far-right conspiracy theories,” and swears multiple times while defending Marsh, insisting that his content is for adults and adults only. 

She talks directly to Nessa, saying “you were so willing, without any groundwork, to label Jeffrey a predator which would put Jeffrey’s life in danger…”

Hart goes on to reference the murder of a trans-identified teen Brianna Ghey that took place in England and accuses Nessa of “putting another trans life in danger… because cis people always believe each other over us.” She continues lecturing Nessa and again asserts that her short video “put a trans person’s life in danger less than a couple of weeks after a trans person was brutally stabbed to death in the country where [Nessa] lives.”

“Jeffrey Marsh is a fucking counselor,” Hart angrily shares, demanding Nessa take her video down.

In response to the backlash against her February 22 video, Nessa uploaded her second TikTok on March 1. 

In her video Nessa says: “…a lot of people made stitches of me saying I’m transphobic… they’ve even attacked my scarf, my religion… and these people have also said [Marsh is] not talking to the kids.”

To defend her position, Nessa pieced together five clips of Marsh directly addressing minors taken from his own TikTok page, adding “so yeah, there’s a lot of videos of [Marsh] addressing kids.” 

The main video she takes issue with is one where Marsh tells his audience: “Your parents screwed up. It’s okay to say so! That’s why I made a Patreon.” 

Nessa responds to that clip and asks Marsh, “So you wanna talk to kids whose parents have screwed up? Why? Why you wanna talk to these particular kids? Why?”

She stitches more of Marsh’s footage where he informs his audience that his Patreon allows them to “connect in a way that has more privacy, so [they] could talk to each other in a way that’s more open and stuff that [they] wouldn’t share, like, in the comments…” 

Nessa invites Marsh to clarify on his offer of private communication. 

“So you wanna talk to kids on a social media platform privately about topics that cannot be talked about in… comment sections… because why? Why you wanna do that? What could be the reason? You teach kids how to go no contact with their parents…is that what you’re teaching them on Patreon? Or is it this” she asks, as she points to a screenshot from Marsh’s Patreon where he shared a post headlined “more on sex.”

Then Nessa goes into some frequently used grooming tactics by predators which include gaining access and isolating the victim. 

Finally, Nessa shows a clip of Marsh in a tiara talking to his viewers and saying, “If you do not have a family that loves you… I’m going to be your family.”  

Nessa boldly responds, “No, you cannot. You are a stranger on the internet. You are not their family,” and also notes that age restrictions can be turned off on Patreon, so children can indeed access his account where he coaches and encourages kids to go “no contact” with their parents. 

Nessa ends her final video telling viewers, “you guys decide what you wanna believe.”

But on March 3, Nessa would report she had faced a real-world attack for her videos on Marsh.

Calling it her final address of the controversy, Nessa shows multiple clips of Marsh’s own content in which he repeatedly encourages his followers to go “no contact” with their parents. 

Nessa responds to the clips and asks her own audience and to those intent on debasing her, “So if Jeffrey Marsh is really wanting to talk to the adults, why is… why are they already saying to the kids, ‘go no contact with your adults…?’” 

Nessa even refers to Marsh with “they/them” pronouns in a show of respect for Marsh and his “nonbinary” identity and to prove that she is concerned with his content regarding children as opposed to his “gender identity.”

Approximately two days prior to filming her final video on the topic, her car was vandalized outside her home. She admits that she has no cameras to show footage and does not know who is responsible for damaging her vehicle. Still, Nessa asserts that this is her final video on the topic “for obvious reasons.”

Nessa provides footage of her car in the TikTok, showing one of the back doors had a piece of panel seemingly ripped off. She confirmed in the comments she is in the process of getting cameras to monitor her property.

While Nessa received an immense amount of backlash for stating her concerns about Marsh’s conduct, she is not the only one who has expressed similar worries.

On March 3, the same day as Nessa recorded her final video on Marsh, screenshots began to circulate on social media from a UK school warning parents and carers about Marsh’s content.

While the source TikTok for the screenshot has been made unavailable, it was initially posted by a mother who claimed she had received it from her son’s school.

Marsh has long been the topic of discussion amongst pro-woman activists for regularly denying the existence of biological sex, and even taking platforms to advertise feminine hygiene products. 

In 2020, Marsh took place in a tampon advertisement campaign while calling himself a “non-binary person who does not menstruate.” Marsh claimed his intention behind taking the paid gig was to help end the stigma associated with periods. He said in a video: “And then the hate came for me,” and scolded women who took issue with his participation in the tampon promotion, claiming that they were “policing” gender by criticizing him.

In January, Reduxx noted that Marsh was well-known amongst child safeguarding advocates for his catalogue of videos directly addressing the “kids” in his audience. Marsh has encouraged people to go “no contact” with families or relatives who invalidate their gender identity, and has advised parents to provide “gender affirming care” for their children.

Violence directed at women who criticize gender ideology or proponents of child transitioning has seen a distinct uptick over the past year. 

In November, Reduxx reported that mother and activist Jeanna Hoch was attacked after attending a Tacoma demonstration in support of women’s right to free speech. Colorado Springs Antifa published a blog post about Hoch on their official website in which her home address was offered at the top of the post, as well as a link to a flyer with her photo, full name, age, and address. The flyer also featured a QR code and a link to the blog post itself, which painted Hoch and the other women who attended the Tacoma event out to be far-right fascists. 

On November 6, Antifa members distributed physical copies of the flyer in Hoch’s neighborhood and showed up at her home. Antifa members also took pictures of one of her vehicles and posted her license plate online. One of her vehicles was vandalized during the visit, with one Antifa member gluing a death threat to the driver’s side front windshield of her car.

Most recently, a Reduxx exclusive revealed a woman in Australia was left permanently disabled after being physically assaulted by a trans activist for her views on gender ideology.

By Yuliah Alma Yuliah is a junior researcher and journalist at Reduxx. She is a passionate advocate for women's rights and child safeguarding. Yuliah lives on the American east coast, and is an avid reader and book collector.

Early life and education

Marsh was born in York, Pennsylvania, and grew up on a farm nearby. Marsh often spoken about having felt misunderstood during a self-identified rough childhood.

Marsh attended college at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia and earned a BFA in Musical Theater, later moving to New York City to pursue a career in cabaret performance[1] before becoming an internet celebrity[2]and leader in the LGBTIQ community.[3]

If Chelsea’s defense is that he’s a counselor then my question is he actually licensed?

[vpalmersfootballgloves]

yellowjackets 205 thoughts

unlike javi, i dont know how to keep my thoughts to myself. spoilers below

first and foremost, HAPPY LESBIAN INDEPENDENCE DAY.

THE GAY ASS VHS STORE, THE DOUGHNUT SPRINKLES ALL OVER THE COUNTER, THE SKATEBOARD, THE IGNORED DUES, VAN BEING OFFICIAL GAY MENTOR OF OHIO. adult van cold open, i used to pray for you.

HAPPY WIFE HAPPY LIFE. taivan lives for another day!!!!! when they interlocked their fingers together, i whooped so loud my building collapsed

tai forever down bad and fucking whipped for van? just like me fr

the boob pen backstory?? TAIVAN SHENANIGANS AT SHAUNA'S WEDDING??? IM SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING FINANCIALLY BACKING AO3 USERS TO WRITE THIS PLOT RN....

tai being concerned over van's health..... tai admitting she's afraid she'll hurt van... van visibly hurting from tai admitting she loves her and moving past the hurt to be unbiasedly present for someone she cares so deeply for

tai in van's clothes !!!! tai sleeping on van's couch!!!! tai watching tv with van!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"maybe you don't have to be dying to have regrets" on god taissa, you have a dead dog, a sleeping problem, a wife in the icu and a child probably in child protection services. like i understand you its van but on god bestie you need help.

van cute as HELL for arguing with POP CULTURE REFERENCES.

fugue tai kissing van and van not backing off - she's down horrendous too i fear

side note jasmin looked so fucking good in this episode. god. like GOD.

and now the rest of the episode

never gonna get the mari hate, she's on a mission to be a Bitch to Everyone and it's funny as fuck TO ME!!!

akilah's determination to live and all the ways she's trying to preserve her humanity (caring for a mouse, studying for the SATs) is going to make her death hurt so much.

randy goofy as hell trying to pass off hand lotion as semen. shauna goofier than him for not checking. MUST MISTY BE THE ONLY INSANE OVERTHINKER AROUND TO COVER UP EVERYONES CRIMES IN NEW JERSEY????

pedo cop broke the weirdo-meter when he breached every law of the land and law of decency when he entered without a warrant and sniffed someone's potentially used condom

once again, i hope the milf avengers (or at least shauna) kill pedo cop. like hands shaking, skin peeling and everything.

jeff showing clear displeasure over the inappropriateness of his teen daughter being manipulated by a Grown Adult in a Position of Power rather than the risk of shauna being caught.... dad of the Fucking Year. this is a jeff sadecki defense household.

also shauna only asking callie about the cop's age after jeff's display of concern is actually very concerning...

callie being so happy she pleased shauna... can everyone with mommy issues please stand up?

fuck travis. nobody treats nat like that

javi only speaking to coach ben because he didnt participate in the jackie fruit festival... the gay ally i didnt expect

personally, i believe that fugue tai is a prominent candidate for antler queen and unless jackie can summon both snowstorms and physical form, fugue tai is javi's friend.

RIP KRISTEN YOU WOULD'VE LOVED HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL. IM SO SORRY YOU DIED IN A CESSPOOL OF EVERYONE'S SHIT.

the lottiemistynat love triangle continues. natalie fucking ace for bagging two women who would do anything for her.