#also like a vague reference to abuse

[the-secret-keeper]

Where MC Tells the Obey Me Brothers About How Horribly They Were Treated in Twisted Wonderland

This was requested by @sweetlicorice I hope you like it! It was taking longer than expected, so I only did the brothers, but I will do the dateables in a part 2, don't worry.

Part 2 with the Dateables out now! (Characters included: Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and Luke)

Part 2 of this but where MC reunites with Grim and the boys are in Twisted Wonderland is out now!

TW: Talk of being Overworked and Burnt Out, Abuse of Power, Very Angry Demons (but not at you), mental breakdowns, missing a pet (he's not dead, don't worry), and nightmares

Reader is referred to as MC by the characters (though I don't think they say it here) and MC is gender neutral, but this is mostly in second person, so for the majority of the story you'll be referred to as 'You' by the narrator.

Characters include: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor

Could be read as romantic or platonic

This will be long, so the stories under the cut

This is organized by character, with a bit of context at the beginning. Enjoy!

First, it was a coffin. You were kidnapped by a horse-drawn hearse, woke up in a coffin, in another world. A world of magic, and wonder, but also one of pain, as you quickly learned. But you met people. You made friends, allies, and you were learning, even if you couldn't use magic.

And then, it was you landing rather harshly in a room that looked like an old-time, very fancy courtroom, surrounding by tall and intimidating looking young men. It was soon explained to you that you were in the Devildom, and were an exchange student, one that would be living with the Seven Deadly Sins for your own protection.

You didn't know what to feel. Gratitude for the much improved living conditions? Fear for living with a bunch of demons and going to school with demons that would likely have no qualms with snapping you in two if you stepped out of line? Sadness for the friends that you don't know how to get back to? Upset for being forced to leave the place you were finally starting to feel like you fit in at and having to leave Grim? It was a whirlwind inside, and for a time, that's where it stayed. Kept inside.

Slowly, the Devildom revealed to have similar problems as Twisted Wonderland, in the fact that it seems everyone in power here, aside from Diavolo and Barbatos, would like you to die.

Most of the brothers tried to kill you. One of them succeeded! Congrats to them you guess, though, no offense to Belphie, you don't think it was particularly hard for a demon to kill a human.

Through all of this, you got closer to those you were staying with, even forgiving Belphegor after everything. It only made sense that eventually, what happened to you, you started to open up to them about your past. About those that you met and bonded with, all that had been put onto you, and all that was different.

Lucifer:

You were in his office, as you did somewhat often. It was quieter in there than it was in most of the house, and no one would bother you if you were with him. Plus, sometimes he would let you take care of some of his paperwork, just the stuff that wasn't too sensitive or important, but it lightened his load a bit.

"Why do you insist upon helping me?" He asked, not looking up from his paper, as you looked at your own.

"I'm used to doing more work, and if it makes your job easier, then I don't mind." You shrugged.

"More work? Do you mean like a job?" He asked, somewhat curious. Your file had listed a lot, but you had, apparently, been missing for a while when you were brought to the Devildom, so he didn't know what you had been doing before coming there.

"Something like that." You vaguely answered, finishing a paper.

"I am always here if you need to talk." He glanced up at you, as you pulled out your homework instead.

"Thank you."

A comfortable silence fell over the you two. The ambiance of the fireplace, paired with the low volume on the record he was playing, along with the light scratching of his pen, was calming. His office was always dimly lit, enough to see easily, but also darker than the average room.

It was a quiet environment that reminded you of the days when you would sit in the office of Crewel, him taking pity on the amount of work shoved on you and attempting to help at least a little. Or the days when you would study with Ace and Deuce in the Heartslabyul Common Room, Riddle sitting nearby doing his own paperwork, and Grim resting lazily along your shoulders. It was comforting, yet sad, at the same time.

"Back, in the place where I was," you started softly after a few moments of silence, "there was more that was required of me."

"In what way?" He asked, and though you couldn't tell, off in your own world, he had stopped doing his paperwork to focus on what you were saying, fully enraptured in wanting to know your backstory.

"The headmaster, at my last school, his name was Dire Crowley. And he was terrible at his job." You laughed bitterly. "I showed up there one day, against my will, and practically started running the place once he thought I could handle it, or when he was certain I wouldn't complain." You glared at your paper, thinking back on all that was unfairly thrown at you.

"Like what?"

"Paperwork, was the majority." You answered without thinking. "But there were.... others."

"Others?" He prompted after a few moments of a now, much tenser, silence.

"Your demon form is scary." You looked at him, making eye contact. "But it is not as scary as facing seven Overblots within the span of a year."

"Overblots?"

"The manifestation of out of control magic and strong negative emotions that result in the transformation of the magic user, and the creation of a sort of monster. The magic user loses control of their entire being, and it's very taxing on the magic user." Your eyes were glazed over as you seemed to recite the information with no emotion in your voice. "I don't blame them, for Overblotting, and losing control, the world is cruel. I do blame Dire Crowley, however, for making me responsible for dealing with them."

"That sounds dangerous, for someone without magic."

"It was." You agreed, still looking towards him.

Not at him, but through him, as if you weren't registering how much you were saying. This made him all the more concerned, as he got up and walked over to you, sitting beside you.

"I was also responsible for whatever Dire Crowley wanted me to do. Feed the fireplaces over winter break, find out why our sports players are getting injured, stop that one student from taking over the student body, house these people for this inter-school competition, and on, and on." You listed, beginning to spiral. "I practically ran that school. Me! A magicless human who had no idea what they were doing or where they were or how to handle what was happening to me. He stuck me in a shack, filled with mildew, and mold, that was covered in dust, infested with ghosts, and falling apart at the seams with a fire-breathing cat. And he didn't even make me a student at first!" You looked at Lucifer, tears pricking your eyes. "I was a janitor! And when another student got myself, Grim, and another student in trouble, he was going to throw me out! Onto the streets with no understanding of the world, how it functions, or anything at all!"

Lucifer nodded, trying to get you to calm down silently, wanting to hear about your past, even though it was painful.

"And he'd threaten me, Lucifer! He'd threaten my housing, my food budget, and I had no means of income! I couldn't pay for myself in any regard, I was completely dependent on him! I was his little puppet. The puppet of the 'oh so gracious Dire Crowley'." You began to sob as emotions started to overcome you, them all spilling out as you finally let yourself feel safe enough to feel these emotions. "I was so scared! About what would happen to me, and my friends. I didn't know what the next day would bring."

He brought you into his chest, hugging you tightly, and allowing your tears to stain his red vest. He let you sob and weep as you finally allowed yourself to process the emotions you'd been keeping inside this whole time. He kept his breathing even, trying to get you to match it subconsciously, and he gently rocked you, trying to calm you down as best he could.

"I miss Grim!" You cried out, into his chest. "I miss him so much that it hurts. I feel so anxious without him around."

He didn't ask who Grim was, but he knew it was someone important. He'd ask you about it when you were calmer, for now, he'd just let you cry to your hearts content. It had been a long time since someone had come to him, and allowed him to see them crying, but he didn't mind it so much when it was you. He took pride in being someone you felt safe enough to cry around.

No more paperwork got done that night, but he didn't care. You were more important at that point in time, and Diavolo would understand, he assured you of this, when you tried to apologize for taking up his time and crying on him. He brought up that Diavolo would be more mad if he hadn't comforted you, which made you laugh. You were so tired from crying that not long after you calmed down, you drifted off in Lucifer's arms, on the couch in his office.

Mammon: 

You were hanging out in Mammon's room one night, trying to help him study. Mammon was a lot smarter than a lot of people gave him credit for, the main issue you were having was the effort in which he was putting in. Which was zero. He was much more interested in his video game than his homework, despite the fact that Lucifer had threatened to string him up from the ceiling should he not get a satisfactory grade.

It was almost nice, how familiar this felt. The arguing with him about studying gave you a nostalgic feeling, for when you would study with your First Year friend group, and you would try to pry Ace away from his video games. It was never effective, much like now, but the nostalgia made you keep trying to convince him.

Mammon himself didn't seem to notice the effect this was having on you, too focused on his video game. Not that you cared, better for him to remain oblivious that try to pry your secrets out of you.

You sighed, closing the textbooks that you had brought in, accepting the fate of his grade, and making a mental note to find a spot to at least try to hide him from Lucifer. You watched as he played the game for just a few more minutes before you crawled over, sitting beside him as he played, watching the screen.

"Why're ya so good at homework in the Devildom anyway?" He asked, in the blunt way he normally does.

"Diavolo adjusted my curriculum because I don't know much about the Devildom, so I get assignments that are easier." You admitted, leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "I appreciate it, my last headmaster wasn't nearly so accommodating." You mumbled bitterly, thinking back on that incompetent headmaster.

"Really? How's that?" He asked, only half-paying attention, as he spam-clicked the button on the controller to his video game.

"Eh, don't think too much about it. Crowley was stupid, and though he claims he was gracious, he was really anything but. At least to me."

"What's 'at supposed to mean?" He asked before exclaiming nonsensical, frustrated sounds at his loss in the video game.

"I was basically his Barbatos, but I wasn't paid. Hell," You laughed mirthfully, "what money I was supposed to get was threatened, actually. More than once."

"Really?"

His attention was still diverted, and you noticed this. He was likely only wanting to hear your voice for background noise while he played, but you didn't mind so much. At least now you can say you told someone. Even if he wasn't listening.

"Yeah, Crowley threatened my food and housing budget more than once. And he'd push all his work onto me, even though I really shouldn't have had that much responsibility put on me. After all, I was someone without magic in a magic-teaching school, from another world. I didn't know anything." You shrugged lightly, trying not to move Mammon's arm too much, because your head was still resting on his shoulder. "I can't say I miss that part of it."

"What do ya miss then?" He asked, eyes still glued to the screen.

"My friends. I had a group of friends that were pretty tight-knit. Trauma bonded, more like it." You laughed. "And Grim. I miss Grim."

"Grim?"

"My cat."

"Ya sound like Satan."

"Grim was a special cat. He could use magic, and talk. You remind me of him sometimes." At that he finally paused the game to look at you.

"I, remind ya of... a cat?" He asked incredulously.

"Yeah." You smiled, laughing lightly. "He was sarcastic, and demanding, and greedy. He called me Henchman, you call me Human." He rolled his eyes. "But underneath your... bravado, is a very nice person, who cares a lot. Grim and I... we only had each other. So it just makes sense that we bonded. I miss him, a lot. He used to sleep in my bed, and he'd always be there with me. I've been having trouble sleeping without him. It just feels like there's something missing." You admitted in a soft and sad tone. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"I'll be yer Grim 'til we can convince Diavolo or Barbatos, or maybe Solomon to get yer cat." He said quietly, rubbing your upper arm. "Ya can sleep in here whenever ya need, ok?" You nodded. "Wanna watch a movie?" You smiled at him, nodding once more, as he turned the TV to one of the bajillion streaming services the family all pay for, because they share, and arguing with you about the best movie to watch.

Leviathan:

Leviathan was out in public with you, having gone to an anime themed event at a cafe in the Devildom. He was so excited, that you just couldn't resist when he asked if you wanted to go with. It was nice to hear him rant and ramble about all the things that he was passionate about.

"There's a cat in the anime that waitress is from! And he's super cool!" Levi started. "He can talk, and use magic. He's also very stubborn, like a donkey. But he's a favorite in the fandom because of how cute he is."

"I know someone like that." You mumbled without thinking, your mind wandering to your feline friend.

"You do?!" He asked excitedly.

"Yeah." You smiled. "His name was Grim, and he used to live with me, back in the time before."

"Really? Tell me more!"

"He wasn't super smart, or very hard working. He used to call me Henchman, and demand cans of tuna. But when it came down to it, Grim was the one I could rely on the most. But, that might also be because we literally couldn't leave each other." You told him.

"You couldn't?"

"No. I don't have magic, and he did. I'm human, he was a cat. The headmaster of my last school decided to be 'oh so gracious'," you quoted, making air quotes around his catchphrase, "and make the two of us one singular student, allowing us to attend his magic school."

"That seems... dumb. To say the least."

"It was." You deadpanned, before the both of you laughed. "He was a bad headmaster. Towards the end of my stay there, I was practically headmaster, just because of how much work he pushed onto me because he could. But while I was at that school I made friends. And I had Grim. Even if the situation I was in was less than ideal." You smiled as the waitress delivered the food you ordered, with a bundle of silverware.

"Ah. I bet you'd prefer them to an otaku like me."

"Not true!" You defended, pointing your fork at Leviathan. "I like you plenty fine, Levi. You actually remind me a lot of my friend Idia. But," you laughed awkwardly, "at least you leave the house sometimes, and aren't afraid of confrontation. Or, at least, you're not afraid to confront some people. Like your brothers." You set your fork down, stopping your silent threat at Levi, that wasn't actually very threatening to him.

"He was an otaku too?"

"Yes indeed, and a master gamer to boot."

"Better than me?"

"It's hard to say." You shrugged. "The games you guys play are similar, but different. It's not a fair comparison." He seemed placated by this answer. "Your brothers remind me of a lot of my friends from there." You said vaguely.

"Do you miss them?"

"Yeah. They're my friends, of course I miss them. And it's not like I know if and when I'll be able to see them again." You explained gently. "I don't miss the work though. Diavolo was nice and assigned me a tutor and easier assignments until I get the hang of the normal work here. And no one makes me do any extra work, or threatens my food or housing. Well, Lucifer threatens punishments sometimes, but he would never threaten my food or housing, and I won't get punished as long as I do my best and behave." You rambled, smiling at how nice it was here, compared to it was in Twisted Wonderland. "Plus, I have all of you, and Diavolo, and Barbatos, and the other exchange students. I miss my friends from there, and I really wish that I had Grim here with me. But I am happy here." You beamed.

"Maybe if we ask Lucifer, he may know how to get your cat." Leviathan suggested, smiling lightly.

"I would love that. He acts like Mammon, but he feels like an emotional support cat. And, I bet Satan would seriously love having him here too."

"You know, we're all here. If you want to talk."

"I know." You glanced around. "What anime is that cosplay from?" You asked, gesturing at another waitress, changing the subject.

He glanced, and started beaming, immediately launching into a rant about the anime it's from, and the character themself. It was nice that he didn't question the change in subject. You'd tell Levi and the others all about what happened to you, and about what Twisted Wonderland was like. Eventually. Maybe.

Asmodeus:

Saying Asmo was flirty, was an understatement. Possibly the understatement of the century. And while he flirted and charmed nearly every being in existence, he did understand consent, and took every no at face value, stopping when asked. Of course, it's a rejection, so at the beginning you had to explain that no, you're not rejecting him as a person, you like him plenty fine as a person, you just don't always want to be flirted with.

He still did it, but when you asked him to stop he'd make a show of whining about it, but stopping nonetheless. It was annoying, but he did take your 'no' seriously, so in the end it was kind of worth it. Asmo was good for conversation, and he knew all the gossip, so he was nice to hang out with.

You had mentioned a handful of times that he reminded you of someone where you were from where you used to live. But all he ever said in response was that there was no one like him. Which is true, as no one else could truly embody Lust like Asmodeus does.

He was doing a skincare night with you, when you brought it up again.

"You know a lot about skincare already, it's quite impressive." He complimented.

"Yeah, had a friend who took it very seriously." You agreed.

"Is this the same friend that I remind you of?"

"Tis." You smiled, gently rubbing the moisturizer onto his face. "He was an interesting man."

"Interesting man? Interesting how?"

"He was insanely hard working, yet it seemed no one saw that." You started, taking a deep breath. "He was an actor, and social media influencer. And he was talented. Extremely talented. He worked hard to get where he was, but he had the means to get there."

"Anything else I should know about this person?"

"Well, he was good at potions. And like, just as good if not better than Satan and Solomon, good. He had the harshest study routine, but it was worth it. Never failed a potions class if he was tutoring me. He didn't have much time to do so, but I was always grateful when he did." You thought back on the memories fondly, smiling, as you stopped rubbing the moisturizer into his skin, and moving onto the next step. "His methods were.... intense, to say the least." Your smile became strained, remembering the VDC. "But, they got the results he wanted, so I guess he didn't see much issue with it."

"Intense in what way?" Asmo asked, noting your tenseness.

"I was appointed manager for a dance team, an interschool competition thing, you know how competitive people can get." You shook your head lightly. "They all came to live in my dorm because it was mostly empty. But, despite me being manager, he decided I needed to follow the same diet as everyone else. My friends said it was a 'we're all in this together' thing, but I thought he was just being unreasonable. I mean, come on, hexing my food? That's just wasteful. And he didn't even pay me back. I didn't get much money for food in general, because I was the magicless student, and there he went, just wasting what I had." You laughed mirthfully, remembering your anger at the situation, and your frustration.

"Well, in his defense, if he was just looking out for you."

"I would have no problems if that were the case, Azzy." You slightly chastised, but it was playful, and held no real bite. "I took your diet in stride, didn't I?" He nodded in acknowledgement. "I would've been fine with it, if that were the case. But he never paid me back for the food that he hexed, or replaced it. I didn't have much, so no one being able to eat those foods, it was wasteful. I mean, it's not like I got much money, if any, from the school for dorm food, like every other dorm."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I was the magicless student. The errand person. The pushover. The unpaid therapist or headmaster. Depends on the day." You sighed. "The headmaster didn't want to have to rewrite the budget to factor in an extra dorm, when it only had two students in it, that really only amounted to one student."

"Wait, I thought you've mentioned before that you had a roommate."

"I lived with a fire-breathing, talking cat named Grim, who could use magic, and several ghosts. I say technically one student, because the ghosts were faculty members, technically, but Grim had magic, and I didn't, but I was human and Grim was a cat. So, when I popped out of the woodwork, with no magic, no identification, no way to go home, and no clue about how this world worked, the headmaster was 'oh so gracious'," you mocked, "and put us both in a run down dorm, enrolled as a single student."

"Run down?"

"I mean Run Down. It was called Ramshackle, by other students, and it certainly lived up to it's name. The heater didn't work, I had to curl up with Grimm under every blanket I could find in that house. It was caked in mold and mildew, and dust, until Crowley cleaned it for the VDC. I injured myself more than once." You pointed to a scar on your forearm, where you'd hurt yourself in an attempt to fix up your dorm. "I am, honestly, very grateful, for the opportunity to stay here, in much better conditions. I do miss my friends, and I miss Grim." You admitted.

"Is that why you named that stuffed animal Grim? I thought you were just taking after Mammon in your greed."

"I miss Grim." You stated simply. "He was always with me. We were inseparable. We fought, we bickered, but at the end of the day, I knew if there was one thing, one being, I could rely on consistently, it was Grim. He was my ride-or-die. I named my stuffed animal after him, because I have a hard time sleeping without him. Even just, relaxing, can be hard. I miss him, and I don't know if he's ok. I genuinely, worry about him. And I miss him so much, that it's hard to fully put into words."

"I'm sorry." He offered, and you just smiled at him.

There was not much more Asmodeus could say. He couldn't provide you the comfort that you craved, as he was not your cat, nor could he get you your cat. So, he extended his sympathies, and access to his bed whenever you would like. For cuddles, or for more, he was always down for whatever.

He only hoped that his efforts to be there, and open for you, helped to heal you a little bit in the long run.

Satan:

Satan was nice to be around. He was curious, and he liked to know things and ask questions, so he did tend to pry into your past. But he was always good for book recommendations, and was always happy to discuss any book you wanted.

You found comfort in his fondness for cats, finding a kindred spirit in that regard. You didn't tell him about Grim, not wanting to get his hopes up about maybe meeting your beloved companion. He did notice your love of cats though, and had gotten you a giant cat plushie, as a gift.

You had named it Grim, and it lived on your bed. It was much quieter, and honestly, a bit boring compared to the real thing, but it was good for cuddling in the night when you couldn't sleep because you missed your furry friend. You were grateful that Satan had brought you just a bit of comfort in those moments, even if he didn't know it.

"I had a cat." You started one day when he started reading off cat facts enthusiastically after you had expressed the slightest bit of interest. "He was a rather interesting thing."

"Really? What was he like?" Satan liked to hear you talk about your past in general, but he was especially excited to hear about your cat.

"His name was Grim. And he was big, like 2 feet tall. He had a very distinct look about him. Grey fur, with a white chest," Satan nodded, listening intently, "bright, big, blue eyes. So round they almost looked scary sometimes. His ears, they had blue fire coming out of them, and his tail was shaped like a pitchfork. And he could use magic! He could breathe fire effortlessly, and use magic. He could talk too. Used to talk my ear off." You smiled fondly, happy to be able to talk about your favorite creature. "He'd call me Henchman, or Hench Human. He was a trouble maker. Mammon reminds me of him that way."

"Oh." Satan almost groaned.

"But much like Mammon, at the end of the day, push comes to shove, you can rely on him. That was one of the few things I knew for certain back then. Grim was the only one I could fully rely on. I had other friends, but Grim and I, we were inseparable. He was my best friend. He used to sleep in my bed with me, every night. I'm so used to it, it's honestly.... kind of hard to sleep without him." You admitted, laughing tiredly. "I miss Grim."

"Were you allowed pets, or familiars, at your last school?"

"No. No, I don't think we were." You answered after a moment of thought. "But Grim was a special case. He and I crashed the entrance ceremony. I wasn't supposed to be there, and got yoinked out of another world, but he was just straight up trespassing because he wanted so badly to go to that school, and become a great mage." You laughed at the memory. "He committed arson, I helped calm him down, and the rest is history. We weren't students, originally. We were janitors. The Headmaster only let us stay because I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I proved that Grim could be helpful."

"I thought you said you were a student?"

"I was. Half. I was half of a student." You smiled, taking a tired, yet fond, sigh. "I didn't have magic. But Grim did. So, Crowley determined that we would each be half of a student. He got us both into so much trouble, but he always helped me get out of it. I could always rely on Grim. Except in schoolwork," you admitted, laughing a little, "I was alone in that portion."

A million questions ran through his head, and you could tell the gears were turning. It was almost amusing, seeing him trying to decide on what topic to pick. Should he keep going about your cat? Pry about your headmaster? Ask about your clearly troubled past at this school?

He was quiet, but it wasn't tense, or awkward, just comfortable silence, as you patiently awaited his next question. You knew Satan would choose his words carefully, so as to not make you uncomfortable, so you had no fears. You really didn't want him to ask about Grim's homework habits though. Satan prioritized intelligence, and knowledge. You wanted him to have a good impression of Grim, since you thought the two would get along, despite Grim being similar to his older brother, Mammon.

It took him a few moments, you, peacefully sipping your favorite hot drink, as you waited patiently, reading your book, before he finally picked a topic.

"Was your headmaster, truly that bad?" He asked softly.

"His favorite trick to get me to do what he wanted, when I didn't want to, was to threaten me. My food budget, my housing budget, or even my security at the school. I had others I could rely on, should this happen. The other Housewardens tended to take pity on me when I would show up, practically begging for food, because Crowley wouldn't allow me to have any. They were good people. But I always made sure Grim had stuff to eat. I never let him suffer. He actually learned to share through this. But, a diet of tuna sandwiches, just isn't that good for your health. It was better than nothing though." You shrugged, not looking up from your book. You looked up, to see him looking at you, sadness painting his eyes. "I'm doing better now, Satan." You smiled.

"I don't want to pry, but I do have more questions." You took a deep breath.

"Can I answer them later?" You asked, to which he nodded.

"Take your time."

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you look through your books, to see if there's a spell, or an incantation, or a potion, or a ritual, that will help me get Grim? I'm worried about him, and, as you can see," you gestured to your eyebags, which Asmo had tried to hide using makeup, but it was late, so they were started to peek through, "being without him takes a toll. He's like my emotional support cat, you know? My sassy, lazy, loud, annoying, emotional support cat, that I love. And I miss."

"I'll see what I can do." He nodded. "No promises, but I'll look into it."

"That's all I ask." You smiled tiredly.

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub had eaten the majority of the fridge again, and it was your turn to make dinner. You sighed, as he looked at you guiltily. It was getting too close to when you absolutely needed to start cooking so you could serve dinner on time, so you couldn't go shopping for more. You just shook your head, and got to work taking everything out of the fridge and pantry, just to see what was left.

"I'm sorry." Beel offered. "I'll help you cook."

"I've done more with less." You said, not registering his offer, and looking over the ingredients that were left, as you had caught him before he could eat everything. "I just need some time."

"I didn't leave you much. I could go to the store, and get some more." He offered.

"Beel," You looked at him, smiling in amusement. "How much of what you get me would you eat on the way home?" He looked down guiltily once more. "I'm not mad," you assured, "really, I'm not. And I appreciate your offer of help. But I've got this." You smiled once more, before turning back to the ingredients, and picking up a few.

With what little you had, you'd started to make a large delicious meal. Beelzebub watched, in what could only be described as awe, as you stretched what you had into enough to feed the brothers, and something that tasted good. He still felt guilty about eating the majority of what you could've used to make dinner, but he was grateful you weren't mad, and he was curious as to how you knew how to make so little go so far.

After you served the brothers, you kept a little for yourself, and Beelzebub noticed. He noticed that you didn't take much, and when he tried to comment on it, you just winked at him, smiling. After dinner, he was designated for clean up, and you went into the kitchen to keep him company, as he had while you were cooking.

"How did you do that? There wasn't much left, but that was a good meal."

"My last school.... I didn't have much." You started vaguely. "My food budget was small, and often taken away, so I would take what little I was able to beg or barter for from the shop keeper, or the other Housewardens, or my friends, and I'd make it stretch. It helped that they often had some leftovers, especially Scarabia, with their feasts every week. And Jamil was a fabulous cook." You complimented, your mouth watering at the thought of his delicious and carefully prepared food. "But I digress. What I'd do is, I'd prepare meals in advance, as many as I could. I had to. Starvation sounded rather unpleasant, to me."

"It was that bad?"

"Not if I planned correctly." You smiled.

Beelzebub related to the feeling of hunger, and starvation. He was often brushed aside as always hungry because he's the Avatar of Gluttony. But the pain was always there, and it was hard to describe the pain aside from, hungry. You were always patient with him, even if he got grumpy because of his hunger, and now he was starting to see why.

If you understood the feeling of being hungry all the time, and starving to a painful point, it makes sense that you'd not get mad at him. It makes sense to him, that you'd be patient with him. He had always appreciated your patience and kindness, but he had never questioned it. Now he was starting to think he should've.

"Was it just you?"

"No. I had a cat with me. His name was Grim, and he was a lot like Mammon." You described cheerfully. "He mostly ate cans of tuna, which I could get for cheap at the school shop, they weren't super popular, and students tended to leave them at the shop after realizing they were the cheapest option of food I had." You laughed awkwardly. "It was a school of ruffians, and bullies, and people who hated me. But they had the decency to not want me to starve to death."

"You were hated?"

"By some. I wasn't popular, but I had my fair share of friends, don't worry." You assured. "I had the first years friend group, and the Housewardens, and the vice-housewardens and honorary vicehousewardens. Even a lot of the teachers liked me. And even if they didn't, I still had Grim. He was my best friend."

"Was?"

"He's still there, so he still is. We're just not together right now. It's like... it's like a part of me is missing, because he's my best friend." You tried. "And he's still there, but I can't see him, and I can't talk to him. I miss him, a lot. I think you'd like him." You smiled. "He used to sleep on my bed, every night. And he'd complain, and whine, and get both of us into trouble, but he was loyal to a fault, and he was always there when I needed him."

"Was your old headmaster that bad?"

"Oh yeah." You nodded enthusiastically. "He went on vacation so often, and it was more like I was the headmaster towards the end of my time there. What with the amount of paperwork and such I was handling in his stead. On top of schoolwork! And he put me in an old decrepit house, with a fire breathing cat. Granted, I asked for the cat to remain with me, but still. I'm sure he could've found somewhere else to put me."

"That sounds awful."

"It could be. But hey, think of it this way, now I'm prepared if you do this again." You teased. He nodded. "Don't feel too bad, Beel. You didn't even know I existed, you couldn't have done anything."

"I wish you would've told us."

"It's not easy to talk about." You admitted. "It's not like... I had the best experience with a lot of people there. I mean, Overblots, burnout, hunger, on top of basically being an unpaid therapist, an unpaid headmaster, and a full-time student? I was busy, and not every experience is a pleasant one. But it's a part of my life, and I wouldn't change it for anything. Because it was my experience." You explained. He nodded in understanding. "I think you'd like the people I met before. So many good cooks. And Lilia, who is on par with Solomon." You shuddered. "But there was also so many athletics clubs. I bet you'd really like Spelldrive." You smiled.

"Spelldrive?"

"Yeah!"

As you launched into an in-depth explanation of the sport, at least as you understood it, he simply watched. He was glad you'd opened up to him, and to hear that you weren't always alone. He would probably ask Satan if he could find anything about getting your cat for you. But for now, he was just happy to see you being comfortable enough to talk about your past.

Belphegor:

Belphegor liked to visit your dreams whenever you'd let him. They were always so interesting. They almost matched you, in that regard. As you were so strange in his eyes. He was very lucky, able to explore your good dreams. Dreams that told of friends, and adventure. Light hardship, sure, but mostly wonder. And happiness. Along with a cat that seemed to pop up in every dream. He didn't know that he only saw this because he didn't always tune into your dreams. Not every dream is a happy one.

It was one day, when you happened to be taking a nap in his general vicinity, that he drifted off, and entered your dream. He prepared himself for the bright light of the outside of Night Raven College, and for the happy smiling faces, or the sound of laughter, as he usually saw when he joined your in your dreams. What he wasn't expecting, was the fire. The screaming, the fear. He was prepared to watch on happily as you got to see your friends, the people you consider family, in your dreams, but instead, he only saw your terror.

He couldn't look away as you looked on in terror as eight towering figures, covering in black ink, with massive ink monsters behind them cornered you. He recognized some of these faces, they were those of your friends. They were friends, friends who would drive you to work harder, and do better, but would always be there to help in any way they could, if they could, when you asked.

But there was one face he was shocked to see, moreso than the friends. It was your cat. Your cat that had been changed into a hulking, massive beast, and it looked more wild than he had ever seen. It wasn't talking anymore, none of those smart ass comments he'd overhear, it was growling at you, roaring at you. It had never done that before.

Belphegor, unable to stand by as you feared for your life, even in a dream, quickly made his way to in front of you, his back to you.

"You need to wake up."

You heard him, but his voice was muddled in your panic, it sounded like he was under water. You looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Wake! UP!" He commanded.

You shot up, gasping for air, as you woke up. Belphegor followed not long after, making his way over, and sitting beside you, as you began to calm down from such a panic-inducing dream. He sat beside you until your breathing was under control, and you weren't shaking as much anymore.

You leaned onto him, your head resting on his shoulder, and feeling embarrassed. It wasn't often that you had these nightmares, but they were always intense and unpleasant when you did. You didn't think he knew, he'd never visited those dreams. It's not as though you were actively hiding it, you'd told him that you'd had nightmares before, but you were ashamed that he had seen them firsthand.

You both just sat in silence for several moments, before he spoke first.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, softly.

"They don't know about the nightmares. I mean, my closer friends do, but those who the nightmares are about, don't. They don't need that."

"Why are they in your nightmares? And why did they look like that?"

"They lost control of their emotions, and their magic overwhelmed them. They weren't in control, when they looked like that. That was their anger, and sadness, their pain, that was in control of them, with their magic creating the ink monsters behind them." You explained, quietly. "I don't blame them, no one can be expected to hold it together for so long, but that doesn't make it any less unpleasant."

"And your cat?"

"I don't know why I have nightmares about him like that." You admitted. "I think it's because I miss him, and I'm scared of what will happen to him without me there."

"How long have you had these nightmares?"

"They started after the first Overblot, that's what they're called," you explained simply, "but they only got worse as more Overblots happened."

"Was there no one you could go to?" You shook your head.

"I couldn't go to Crowley, he was useless," you laughed humorlessly, "the teachers were nice, but they couldn't do anything. I told my friends, and they tried their best, but nothing ever really helped. Grim used to sleep on my bed with me, and that would chase the nightmares away pretty well, but," you trailed off.

"You don't have him with you now, so the nightmares are back with a vengeance?" You nodded, smiling a little at his wording. He wrapped an arm around you. "Do you miss him?"

"I do."

He knew you did, he knew that was a redundant question. But he wanted to hear it from you, as a sort of confirmation. He felt bad that you missed your cat, and he wished he could do something about it, but he knew he couldn't. So you two just sat in silence, comforted by the warmth of the room, and the calm atmosphere around the two of you.

He had always wondered why, or even how, you'd taken his actions in stride. How you'd forgiven him so easily. He knew now, that it was just in your nature after having gone through so much at your last school. He decided in that moment that he'd make an effort to be the person to hold a grudge on your behalf, to let people know that you may have forgiven them, but he certainly hasn't, and he hasn't forgotten what they've done to you. He didn't voice this, but he knew that you knew how he felt.

But for now, you two just sat there, comfortable, and warm. He wanted to apologize, and say he'd do everything in his power to get you your cat, but he didn't want to say that without a guarantee that he could do it. So there you sat, close, and comfortable.

"I'll chase your nightmares away." He offered, just barely a whisper, yet because of your proximity, you heard it.

"Thanks Belphie." You smiled tiredly, happy to hear that he would protect your dreams.

You drifted off not long after, Belphie following close behind. But he kept his word, and your nightmares didn't plague you after that, whenever Belphie could help it.

[becameundone]

min ; Stomach, Hips

HONESTY NIGHT QUESTIONS !!

STOMACH: Do you feel confident in your body image?

"Ick, are we talking about this? Fine. Right now, I'd say I'm pretty confident. For me, I've never had much of an issue with my body image but there was a period in my life when I felt a pressure to look perfect all the fucking time. I couldn't just breathe or relax. It got to a point of me feeling like, if I wasn't perfect on any given day, then surely I must be ugly. It might sound daft, saying it so bluntly like that, but it sort of haunted me. These expectations were being put on me at a time when I already felt like a total failure. I was just so desperate for validation and I thought my looks were the only thing left worthy of that. That was a while ago and I've got better people around me now. I dress how I like, I live how I want and I think I still look pretty bloody hot."

HIPS: Do you like to dance?

"I should fucking hope I like to dance. Only pushed my dad to the brink of disowning me because of it. I'll be honest, after I left uni, it took me a while to get back into dancing seriously because I was afraid I might end up hating it. But I didn't. At all. I had a bit of a rough time accepting I wouldn't be starting at the same level I left off but it feels so natural to me now. I'm at the studio a lot, I think it keeps me sane."

[loserabby]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚.    𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃? 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 mom!abby x teacher!reader

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ .     ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧ abby anderson is in trouble, and it's all her son's cute daycare teacher's fault — at least, that's what she tells herself each time you make her heart pound in her chest. she doesn't even know if you like women but the more time you both spend together, dancing around the edge of something, the more she wonders; is she the only one whose interested or is there something here?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : explicit language, no outbreak au (modern), use of Y/N, fluff, references to sex/sexual acts, kids/de-aged characters (yara and lev as abby's kids - 6+3 respectively), lesbian pining, slight misunderstandings (they think each other are straight in the beginning), doctor!abby as well but i don't go too much into that, anxiety mentions (abby has a lot of mom guilt and stresses easily about her kids), just straight up yearning, kissing, dry humping (to quote madeline argy: "bring back dry humping"). vague mentions of neglect/abuse in side characters backgrounds. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 15,824k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 : not gonna lie, this is the fic idea that brought me back to this site and i'm not even sorry. it was just supposed to be a small little drabble but it quickly went out of control, to the point i've had to cut scenes from my outline cause the word count was getting way too much for a one-shot. also please note: i used to be a childcare practitioner and have worked in nurseries for a few years with different age groups but i have no idea what the american daycare system is like so take the actual daycare things with a grain of salt bc idk what u guys do. i may potentially make a series out of this and add other parts in the future cause i grew quite attached to the characters in this au. also this is lev's shark backpack, for visualisation reasons, cause i fell down a rabbithole while writing and had to decide amongst three. [ read on ao3 ]

[ border credit ] [ resources for palestine ] [ boycott tlou ]

The rain is coming down so heavily now she’s finding it hard to see through her windshield as she finally pulls into the daycare’s parking lot, but arriving does nothing to lessen the absolute panic Abby feels at being a whole twenty minutes late for pick-up. This was, not to be completely dramatic, her worst nightmare come true. Lev had only been at the daycare for less than a month and she was already late to collect him, thoughts of what the daycare staff probably thought of her, what other parents who might have seen him playing on his own as the last other child finally left, had plagued her mind the whole drive over. And no amount of slamming her palm on her horn had made the other drivers speed-up.

She takes a moment to herself when she kills the engine before she sucks in a breath, ripping her door open and sprinting out into the torrential downpour, immediately feeling her whole body soaked with the icy cold rain. Shit, ‘I should start bringing a coat for myself in the car��� she thought to herself, she always made sure she had backups for the kids but always failed to forget about herself. 

Her braid is slightly windswept and completely soaked, stray baby hairs stuck to her sopping forehead when she reaches the door to the building, punching the code in with frozen fingers and finally stepping inside when she hears the door open.

She stands for a second, dripping on the doormat and wipes off her shoes. She can’t do much about the way her clothes drip on the laminate floors of the hallway, nor the way her shoes squeak as she walks down it but at least she’s not tracking in dirty footprints she supposes. When she does reach Lev’s room, her heart stutters for a second when she sees the lights aren’t all on, the room slightly dimmed. ‘Was he gone? Did someone take him away? Am I that bad of a mom?!’ She spirals mentally, before noticing some movement in the side of the room that is still dimly lit.

She pushes the door open, sighing in relief when she sees her son playing in the home corner, pretending to chop up wooden fruit and handing the pieces with a gummy grin to his teacher. You, his beautiful, sweet teacher who eagerly took the half of a strawberry he had extended to you and thanked him profusely before pretending to eat it. You’re telling him how tasty it was when Abby finally makes her presence known. 

“I am so, so sorry! That rain came out of nowhere a-and I know I only work 20 minutes away from town but I swear, no one can drive in this weather” Abby’s eyes are wide, big and apologetic as she presses a wet kiss to the top of her sons’ head. 

“It’s fine, Dr Anderson, don’t worry. When it gets like this we expect a couple of the parents to be late, especially those who work up on the mountains or outside of town.” You give Abby a soft smile, attempting to comfort her. You’re well aware of how easily she begins to spiral with worry — something you picked up on during her induction into the setting. 

She’d been stressed then, going over all the paperwork not once, not twice but three times in fear she’d forgotten an allergy (he had none) or had written both her personal cell and work number down incorrectly (she hadn’t). Then there was Lev’s trial visits, spending a few hours getting to know the staff in the room he was in and bond with them, as well as socialising with the other children. Lev had, understandably, cried big fat tears down his little face as Abby had left but she’d only made it so far down the hallway before her own eyes had begun to water.

Cue you, having seen the tall woman’s body sliding down the wall from the window, stepping out into the hallway to console Abby, of all people. Not the child but the grown woman opening sobbing into her jacket. You’d been so understanding, offering her a tissue seemingly out of nowhere to wipe her eyes, and by the time you’d pulled a wet laugh from Abby she’d realised she could no longer hear Lev crying. 

“Wha— He… He stopped?”

“Yeah, most of them do. I think it’s the whole, out of sight, out of mind thing.” You’d shrugged, “He will miss you, but he’s just realised it’s not as scary as he thought it was.”

You’d stood up then, offering a hand to Abby to do the same. She took it sheepishly, embarrassed about her emotional display but you’d waved her off. “You’re not the first parent to cry at drop off and you won’t be the last. But be prepared, he’s gonna be so overwhelmed with emotion when you pick-up he’ll burst into tears again. It’s gonna tear out your heart strings but he’s fine, just got a lot of big feelings in a little body. They all do”

And boy were you right, but it didn’t pierce Abby’s heart as much as it would have if you hadn’t warned her it was going to happen. She’d never had any issue settling Yara into school after she’d adopted the siblings, in fact she’d barely got a ‘bye’ from the six year old before she was off into her classroom leaving Abby to stand in surprise and, embarrassingly, rejection of her own daughter. Recounting that story to Manny had earned his howling laughter and a ruffle of her hair, which then led to Abby swatting her colleague and long-time friend on the arm right in front of a patient. That was a great Monday.

Maybe the difference was Yara was ready to socialise from the get-go, Lev had been clingy and shied away from people. Abby had taken some time off from working in the practice for adoption leave to help Lev settle better, finding groups for moms with children who are a little more socially wary to ease him into socialising again. Mel and Owen would say she babied him but, as Ellie once pointed out during a coffee catch-up, he kind of is a baby.

Which is why it was a big step, not just for Lev, but for Abby when it came time to send him to daycare. She knew he was ready, but it was a big step for him. She was worried he may regress, finding it hard to socialise with a larger crowd of children or having difficulty identifying a ‘safe person’ in one of his teachers.

Quickly though, Lev had attached himself to you and, in a way, after that day and — admittedly, the subsequent days Abby had also cried like his first actual day — getting to know you more during the pick-ups’ and drop-offs’, Abby found herself getting attached too. A stupid, embarrassingly quick crush had begun to form and she felt like she was a teenage girl again, counting down the minutes until she got to see her crush in whatever class they shared.

“We’ve had a great day, haven’t we Lev?” You ask with that sugary sweet smile to the toddler, the one Abby’s come to find her heart flutters at, idly tidying up the home corner Lev had been playing in when Abby arrived as you spoke. You’ve got a handful of wooden toy fruits collected in your hand, all matched together before you pull out a wooden fruit crate and toss them in as gently as possible, before setting them on the toy kitchen’s shelf. “I’ve put some photos on the app for you, we explored the garden didn’t we? And found some mini beasts!”

Abby had been immersed in the daycare world long enough with Lev to know Mini Beasts meant… Bugs? They meant bugs right?

“Got worms! ‘nd stinkbugs!” Lev shouted cheerfully, turning to Abby with his arms in the air. She was close enough, she thinks. She goes to scoop him up then pauses, remembering her soaked clothes. As if also noticing Abby’s dilemma, you jump into action.

“Got all his stuff ready, raincoat and umbrella…” Lev’s shark backpack is thrown over one of your shoulders while you’ve already got his raincoat opened up for him to put his arms into, kneeling down to help him button his coat before Abby can jump in.

“Y’don’t have to do that, Y/N” she sighs, guilt lacing the words. She knows you don’t mean to make her feel like a shit mom, so effortlessly and thoughtfully helping the little boy but it’s just another thing she feels like she’s fucked up tonight. “I know it’s probably way past your shifts ending time, I can do that”

You level her with a look, shaking your head softly. “I’m not gonna rush you guys out and besides, maybe I just like hanging out with my bestest friend ever, Lev!” She finishes the buttons on his coat, giving him the gentlest pinch of the cheek Abby has ever seen and a ruffle of his hair. Absent-mindedly, Abby then makes a note to take Lev for another haircut since it’s curling at the nape of his neck.

“Okay, I think you’re all good for your mama to take you home, Levy-boy!” She feels her cheeks heat at you calling her mama, and damn if her little crush isn’t getting out of control. She has to bite at her tongue to distract from the immediate thoughts of you in her home, in her kitchen, in full domestic bliss. You sitting on her lap on her favourite arm chair, giving the kids that doting look before saying ‘ask your mama’ when they try and get something out of you. No! Fantasies of… God, she was soft — domestic bliss, really?! — Well, they were for when her head hit the pillow.

It’s only then, when she’s shaken all thoughts of how soft your skin would be as she held you during a family movie night, that Abby notices the rain boots on his feet, a teal blue and not his. She quirks a brow, looking up at you. “These aren’t his, I’ve got ‘em at home. I know, I know, I’ll bring them in tomorrow” Abby bends to take them off his feet but your hands gently go to her wrist, small and dainty in comparison to her muscled arms. 

“They’re daycare spares, you can just leave ‘em out in the hallway tomorrow ‘nd one of us will take them to the mud room. His shoes’ll get soaked, even if you carry him so I figured I’d save him from getting wet feet.”

Fuck, see. Thoughtful.

As if noticing the attention on his footwear, Lev stretches a leg out to show the rain boot off, which earns him one of your soft melodic giggles and smiles. Abby could kiss her son for gifting them with that giggle, for that smile. 

It’s no wonder the kid let you put the rain boots on him, they’re not just a solid teal blue colour but have ocean wave patterns along the edges near the soles. “See, sp’ashin” He says, as if justifying it to his mom. Abby sighs, relenting. “Fine… Thank you, I’ll… I’ll make sure we bring them back tomorrow… And bring his ones in, y’know, in case it rains like this again”

Your pleased smile makes Abby’s stomach do a flip, so she distracts herself from it by finally scooping Lev up. “C’mon buddy, say bye to Y/N. We gotta go pick up Yara from her play-date, okay?”

“Is she doing good, I know you were a little worried about them when it came to making friends” You follow Abby and Lev out the room, finally turning off the lights in the room and walking out into the well-lit hallway. There’s still some other staff walking around, and another parent making a mad dash for the door — their child covered by their own jacket — which makes Abby feel a little bit better for, at least, not being the last parent to collect their kid. 

“Yeah, I mean she’s still a little stand-offish with people but she’s got a solid group of four friends in her first grade class so… It’s one of those kids that she’s having a play date with” Abby had pretty much gone overboard vetting that child's house too before she agreed to let Yara go unattended for dinner, so she was anxious about getting to her.

You could pick up on that, or at least the residual nervous energy from being late so you kept your response short. “I’ll let you guys head out then, but I bet she’s had a blast”

Abby doesn’t doubt that but she can’t help the tight smile on her lips, nerves beginning to boil over. What if they made something Yara doesn’t like? What if they have small portions and won’t give her seconds even if she’s hungry? What if she and her friend had a falling out cause Yara tried to mother he— “Dr. Anderson!”

Your voice cuts off her mental spiral, Abby’s blue eyes wide as she looks at you. In her arms, Lev is looking over his mom’s muscular shoulders at the rain outside of the window which is still coming down in lashes. “Wha… Sorry, did you… Did you say something?”

A faint laugh spills from your pretty lips but your eyes have concern in them as you look at the other woman. “I just said ‘Have a good night’ but you were off in your own head. Y’okay?”

Abby swallows nervously and hikes Lev up further on her hip, her sodden blazer and shirt moving uncomfortably against her equally wet skin. “Yeah, fine. I gotta go, but thanks for everything. See you in the mornin’?” It’s phrased as a question, but you both know it’s as set in stone as the sun rising.

She darts out the door, her hand over Lev’s head to secure the hood from his raincoat, before you can respond. She quickly unlocks her car, fixing Lev into his car seat at record speed and ignoring the icy pelting of rain on her back as she bends half-way into her car. It’s only when she’s got him all secure and closed his door that she looks back at the daycare’s main doors to see you still standing there, offering a small wave goodbye to them.

Abby mirrors your movement, cheeks heating once more before she jumps into the drivers seat and finally makes her way out of the parking lot.

That wasn’t the last time Abby was late picking up Lev, although it was the latest she’d ever been. That was one of the hard parts about being a working mom, the Mom Guilt™ tends to eat you alive. She’d adjusted Lev’s hours to be more compatible to her hours at the clinic, even giving herself a set day off so she could spend a day at home and collect him earlier than she would do if she was at work. But, Lev was still at the daycare from start to finish most days and she couldn’t help but worry.

It became a routine though, Abby being the first parent to arrive and the last to leave. And oddly enough, it was always you she’d see. Not that she didn’t want to see you, but it felt oddly intimate getting to spend those few minutes so early just chatting with you. 

Not that she was complaining, not when she got to see your beautiful face and hear your voice before her day began and before her night began to end. Abby wasn’t religious but she might start saying prayers of thanks to any and all deities to keep this going.

She wasn’t sure what your hours were and she’d made a joke once about how you seemed to never get to have a lie-in or go home early. She could have swore your cheeks heated just a little and maybe you looked a little… Guilty? Like a child caught doing something you shouldn’t be. But maybe she was seeing things, it still being so early in the morning.

It became one of Abby’s favourite parts of the day, seeing you at drop off and collection. Getting your full attention, and soon the conversations weren’t just about the kids but about each other. Abby learned about your time in high school and college as a kids Summer Camp Counsellor and, in turn, Abby talked about growing up in Salt Lake City with her dad, practically raised by his fellow doctors and nurses and how he’d moved up to Jackson when she headed off to college to finally slow down before retirement, opening his own practice which Abby now runs.

It felt nice, like the two of you were bonding. Abby had to remind herself to not read too much into it, you were just nice. She didn’t even know if you liked women, never mind if it was your intention to make her heart thunder in her chest whenever you’d ask about something Abby had fleetingly mentioned three weeks earlier, already forgotten herself. 

You had this magic way of easing the mom guilt she had and she didn’t know how you managed it.

Realistically, though, she knew Lev saw the daycare staff and kids more than he saw Abby and Yara and that realisation had her sobbing into her pillow while a rerun of Stargate SG-1 played in the background. 

Abby had mentioned this self-depricatingly during one of the morning drop-offs, trying to disguise it as a joke. Maybe her face didn’t sell it though, or maybe you just knew her too well at this point but suddenly she felt your hand on her shoulder with a comforting touch.

“Dr. Anderson, stop” And she did, like a pup following an order, falling quiet and looking at you with an open expression. “You’re being too harsh on yourself. It’s a lot being a working mom and you’re doing amazing, and Lev is far from the first in the building… Or even the last one to leave. I promise”

“Th-Thanks..” Abby had managed to stutter out, a shy smile creeping on her lips. She hadn’t said it for praise or compliments, in fact she wasn’t sure why she said it. Something about you just.. Made it easy for her to speak. “I just.. I think cause I see him as the first to arrive and the last to leave in this room, my brain starts to go crazy thinking of him alone for ages until the rest of the kids turn up”

You shake your head, brows scrunched up in a disagreeing face. “I swear, after you leave it’s like a stampede of kids. I’m telling you, Lev and I barely get, what?—” you look down at Lev as if asking him to confirm. He and Yara are helping set the tables for breakfast with you, his small eyes looking as if he’s also pondering your question. “Five minutes? Maybe, of peace. And at the end of the night it’s maybe… Ten, fifteen at most before you get here. But I’m telling you, he’s fine, i’m fine, and more importantly you’re fine, Doc”

Abby felt a little bit better at your words, nodding. She glances at the clock, sighing when she realises she’s gonna have to leave soon to drop Yara off at school. “We better get you to school, huh Missy?” she calls down to her daughter, black hair in an intricate braid Abby had been forced to practice doing all weekend. Apparently, braids were an important thing in first grade.

Yara gives Lev one last hug and Abby bends down to press a kiss to the top of his head before the two move towards the door. You’re murmuring a ‘see you tonight’ when Abby turns to you, “You can call me Abby.. By the way. You keep calling me Doc or Dr. Anderson, but.. You can call me Abby”

The blonde wasn’t sure why saying that made her palms sweaty, or why her heart was racing. But then you smile, lips slowly curling and eyes averted from hers. You nod your head, testing the name on your tongue. “Abby.. Abby it is then” It sounds beautiful coming from your lips and she finds herself eager to find more ways to get you to say her name over and over again now she’s heard it.

She’s walking out with a silly, dumb smile stretched across her lips, Yara’s small hand in hers when the six year old gets her attention. “Mama, do you like Miss Y/N?” She says it quietly, like she knows it’s probably embarrassing. Abby’s eyes widen, darting around the hallway to make sure no one else heard the young girl. “Wha— Subtlety, c’mon.. why, uh.. why do you ask, Goob?” 

Yara takes her hand from Abby’s, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at her mom with a look far too condescending to be on a six year old. “I am being subtle, that’s why I waited t’be outside. And your hands get sweaty when you talk to her”

Abby stares at her daughter for a moment before sucking in a deep breath, looking at the hanging paintings of children’s art work in the hallway like it might tell her how to have this conversation. “Should we get ice cream at the diner after dinner tonight” is what she says instead, ushering her daughter along and out the door. Yara just lets her.

Soon the two of you are not just talking in the mornings and the evenings but through the day, albeit only through the daycares app. You justify why you spend so much time updating it is because you know Abby gets anxious and maybe seeing how Lev’s day has gone will help make her feel better by the time she comes to collect him.

Your colleagues give you knowing looks, all well aware that your own crush on Abby is the reason you do so much. If it weren’t for the fact you make the point to go above and beyond with all the kids then maybe then they’d have an issue with it, favouritism and all, but you don’t. Actually, bonding with Lev so much and Abby in return has made you feel so guilty you’re writing extra detailed posts for all the kids activities.

But if going the extra mile for all thirteen of the kids in your class just to see Abby’s comments on Lev’s posts, her reacting with emojis and her smile at the end of the day when she collects then it’s worth it. 

And she lives for these updates, not just like any parent would but because she feels like you’re actually taking the time to have fun with the kids, not just keeping them entertained to make the day go easier.

Her favorite post was one you made during some ‘Healthy Living’ week Abby didn’t even know was going on, about how the kids had tried new fruits and vegetables they may never have tried, all done some obstacle courses and played pretend with fake gym equipment. After that sentence followed a photo of him on the post, his big cheesy grin directed at the camera. He’d pushed his short-sleeves up past his shoulder and was flexing his ‘muscles’ to the camera ‘like his mama has’, showing off for his friends.

And when she’d asked him about it on the drive home from daycare, he’d not stopped talking about how ‘big’ and ‘strong’ (“Super-duper strong!”) his mama was. Abby printed out the photo and framed it in her office at work, her heart full at the thought her son admires her that way.

It’s Wednesday, Abby’s set day off and while she’s very much aware that there’s a pile of laundry needing to go into her washing machine and a playroom currently looking like a crime scene, she’s sat in a coffee shop on main street across from her friends. 

Her hair is, for once, free of its usual braid and left down for ease, which immediately led to ribbing from Manny. Abby’s not sure how the topic shifted, maybe it was Manny teasing her that was a gate-way, but all of a sudden you were the topic of conversation. Namely, Abby’s big fat crush on you.

Yeah, she should have stayed at home.

“Guess you could say she’s hot for teacher, eh?” Manny’s loud laugh fills the coffee shop, their friends low laughter following as the blonde’s cheeks blaze.

“Knock it off, she’s… She’s just sweet, y’know” Abby’s eyes won’t meet any of their looks, voice quieter than usual. “And she’s good with the kids, both of them. That’s, like, mom kryptonite”

“She’s a daycare teacher, Abby. You’d hope that she was good with kids” Owen laughs, his newborn splayed across his chest as he leans his chair back against the wall. It’s their second kid, a baby girl and the group have spent a majority of their get-together passing the baby around like the world’s most precious game of pass the parcel.

It’s funny, when Mel and Owen first announced they were pregnant Abby had felt sad. Not because he was her ex-husband and she regretted the divorce, wanted it to be her instead of Mel carrying his baby but just because she realised she did want to be a mom, that all her friends were also falling pregnant. She was embarrassed by her jealousy, her yearning. If it wasn’t for Mel and Owen getting pregnant after one too many wine coolers at a group ski retreat, Abby wouldn’t be where she is now— Mom to Yara and Lev, the happiest she’s ever been.

“No, you.. You don’t get it. It’s not just Lev, it’s Yara too. She doesn’t just know their quirks, she gets them. She knows that if Lev’s had a portion but he’s still hungry, he won’t ask for anymore no matter how much he wants it. That you’ve gotta put it in front of him. She knows Yara used to.. That she was the one looking after him even when she was small, so she gives her some job to do at drop-off’s and collections so she feels important but isn’t being a kid looking after a kid.” Abby’s face is burning hot now, her heart is fluttering at the thought of you and she can’t help but feel embarrassed until she feels Nora’s hand at her back, rubbing soothingly.

“Yeah, she’s too far gone. Someone take Abby out back” She hears Ellie murmur under her breath, earning a soft dig from Dina and a few laughs from the table.

“Shut up,” She huffs, taking a sip of her drip coffee and pulling her phone out. She taps through the apps and pulls up your posts on Lev’s daycare profile. “I mean, how am I not supposed to like her when she’s hardworking and it has to do with my kid. She knows Lev is obsessed with sharks so she organised this whole ocean themed water activity for all the kids with Lev as her helper. He told all the kids the different types of sharks and how to distinguish them, and he actually started to make more friends than he had before”

She’s got her phone extended across the table — Ellie, Dina, Jesse and Mel huddled together and watching — scrolling through the various posts, pulling it back for a second only to show them a photo she’d had saved to her favorites since last month.

“And, look—  I know it’s just a Mother’s Day card, we all got carbon copies, but she knows how I get and when I got it she told me about how the whole time he was making it, Lev couldn’t stop talking about me. Like she knew how much that was gonna make my day… What?” Her gushing comes to an abrupt stop, brow raised when she spots Ellie and Dina smirking. Beside them, Jesse is looking at his caramel macchiato with raised brows, wide eyes and like he’s trying to force his face to stay straight.

“What, assholes, are you gonna tell me you all got the same line?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

“Oh, no. We didn’t get nearly the same amount of attention as you did, Ab” Dina says pointedly, though she can hear the held-back laughter and smile as she speaks.

“What are you—” Abby starts, but Ellie is already taking Abby’s phone and scrolling to the second picture, the one of the inside of the card. She turns the phone back to Abby, but all Abby sees is the inside message and Lev’s ‘signature’ (aka his crayon scrawls which extend across both inside pages).

She looks at her friends, brows raised and a clueless look upon her face. “What, did they not write Happy Mothers Day inside yours?”

“Well let me ask the audience,” Ellie deadpans before swinging her lanky body to the side to look at Mel and Owen. “Mel, Owen, what did the Mothers Day card you guys got say on the inside?”

Owen uselessly looks at Mel, whose face is lightly scrunched in thought. “Happy Mothers Day, from… And then kiddos name, why?”

Ellie’s head rolls to the side, a look on her face that says ‘See! Told ya so’ and Abby quickly snatches her phone from the auburn haired woman’s grip before she can show her card off to the rest of their friends.

Looking at the picture again, brows furrowed as she reads: Happy Mothers Day to the best mom. Lots of love followed by Lev’s signature. It’s your handwriting, she’s learnt it by now from the few notes you’ve had to pass in regards to weekend activities for the kids and such nearby you’d recommended to her one night. In fact, it looks like your best handwriting, like you made sure each letter was perfectly legible.

Abby looks up at her friends, suddenly feeling like a teenage girl again. “S-So what, you think—”

“She wants you” Manny cuts in, laughing once again. “I’m reading that right, aren’t I?” he adds after a moment, looking at the rest of their friends.

“Okay, people who actually know Y/N, can I get a raise of hands who think she.. Might like me” The words aren’t fully out of her mouth before five hands rise in quick succession, Mel reaching over to her baby sleeping on her husband's chest and raising her hand too.

The baby’s hand being raised is what really makes Abby feel like she’s being mocked by her friends, if she’s completely honest. “Okay, couldn’t have said anything sooner, assholes?”

“Abby, how are you one of the smartest women I know and simultaneously, the stupidest?” Nora asks lazily, her tired eyes only brightening with humor. Abby didn’t know how she was even here given she’d only finished her double at the hospital at six am, and despite her many attempts Nora won’t come work for her at the clinic. Something about not wanting to use influence to get a job she didn’t earn. Bullshit, she was Abby’s friend and an incredible doctor.

“One time I picked up JJ late, before you had Lev there. She was nice and all, but I was out of the door in, like, two minutes. Took me until I had him at home to realise she’d practically herded me out of the door as she did handover.” Jesse recounts, his lips pressed together tightly as he tries not to smile. “Just saying, she can get parents out quick when it's late. So why do you think she’s havin’ these big, long conversations with you each night?”

Abby’s mouth is slightly agape, stunned being one way of describing how she feels. She’d spent so long sure her crush was silly, unreciprocated. But had she been so focused on herself and concealing it that she hadn’t bothered to look and see if maybe it wasn’t just her who felt that way.

She’s off in her own head, brows scrunched up in deep thought — replaying every interaction, every touch you’ve both shared — when Mel nudges Owen. “Hey, isn’t that…”

Every head at their table turns to look at the coffee shop counter where you stand, oblivious to the audience you’ve now earned, ordering coffee. “Yeah, that’s Y/N. Must be on her break, damn… I wish I worked on Main, practically next door” Dina whispers, as if you might hear them.

“Guys, stop looking at her” Abby hisses, averting her eyes to her coffee in front of her and hoping her friends don’t garner your attention with their stares.

“Ah, I get it. She is pretty, I see why you’re so wound up by her now” Manny throws an arm over Abby’s shoulder, pulling her strong shoulders in close and giving her a squeeze. Then, with a tone of finality, “I want to talk to this girl.”

Her blue eyes widen, head shaking side to side as she looks from Manny to the rest of her friends. “Absolutely not” 

But Dina is already calling you over, saying your name so sweetly with her hand beckoning you over. Abby can see your eyes widen with surprise and your cheeks go rosy, seeing such a large table of people apparently wanting your attention. But Abby’s sure when your eyes fix on her, even if it was for a moment, you seem to relax just a little bit.

“I’m going to kill you guys” Abby hisses though a smile at her friends before you get close enough to hear, but none of them take any notice and instead focus on you.

You stand awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with your hands and, in the end, deciding to cross your arms over loosely. Abby’s eyes drift over to your arms as you do so, spotting dried orange paint on your skin and something glinting, most likely culprit being glitter. 

“Hey everyone, didn’t expect to see you guys until tonight” Despite your awkwardness, your humor is still solid and you don’t sound nervous at all. But you can’t help your eyes from wandering to Abby, to the sight of her with her hair loose in front of you.

It’s new, at least to you, and it kinda makes you breathless. Abby’s beautiful always but with her hair straight and down it’s just.. Different. “Hey, Abs” you shoot a small wave her way, Abby returning it with a small, warm smile.

“We try and catch up for coffee as a group at least once a month, especially with our workaholics.” Dina is quick to take the lead with the conversation, leaving Abby to want to sink into her chair and hide. “We were actually just discussing the kids crafts and you guys outdid yourselves with Mothers Day this year. Seriously, mine’s framed on the mantle”

There’s that blush at your cheeks again, one Abby wants to see again. Except she’s picturing a very different way of putting it there, one she probably shouldn’t be thinking of at a table full of her friends. Or in public.

She can’t help but wonder if you’re realising that they’ve realised a difference in their cards versus hers. Had you even meant to do it, was it unintentional but still.. With some sort of meaning behind it.

“Oh, this is Nora and Manny — they don’t have kids so you won’t know who they are but—”

“Actually,” you interject, cheeks darkening further as you do. “I think I recognise the names. Manny… Emanuel Alvarez and Nora Harris?”

Their surprise on their faces must be clear cause you're quick to finish, “You’re on Lev’s paperwork as emergency contacts, I make a point to memorise names and numbers for the kids in my group.”

You can’t see but Dina is smirking at Abby, mouthing the words ‘I told you so’. Her wife, beside her, has to bite her fist to stop from laughing. 

“Well now I feel terrible for not knowing anything about you, sit! Join us while you wait for your drink” Shit, Abby knows that voice. That’s Manny’s charming voice, the one he uses when he’s trying to talk a girl into bed or get what he wants in some other way. She’s heard it way too many times back in the day at the Tipsy Bison.

Worse, it works but maybe it’s actually the rest of the group's encouragement that makes you sit on one of the free chairs with them. “So, daycare. Sounds like you’ve very nurturing, from what my friends tell me. They make you sound like God's gift to daycare. Tell me, do you have children of your own, a husband?”

Subtle, Manny. Subtle.

You huff out a laugh awkwardly, jaw twitching as you try and find words. “No, I don’t. To both”

“No? Wife then? Partner? Hey, we’re waving all kinds of flags with this group” Abby briefly considers whether or not using the laminated menu to stab her eyes out would put her out of the misery which is Manny trying to… Wingman? For her.

“Uh, sadly no” Yeah, Abby can see the regret in your eyes for agreeing to sit with them. But she can’t seem to care at this moment, sitting up a little bit straighter when you say the word sadly. What does that mean, you wish you had a wife? Did you have someone in mind? C’mon Manny, ask more questions!

Like the cat that got the cream, his smile curls at his lips. “Ah, I see. You got your eye on anyone?”

Your eyes glance at Abby, her hair catching your attention for the fourth time since you’d been called over. It looked so long, so silky. You wanted to run your fingers through it, braid it for her. You shake out of that thought, breathing out finally like you’d forgotten to. “Uh, maybe, Jackson isn’t really—”

“Iced Latte for Y/N” Saved by the bell, or the barista in this case. 

“Shoot, I better go, but I’ll see most of you later tonight for collection. Have a nice day you guys!” They watch as you practically speedwalk to the counter and out of the coffee shop towards the daycare.

After a few moments of silence, Jesse is the one to break the silence. “Did Manny just scare our kids daycare teacher off by asking if she was married right from the get go?”

“Might have also had something to do with us all staring at her like creepy dolls” Ellie says around the rim of her coffee cup before gulping down the last of her coffee.

Manny puts his hands up in mock surrender, “At least we confirmed—”

But Ellie is quick to cut him off, “What, that she’s a girl kisser? Good going, genius, you could tell that by looking at her.”

“Pretty sure it was obvious when she gave us a group hello and Abby her own one” And as much as she doesn’t want to, she’s gotta say her ex-husband does have a point.

Abby spends the rest of the time the group remains at the cafe over-analyzing each look you gave her, every reaction you had, every word you said until it’s time to go home and rush her chores.

“I’m telling you, it was, like, the world’s scariest version of ‘meet the parents’ except it was all her friends and they were all parents of kids I was building a megablocks tower with ten minutes later.” You’ve pretty much sank yourself into the cushions of the old, worn sofa in the staff room, recounting your break to your friends and colleagues hours later on your lunch break. “Have you guys ever played Resident Evil, or seen it? That family from Biohazard? It was like that except they obviously weren’t rotting… Or evil”

Around you your colleagues laugh, namely because a majority of them are working mom’s in their early to late thirties who have no idea what you’re talking about.

“Okay, understandably creepy” Cat, one of your only colleagues close to your age, says as she scrapes the sides of her yogurt pot. “Still, objectively funny”

“So, you’re comparing getting called over by the good doc’ and her friends to meeting the parents, huh?” One of the older women, Caroline, butts in before you can respond to Cat. Her words make you wish the sofa would consume you, if only to hide the blush you knew had to be visible at this point.

It became public knowledge amongst the staff about your crush on Abby, pretty much from the start. You didn’t need to say anything, everyone sort of picked up on it easily, and suddenly it was as if you didn’t need to race to be the first to speak to Abby. No, they made sure they were busy as soon as they saw her walking into the room. 

And when you suddenly started staying late to do the closes each night and starting your shifts early to talk to her in the mornings? They let you with minimal teasing. Minimal but still humiliating. Your manager told you they wouldn’t always be able to pay you for the overtime you were doing but, in all honesty? Talking with Abby, hanging out with Lev and Yara? It didn’t feel like working. It felt right.

Sometimes you imagined it when you were at home, in your tiny apartment that felt empty more times than not. You imagined some cozy home, curled up on a sofa, the four of you like a family in a living room surrounded by bookshelves. Not only filled with the sci-fi and classics you’ve heard Abby mention she’s reading in passing but your fantasy and romance ones, the bottom shelves for the kids books. 

Imagining making breakfast, kissing Abby on the cheek before she heads out to work. Getting to see her come back from the gym, muscles strained and sweaty. You’d seen her once leaving the gym when you’d had a Wednesday booked off and the sight of Abby post-workout was enough for you to bite your fist and file the image away for later, but now your thoughts are just of easing her onto the couch and giving her a massage to ease the knots in her back.

You kind of missed when your crush first started, when your daydreams were all heated. How you’d fantasised about Abby’s form, of her manhandling you and licking into your mouth like she was starved. Of wrapping that beautiful, infuriatingly neat braid around your fist as Abby devoured your cunt, chin glistening and messy as she laps at your folds. Those were the fantasies that decided to reappear in your mind every time you saw Abby in the beginning, ones you’d have to bite your lip and try not to think of as she spoke.

Now? Now you’re straight up yearning and it’s a pain.

You huff out a sigh, ignoring the gentle, teasing laughter of the group of women. “It’s not funny, it was like I was being interrogated and all while she was sat there — not saying anything, mind you — with her beautiful, blonde hair out of that braid she always wears and I just wanted to… I don’t even know. God, is it bad if I say I just wanted to play with it? Is that a new level of sad?” There’s a pout at your lips as you sigh and Caroline reaches over to ruffle your hair, cooing softly in that motherly way she does.

“They’re sizing you up, Hon’, why else y’think they’re askin’ if you got anyone warming y’bed?” Arlene, another one of the older women, says softly. She’s stabbing her fork at some sad looking salad she’s put together but doesn’t seem all that interested in. “Betcha whole tab at the Bison she likes ya back and they’re fishin’ for her”

God, you wish. You thought you’d had a chance, the first time you’d met Abby but now you were pretty solidly aware you couldn’t be her type. Still, the thought makes your heart race.

“You’re forgetting one crucial fact: she’s not into women, ‘Lene. Has a whole ex-husband and everything” You groan out the word ex-husband like it did something personally offensive. She’d only mentioned the man briefly, no name or description but you cursed the man on a daily basis for letting a woman like Abby go.

“Whose to say Comp-Het didn’t have something to do with that” Cat mumbles, causing Arlene to lean over asking “Com-what?”

Caroline sucks in a breath, making a noise of disagreement. “I don’t know… Just cause she’s got an ex-husband don’t mean she can’t like women, or what if she likes both? You don’t know why their marriage ended, what if she realised the only cock she wanted was on the end of one of those strappy things?”

You’re groaning, head held in your hands at that comment while Cat cackles loudly. Her laugh can most likely be heard in all the classrooms and you have to reach over to smack her to get her to stop. You will not be dealing with cranky toddlers ‘cause a conversation about strap-ons of all things woke them up.

“Now I know I’m old and I don’t wanna get myself in trouble,” Arlene starts, causing you and Cat to glance at each other in silent dread. As the only two queer people on the daycare staff, neither of you knew where this could go. “But I always figured when you looked like that you kind of had to be a Lesbian. There’s takin’ care of your body and then there’s runnin’ for the Lumberjack Qualifiers, darlin’, you know?”

Cat makes a noise as if weighing up her answer, “No, sadly, straight women can be buff. It’s fucking cruel cause then we get baited but there’s no rules”

Arlene nods as if she’s digesting the information then turns to look at you with determination. “I still say her friends were checkin’ into you for her, not that you ain’t obvious about your lil’ crush on her and everything but what if she thinks you’re not into her?”

“Yeah, that Dina — JJ’s mom — she’s a tricky girl, bet the reason Dr. Anderson was so quiet was ‘cause they called you over before she knew it. I’m telling you, she was probably talking about you and got all shy cause her friends were embarrassing her”

You sit up at that, finger pointed at the older woman. “Okay, firstly— I am not obvious, I actually make a point to be extremely professional and only go all starry eyed after she leaves.” 

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Sweetheart”

“And Secondly….” Your mouth hangs open for a second, not quite sure what else you could say to argue. The thought of Abby being flustered in that moment? It made your heart race with excitement. Cruel, cruel excitement. “If.. If you’re right, what do I.. What’s next? I can’t exactly ask her out, she’s a parent—”

Your manager's voice calls out from her office, right across from the door to the staff room. “Yes you can, as long as there’s no favoritism, favours or inappropriate behaviours that would reflect badly on the setting.” She says it in the familiar bored drawl you’re used to hearing from her, your eyes wide at the thought that even your manager is invested in your love life.

Around you, your colleagues are all trying to stifle their laughter.

Cat stands up, taking her trash to the garbage as she speaks. Shit, if she’s going back then you’re due back soon too. “You talk to her enough in the morning and at night, you can’t find a way to ask her out to coffee one day or something?”

“What, ‘Hey, I know you employ me for a service to care for your kid but do you maybe wanna go on a date with me, winky face?’”

“Yeah sure, but maybe don’t say winky face out loud” If it wasn’t frowned upon, you’d be throwing all of the sofa cushions at your friend right now.

“It doesn’t have to be a date, sweetheart. You could always ask her to hang out as friends first, then see how she is outside of these four walls.” Caroline adds as you stand, tossing the remnants of your own lunch in the garbage.

You’re nodding slowly as you leave the room, trying to convince yourself that the idea isn’t a bad one that could go horribly, horrifically wrong and end with Abby avoiding you forever. You glance at the clock in the room when you get back, only five more hours until you see Abby to see if you’ll actually do it.

Abby makes sure she’s early tonight, not just ‘cause it���s a Wednesday and she has the ability to do that but because she can’t be alone with you in that room without bursting into flames. The longer she had to dwell on your run in with her and her friends this morning, the more she wanted a zombie apocalypse to start so the undead could rip her apart. That might be more painless than seeing how uncomfortable her friends and their questioning might have made you.

Her mission is simple: get in, get Lev, get out. Try to avoid potentially seeing you look at her with disgust or any lingering weirdness. Maybe look into Witness Protection, see if they have exceptions.

She feels like luck is on her side, three other parents in the room and staff all busy talking to them. She can see you off in the corner, talking to another parent and unaware of her presence. Maybe she can keep it that way, just long enough to get the attention of another member of staff to let them know she’s taking Lev and make up some story about how they’re in too much of a rush to do a full handover.

Speaking of Lev, where the hell is her son? She can’t see him in his usual places, the construction area or the water tray. He’s not in the book corner, surprisingly, nor is he in the home corner like he had been that night Abby got caught in the rain.

She’s about to start panicking, blue eyes wide as she scans the room when she sees a familiar head of hair. Fuck, mission obstacle — He’s clinging to your legs, his toy giraffe clutched under one arm while his other is looped around your calf, his head rested against your knee. 

Damn it, thwarted by her own kid. She’d even gone to the lengths of calling in Manny for babysitting duties so Yara wouldn’t complicate her ‘get-in-get-out’ plan but all of it had gone out of the window when Lev decided to attach himself to you like a keyring.

Abby sighs, hands awkwardly going into the pockets of her jeans as she waits for you to notice her. Luckily, since Abby is no longer actively hiding from you, she’s quickly spotted. You hold up a finger, signalling to her you’ll be a moment and bend down to whisper something in Lev’s ear. His tired eyes look up and then brighten when he sees Abby, a shout of “Mama!” from his tiny lips before he’s sprinting across the room.

Abby’s quick to squat down and scoop him up, watching as he rubs his eyes with tired fists. “Tired, Goober? Should we go to sleep early tonight?” 

Despite his eyes being closed and one fist still rubbing at one, he shakes his head. “Still want my books, mama”

You must have wrapped up with the other parents in the short amount of time Abby’s had Lev cause suddenly you’re there, and even with the room being lively with other kids and other adults Abby can’t help but feel like all that noise quietens when you appear.

“Hey, Abs” You sound oddly shy, so unlike you and it makes Abby’s heart race. She thinks back to the conversation she and her friends had earlier this morning about how they all thought you might like her back and damn how she wants that to be true. 

She manages to say a hey of her own, awkwardly sounding it out and somehow making it sound apologetic. “Seems busy in here, surprised you were able to do anything with this one clinging to you like a koala. I would’a picked him up earlier if I knew he was tired, you could have put something on the app. I don’t mind”

You shake your head, reaching up to give Lev a soft stroke on his face as he nuzzles into Abby’s chest. Abby already knows he’s either gonna fall asleep on her like this or on the car ride home. “It’s fine, honestly. Wouldn’t survive in this job if you weren’t used to tired kids attaching themselves to you”

You do the normal handover, giving Abby all the information about his day, meals and toileting before there’s a pause. This is where you’d both naturally fall into conversation, where you’d share something personal like an interest in books or, in Abby’s case, whatever documentary she’s watching this week.

But no, silence. Awkward silence, like neither of you want it but you both also don’t know how to end it.

“I’m sorry!” Abby says abruptly, then mentally slapping herself in the face cause she knows she could have eased into saying that. “You know, about my friends… This morning? They’ve got no sense of boundaries and they shouldn’t have started grilling you like that. It was… It was weird, I’m sorry”

Your mouth hangs slightly open, eyes a little wide like you didn’t expect her to say anything about it, which makes Abby wish she didn’t but there’s not much she can do about that now.

“No, no—  it’s, uh.. It’s fine, not the first time parents have inquired about my personal life, won’t be the last.” 

“Still, there’s boundaries. They—  We shouldn’t have cornered you like that. I’m sorry, especially about Manny.”

The only thing that stops Abby from continuing her nervous apology spiel is your light laugh as you look at her, bottom lip drawn between your teeth. She can’t help the way her eyes are drawn to the movement, how she wishes it were her teeth your lip was caught by. She looks up just in time to see you catch her staring, which only causes the both of your faces to brighten with embarrassment.

You shake away the nervousness, shrugging casually. “No, seriously it’s fine. Besides, it’s not like there’s much to gossip about in my love life. So they were getting nothing anyway”

“Really?” Abby can’t hide the surprise from her voice, looking you up and down obviously. She couldn’t see why you wouldn’t have anything going on, you were quite possibly one of the most beautiful girls she’s ever seen.

You let out some shaky, nervous laughter as you shake your head. “Really. It’s kind of far and few to find girls who like girls here in Jackson that aren’t already taken or a word I can’t say cause there’s kids around” You let that marinate, watching Abby carefully to see her reaction.

Abby, to her credit, does her best not to react. On the outside, she’s nodding like people do to say I’m listening, continue but on the inside she feels like a teenager jumping up and down on their bed. 

“Plus, work makes it difficult to meet anyone who doesn’t get it so…” You add after a beat, a little awkwardly since you didn’t get a reaction from Abby.

“I get that,” Abby adjusts Lev where he lays on her shoulder, his tiny fingers toying with the end of her braid. She’d put it in her usual style, much to your disappointment, once she’d started stress deep-cleaning the house following your interaction at the coffee shop. “I’ve not had much time to meet anyone the usual ways, always figured once I stopped working at a big hospital and stuff, I’d have time to get back out there again but…”

She had tried after the divorce, she’d had a few casual relationships but those were all before she adopted Yara and Lev. “Plus it’s hard, with the kids. Don’t want to invite someone into their lives who doesn’t get it or who might leave”

Your eyes are on Lev as you let out a wistful ‘yeah’, eyes softening when you notice his eyes fluttering closed. Abby can’t help but watch you, watch as you look at her baby boy with a look she’s only ever seen in herself, in photos captured by friends of her playing with the kids. She wants desperately to believe you’re imagining yourself as that person Abby is waiting for, that she’s not alone in being stupid for you and you her.

“It’d be nice though,” Abby’s voice sounds slightly breathy and her heart is thundering so hard in her chest as she aims for a coolness she knows in this moment she does not possess. “Plus it’d be fun to be able to have the kids going around in a circle of ‘ask your mom’ at some point, you know”

She watches you carefully as what she says finally registers in your head, eyes averted from her gaze but moving up slightly, as if looking at an invisible camera on The Office. A soft intake of breath as you slowly nod, swallowing thickly as you process. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s every queer mom’s right of passage” You say slowly after a moment, a short laugh falling from your lips.

You look like you want to say something else, but your eyes drift to Lev again and soften with a smile. “You should, uh… You should probably head home. Someone’s decided to call it a night while we were here yapping”

Abby cranes her neck to look down at her son, softly snoring against her chest and leaving a nice wet patch of drool on the neckline of her t-shirt. “Guess I should…”

Awkwardly, she tries to toss his backpack over her shoulder but it’s difficult to get it to stay without jostling Lev. She freezes slightly when she feels you start to help, your soft hands against her skin as you position the backpack so it will stay. She could have swore your hands linger, as it tracing the muscles in her arms before you let go of her.

“See you tomorrow?” Abby mumbles as she leaves, feeling like her heart is about to race out of her chest. Unknowingly, she leaves you in the same state.

Later that night, when all the children have gone home and the daycare is getting closed down for the night, Caroline walks by just in time to see you and Cat jumping up and down and around in circles, hands clutched together as you both chant “She’s gay! She’s gay, she’s gay, she’s gay!” excitebly over and over.

You may have chickened out of asking Abby out on a date, or even to hang out as friends, but there was still some cause for celebration. “Whole tab at the Bison, huh?” she calls to Arlene when she appears behind her a second later, the manager beside her. The older woman grumbles, but her motherly smile is beaming at you and Cat. “That girls gonna be drinkin’ like a fish on your card, that’s for sure, ‘Lene”

Abby should have known something was up the moment she got three separate messages all relating to going out to the Tipsy Bison on Friday night. It started casually late Thursday morning during a lull between patients, opening the groupchat to see Dina’s message.

[ Dina ] :   Guys we should get sitters and go to the Bison tomorrow, let loose

Simple, casual. Nothing she found suspicious, because there was always a message in the groupchat about hanging out. That’s the issue with being a group of friends with young kids, you can say you want to make plans until your throat goes dry but actually getting said plans out of the groupchat? Practically impossible, especially if they don’t involve aforementioned kids.

Abby expected this to be the same, and maybe she should have questioned it when later that night the groupchat exploded with sudden interest from everyone. It was strange, how this one night everyone seemed able to commit to plans with barely twenty-four hours notice but Abby just shrugged it off. She didn’t confirm or deny if she was going, phone left open in her hand as she falls asleep on the sofa that night.

It definitely should have been suspicious when Jesse shouts her name during drop-off in the morning, catching Abby just before he drops JJ in as Abby’s about to leave, and asks if she’s going with them. 

“No, sorry, can’t. Wouldn’t have been able to book a sitter so last minute even if I tried” Abby shrugs, waving her friend off. And yet, somehow she still ends up in the dimly lit bar later that night, Dina’s mischievous smirk being kissed off her face by her wife. 

Abby’s still not sure how she ended up being talked into coming, or how Joel Miller ended up stuck babysitting not only his step-grandson but Abby’s kids as well; All she knows is Jesse walked away and she was left dazed and confused, like she’d just entered a deal with the devil.

They’re all stood at the bar with the exception of Mel and Nora who were saving their seats at one of the few round tables in the bar big enough to fit the size of their group. Manny’s buying the first round, which translates more to flirting with the new bartender. At least, she’s new to Abby — It’s been a while since she’s been out drinking like this, most nights when she needs a stiff drink she just curls up with scotch after putting the kids to bed.

Abby can’t help but feel like there’s a certain energy though that falls over the group, a weird layer of excitement and deception but that may be because Dina has a devilish smirk on her face and it’s been directed at Abby since they stepped foot into the bar.

“Okay, what’s your damage tonight?” Abby finally asks when the group return to their table, sitting with her back to the bar trays in hand with the amount of drinks Manny decided to order in this first round. Abby’s already picturing herself on a liquid IV just looking at the tray solely holding shots. She has to shout to be heard, the music loud and the bar crowded, voices overlapping

It’s addressed to the table as a whole but Dina, ever the ringleader, takes the bait first. “What? Can’t a girl be excited we’re all out for once. Drinking.”

Abby narrows her eyes as she reaches her hand out to grab a shot, looking around at the group. It’s not just Dina who makes her suspicious now, it’s everyone. Manny, for the most part, is quiet — which is worse. She can see Nora and Mel whispering back and forth in each others ear and she’d try and force Owen to tell her what they’re saying, but he’s got that far off look in his eyes she recognises as him straight up disassociating while he downs his shot and then chases it with his beer of all things.

“No, no. You’re being weird,” she shouts again, crossing her large arms over her chest as she leans forward to glare at them all closer. “What are you guys up to?”

“Nothin’, nothin’, can’t a group of people go out and drink on a Friday night without a reason?” Ellie shouts across the table, leaning on her tattooed arm while Dina strokes the skin idly. “Just cause we had kids doesn’t mean we can’t—”

“Abby, next rounds on you! You should go to the bar and grab them, grab them now” Dina suddenly cuts in, eyes unfocused and staring off behind the blondes head, causing Abby to look around the table at everyone’s still full drinks.

“How about when we’ve actually started drinking them” She deadpans, confused at the urgency in which Dina said it. Dina has a smile on her face, nodding like she agrees, but Abby can see her tells; the twitch at her cheek as her jaw grinds slightly, the way her eyes widen slightly as she tries to think of how to get what she wants. Her eyes glance around the table, making eye contact with each and every one of them and like dominoes falling, everyone picks up their glasses and tries to subtly start drinking faster.

“Okay, what the hell guys?!” The exasperation in her voice is clear as she throws her hands up in the air, looking around at the group. “I’ll still buy the damn drinks but this isn’t college, we don’t have to drink so much so fast”

“I just think the bar is pretty busy, going now might mean you’ll make it back in time for when we are finished?” Mel throws a soft smile Abby’s way, her eyes glancing behind Abby’s head every so often towards the bar, clearly trying to placate her. Sure, it was busy but it was a Friday night and pay-day weekend. It was bound to be, but it still wouldn’t warrant Abby needing to go back to the bar when all their drinks were barely touched.

“I’ll still be back before you guys finish your drinks if I leave when you’re half-way though them, quit chugging them” She makes the point of picking up her own beer and drinking it slowly, savouring the taste and looking at all their friends. In front of her Dina, eyes still off behind Abby’s head sighs with annoyance and sags into her chair, eyes tracking something off to the side. Ellie’s quick to pull her in by the shoulder, murmuring into her ear something Abby wouldn’t be able to hear even without the noise of the bar.

Owen changes the subject then, lessening the weird tension that’s in the air, by complaining about work. He works as a Sheriff’s Deputy in town but ever since Mel had their second kid, he’s been on permanent desk duty. Somehow, for the deputies that don’t get out once in a while, they’re filled with drama. Manny recounts how a patient was trying to get his number this morning, which everyone ignored as the usual Manny flirt-parade until he added that she was eighty-two and had three husbands under her belt. 

Finally, when everyone's drinks seemed reasonably half-drunk, Abby stands without saying anything to go and order but she’s quickly stopped by Jesse. “Uh, no sweat, Abby. Dina was just jerkin’ ya around. I’ll get the next round, you just… Stay here”

Okay, back to weird.

In front of them, Nora is nodding like she thinks Jesse has had the greatest idea ever, Ellie and Dina talking over each other to get Abby to sit back down. For a group of people who seemed so determined to get Abby to the bar no less than twenty minutes ago, they seem desperate to keep her at the table now.

“Nu-uh, you guys were practically chasing me over there a while back. I’ll cover it now, b’sides — I’m probably gonna call it a night after another round or two. It’s been a long week” She’s turning around before anyone can stop her, Jesse’s hands trying and failing all too late to keep her fixed facing the group. She doesn’t notice anything at first, half expecting the bar to be on fire or gremlins doing some Coyote Ugly shit on the bar.

She walks towards the bar, through the crowds of people stood where the makeshift dancefloor and the seating meets when she sees something out of the corner of her eye. Her friends think she’s missed it, that they’re in the clear, but no. She’d recognise you anywhere.

It’s like time goes still, like someone threw a blanket over a speaker to muffle the noise of the bar. The music seems to quieten in her ears, people seem to go slower as she watches you. More specifically, watch you and Cat.

Your head is thrown back as you dance, back pressed against the other woman's chest as you both dance together. There’s drinks in both your hands, but Cat still has her free one resting casually on your hip and you seem so carefree and happy, it can’t be the first time you’ve done this.

Abby’s blue eyes unfocus slightly, looking off behind you and the sound of rowdy laughter cuts in, the noise of the bar suddenly coming back to her as she realises the rest of your coworkers are also there. There’s two older women cheering the two of you on as you look like you’re grinding your ass back against Cat’s crotch.

Right. Of course. You didn’t… You didn’t like Abby, why would you like Abby when Cat was clearly…

Abby turns to look back at her friends, already trying to figure out a way to get the hell out of the bar without making them aware but she knows she can’t do that when the first thing she sees is varying looks of pity and apology on all their faces.

They’d seen. Oh god, that was why they were trying to keep her at the table. Abby’s not sure how she has the strength to but she slowly walks back to the table and slumps down into her chair, crestfallen.

She’d been so sure you liked her, or, at least, she’d gotten her hopes up that you might just like her as much as she likes you. And after you’d both not-so-subtly confirmed to each other that you did both like girls, she thought surely that was also a point in the Y/N-likes-Abby-back column but after that display?

“Shit, I’m sorry, Abs. I didn’t— I knew they were all comin’ to the bar tonight but if.. If I knew she was gonna.. That she and Cat.. I would’ve—” Dina’s apologetic voice comes quick down Abby’s ear, the other girl having appeared suddenly and quickly over her shoulder and comforting her in a hug Abby didn’t ask for or particularly want, but allowed nonetheless.

After a moment, Abby takes a short breath and smoothes her face into a mask of calmness. She will not break down at the bar, she’s a grown-ass mother of two. She is much too old for that, especially when it’s over a crush. “I think I’m gonna head to the bathroom a sec.”

Abby doesn’t wait for an answer before she’s up and out of her chair, walking in the opposite direction and towards the dingy women’s bathrooms before anyone can stop her.

There’s a pleasant buzz in your system, that familiar state of officially drunk but just barely as you move around on the dance floor. The Tipsy Bison is relatively busy, but that’s more to do with it being payday weekend and the only bar on main street rather than actual preference. You don’t mind though, whatever gets liquor down your throat after a long week is good — especially when it’s not you that’s paying.

That’s the funny thing, you look at a group of daycare teachers and expect them to be saints, yet here they all are. A group of seven women, four of which in their early fifties feeding shots down your throat and egging each other on as you drunkenly dance with each other. It is a celebration though, as it’s not every day you discover the girl you like might like you back and that you actually might have a shot, especially in Jackson. That’s why she accepts the heavy handed drinks from Arlene like a birthday girl on her twenty-first.

The music is normally ass in here, Seth’s usual playlist a total bore but there’s a new bartender he hired that actually seems to enjoy variety in music, so when you and Cat heard a song you were both actually fans of and recognised you were pulling each other on the dance floor. You were both drunk enough, courtesy of Arlene, to not care about your surroundings and dance like you’re both at a big city club. 

Cat’s arm is thrown over your shoulder, pulling your back against her chest as you both clumsily grind against each other to the beat of the song but you’re also both laughing and singing along, trying your best to not spill your drinks on the floor and make a sticky mess. 

Your dancing is too close, but you two have never been more than just friends so it doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with it, especially since there’s nothing that feels right about it that way. 

Abby on the other hand?

You could imagine how good it would feel to dance with her like this, although you both might be a little too grown up to dirty dance in a club like this. But the thought of it is nice. Your back against her chest, her sexy toned chest rubbing up against her abs and her tits? You bite your lips at the thought of it, of her hands wandering across your body.

Okay, not thoughts to have while your ass is pressed against your friend. You take a moment to reassess, suddenly very aware of your bodily functions.

Spinning around, you giggle drunkenly as you look at Cat. “Gotta hit the stalls, forgot how much I was drinking. If I’m not back in fifteen, send a rescue party — might be consoling a drunk girl”

She gives you a thumbs up and you make your way towards the toilets, but out of the corner of your eye you see two familiar faces. You can’t stop yourself, way too friendly when intoxicated as you skip along to the bar to see Dina and Mel as they buy a round.

“Fancy seeing you two here,” You say playfully but your enthusiasm is curbed when the two women's faces look less than impressed with you. You might be drunk but they don’t normally look at you like you kicked a puppy, do they? “We’re just out for drinks for payday, you two doing the same?”

You hope if maybe you point out it’s not just you that’s drunk they won’t be as annoyed, but Dina just nods, avoiding eye contact and pointedly tutting under her breath as if your very presence irritates her. Had you done something? Or was it just that detestable that you have a life outside of work? You didn’t think Dina would be that type of parent but there’s always one who surprises you.

Mel takes some pity, pointing to a table near the back as she speaks while Dina just huffs, visibly annoyed. You shift uncomfortably, regretting coming over more and more. “We’re, uh… all out, not something we do very often”

At that your interest piques, ignoring Dina’s attitude towards you. Your eyes are seeking something out, or rather someone, scanning all the heads at the table for a familiar face or a familiar back of the head but you don’t see it. She said all, didn’t she? Where’s Abby then?

As if knowing exactly what you’re searching for, Dina turns to you stern faced and with narrowed eyes, venom in them. “She’s in the bathroom, I’d say to say hi but she’s already seen how busy you were” Her arms fold over her chest and even in your intoxicated state, you can’t help but feel like you’re getting told off by your mom.

Your brows furrow in confusion, wondering when you’ve been busy all night? Did she mean when you helped Arlene and Caroline bring the trays of drinks over to the tables for their rounds? “Huh?”

But they’re gone before you can get a clearer answer, a muttered see ya from Dina before they’re walking away with their own trays of drinks. Your confused look follows them all the way back to their table, watching as Dina and Mel must say something cause suddenly they’re all looking at you. The stares vary from pitying to annoyed and you’re not sure why the feeling hurts.

You stumble away from the bar dejectedly, pushing your way into the bathroom and wincing at the stark overhead lighting. In the main bar area of the Tipsy Bison it’s all low lighting but in here, it’s broken overhead lighting that feels a little too cold in temperature and makes you look sickly no matter how you look really.

The sight of yourself in the mirror is… Well, a sight. Hair messy and slightly sweaty, your skin has a sheen to it too from the humidity you’d barely noticed inside the bar and your makeup — which was applied at six am and barely touched up after the daycare closed in the staff toilets — is also messy, eyeliner smudged under the eyes and lipstick barely there from the drinks. The dulled sound of the bars music makes you feel like you can actually think, which is maybe not the best idea cause your mind is swimming with questions.

What the hell was that? Why did it seem like Dina Woodward-Williams hated you all of a sudden? Matter of fact, why did it seem like a core group of your classes parents — not to mention your crushes best friends — disliked you to varying degrees. And speaking of your crush, what did Dina mean when she said Abby saw how busy she was?

Shit, Abby.

Didn’t she say Abby was in the toilets?

“Abs?” You say tentatively, your voice is rough, from drunkenly shouting over the music all night so everyone could hear you. She might have left, but behind you there is a closed stall.

After a few moments of silence, you hear a huff of breath and see a pair of feet appear under the crack at the bottom of the stall through the mirror. The door unlocks and she appears, looking beautiful and… Her eyes are slightly red, like she’d been crying and you can’t stop yourself as you turn around and move towards her with concern.

You go to reach out but she takes a step back and you… You can’t help but feel the pain of the rejection but you respect it. “Abs, Abby… What’s wrong, are you…”

“It’s.. ‘m fine, Y/N. S’all good” Despite this, Abby’s shaking her head and pushing past to wash her hands, clearly wanting to ignore the elephant in the room that was her crying in the bar bathroom.

“I didn’t realise you guys were here, you should have come over ‘n said hi to us”

“It’s fine, you looked busy… Like you were havin’ fun”

Busy… There’s that word again. Still, Abby doesn’t seem irritated with you the same way her friends did, just.. Deflated.

“Yeah?” Your dopey smile is wide, eyes are too as you stare up at Abby like she’s something of wonder. “You know, on the dancefloor” Abby then adds, words slightly slurred, definitely bitter. You’re not sure why.

“Oh yeah,” Your airy little giggle as you sway tipsily makes Abby want to wrap her arms around you and keep you close for the rest of the night. “Cat and I get a little crazy when something we actually know and can dance like we’re in a club comes on”

“Yeah,” Abby’s own words slur slightly, but even she’s just tipsy as she laughs lowly. Still, she’s hit that level of intoxicated tonight where she’s not even trying to hide her bitter tone. “And there you were a few weeks ago sayin’ somethin’ about barely any girls in Jackson. All along one was workin’ with you”

It takes a moment for you to process what Abby says, your sweet smile falling and brows furrowing in confusion as you shake your head. You move closer to Abby where she stands gripping the sinks. “What?”

“Your girlfriend? Saw you two dancin’ tonight, you seemed… Pretty close”

“Cat?” You ask, your voice small and confused. “Cat’s not my girlfriend, Abs. We’re just friends”

“Not what it looked like t’me, not with her hands all over you ‘n your ass against her”

Suddenly all the air in the dingy bathroom doesn’t feel like enough, not as you stare at Abby as she looks genuinely irritated at what she saw. You can understand it, even when you’re drunk like this you get why she probably thought you and Cat were a thing. You both were a little too handsy while you drank, neither thinking much of it but to an outsider? To someone who (you hoped) liked you watching from across the room?

You move closer to Abby, like a moth to flame, and crowd her up against the sinks with a needy look on your face. Your hands are either side of her, her own almost touching yours as she looks down at you with this intensity you feel yourself melting under. You want to wipe that look of jealousy, the bitterness, from her perfect face.

“Just friends, just drunk. Always get too handsy when the liquor is flowing” It’s said as a joke but your voice comes out too breathy, too soft like you’re trying to coax her into believing you. 

“Her or you?” The words are heavy, loaded, like one answer could mean the difference between Abby snapping. “Both” a beat, then, “You don’t like seein’ Cat’s hands on me?” 

The tension in the air is stifling, your eyes heavy not just with the alcohol but lust as you look up at Abby, mouth slightly agape as you whimper at the dark look in the other woman’s eyes. It’s answer enough about what she thinks of Cat touching you, friends or not.

Your eyes move slowly to where your hands are, moving them slowly up until your fingertips are touching Abby’s thick hands. You can hear your soft panting, feel your heart racing as you ease closer into touching her — even something as innocent as touching her hands making you feel breathless.

When you look back up at Abby, her blue eyes are dark and stormy, locked on your lips and you have to let out a shaky laugh to release some of the tension.

“This why Dina was a bitch to me at the bar?” You ask quietly so only she can hear, even though Abby is the only other person with you in the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Abby’s voice is low, rough and it sounds like pure sex to you in a way no-ones ever has. The kind of gruff voice that makes it sound like she’s parched, desperate and you have to squeeze your thighs together to ease the ache building at your core. “She got wind of your work outing. Wanted to give me a chance to make a move”

Your fingers thread through hers as she starts to speak and once you’ve got your daintier fingers interlocked with her thicker ones, still slightly wet from washing them, your hands both remain either side of Abby.

“Yeah?” Your throat feels thick, words getting caught as you say them from how affected you are. It no longer feels like you’re out in public, just caught in a bubble of yourself and Abby as you lean into her space, legs tangling so a thigh presses between hers.. It’s not just you, Abby’s starting to look equally as wrecked by the sudden proximity between the two of you.

Maybe it’s the alcohol.. Okay it’s definitely the alcohol that’s making you both this reckless. Both your chests are rising and falling quickly, small panting breaths falling from each of your lips as you both teeter on the edge.

“Would you of?”

“You were dancing with her” Abby’s voice is low, her breath hot against your cheek as your faces seem achingly close. You can hear the disgust in her voice when she says her.

Between your thighs you can feel how embarrassingly affected you are by the other woman, by the thought of her making a move on you. What if you'd danced with her tonight, got to feel everything you were thinking of when you danced with Cat.

“I was thinking about you the whole time” The words come out as a whimpered confession, like you were having flashbacks to every sinful fantasy that came to mind as you danced of Abby and you have to bite at your bottom lip to stop from letting out an embarrassing sounding whine.

Of course, Abby tracks that movement almost instantly and you can see her eyes dilating at the sight. Her expression is still dark though and she raises a single brow as she stares down at you, lips so achingly close to yours. “Yeah? Wanted t’be me you were being a little slut for out there?”

That shouldn’t make your heart race and your mouth dry the way it does, slowly your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you pant softly. You had a million ideas of what Abby might be like in this situation, if she’d be a gentlewoman and wax poetic in your ear, a downright tease or if she’d talk dirty, degrade you while making your body light up.

Your eyes are fixed on Abby’s, but they’re heavy lidded with lust and say so much while saying nothing at all. It’s pure need, desperation the way you look at her because yes, you did want it to be her you were grinding against, you wanted it to be her whose hands were on you only so her fingers would ghost across your skin and so you could tease her with your body.

And the best part is you can see it mirrored in her own eyes, see the hunger and the desperation bleeding through. Abby looks like she’s hanging on to her final restraint, the one thing holding her back from jumping you and that desire you see in her? It feels good. It feels good to know it’s not just you, that it’s potentially never just been you that’s wanted this.

You nod up at her over and over, the desperation bleeding out. God, you want her, need her and it feels like pure torture to have her this close finally and not taste her on your tongue.

“God, please let me touch you, kiss you, ‘nythin..” Abby’s voice is wrecked as she speaks and she has that same look of need in her eyes you’re sure is reflected in yours. You’re not sure how you answer, another nod, a whine but next thing you know her lips are on yours and her tongue is sliding against yours, the kiss messy and dirty as your hands go to each other's bodies.

You’ve got your hands all over the place, one fisted in her hair messing up that pristine fucking braid you’ve daydreamed of for months and the other touching her everywhere. It’s against her throat in a light hold one moment, moving down her chest and groping at her small, perfect tits the next. It’s pushing up her shirt and raking the nails against her torso, her abs quivering under your touch, then it’s lower pushing her legs open wider so you can press closer and repeat how it roams.

It’s not just you that’s handsy now either, Abby lets you keep your faces pressed firmly together greedily and takes full advantage of having both hands to explore your body. God, your perfect body. Her imagination did not compare to actually feeling your skin beneath her fingers, feeling each reaction to her touch. How her large hands could hold your tits and grope them easily while you mewled into her mouth, a needy mess (not that she was much better)

“Thought about this f’months,” Abby murmurs, voice low and fucked out, as she breaks the kiss to drag a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. Her hand moves to the back of your neck to manoeuvre you enough so she’s got the perfect angle, perfect access to as much skin as she can reach as she leans down. “You’re so fucking perfect”

All you can do is whine, rocking your hips forward so your clothed cunt can drag against Abby’s jean-clad thigh and press your own thigh against her too. “Shut the fuck up, am not. You’re the one… Fucking look at you” The words are said so breathlessly and yet with such adoration, such belief that Abby can’t help but pull her lips away from your neck just long enough to gaze at your face adoringly. The both of you are biting back small noises and clinging onto each other as you both rock slowly against each other.

Abby’s almost shaking with need as your hands slide down to her hips, holding them firmly and forcing her to grind against your thigh. “I-I need you… I need you so bad” Her husky voice whimpers, forehead falling against yours as she feels herself grower wetter in her boxers. It takes everything in you not to moan at how easily Abby has become submissive under your touch, how quickly she’s started to become lost under the pleasure. 

Not that you’re doing much better, eyes rolling shut as you move against Abby’s thigh and feel the drag of fabric against your clit. You’re nodding softly, hand coming up to her jaw to capture her in another tender but hungry kiss, half-devouring her as she whines into your mouth. Your hand is sliding down to her jeans, fingers unbuttoning them when the bathroom door slams open. You both pull apart slightly, eyes wide in shock and embarrassment and skin flushed as you’re caught dry humping each other against the sinks by Cat.

Cat who doubles over with laughter when she sees the two of you, clutching onto the hand-dryer for support only to accidentally turn it on. “You said come and get you if you were long” she shouts over the dryer, shaking her head and smirking. “Congrats guys but maybe take this back home so Seth doesn’t go all… Seth on you guys”

She doesn’t even wait for a response, stumbling back out into the bar laughing leaving you and Abby half embraced and feeling like ice water has been thrown on you both. Slowly, nervously, you turn and look back up to Abby. You’re not sure why but now you’ve both been shaken out of the haze of lust and drunken courage you’re worried that maybe, just maybe Abby might be having second thoughts.

“Abby?” Your heart is racing again, lip drawn between your teeth as you worry it. God, what if clarity hit and she’s sobering up enough to realise she doesn’t want this. That you should have never crossed the line. Shit, her kids involved in this, she’s probably already regretting it. You’re visibly spiralling, eyes wide and worried.

Abby’s large hands come down to cup your cheeks, the pads of her thumbs softly brushing against your cheeks soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down” The words are spoken so gently as she moves the two of you around so your back is to the sinks, and she gently lifts you up so you’re sitting on the counter top. “Talk to me, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Fuck, she’s perfect and it only makes you more nervous. You let out a shaky sounding breath, a sad look on your face curtesy of your drunken emotions. “I… really like you, Abby. Like, really really like you a-and I don’t want this to be something you’re regretting, cause I know you’ve got your kids and I get that if you don’t wanna carry on ca—”

Abby cuts you off, shaking her head and looking at you with such a soft, sad look. “When did I say I’m regretting anything? Or that I don’t wanna keep seeing you? Shit, I’ve been thinking about you since I met you so I don’t think I could stop if I tried”

“But Lev and Yara, I don’t wanna make things complicated for you or for them”

“Leave my kids to me, okay? I know what I’m doing, I know what I want. I want you, I’ve been wanting you and I don’t just want you in bed.”

That gets your attention, looking up at her with a hopeful glint in your eye and an excited smile threatening to curl at your lips. “Yeah, really?”

“Yeah, silly. I want you at the dinner table with us, ‘wanna see you on Saturday mornin’s in your pajamas cooking eggs and waiting for the coffee with me before the kids wake up.” Her stupid, beautiful face is lit up with a fond smile. You lean into her touch, her hands still cradling your face as she speaks. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been thinking about you in other ways too but… I’m not regretting this, but if you don’t think you’re—”

“I’m not, I-I mean I’m not regretting this, not that I’m not ready. I want.. I want that too. I want all of it” Laughter spills from both of you at your panicked and nervous babbling, leading into a comfortable silence. It feels like the outside world slowly starts seeping in, the muffled sound of the bar’s music and peoples talking becoming more audible — like the bubble the two of you were in finally popped.

Slowly, Abby moves her hand to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear and press a soft kiss to your forehead. “What do you say, wanna listen to Cat and get out of here?”

A wide, unapologetic grin is stretched wide across your lips at the thought of leaving with her, of this being real and not just a figment of her imagination anymore. “What, not into people walking in on us kissing, Abs?”

“Not if I can help it.” Easily she kisses you one last time, short but thorough before she’s helping you jump down from the counter top and throwing an arm around your shoulders.  You can still taste her on your tongue as you both pull the bathroom door open and walk back out into the bar, intent on leaving and going home, whoever's home that may be. And if, over the loud music and crowd, the two of you can hear cheering and shouts from both groups of friends, you both choose to ignore it.

[pencil-n-pen]

SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[mis-anthrapologistic]

[long post] random simplyplural inspo

cw: vague s/h warning in the first pic

our current custom fields:

* lyric / quote

blank field for a divider or graphic

* bday or forming date

* age

* appearance (verbal description)

* faceclaim (picture)

* other names

* prns & sexuality

* species

blank field for a divider or graphic

* role

* symptoms held

* activity (how often they front)

* complexity (fully formed or not)

* hierarchy

* subsystem

* relationships (internal & external)

* headspace location

blank field for a divider or graphic

* source

* pseudomemories or source memories

* source quotes

blank field for a divider or graphic

* weirdly specific opinions

* likes

* dislikes

* playlist

* irrational fears

* fun facts

blank field for a divider or graphic

* sign off

* fronting triggers

* reviews (that other alters leave about them)

* miscellaneous

* badges (stamps, blinkies, etc)

* credits

other random field ideas:

* mbti or other personality types

* talents & hobbies

* how to tell when the alter is at/near front

* handwriting, typing quirks, etc

* "this" or "that" type questions (cats or dogs, introvert or extrovert etc)

* other titles to refer to the alter as

* associations

* which alters helped fill out the profile

* stereotypical tropes?

* what types of dysphoria the alter experiences (height, gender, voice, etc)

* kins/synpaths

* what they would be bullied for in middleschool /hj

* "life written by: ___" (favorite writer, music artist, etc. basically, "they get me" or saying that their work is very relatable.)

* fursonas, oc's, etc

* how to make the alter feel more comfortable when they're at front, or if you're meeting them for the first time

* neopronoun or xenogender hoards

* what they would most likely be arrested for

* wishlist of things the alter wants to buy?

* if you're into things like danganronpa, then feel free to add a SHSL talent field :3

☆

we don't regularly add anyone on simplyplural, so we don't have that many privacy buckets. however, we do have one for all source related fields (faceclaim, source, mems, quotes, etc).

we also have a privacy bucket for the pronouns and sexuality field in case we ever add anyone we know irl.

for each of our role groups, we always include a definition for the role in the description/info box for those who may not know the term. ^_^

☆

other things we to do make our profiles a little bit more fun:

* silly quotes or references for the bios! we usually do twitter or tumblr references.

* over-use and abuse the description box for the groups. we always leave little notes, jokes, gifs, or extra graphics in ours.

* we have an info page at the top of our alter list where we include basic info about the sys. we also added a basic dictionary of system terms in the custom fields and some userboxes!

* make tons of silly groups. if you're running low on inspiration, check out those sorting memes where characters are put into certain scenario categories (hard to explain, but do you know what i'm talking about?). like... what characters would do in a fire, watching a horror movie, etc.

* also, groups for subcultures‼️

* get people outside of your sys to leave reviews about the alters to add to the "review" field! bonus points of they write it like a professional review or add "__/5 stars".

* we don't read fanfiction, but if you do, i recommend adding a section in the custom fields or groups for a hyper-specific AO3 tag or something!

* don't worry if your account isn't always super aesthetic. seriously, it's okay. your account layout has nothing to do with how valid you are. just make sure you have fun. :p

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 5

Previous Chapter: Part 4 | Next Chapter: Part 6

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out, Smut

🚫🔞THIS IS AN ADULT BLOG CONTAINING EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, A18+ ONLY.🔞🚫

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, lemon, hand job, vague references to Shoto being abused by family, reader experiences anxiety

Link to My Master List

Your alarm wakes you from a restless sleep. You blearily slap at your phone until it stops beeping and you sit up in bed.

Deep in your bones, you feel upset.

But why? Your fuzzy brain can’t seem to put all the pieces together from the night before. Then in a flash you remember – the text. The sweatshirt. YaMomo.

Oh, right. You had drifted off around 4 am after hours of agonizing and pacing around your tiny dorm room.

Maybe it was all just a weird dream? You reach out your hand and grope along your side table until you find it – Shoto’s phone. You scoop it into your arms and tap it to reveal his bland blue-sky screensaver. There are two texts on the screen – one from you, and one from Momo Yayarozo.

Momo: “Hey Shoto, you left your sweatshirt in my dorm room yesterday evening. Come pick it up tomorrow? Good night.”

Okay so this is really happening. For what feels like the billionth time, you review the facts in your head.

Fact #1: Shoto and Momo are friends. They have always been fairly close and supportive of each other.

Fact #2: Shoto left some clothing in Momo’s room. And it’s a sweatshirt – not a super strange piece of clothing to leave in a friend’s room, right? But regardless, the text indicates that Shoto has physically been in YaMomo’s room.

Fact #3: Momo is hot. That feels relevant to list out here. But you don’t know if Shoto personally finds Momo hot, which is an important detail in this investigation.

It’s probably nothing…but you can’t help the way that a nervous knot forms in your stomach as you re-read the text message for the umpteenth time. Momo and Shoto have always been…close? But how close?

An image forms in your mind of Momo, her beautiful curvy figure leaning over Shoto during a seemingly innocent study session….You shake your head. No! These are your friends! You can’t assume the worst of them. Also, didn’t you seduce Shoto during a “study session” just last night? It seems a bit hypocritical to look down on someone else for doing the same.

You resolve to confront Shoto about this in the morning, to ask him for an explanation as to why Momo is currently in possession of a Todoroki sweatshirt. As you get ready – putting on your uniform, doing a quick skincare regimen, and brushing your hair - your mind swirls with questions and more than a little doubt.

You open your closet and reach for a box of protein bars that you’ve stashed at the bottom, breaking open the box and grabbing a chocolate chip bar for your breakfast.  You toss the snack into your bag alongside Shoto’s phone. Your emotions are all twisted up in the worst way. You’re simultaneously anxious and angry. But what exactly you’re angry about, you can’t put your finger on – are you angry about the situation, about Shoto’s potential two timing? Or are you angry at yourself for agonizing over the whole thing? You’re not completely sure, but you know for a fact that your lack of sleep isn’t doing anything to help.

Scowling, you march out of your dorm room and through the common area, ignoring the various “good mornings” of your friends as you go.

“Damn what crawled up Y/N’s ass and died this morning?” you hear Sero say loudly to Mina and Ochaco as you trudge down the stairs and out onto the quad. You’re too sleep deprived and pissy to care.

As you walk, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out and look at the screen where a barrage of texts alerts take up residence on your bright lock screen. It’s your group chat with Toru and Mina, appropriately labeled “Girlie Squad.”

Toru: Y/N! What’s the deal!?

Mina: Is everything okay?

Toru: So totally rude of you to ignore us!

Mina: You look like death.

You ignore them; you don’t have the wherewithal to make up an excuse for your sour mood. You make a mental note to respond before class so they don’t suspect that anything too crazy is going on with you. Your phone buzzes again, and you’re about to text the group to back off when you notice that – oh! It’s Honenuki this time.

You open the message and see that he’s linked you to a new song. You click through and it brings you to “This Must Be the Place” by the Talking Heads. You type out a quick text.

Y/N: You moved on to the 80s?                    

Honenuki: Ha. Yeah, 80s New Wave is the vibe this week. You like the Talking Heads?

Y/N: Yeah I’m a fan. “And She Was” is a favorite of mine.

Honenuki: A woman of taste! How’s you’re week going Y/N?

Y/N: Eh kinda crappy. Classes have been crazy, and I’m in a bad mood. You?

Honenuki: *typing*

Honenuki: Yeah the hero course has been tough lately. Maybe this will help.

He sends you another song, this time its “I’m Walking On Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves.

Honenuki: A serotonin boost. Don’t let a tough week take away your sunshine, ‘kay? Hope the day gets better!

Y/N: Thanks dude, hope you have a good one too.

You smile down at your phone. Huh, Honenuki’s actually kind of cool. You’ve got a sneaking suspicion that Class B isn’t as bad as Monoma’s immature behavior has lead you to believe. As it turns out, they’re all sort of normal. The anxiety is still bubbling around in the pit of your stomach, but having so many friends be concerned about you lessens it a tiny bit. Mina, Toru, Honenuki. It’s nice to have people looking out for you. You hope that after the conversation you’re about to have that Shoto can be a member of that list.

You have a feeling you know where Shoto is this morning, and you’re determined to confront him there.

You walk across campus in the early morning sun, dew sticking to your shoes as you plod across the damp, freshly mowed grass. You come to one of the training gymnasiums and let yourself inside. The ground floor is comprised of a gym entirely dedicated to the peers in your year. It has a ton of exercise equipment and training gear, and is open most hours of the day.

You push open the big double doors to the gym and find Todoroki in the far corner. It’s extremely early and it looks like Shoto is the only guy from your year who chose to get some reps in this morning.

He’s wearing athletic gear – basketball shorts and a tight fitting tank top – and he’s covered in sweat. He shines in the lowlight of the gym, skin glowing as he bicep curls a massive free weight in each arm. He looks like a Greek god, his physique is glorious and his muscles flex with practice skill. If you weren’t so upset, you’d worship at his feet.

He hears the door open and looks up with a start, uncurling his arms in a way that shows off his workout pump. Fuck his body should come with a warning label like: Caution: Extremely hot, do not approach unless you’re prepared to drop your panties.

“Y/N?” He says with wide-eyed surprise. He moves to put down the weights and reaches for a small white towel. He wipes the sweat off of his gorgeous brow and looks at you, confusion in his eyes. You don’t typically lift in the mornings, and you’re already in your school uniform.

You approach him briskly, your steps precise and sharp as you maneuver around various machines and pieces of workout equipment. Your steps echo in the expansive space.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, tilting his head to the side like a dog. He’s so cute you almost forget that you’re mad at him. Wordlessly, you reach into your bag and pull out his cell phone.

“Oh, my phone.” He says blankly. “That’s right, I left it in your room, didn’t I?” He reaches out and accepts the cellular device from you. “Mr. Aizawa caught me on the staircase, so I couldn’t come back to get it. I got a detention, but I don’t think it will be too bad. Thank you for bringing this back to me.” He slides the phone into his short’s pocket without a second glance.

“Did you come to workout with me?” You see there’s a hint of eagerness in his face. He slowly turns around and looks to a pile of free weights in the corner. “What weight would you like to start with? I can go get some for you.”

Before he can turn to walk away, you reach out and grab his shoulder. You feel the definition in his muscles and it makes your knees weak for a moment. Goddamn, girl. Get yourself together here. Cut to the chase.

“Why is YaMomo texting you?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level. “She said you left your sweatshirt in her room.”

Shoto doesn’t seem phased by this. He calmly removes his phone from his pocket and opens up his messages.

“Oh, she did text me. Thanks Y/N.” He types something back to Momo and hits send before pocketing the phone once more. You stand there in disbelief as he acts like nothing odd has happened.

“You’re in your uniform. Do you want to go and change? There’s still plenty of time before homeroom if you want to get a few reps in. I can spot you if you want to do some deadlifts.” He says helpfully, using the towel again to wipe off his perfectly formed shoulders. “I never see you workout in the mornings, did you come just to see me?” He smiles mischievously, but you can tell that he’s genuinely thrilled that you’ve joined him.

“Shoto.” You say, ignoring his offer. “Why did you leave your sweatshirt in Momo’s room?”

“Hmm.” His expression crinkles a bit as he thinks back. “I guess I must have taken it off while we were studying. Her room is pretty stuffy. She has way too much furniture crammed into her dorm. I told her she should get a smaller bed.”

“So when you were with her…you were just ‘studying’?” You prompt, annoyed that he doesn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation here. Is he trying to pull one over on you?

“Yes. We did a short review of the quadratic equations we’ve been working on in class this month. YaMomo put together a review session for Kaminari, Jiro and I. Well mostly for Kaminari, but I still found the material helpful.” He stretches, hands behind his head. “Would you like to join our next math review? Momo makes quite a good teacher. She’s a great friend for organizing so many study groups.”

You look at him in disbelief, your jaw hanging open. Oh my god. OH. MY. GOD. Did you stay up half the night blowing A TEXT completely out of proportion!? Holy crap did you just spend hours worrying and agonizing and imagining fake scenarios over absolutely NOTHING!? You’re enraged with yourself. How could you let one tiny text absolutely destroy you like that? You’re supposed to be a level-headed hero! And right now you’re acting like some kind of lovesick middle schooler. Grow the fuck up Y/N! This is not how a normal person acts!

You’re absolutely spiraling inside, ashamed of the way you’ve been absolutely tearing yourself apart worrying that Shoto had two timed you with Momo. How silly. How ridiculous. Shoto and Momo are both you’re friends and somehow your horny Neanderthal brain made them both into enemies at the drop of a hat. You feel like an awful person for thinking of Shoto and Momo in such a horrible light.

“What’s wrong?” Shoto says slowly, bringing you back to reality. Your head is absolutely spinning. You’re exhausted and shaky, anxiety still coursing through your veins. Shoto shuffles forward to get a closer look at you, concerned. He reaches out to put a hand on your waist. “Are you not feeling well?” His voice is tinged with concern and he’s looking at you with such warm eyes it makes you want to die.

“I’m feeling fine.” You snap, and Shoto instantly flinches away at your sharp tone. He recoils almost like a child that’s been admonished. His exposed fear at your harsh words makes you feel even sicker to your stomach. It makes you wonder again at how he’s treated at home. You have so many emotions flowing through you at once that you aren’t sure how to respond. Embarrassed, exhausted and unsure of yourself, you turn and walk away.

“Y/N – wait! What’s wrong?” He calls after you as you quickly weave around the gym equipment.

“I’m fine.” You say again in a clipped tone, not having the strength to look back at him.

You leave Shoto confused and alone in the large space.

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You stomp your way to the classroom building. Your stomach is riling and you have too many emotions to count.

You text Mina and Toru in your group chat. You send them a vague excuse about waking up on the wrong side of the bed or some shit. Mina responds that she didn’t sleep well either and Toru sends a heart emoji. You assume all is forgiven.

Much to your class’s surprise, Recovery Girl is standing in Mr. Aizawa’s usual place when you all arrive.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Toru whispers as she takes her seat. You ignore her, still stewing. You can’t make sense of your feelings right now…why are you so damn angry? You’re certain that Shoto is telling the truth – it was just a study session in Momo’s room. You could easily ask Kaminari or Jiro to corroborate his story.

It’s not the study session that’s making you angry though…it’s the way you stayed up all night obsessing about Momo and Shoto’s friendship. The potential hookup. What it would mean if Shoto was seeing other people, despite your discussion about keeping the intimacy monogamous.

You’re embarrassed and ashamed. And now you’re even more abashed of the way you spoke to Shoto.

“Hello class. Aizawa had to take the morning off to attend to some personal matters, so we’re going to dive into our first Sex Ed lesson today ahead of your English class.”

The class groans.

“Don’t worry everyone, this one is quick. It’s just a stepping stone to our larger conversations.” She says kindly, peering up at them through her thick glasses. “Today we’re just going to chat about interpersonal relationships, specifically about how boundaries and strong communication can lead to stronger relationships. This is going to play directly into your friendships, into your hero work, and, eventually, into intimate relationships as well.”

“Who knows what a boundary is?” She looks around expectantly, but no one raises their hand. Everyone is too nervous to engage. She sighs. “Alright, well to start: when we set a boundary, we establish clear limits or guidelines about how we want to be treated. We may define what behaviors are acceptable to us or not. Can anyone think of a good example of what a boundary may be?”

Uraraka raises her hand. “Could a boundary be asking someone not to call you a certain name? Like if Midoriya told Bakugo that being called ‘Deku’ was crossing a boundary for him, it would be wrong of Bakugo to continue using the name, right?”

“Keep my name out of your mouth, pink cheeks!”

“Sounds like Bakugo is crossing the name calling boundary already!” Mina calls out mockingly, and Katsuki looks at her with eyes full of fire and brimstone.

“Settle down! Yes, Uraraka. That’s a good example of a boundary. Boundaries can also be physical or emotional. I’ll give some applicable examples: during training you may feel the need to tell your sparring partner that you aren’t comfortable with your face or chest being touched. In a friendship, you might set a boundary with that person requesting that they not share private personal information about you with other friends. In a dating relationship, you may set boundaries surrounding physical intimacy. The boundaries you set depend on your feelings and needs, as well as the relationship. The most important part of boundary setting is clear communication. Be direct about your feelings and need for a boundary, and don’t be afraid to verbally reiterate to reinforce the boundary. Any questions?”

You see Shoto’s hand lift towards the ceiling. You look over at him and your stomach rolls.

“Yes, Shoto?”

“Say a friend is mad at you, and you’re not sure why. Can I set a boundary in the future requesting that they be direct with me and communicate their feelings as clearly as possible?” He looks straight ahead, careful not to meet your eyes.

Recovery Girl’s mouth quirks a bit. “That is…an oddly specific question.”

She thinks about it for a moment then smiles at Shoto. “But yes, setting clear boundaries surrounding your communication needs is perfectly reasonable. A good step would be to meet this friend in a neutral area and to request that they have an open and honest conversation with you about how they are feeling and why. Tell them that in the future, you would like to have an open line of communication with them and that it upsets you when you don’t understand their feelings. Be sure to underscore that you want to understand them better, and you care about them. Of course, it is important to note that sometimes your boundaries will not be considered or respected. Your friend may not be willing to sit down with you and have a conversation. All relationships are complex and everyone has their own needs that they want met. The best we can do is be respectful of one another and try to approach difficult interpersonal situations with as much empathy and grace as possible.”

Shoto considers this, and nods with understanding.

“Does anyone else have a question about boundaries?”

Mineta raises his hand but begins speaking without being called on. “I think we all know that my boundaries are to see as much of the girls’ boobs and butts as I can. If the ladies of the class could all respect my boundary by having their assets on display as much as possible, it would be much appreciated.”

The lesson ends there.

Mineta is sent to the Principle’s office and Recovery Girl gives them a long lecture about respect and body autonomy. Present Mic comes in halfway through to start his English class. One look at Recovery Girl’s angry face is enough to send him packing, and he doesn’t pluck up the courage to come back and begin his class until 15 minutes have elapsed.

You think about Shoto’s question and feel a stab of shame. Shoto isn’t the best at understanding people, and he comes from a volatile home life where it sounds like his father’s anger is often weaponized. Of course he’s hurt and confused at your seemingly mysterious anger towards him. You wonder if he’s full of anxiety as well. You really shouldn’t have just left him in the dust this morning.

You glance over at Shoto, but he’s still staring straight ahead. His eyes are focused on Present Mic and the chalkboard, but they look a little glazed over. He’s not taking notes. He’s clearly deep in thought about something. You wonder if he’s thinking about you.

Crap, you really screwed this one up.

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The rest of the day goes by pretty fast. There is the usual blur of classes, training, sparring and lunch. Mr. Aizawa reappears for combat training later in the day. He does not share an explanation as to where he has been. Instead, he doubles down on training and makes everyone work twice as hard as usual.

Shoji lays you out on your ass during said combat training and you’re absolutely sure your legs are going to bloom with bruises later on. He apologizes profusely but you shake it off and tell him it was a great throw. The way you had flown through the air must truly have been a sight to behold, as other students are taking a break from their work to come and check that you are okay. Shoji, still incredibly embarrassed, offers to take you to Recovery Girl for a quick once-over.

You catch Shoto’s gaze watching with concern from across the room where he’s sparring with Tokoyami. The momentary lapse in his attention allows for Dark Shadow to hit him square in the chest. He falls back on his own ass and blinks up at Tokoyami with wide-eyed shock.

“You’ve been woefully distracted lately, Todoroki.” You overhear Tokoyami say to Shoto as he pulls the fallen hero back to his feet. “Is everything okay?”

You feel a mixture of shame and embarrassment pool in your stomach as you realize that you’ve been ruining Shoto’s focus. An anxious, terrible thought creeps into your brain…maybe Shoto is better off without you tangled up in his life. You’re a distraction from his hero training, and he from yours. Plus, you’ve most definitely hurt him with the way you jumped to conclusions and then left him to sit with your angry vibes. Maybe for Shoto’s sake…maybe you need to break this off sooner rather than later? You shake your head in an effort to clear the thought from your mind.

“Y/N…are you sure you don’t want to go to Recovery Girl? You’re definitely going to have some nasty bruises from the way you hit the ground.” Shoji tries one more time. You wave him off, starting to get annoyed at the way everyone is dotting on you. Your nerves are absolutely fried.

“No, no. It was my fault for not breaking my own fall. I need to be more careful. Let’s go one more time – but give me a second or two to practice my counter move so we can see if it would be effective against your dupli-arms.” Shoji nods and squares up to you, giving you a moment to collect yourself and get into a position with more leverage. You train together for a few more rounds of sparring before Mr. Aizawa comes around and adjusts your posture to better protect your body from damage. You’re annoyed at the correction, but grateful for the advice.

After combat training, you shower and roll back to the classroom for your final lesson of the day – math. Ugh. You settle back into your desk, taking out your notebook and pencils and trying to convince your brain to cooperate for one last hour.

During the class, Mina passes you a hot pink post-it note that has two quick sentences scribbled out in her neat script: “Stage Two: Rendezvous in the Library at 8pm. Be sure you aren’t followed.”

You roll your eyes at her and tuck the note into your book bag. Mina’s flare for the dramatic could be the thing that blows this whole party operation; you need to keep her in check. You pull out your planner and scribble a quick reminder to meet up with Mina, Toru and Nieto in the evening.

You’re tired and angsty and anxious – to be perfectly honest, you’re not in the mood for a dose of party planning and strategy tonight. In fact, you’d rather take a second, longer shower and spend the evening brooding in your room. You need to figure out how you’ll make things right with Shoto. And you need to determine if hooking up is posing for too much of a distraction to you both. You return to your quadratic equations, morale low and enthusiasm for math crumbling.

The day ends unceremoniously. You pack up your bag, stuffing your notebooks and pens into the small book bag as best you can. Your math textbook peaks out at the top and you can’t zip it all the way. You want to throw it at the wall, you’re so frustrated. What a shitty day it’s been.

Your phone buzzes as you walk through the door. You open it up to see a text from Shoto.

Shoto: Y/N. I don’t understand why you’re upset with me. Will you walk with me back to the dorms so we can discuss your feelings?

Ugh. You totally knew this was coming. You turn and see Shoto packing up his own bag back in the classroom. There are a few other stragglers from Class A – you watch as he attempts to hang back. He looks up at you and finally catches your eye. He looks sad, his expressive eyes shining with more than a little hurt. You nod at him before turning back down to your phone.

Y/N: Of course, I’ll wait for you outside of the classroom.

You loiter outside the classroom door for a moment, nodding at your classmates as they pass through the threshold and make their way back to the dorm building. Shoto is the last to exit; his fine brown leather backpack slung over one shoulder. The bright afternoon sunlight shines through the hallway windows and dances upon his fair face. It highlights the bright scar that encircles his left eye, giving it an almost fiery glow. He’s so gorgeous he could be a model.

“I saw you got your ass kicked by Tokoyami today.” You try to joke, but the comment just comes out lame. The two of you start making your way towards the exit, the sunlight streaming across your bare arms and wrapping you in a glow of warmth. The feeling is oddly comforting. You take a few steadying breaths as you prepare yourself for a tough conversation.

“Yes. I was distracted. I saw Shoji throw you to the ground and I was worried that you were hurt.” Shoto says, straightforward as ever. He fixes his gaze on the hallway ahead, not daring to look over at you.

A flicker of anger and madness licks at your insides. You try taking a deep breath to keep your emotions at bay, but you almost can’t help yourself when you snap out: “You can’t worry about me like that. I can hold my own in battle. I got into UA on my own merits, after all.” A beat. “You need to trust that I can handle myself.”

You’re on edge and upset at yourself, and once again today you’re taking it out on poor Shoto. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m going to be a hero.” You say with feeling, adjusting your backpack so the straps don’t dig into your shoulders as much. Damn, you’ve got too many books crammed into this thing.

Shoto is silent for a moment. He turns to stare out one of the large sunlit windows, gathering his thoughts. You give him some time. He takes a deep breath before he turns back towards you, his eyes bright.

“You’re right. I’m sorry Y/N. Is that why you’re mad at me – do you feel that I’ve been underestimating your abilities? Because I assure you its quite the opposite. I hold you in such a high regard, you are nothing but impressive to me.” He turns so he can focus his full attention on you, his mismatched eyes fit to burn a hole through your heart. The kind words roll off of his tongue sweet like honey, and you believe him. He thinks so highly of you. You’ve always known this. And yet, you needed him to repeat it. You need to be reminded, or else the anxious thoughts will have you in a chokehold.

“I truly think you are amazing.” At his words, the prickly anxious energy surrounding your heart and mind dissipates a bit.

“Shoto…I’m not mad at you. I’m not even sure how to explain why I was so dismissive of you this morning.” You say, trying your best to pin down a few of the swirling thoughts in your mind.

“Can you try?” He asks softly. “Recovery Girl said that I should be direct and ask questions. I would like to have an open line of communication with you, because I care about you and it has been hurting me all day that I can’t understand the way you’re feeling. Are you willing to discuss this?”

“Of course Shoto.” You say, trying to come up with the right words to describe your feelings. Your whole body aches from your sparring session with Shoji, and you’re so tired you feel like you could shut your eyes and fall asleep where you stand. Talking about feelings is the absolute last thing you want to do right now, but Shoto deserves an explanation and an apology. You try to adjust your backpack straps again, but it does nothing to alleviate the stiffness in your back.

“Here, Y/N. I know you’re a strong hero and that you can hold your own, but please let me help you with your backpack. It looks uncomfortable.” Shoto reaches out and slips the backpack strap off your shoulders. You feel instant relief – you lift your arms high over your head and feel your shoulders crack as you stretch out the muscles.

“Thank you. I’m not feeling my best.” You continue to run through some basic stretches and roll out your muscles as you explain how shocked you were to see the text from Momo come through the night before. “I wasn’t snooping on your phone, I promise. I would never violate your privacy like that. But I flipped it over and saw the message. I misinterpreted Momo’s text…I thought that when she said you’d left your sweatshirt in her room…well I thought it implied that the two of you had hooked up.”

Shoto’s eyes grow round with surprise, his eyebrows shoot up into his neat two toned hair. “You thought that Momo and I…?”

“Yeah. My imagination and my anxiety went into overdrive and I was up all night wrecked with worry.”

“But Y/N, I told you that I only want to be intimate with you. What reason would I have to lie to you?”

“Anxiety is a brutal thing. I spiraled out of control and assumed the worst. And then when you had a perfectly reasonable explanation for why your sweatshirt was in her room…I was ashamed at how upset and needy I let myself get over the whole thing.” You hang your head in shame, unable to look him straight in the face. “I was up most of the night anxious about the situation and I let it consume me. I was mad at myself, and I took it out on you. I’m so sorry Shoto, that was wrong of me.” Your eyes focus on the floor beneath you.

“Y/N.” You feel Shoto’s hand reach out to take your own. It’s his cool hand – it feels refreshing to have your fingers wrapped around each other in the sunny glare of the wide UA windows. “It’s alright. I’m not upset with you. That makes a lot of sense, and now I understand why you feel the way you do. But I hope you believe me when I say I only want to be intimate that way with you.” He rubs his thumb across your hand lightly, the gentle touch sending goose bumps up your arms. “I like Momo as a friend – but that’s all. I promise.” He squeezes your hand lightly, a physical manifestation of his assurance.

You look up into Shoto’s face and his gaze is open, warm. He repeats: “I’m not upset with you.”

“But you should be!” You burst out, nerves still buzzing. “I was so cold to you this morning, and I clearly hurt your feelings.” You pause, your emotions welling up and bubbling too close to the surface for comfort. “And…and I’m too much of a distraction to you. Ever since we started hooking up, you’ve been less engaged in class and in training. I just can’t stomach the thought of holding your hero training back because you’re too focused on me.”

This is clearly not what Shoto was expecting you to say, because his mouth hangs open in surprise. He stands in the hallway, flabbergasted.

The hallway is silent, save for simple notes of birdsong wafting through a nearby open window.

Shoto looks at you now, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, Y/N…I am going to ask you a question and I don’t want you to think I’m being demeaning here. But…when was the last time you had a full night’s sleep? You look exhausted.”

You blink at him, confused for a moment. But then you realize its true – you’re utterly drained and you haven’t gotten a good nights’ sleep all week. In between late night study sessions and your hookups with Shoto, you’ve really been burning the midnight oil. And then, of course, there’s the way you’d kept yourself up the night before agonizing over the text from Momo…

“It’s been a while.” You say slowly.

“I think that maybe you need to relax a bit. I’m not mad at you. You’re not distracting me. In fact, you’ve done nothing but enhance my life since we’ve started seeing each other more…intimately. You let me just be myself around you. I can’t convey to you how much that’s helped me lately. I need you to believe that.”

You nod. He’s being far too kind to you.

Shoto uses his free hand to check his phone for the time. You see his boring blue sky phone background light up briefly before he re-pockets the device.

“It’s 4:00 right now. Do you have time to rest before dinner?” He asks gently, squeezing your hand again.

“Yes. I don’t have anything planned until 8 o’clock tonight.” You say, thinking back to Mina’s note.

“Good. Then I’m escorting to your room and enforcing a mandatory nap.” He uncouples your hands and marches forward towards the dorms. You follow behind; head foggy with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Shoto isn’t mad at you.

Within minutes, you’re back in the Class A dorms. Most of your classmates are scattered across the campus – fitting in some last minute training in the gym or working through homework in the library. You feel guilty – you should be in one of those places, too. You need to work towards your goal of becoming stronger, becoming a hero. You voice these concerns to Shoto as he leads you through the empty hallway and towards your dorm room.

“Heroes need rest, too.” He says simply, dismissing your worries with a wave of his hand. “How can you become stronger if your exhausted?” He has a point there.

You turn your key in the lock and push your door open. The two of you enter the tiny dorm and you lock the door behind you. Shoto places the two backpacks on the floor near your desk and turns to you expectantly.

“Where do you keep your comfortable clothes?”

“Um, in the second drawer on the right.” You direct.

He moves to your dresser and opens the aforementioned drawer, drawing out a pair of cream-colored sweatpants and a grey tank top. You don’t have the heart to tell him that the pieces are not a matching set. He tosses the outfit in your direction and tells you to change. Meanwhile, he grabs the water bottle off of your nightstand and walks to your tiny bathroom to fill it for you. You hastily change in his absence and throw your worn uniform in your hamper for washing.

Shoto returns with a full water bottle and a damp cloth. He sets the bottle back on your nightstand and tugs you to your bed. You pull down the covers and climb up into the fluffy monstrosity, tucking your cold feet under the covers.

Shoto climbs up with you and sits next to you. He brings the cloth to your face – it’s damp with warm water. He lightly dabs at your cheeks, eyebrows and forehead, refreshing your skin in an insanely sweet gesture. “My mom used to do this for me before I went to bed.” He mumbles under his breath. “It always helped me sleep better.”

When he’s done, he presses a kiss to your forehead. You flush at the tenderness of his actions, overwhelmed with gratitude but feeling unworthy of his gentle attention.

“Drink some water.” He says before sliding off the bed and moving to ring out the cloth in the bathroom sink. You oblige, grabbing your water bottle and taking several large gulps of the cool liquid.

You feel ten times more relaxed than you had in class today. The loose clothes feel comforting on your aching body, and your face feels fresh and clean from Shoto’s attention. You lay your head down on your soft pillow and exhale deeply.

Shoto exits the bathroom, shaking the excess water from his hands.

“I’m sorry to be such a burden to you, Shoto.”

Shoto looks at you with a piercing gaze, almost angry.

“Y/N. I care about you – it is not a burden to take care of you when you need it. All I ask is that you are more open with your feelings next time. Don’t bottle things up and keep me in the dark.” He walks over to his book bag and reaches inside to grab one of your English class books – The Great Gatsby.

“Alright…I can be more open with you for sure. I’m sorry I was so harsh and mysterious this morning, I was processing too much and I got myself all worked up thinking that you and Momo had…well, you know.”

“Momo and I are good friends. You and I are also good friends but we have a more intimate relationship. There is nothing to be jealous about. As I said - I don’t care for Momo in the same way that I care for you.” He states simply, climbing back up beside you with his book in hand. “Here, turn onto your side and I can use my quirk as a heating pad on your back like last time.”

“You sure? I don’t need you to go to all this trouble…” You trail off as you feel his calloused hand works its way under your tank top. He spreads his fingertips wide as he cradles your lower back in his powerful hand. You feel him slowly start to modulate his temperature and the heat feels delightful against your aching muscles.

“Let me do nice things for you. I want you to relax. Now close your eyes and take a nap – I’ll wake you up before dinner.” He settles in next to you and you turn onto your side to give him better access to your back. He adjusts his position and props himself up against a few of your plushies. He flips his book open with his free hand and starts to read, brow furrowed in concentration.

You drift off, drawing comfort from the heat of Shoto’s left hand. You feel your muscles relaxing into his warm touch, the pains of the day melting like butter on a hot plate. You stretch out your legs into a more comfortable position and bury your face into your pillow.

“Thanks Shoto.” You sigh, letting your heavy eyelids drop. You feel so comfortable and safe; it’s not hard to let yourself fall into a soft, dreamless sleep.

True to his word, Shoto wakes you up two and a half hours later with a gentle shake of your shoulder. You blink up at him, bleary eyed. He smiles down at you, eyes soft as ever. It’s funny that you’ve never really noticed this – his face can be so blank and stoic, but all of the emotion shines through his pretty mismatched eyes.

“Did you have a good nap?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your brow before getting to his feet.

“Yeah…I feel like a totally new person.” You say. And its true – you feel refreshed and 90% better than you had earlier this afternoon. Your training aches and pains are still present, but have subsided a bit under Shoto’s gentle heat. Shoto hands you your water bottle and encourages you to take a few more gulps before getting out of bed. You indulge him, making a show of draining the bottle before you slide out from under the covers. You stand and wrap your arms around him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder. “Thank you Shoto.”

Shoto returns the hug, taking care to run his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture. “We take care of each other.” He says simply.

“How’s the book?” You ask as he breaks the hug and walks to his backpack, tucking his copy of The Great Gatsby amongst his notebooks.

“I finished it.” He says, scooping the bag up and onto his shoulders. “I don’t want to spoil the ending for you, but I’ll say this – it’s not a happy book.”

“Oh. Well I wasn’t really looking forward to it anyway. I much prefer sci-fi to the classics.” This seems to surprise Shoto, his eyebrows quirk up into his bangs in a gesture that’s rapidly becoming familiar.

“Sci-fi? Wow, I learn new things about you every day.” His tone is filled with surprise. “You’ll have to lend me one of your favorites sometime.” He checks the time on his phone, his factory default background glowing in the lowlight. “I should get going so I can drop my bag off in my room before dinner.”

“Hold on a sec – can I see your phone?” You hold out your hand, palm open. He looks at you for a moment, curious.

“Is this something to do with YaMomo again?” He asks, handing you the device.

“Not at all – I just noticed you have a basic-ass phone background. I think we need to change it to be more you, ya know?” You say, opening his Internet browser app and going to Google images.

“Oh, I’ve never really thought about that before.” He says, leaning to look over your shoulder curiously. “What are you thinking?”

“I feel like lately when we talk you’ve revealed that you like ocean creatures. That whale pillow on Pinterest? The Squirtle plushie? You seem to really like the sea vibe.” You say, typing a quick prompt into the search bar under Todoroki’s watchful eye.

“Huh, that’s true. I find the ocean to be very calming. And the creatures are usually cute.” He wraps his arms around you from behind as the image results populate on the screen. “Oh – I like that one a lot.” He points at a tiny thumbnail image and you click to expand it. It’s an old Lisa Frank design depicting two dolphins leaping out of crystal blue water. The art features a rainbow background of colorful corals and palm trees. It’s vibrant and filled with energy, and seems to fill Shoto with excitement as he buzzes behind you eagerly.

“Oh, I like that one too! All the colors are really nice. Let’s see how it looks as your phone background.” You smile as you save the image and set it as Shoto’s phone screen. He gives you a brief squeeze around the middle as he hugs you, bringing his chin down to rest on your shoulder as he watches you work your tech wizardry. You feel warm and fuzzy inside – Shoto is truly opening up to you. It feels like each day you chip away at his stoic exterior to reveal bits and pieces of his true self.

You hold up the phone and he unfurls an arm from where he’s holding you. He brings the phone to his face and smiles down at his new technicolor dolphin lock screen. You reach up a hand to cup his cheek tenderly and he leans into the touch.

“Thanks, Y/N. I really like this.” He says, turning his phone every which way to admire the artwork. He’s always surprising you. You’re happy he’s starting to get comfortable showing off his true self.

“Of course, Shoto. You should surround yourself with things that make you happy!” You feel your stomach growl and you remember that dinner is only minutes away. “We should really get going, shouldn’t we?” You both laugh as your tummy rumbles again.

Shoto unwinds his from around your stomach and gets to his feet. “Mind checking to see if the coast is clear? I’ll drop off my bag in my room and then see you at the common area.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You slide off the bed, unlock the door and peer out into the hallway. Thankfully, there’s no one in sight. You have a feeling that most of the class is already down in the common area assisting with dinner preparations.

“All clear.” You give Shoto a goofy little salute before opening the door wide for him to exit. He smiles and leans down to place a kiss on your cheek before booking it down the hallway. He hits the staircase and he’s out of sight in a blink of an eye.

You smile and head back inside your room, moving to change into a top that better matches your sweatpants. It feels nice to be taken care of. You wonder how Shoto knew exactly what you needed in order to feel better. Sometimes he seems so…out of touch. And yet, as soon as you need something he seems to lock in and know just what to do. You suspect that’s the true mark of a hero – seeing someone in need and figuring out a way to help. Who would have thought that Shoto Todoroki would become your own personal hero!?

In the dorm, Class A takes turns cooking with everyone rotating meal prep responsibilities. Tonight, Bakugo, Kirishima and Ida are handling the meal and you know it will be delicious. For some reason, Katsuki has some insane cooking skills. The smell of cooking vegetables wafts up from the kitchen and your stomach growls again in response. You leave your room, ambling down to meet the rest of your class in the kitchen area.

You feel much lighter, much happier. Shoto Todoroki is a goddamn prince of a man.

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“Alright, Mineta. We need you to do this for us.”

It’s 8:05 pm and you, Toru, Mina, Nieto Monoma and Minoru Mineta are all holed up in a study room within the Geography section of UA’s oversized library. Nieto purposefully chose this location for your clandestine rendezvous because “no one at this school studies goddamn geography, so it’s the perfect secret meeting spot.”

Mina had invited Mineta with a secret post it note as well. She had passed him a hot pink note in between classes. The note had implied that the two would be having a private meeting to discuss the “raw romantic tension between them.” Needless to say, Mineta had been extremely disappointed to find you, Toru and Nieto all waiting alongside Mina in the geography study room.

After a few not-so-sincere apologies, Nieto and Toru had gotten right to the heart of the matter and explained their master plan and Mineta’s potential role in it. The small purple classmate had listened intently; nodding as Toru unrolled schematics and Nieto explained timing and strategy. He seems genuinely interested in the party plot, and for a moment you think that he might say yes and help you all pull this off.

“What’s in it for me?” Ah, there’s the kicker alright. He looks around at you all expectantly.

Mina crosses her arms and stares him down. “The gratitude of our class and the joy of knowing you helped out your classmates.”

“No way. I want something out of this.” He rubs his hands together, scheming. “If I’m going to participate in this crazy ass plan so that you all can throw some stupid party, I better get something out of it. So here’s my price - 7 minutes in heaven. With each of you.” He looks at Mina challengingly.

“First of all – that’s 21 minutes in heaven. And second of all – majorly GROSS!” Toru bursts out, turning to you for confirmation. You shake your head in disgust as well, ready for Mina to jump in and negotiate terms.

“Absolutely not.” Your pink friend says, her antenna bristling.

“You’re not really in a position to be negotiating, are you?” Mineta leers up at you all. “After all, you need something from me. You should be grateful I’m even thinking about helping out with your crazy scheme considering how much trouble you got our class in last time.”

Mina makes a sour face. Honestly, he kind of has a point.

“7 minutes in heaven is off the table. Name something else.” She spits out, her dark eyes murderous.

“Fine. I get a kiss from each of you. And I get to grope Hagakure’s ass at least once.”

“What!! Why my ass!?” Toru explodes, waving her arms in upset.

Mineta salivates. “Because I have no idea how juicy it is. Just give me one good squeeze so I can truly know.”

“You absolute perv!” Toru roars, reaching out to grab Mineta and give him a good thrashing. You catch your friend’s invisible hands before she can rain down terror on the little miscreant.

“Hey you’re the ones who want to play Spin The Bottle and watch our classmates kiss. You’re just as pervy as me.” Mineta levels you all with a superior look. “I bet Monoma here is getting something good out of this deal, so why shouldn’t I?” He gestures up at Monoma, who up until now has stayed completely silent. This is all part of Mina’s strategy. Ahead of the meeting, she had advised Nieto to keep his talking to a minimum since its likely Mineta wouldn’t trust him.

“What are they promising you in exchange for your help?” The little creep asks Nieto.

“That’s none of your business.” You say, squaring up to your classmate. You decide to play into his insecurities. All’s fair in love and war, right!?

“Look, Mineta. We need your help to get this party off the ground. You’re the only one who can do this job, and it would mean the world to all of our classmates if you went through with it. You’d literally be hailed as the coolest guy in our class. Isn’t that enough? You don’t exactly have the most social clout at the moment.”

Mineta looks at you for a long minute, clearly weighing all of his options. He seems unfazed by your comment about his “coolness” factor.

“Nope. I want whatever he’s getting.” He points at Monoma, who gives him an unhinged look.

“You Class A stooges are so entitled!” He booms, laughing a bit maniacally. Mina smacks the back of his head to give him a hard reset.

“Stay with us, Nieto.” She turns back to Mineta. “Okay in the spirit of transparency, we are helping Monoma get a kiss during Spin The Bottle. To keep things fair, we can guarantee one kiss for you as well. Tell us who you want to kiss, and it will be delivered upon successful completion of work.”

“Heh.” Mineta smirks evilly. “Fine, I accept your terms. For my kiss I choose…Y/N!” He points directly at you, blood dripping from his nose.

You look at your friends and shrug. Unenthusiastically you say: “Fine. Why not.”

“My ass thanks you.” Toru squeaks out, covering her behind with invisible hands. Nieto glares down at Mineta in disgust, but lets you continue to do the talking.

“If this will get our party off the ground, I’m willing to do it.” You look down at Mineta. “Here are the conditions – It’s gonna be a single kiss. Lips closed, no tongue. No groping. No touching. Lips only. Got that?”

Mineta nods eagerly. “Don’t worry. Once you get one taste of these lips, you’ll be begging for more.” He turns back to Mina, awaiting instructions. “So what do you need me to do?”

You all return to the dorms forty minutes later, with plenty of time to get back to your separate rooms before the curfew takes effect.

A battle plan has been drawn out, and commitments have been made. You have a sour taste in your mouth at the thought of your eventual kiss with Mineta, but sacrifices must be made. After all, the fate of the party of the century hangs in the balance.

You make a mental note to make sure that Shoto is cool with all of this – after all, it would be super hypocritical for you to be jealous of Shoto’s non-existent relationship with YaMomo, and then to turn around and give another guy a peck on the mouth.

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When you finally make it back to your dorm, you’re riding an absolute high. You and your friends are planning the biggest secret party in UA history, and with the kickass strategy you all have developed, you anticipate the whole thing going off without a hitch. Monoma truly is a genius – you can’t wait to see his tightly orchestrated plan come to life. The man truly loves pulling all the strings behind the scenes.

Thanks to your nap, you’re feeling a bit more rested and energized. You text Shoto.

Y/N: Hey Shoto, you up?

Shoto: It’s only 9. Of course I’m awake.

Y/N: Have time to come through? I want to properly thank you for taking care of me earlier.

Shoto: I just finished some homework, I can come over for a bit before curfew.

Y/N: Perf! I have the perfect idea of how I can return the favor and TAKE CARE OF YOU! 👀

Shoto: I’m nervous. The all caps coming from you is aggressive.

Y/N: That was supposed to be cute and flirty 😉 Don’t be scared!! ☠️

Shoto: Ok. I’ll be down in 5.

True to his word, Shoto arrives in a timely fashion. He slips through your unlocked door like a ghost in the night.

“Hey, Y/N. How was your meeting with Mina and…?”

His jaw drops in surprise when he looks up to find you in nothing but your bra and panties. It’s a matching set – midnight blue and lacy around the edges. You’re feeling bold.

“I was trying to think of a way that I could properly thank you for taking such good care of me earlier…” You trail off, reaching behind him to turn the lock to your door.

“…And I came up with an idea. Get on the bed?” You ask sweetly. Shoto wastes no time obeying your request. He hurriedly scrambles onto the bed with the speed of a teenage boy who’s been promised a sexual favor. You climb up after him, lifting the hem of his t-shirt suggestively.

“Clothes off.” You say, tugging at the shirt a bit to see a flash of his perfect stomach before dropping the fabric from your fingertips.

Shoto doesn’t need telling twice – he strips, pulling the shirt over his head with lightening fast reflexes. His perfectly toned abs glow under the fairy lights, and you lick your lips at the sight. He hurriedly slips his sweatpants down his hips and takes them off one leg at a time, still managing to look graceful despite his frantic energy.

He throws his pants out onto the floor, out of sight. He’s wearing a pair of loose grey boxer shorts, his hardening cock already visible through the thin fabric. You reach out a hand to trace along the outline of his pulsing member, causing him to get even stiffer under your teasing touch. He looks down at you with that heaven-piercing gaze. Perfect.

You lean towards him, ghosting gentle kisses along the curve of his pale neck.  “What do you want Shoto?” You breathe wetly into his ear, running your hand down his bare chest. “Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.” You hear Shoto’s breath catch in his throat at the implication. An open ended offer is a valuable thing – you wonder how he’ll use it?

“I’m thinking…maybe you could do that thing with your hands again?” He says sheepishly, pupils blown wide as he watches you palm at his dick over his boxers.

“You mean a hand job? Are you asking for a hand job?” You say, laughing, as he blushes crimson as his hair.

“I guess I am.” He says, breathing shakily. He leans down into your hair and mumbles “It feels so much better when you do it. I’ve been trying to replicate it on my own but…it’s just not the same.”

You smile. “I can definitely do that for you. Tell me, how badly do you want it?” You ask in a tone that’s barely above a whisper. You squeeze his package lightly over the boxers. He almost moans at the touch.

“I want it…so badly Y/N. Please.”

The light begging sparks something in your core and you’re already so wet you fear you may soak through your panties. Again. Wow, this is becoming quite a bad habit of yours.

“Take off the boxers.” You command softly, and Shoto accommodates – stripping down to nothing. Once again, here is thisa beautiful man buck naked in your bed. It’s enough to make you see fireworks behind your eyes.

He sits there, fully exposed, his cock hard and laying flush against his taught muscled stomach. You long to reach out and take him in your hand, but you know you know you need to be patient.

“Shoto, you said you’ve been trying to replicate the hand job I gave you?” You ask amiably. He nods. “I want you to show me how you like to do it on your own. Show me how you touch yourself, Sho.”

He glances up at you uncertainly through thick lashes, looking between you and his cock with trepidation. “Are you sure? Would that not be…weird?”

“Not at all!” You reassure him. “It’s the best way for me to learn how to pleasure you. I want to see what you like so I can add it into the mix. It’s like hero training – we need to learn from each other to be the best we can be.”

This analogy makes perfect sense to Shoto, who understands the importance of training. “Alright. If it would help. But I feel pretty self-conscious right now.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.” You say, placing another string of kisses to his jawline. “Try not to be too nervous. Remember - we’re just having fun and exploring, right?” You pause. “Plus…it would be really fuckin’ hot to see you jerk yourself off in my bed. So know that I’m completely and totally into this. If that helps.”

This makes Shoto smile. “It actually does help.” He laughs softly, turning his head to capture your lips in a brief smooch.

“Right.” Shoto says, drawing in a shaky breath. He looks at you nervously, before glancing down at his erect cock once more. He reaches for it, wraps his fingers around himself and gives a light tug. You watch as he slowly starts stroking at himself, concentrating a bit more on the head here and there. He glances up at you from time to time, letting his eyes roam across your breasts and the gentle curves of your hips.

You move the straps of your bra off your shoulders, giving him a bit of a show before you reach behind you to unclip the bra all together. You toss the fabric to the floor in what’s rapidly becoming a familiar gesture with Shoto. His breath hitches in the back of his throat as his eyes take in your perfect breasts. He picks up his pace, jerking himself off in a succinct rhythm as his eyes devour your chest.

“Come here.” He groans. You scoot towards him in the bed.

“What do you want?” You ask, voice soft but demanding.

“I want your breasts in my mouth. Right now.” He says, not breaking stride as he continues to work at his rock hard cock.

You reposition yourself so that you’re slightly above him and you lean forward. He can’t help himself – before you’ve settled into a comfortable position, he’s captured one of your nipples in his mouth. He suckles on it, using his tongue and teeth to tease the delicate flesh. The pleasure that shoots through you is unquantifiable. You lean into his mouth and your eyes flutter shut as he uses his free hand to give attention to your other tit. The gratification is so good you hope he never stops.

But then you remember – you have a goddamn plan here. You should be watching and learning to see what Shoto likes. Your eyes fly open and you try to ignore the absolutely incredible things this Todoroki blessing is doing to your breasts.

“Shoto…” You try to get his attention. He looks up at you from down where he’s sucking on your tit and cocks and eyebrow questioningly.

“Mmm?”

“Shoto, this is fucking hot, but I’m trying to concentrate. Please – show me what you like and talk me through it.” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, even as he pinches a nipple and rubs the pad of his thumb over the delicate nub with his free hand. After a quick moment, comprehension dawns in his eyes and his mouth releases your boob with a wet “pop!”

“Sorry, I got carried away.” His face is red with embarrassment as you slide to sit next to him.

“Don’t be. I like it when you get carried away. You’re so goddamn hot Sho.” You plant a kiss on his cheek. “Now get back to it – and talk me through what you like.”

Shoto looks down at his cock and resumes stroking it. “So I hold my hand like this around it, see?” He demonstrates how he keeps a loose closed grip around his dick, sliding his hand along the base for a few deep strokes before concentrating around the head. “This part is the most sensitive, so when I want to finish I concentrate a lot here. But first I work myself up by starting down here.” He moves his hand down to the base of his dick to show you. “And I’ll tease myself a little as I work back up to the top.”

“Sometimes, I like to touch my…um…testicles a bit. It feels really nice to kind of…uh this is super awkward to explain…it feels good to move them around?”

“I think I understand.” You say, watching as he shows you how he likes to be played with. You let him work at himself until you see shiny beads of pre-cum form at the head of his cock.

“Okay, my turn to drive.” You say, reaching to shoo Shoto’s steady hand out of the way so that you can replace it with your own. “There we go.” You wrap your hand around his hard cock and start at the base the way he explained. You slowly roll your hand midway up his shaft before bringing it back down to the base. Shoto sighs at the motion, his hips flexing in a way that implies that he’s dying to thrust up into your hand.

You continue to tease him that way, coming closer and closer to the sensitive tip of his cock without truly touching it. You can tell by the expressions stretched across his face that he simultaneously loves and hates what you’re doing to him. You grin; enjoying the control you have as you edge him.

With your free hand, you reach down to fondle his balls, trying to mimic the motion he showed you. There’s a sharp intake of breath when you start to shift his package around, and you can tell from the way he bites back a moan that it must feel so, incredibly good to be touched this way.

Finally, you release his cock and bring your small hand to your mouth. You make a show of licking the palm of your hand before spitting cleanly into it. Shoto’s eyes widen in surprise at the crude gesture, but his cock twitches in anticipation.

You bring your spit-filled hand down to his dick and resume jerking him off – this time starting low at the base and continuing all the way up to the tip. Your saliva allows for your hand to slide and glide in a delicious way that it hadn’t previously. Shoto lets out a curse followed by your name at the feeling.

“Fuck, Y/N. Holy fucking fuck.” It’s the most you’ve ever heard him curse, and the lilt of his lust filled voice is absolutely sinful. You grin like a Cheshire cat as you stroke him the way he showed you, focusing on the sensitive head. His breathing is ragged, and he’s absolutely wrecked as you continue to run your lubed up hand along the very tip of his rigid member. “Shit. Y/N. I’m going to - ”

Shoto orgasms hard - thick waves of hot cum shooting up and flowing over your delicate hand as you continue to work at him. His legs jerk with the suddenness of his climax. His breath hitches in his throat and you fear that he’s stopped breathing as his hips roll up, thrusting his cock into your grip over and over and over. You use your hand to milk him for all that he’s worth, being sure to mimic the way that you had watched him grip his dick earlier in his demonstration. The expression on his face is priceless – his eyes are wide and filled with an expression of rapture, his mouth caught open in a small “o.”

Whatever you’re doing seems to be doing the trick, because it is quite a bit before he catches his breath and politely removes your hand from his spent, pulsing cock. He’s over stimulated and panting, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N, that was…” He’s still breathing heavy.

You reach across him to grab a conveniently placed washcloth off of your nightstand (you had a feeling that you’d be needing some cleanup supplies tonight). You wipe the sticky mess from your hand before giving him the cloth. He gratefully accepts, wiping the cum that’s pooled along the defined planes of his stomach and in the well of his bellybutton. “That was incredible. You take direction so well.” He says, his voice a bit fuzzy around the edges as he drops his head back to rest on your pillow.

You lay back with him, moving your clean hand to stroke his hair slowly. He leans into the touch, eyes heavy and half lidded as he comes down from his high.

“I’m a fast learner.” You say, enjoying the soft texture of his fluffy hair as you flutter your fingers through his dense locks. You lay there for a few minutes, playing with  Shoto’s hair and letting him bask in the afterglow. He’s completely naked and gorgeous in the glow of your fairy lights, his pale skin rippling with muscle.

“It’s almost curfew…you’d better get going in case Mr. Aizawa makes a bed check appearance.” You say with regret, wishing Shoto could stay with you through the night.

Shoto turns his head and groans into your shoulder. “But I want to stay here forever. It’s so comfortable here with your hands in my hair. And I’m so tired now.” He almost whines. You smile – a month ago you would have never thought Shoto Todoroki capable of whining. 

“I wish you could stay, too.” You coo, continuing to card your fingers through his mismatched locks.

“I like it here. Maybe I’ll move in. Stake claim on all of your plushes.” He reaches out and grabs his favorite plush from behind your head. He holds it close to your face and waves it up and down a few times, pretending to make it dance. “Squirtle, Squirtle.” He says in a strained, warbley voice. You giggle at his goofy attempt at mimicking the water Pokémon.

Afterglow Shoto sure is chatty. He looks so open and relaxed, his facial features at rest.

“Oh my God Shoto…did you finally look up Pokémon!?”

He hugs the plush to his bare chest and laughs. “I watched 12 episodes. I had to keep watching until Squirtle showed up. I would give my life for the Squirtle Squad.”

This cracks you up. You laugh even harder when you look up and see the way that Shoto is sprawled across your bed – completely naked except for the large Squirtle plush clutched to his chest. You point at him and make a little choked squeak. He realizes how ridiculous he looks and soon you’re both in hysterics, gasping for breath. It’s a wonder that no one has knocked on your door yet and asked you to quiet down.

After a few minutes you both calm down enough to catch your breath. You slide off the bed and scoop Shoto’s grey boxers off the ground and toss them in his direction. He drops Squirtle for a moment so he can shimmy into his underwear. Partially clothed once more, he flops on his back and pulls the covers up to his chin. He tucks Squirtle in beside him. You move to get back into the bed and join him, but he holds up a hand and puts on a serious expression. “Sorry – there’s no room for you. This bed is for card carrying members of the Squirtle Squad only.”

You smile and then paste a theatrical pout on your face. “You goof. How does one apply for Squirtle Squad membership?”

“Hmm.” Shoto brings his hand to his chin as if deep in thought. “You need to pay our membership dues. It’ll cost you a kiss.”

“That’s pretty expensive.”

“Squad Membership is well worth the fee, I promise.” He nods stoically, looking over at the Squirtle plush beside him. “Squirtle can confirm.” He gestures at the plush, which stares up at you blankly with its large embroidered eyes.  

“What does Squad Membership include?” You ponder aloud, pretending to think it over.

“If you join up now, I’ll act as your official heat and ice pack.” Shoto holds up both hands above his face as an offering. “And I’ll make you cum whenever you want.”

“Whenever I want?” You repeat. “Now that’s an intriguing offer. I think I’ll take it.” You lean down and cup his soft cheek in your hand, bringing his mouth to yours. Your lips melt into his and you kiss him soundly. He moans into your mouth, moving his lips softly against your own.

It’s wonderful to be with him like this – so open and having fun like regular teenagers. There’s no pressure to put on a brave face and to be strong heroes in training. In these stolen moments, its okay to just be. You break the kiss and pull yourself up into he bed and under the comforter. Within seconds, you’re wrapped up in Shoto’s arms and he pulls you against his bare chest.

“Welcome to the Squad. Your membership is approved.” He places a kiss on your forehead and you snuggle into him. You take a deep breath, letting your tired body relax against Shoto’s solid warmth. 

You lay in silence for a bit, just enjoying each others company. Shoto’s breathing is slow and even. You can tell he’s feeling comfortable and relaxed after his orgasm. He nuzzles his face into your shoulder and huffs into the curve of your neck. After a bit, Shoto gets too warm and uncouples himself from you so he can pull down the comforter a bit.

“You know, I was thinking…” Shoto rolls over onto his back and crosses his arms behind his head. He’s partially naked and gorgeous in the glow of your fairy lights, his pale skin rippling with muscle. He looks up at the ceiling. “Summer training camp is coming up. I heard that this year we are going for 2 weeks. They plan to put us through a week and a half of training, and then we’ll get a few days just to have fun and enjoy being outside. There will be hiking, and campfires…maybe the two of us can sneak off and just have some time together? No curfews, no whispering. No hiding away.” He turns his head to look at you.

“That sounds really, really nice.” You say, reaching over to give him a big boop on his nose. He smiles at the contact. You love seeing him like this – usually he is so closed off and stoic. Every smile you can get out of him is a prize in itself. “I doubt we’ll truly be able to sneak off given how large and damn nosy our class is…but we can definitely try.”

Shoto closes his eyes, a blissful expression etched across his features. “I just picture the two of us on a moonlit hike, just able to enjoy the scenery together. We can listen to the cicadas and the crickets in the quiet of the dark. It’s such a calming thought in my mind. I’d like to share that moment of peace with you.”

“Orgasms make you talk nonsense.” You joke, trying to ignore the way that your heart is squeezing at his words.

He opens his eyes and scans your face. “You’d like that, though?”

“Of course I would, Shoto. It would be nice to get out of the city and to see some greenery. To be together outside of our dorm rooms. I wish that we didn’t need to sneak around so much…I wish that we were older and that we could just do whatever we want without consequence.” You say wistfully, reaching to grab your phone and check the time. “Crap, it’s nearly 10.”

Shoto pulls you into another embrace, shifting his hands around you so he can cradle your breasts. He plays with your nipples a bit, swirling his fingertips around them delicately. You gasp at the contact, your pussy instantly responding to the touch.  “I can’t go yet – I haven’t made you cum.” Shoto whispers thickly into your ear, pinching a nipple with each hand. You make a strangled sort of noise, sliding a hand down between your legs to give your clit a brief pulse to sate the hungry way its pulsing beneath the smooth fabric of your panties.

“Shoto…if you stay any longer and Aizawa comes around, we’re gonna get caught.” You say in a pained voice as he continues to play with your tits. You can’t let this go any further or you both are done for. “Shoto, you’ve gotta go.”

“But it’s not fair if I don’t make you - ” You move to regretfully remove his wandering hands from your boobs.

“I can take care of it myself this time.” You say, in a sultry tone. “And I’ll think of you the whole time.” You turn to look over your shoulder to see Shoto’s face has gone beat red at the implication that you’ll be spending the rest of the evening masturbating to thoughts of him.

He lets out a shaky breath, still clearly uncomfortable with the thought of leaving you hanging. “Alright, Y/N. But next time, the focus is all on you to make up for it. Okay?”

“I think I can live with that.” You smile, and reach behind you to give him a light shove to leave.

Shoto grins softly as he untangles himself from you, climbing over your body to get out of the bed. His feet hit the ground and he stretches languidly before reaching for his abandoned clothes. He pulls his shirt and pants on unceremoniously as you watch, laughing at the way his soft sweatpants stretch back into place over the smooth curve of his ass.

“You’re too cute.” You say, reaching to pull him back to the bed so you can give him one more quick kiss. He smiles into the smooch, wrapping his arms around you in a warm, steady embrace.

“I’ll text you?” He says softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll make sure I take my phone back with me this time.” This earns a laugh.

“Please do.”

“Well, goodnight then.” He kisses your cheek and then makes his way to the door; he peaks out into the hallway before making his usual fast exit. You pray he doesn’t get caught by Aizawa again – he would probably demand an explanation from Shoto.

You lay in your bed, relaxed, staring up at your ceiling. Life sure has been complicated lately – between school, training, an unexpected romance, and the illicit party planning, you sure are having an adventure.

You allow yourself to replay a scene from earlier in your mind: “Fuck, Y/N. Holy fucking fuck.” Shoto curses as you stroke his cock mercilessly, bringing him to the brink of climax. “Shit. Y/N. I’m going to…”

You feel arousal twinge between your legs once again and you bring your fingers down to touch yourself over your panties. You wish Shoto was still here to help – all you can think of is the loving way that he sometimes uses his wet tongue to play with your nipples. You roll over onto your stomach so you can increase the pressure of your fingers against your clit. Mmm. You replay the image of Shoto’s pretty “O” face over and over again as you bring yourself to the brink of climax.

Before long, new thoughts are blooming into your brain. You imagine what it would be like to have Shoto’s fingers on you instead. What would it be like to feel that pretty cock slide inside of you - to be physically filled to the brim with Shoto Todoroki? You’ve never really fantasized about actual act of intercourse before, and you wonder how it would feel to be that connected with Shoto. You picture his voice pitching and sighing as he slides in and out of you, his strong hands bracing on your hips. The thought of Shoto’s thick cock sliding against your wet pussy causes your breath to stick in your throat. Your heart pulses impossibly fast as you use your fingertips to push yourself over the edge, gasping into your pillow. Oh fuck that’s good.

Shoto Todoroki and his hot body are truly going to be the death of you. You can picture your epitaph in your head – “Here lies Y/N. She was brought to the gates at heaven by Shoto Todoroki’s hard cock. May she rest in peace, having known what true ecstasy feels like.”

You smile at that unhinged thought. Your phone buzzes next to you and you flip around the screen to see a text from Shoto.

Shoto: I made it back to my dorm room. Did not get caught this time.

Shoto: Typing.

Shoto: Did you…take care of things?

Y/N: Haha yeah. I just finished. Was thinking about you the whole time.

Shoto replies with a single word.

Shoto: Fuck.

Shoto: Next time, I’ll take care of you myself. I promise.

Y/N: You've already taken care of me so much today, but I’ll hold you to that. ☺️ Goodnight, Shoto.

Shoto: Goodnight Y/N.

You put your phone back on your bedside table and snuggle up in your bed, pulling the Squirtle plush close to you and wishing that it were Shoto Todoroki.

End of Chapter.

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Previous Chapter: Part 4 | Next Chapter: Part 6

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Author's Note:

HOLY GUACAMOLE!! This chapter ended up being 30 pages - I know in my last chapter post I said that Chapter 5 would focus on The Party - but y'all all of your reactions to the Chapter 4 cliff hanger made me want to create a more satisfying plot line surrounding the YaMomo text. In short - the comments you leave influence the story a lot more than you'd think! So I hope you enjoyed this chapter and Shoto's sweet way of taking care of the Reader. I try to make The Reader a pretty general character so that it's easy to self-insert, but she's kind of developing her own personality which is fun too!

Part 6 is already in the works and partially written. I have most of THE PARTY scenes drafted and typed out, and I'm really excited for you all to see what I've been cooking up for this story arc. I also want to lay the ground work for future arcs as well - I don't anticipate this tale ending any time soon! It seems to take me a month/month and a half to churn out each chapter, so please feel free to check out my other work on My Master List as you wait!

I have been so locked in on this Todoroki story that I've been neglecting one shots lately. I hope to finish a little Kirishima focused fic soon, plus I have an idea for a tale surrounding All Might (the working title is gonna be something like "United States of Smash that Ass" idk its gonna be goofy and All Might is gonna have a huge cock or something stupid like that). TLDR: Keep an eye on my blog for more fun content surrounding our other favorite heroes as you wait for Chapter 6!

As always, thank you thank you thank you for all of your positive comments, messages and reblogs of my work. This passion project has brought me so much joy and I love how much joy it seems to bring all of you. Thanks for joining me on this wild ride, excited to see all that happens next!

XoXo, Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

❄️🔥THE ICYTHOTS🔥❄️

Want to join or be removed from the tag list - let me know! Once again, this is an ADULT ONLY blog. The IcyThot club is exclusively dedicated to the Shoto's First Kiss series and will only include A18+. Do not request to be added unless you are over 18. I'm also adding the "sexual content" label/tags.

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

The Keys Of Heaven [Chapter 7: I Look Forward To The Resurrection]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left, besties!!! Don't forget to answer the poll pinned to my blog once you've finished Chapter 7 😘

Series summary: Three years ago, Father Aemond Targaryen performed a miracle. Now he is a cardinal, a media sensation, and a frontrunner to be elected pope. You are a nun who has been brought to Vatican City to assist with the papal conclave. But when your paths cross by happenstance, you must both reckon with your decision to join the Catholic Church…and what you want from the future.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), references to abuse and violence, volcanoes, bodily injury, death, peril, scheming, pining, some drugs/alcohol/smoking, Catholic trivia you never asked to learn, kangaroos!

Word count: 4.8k

🦘 A very special thanks to my Aussie slang consultant @bearwithegg and also her mum (any mistakes are mine) 🦘

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @lauraneedstochill @ecstaticactus @neithriddle, more in comments! 🥰

🗝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🗝️

“What happened last night?” Rhaena asks.

You are standing in front of the mirror and affixing your veil with pins. At home in Sydney, your convent has long since done away with habits and veils. When you and Rhaena board your transcontinental flight, you’ll be dressed in ordinary jumpers and skirts and runners, and no one will know you’re nuns unless you choose to tell them. You think as you stare at your reflection, a woman you do not recognize: I’ll wear it today, and I’ll wear it tomorrow. And then I’ll never wear it again. “What do you mean?”

“I waited up for you,” Rhaena says, smiling uncertainly. “Or…I tried to. I made it twenty minutes, maybe.”

“You must have been exhausted.”

“Deadset, mate. I was flat out like a lizard drinking yesterday.” She tilts her head to the side, still smiling but increasingly puzzled. “And then you didn’t wake me when you came back, so I must have been knocked out for a while by then, you know I’m a light sleeper. What took so long?”

“Well…” You pretend to be adjusting your veil as you summon the most cavalier version of yourself. “I changed Aemo’s sheets, and then he needed some more shampoo and conditioner so I ran to fetch that, and then I bumped into Cardinal Almazan in the kitchenette and had a nice long yarn with him while he made leche flan. He said we could have some, it should be in the refrigerator. Should we go cut ourselves pieces?”

“Cardinal Targaryen,” Rhaena corrects.

You blink at her, not knowing what she means. “What?”

“Cardinal Targaryen, not Aemo. Not your friend from the beach. He’s going to be the pope soon, you’ll have to get out of the habit of acting so familiar with him.”

You are a little bewildered. It’s a catastrophically sad thought. “Well, he’ll still be the same person. Part of him will always be that boy from the beach.”

But Rhaena shakes her head. “The pope must be the Holy Father to all, which means he can’t be close friends with some nun, not even if that nun is you. No one who holds the Keys of Heaven has the luxury of being normal. And Cardinal Targaryen will be even higher above the rest of us than the last pope, because everybody knows God works miracles through him.”

You see Aemond vanishing through the doorway and into the humid nightscape of Sydney, indigo and stars and streetlights; you hear the vague disembodied echoes of a song you can’t remember. “Right,” you answer numbly.

“Come on, Mum,” Rhaena says, smiling and smoothing your white veil. “Let’s have a go at that leche flan, yeah?”

~~~~~~~~~~

You frown down at the fish pond, the sky above grey and the breeze chilly as it rocks through the laurel hedges and the stone pines and the lemon trees. There in the dark rippling water is your newest victim, a small white koi with a long wisp of a tail like an angel’s wing. It stares inanely up at you with glassy black eyes, seeing nothing now or ever again, bobbing limply on the gentle currents stirred by the trickling of the fountain in the center of the pond.

You mutter, shaking your head, confounded: “Fucking hell, what is going on?”

“You’re overfeeding them,” a loud man’s voice says, and you whirl to him. He has startled you, though not on purpose. Kazi is puffing on his vape; he uses it to gesture to the cold grey sky. “It’s not warm enough for them to need a lot of food, just a few pellets each. You’re giving them too much, so the extra breaks down and leeches the oxygen out of the water, and then they suffocate to death.”

“Oh, that’s horrible!” you cry, closing the plastic container of fish food in your grasp. “Why didn’t you tell me before? You saw me feeding them.”

Kazi smirks and shrugs, his salt-and-pepper hair ruffled by the wind, his short beard getting untidy. Perhaps he forgot his trimmer at home in Poland. “I didn’t want to embarrass you when there were other people out here. And then I kind of forgot about it. It’s been an eventful week, you know.”

“It has been,” you agree. You peer down into the pond again, repentant. You’ll have to take the white koi out and bury it with the others. “Sorry, little mates.”

Kazi grins. “You’re not very good at this nun thing, huh?”

And suddenly, you know: I’m going to leave. After a moment, you smile back, wide and radiant and warm. “No. I reckon I’m not.”

Kazi holds up his vape, white and red like the flag of his country, half like your habit, half like the cassock of a cardinal. “Would you like a hit, Sister? It’s butterscotch flavored.”

“Yeah nah, I don’t smoke. Thanks though.”

“You should reconsider,” Kazi says. “You might need something to take the edge off tomorrow.” Then he saunters off towards the Domus Sanctae Marthae, where brekkie is about to be served.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the dining hall, you pick up plates of Roman maritozzi and apple crostata and bring them to the tables of chattering cardinals, making the most of their last day of deliberation before the voting resumes. The topic of conversation you overhear most frequently is their travel plans to return home; everyone knows the conclave will soon be over. They miss their friends back in their parishes, their flocks of believers, their communities, their traditions, their gardens, their charity projects, their pets.

Cardinal Gideon Saati is telling his table how each December he bakes thousands of Sudanese kahk for local schools and orphanages. Cardinal Jacob Green is explaining how he arranges for Iranian Catholics to celebrate Christmas safely in secret. The dean Cardinal Seaborn, palpably relieved to be nearing the finish line, is floating around the room beaming and resting his hands on shoulders, saying how thankful he is that they’ll all get to be home for the holidays. For a while there, he wasn’t so sure it would turn out that way.

Home, you think wistfully, and for the first time in fifteen years that doesn’t feel like the convent.

You serve Aemond’s table, but he doesn’t say anything to you. He is conversing with Cardinal Valentino Parmigiano of Italy, who has a lot to say about prison ministry, especially concerning inmates connected to the mafia. Aemond listens, looking very tired. You keep trying to catch his eye. He keeps evading you, like he wasn’t inside you last night, like you aren’t bound together by something that is at once forbidden and corporeal and holy. And you are reminded of a homily you once heard about how the sin of sloth is not just laziness but a failure to do what is necessary, what is right; it is an alienation from God’s love and the spiritual conviction that comes with it.

“Thank you so much, Sister,” Lando says when you pass him his plate, and Kazi and Cam smile at you, and even Lucky gives you a quick nod in greeting. He has no reason to resent you now. He has won; Aemond will be the next pope, and nothing you could give him would ever be enough to change that.

Across the dining hall, Cardinal Jahoda and the occupants of his table are listless, not because they’ve lost but because Aemond has won, and he is young and revered and invincible, and he will steer the course of the Faith for the next half a century, long after they are all in their graves. Cardinal Ferrari is morosely nibbling at a maritozzi, sprinkled with powdered sugar and filled with whipped cream. Cardinal Auclair looks up from his slice of apple crostata just long enough to glare at you. You wonder what gifts he will bring his clandestine family for Christmas: toys for the children, perhaps a gold necklace for the woman who should have been his wife.

When brekkie is over and the cardinals are leaving in a red river to convene their final meetings, you find Lando still at his table gathering up the plates and glasses and silverware so they are easier for the nuns to collect. Sister Helvi playfully scolds him for this. Lando cannot be dissuaded.

You go to help him, and when Sister Helvi has skuttled off and you and Lando are alone, you ask: “Lando, did atheists really kill Cardinal Jahoda’s family?”

Lando hesitates. “It was a little more attenuated than that, I think,” he says. “The father was shot in Prague. And then after that, the mother...” He makes an apologetic gesture: What a shame. “Alcoholism or suicide, or both, they’re not always so different, you know? Then he had a brother who set himself on fire to protest authoritarianism in the Eastern Bloc. And Jahoda was the only one left. So did the Soviets murder his entire family? Perhaps not literally. But in a sense, I suppose they did. I think the effect on him was much the same.”

“That’s so awful,” you murmur as you fill your hands with metal silverware that clangs together like archaic instruments of torture.

“People do the best they can, Sister. Very few of us aspire to be villains. Jahoda, and Auclair, and Ferrari...they still remember what the wars did to Europe. They grew up drowning in the aftermath. How can we expect someone like that to know how to breathe clean air? Their experiences and their fears are legitimate. But so too are Aemo’s experiences, and Lucky’s, and Kazi’s, and Cam’s. We must sew this patchwork together somehow. We must endure as the Church always has.”

You don’t know what to say. I don’t think Aemond should be the pope. I know he doesn’t want it for the right reasons. I know I don’t want to leave him behind when I get on that plane.

Lando smiles at you, sad but kind. “I’m always praying for you, Sister.”

“Good. I defo need it.”

He chuckles, and you help each other finish cleaning up, and he doesn’t leave the dining hall until the work is done.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s after dark, and Aemond is not in the Domus Sanctae Marthae; you know this because you have checked his bedroom, and the kitchenette, and the gym, and even the basement where the nuns do the washing and spiders stare from the corners with their myriad of lidless eyes. He’s not in the gardens either, or in Saint Peter’s Basilica when you traipse through the entire church twice over in your swishing white wool habit and matching runners, passing stone statues of saints that seem to be watching you with cold vexed judgement: You should not be wearing the gown and veil of a bride of Christ. Your passions run in other directions.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” you mutter with a wave as you pass them. “She’ll be right after tomorrow.” Then you’ll be honest. Then you’ll begin your life over again like Lazarus stumbling out of the tomb still shrouded in his grave clothes, strips of linen hanging from his outstretched arms like flayed skin.

Where is Aemond? Where the bloody hell could he be?

Then you recall the heat of red wax on your cheek and the wine on his tongue when he kissed you for the first time, and you follow that memory to the statue of Saint Andrew, who guards the entrance to the Vatican Grottoes below. He stands holding the X-shaped cross he was crucified on when he went to Greece to spread the gospel there; his blind marble eyes are turned skyward, as if he is gazing up into the dome, stucco, glass windows, mosaics, angels and saints and the faces of the sixteen Holy Fathers interred in the basilica. In a ring around the base, inscribed in Latin in blue letters on a backdrop of gold, are Christ’s words to the first pope: You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church and give you the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.

You descend into the subterranean maze. And as you try to remember your way to the Clementine Chapel, walking through long corridors with low arched ceilings and florescent lights that are dim and yellow like the pages of old books, you study the paintings and engravings that tell the stories of martyrs, tortured here on earth by blades, flames, arrows, nails, spears, clubs, stones, the hatred of men. Suffering brings us closer to God, the Faith teaches that; and yet perhaps it can also lead us to darker places, the hollows of wounds filled in with pride or wrath or greed or envy, things that leave us hungry no matter how much we’ve devoured.

In the Clementine Chapel, Aemond is gazing at the altar behind which the bones of Saint Peter are buried. You know he’s not praying. He has never prayed, not once in his life; he has only closed his eyes and wished to escape, to climb ever-higher, to touch you as no cardinal ever should. The candles haven’t been lit. The walls and ceiling are coated with gold, setting the air on fire, a glow like the sun but without any warmth.

“I’m leaving whether you are or not,” you say. “But I think you should come with me.”

Aemond turns, a tower of red like the porphyry columns that hold up the altar. His hands are linked behind his back. His voice is sympathetic but immovable. “I can’t go.”

“But you don’t believe in any of this.” You thought you were prepared for his refusal, but you aren’t; already you can feel scalding tears in your eyes, you can feel the grief of losing him all over again, you can see yourself opening up that suitcase to find the seashells you gathered together crushed into dust. “It doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“I don’t know who I am outside of the Church.”

“You’d sort it out,” you insist. “We both would. We could help each other.”

“You’ll be alright. You aren’t like me.”

“Aemo, please listen to—”

“This has been my plan forever,” he says, he hemorrhages, he begs for you to understand. “For as long as I can remember, since, since...” He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his hair, now blonde, one day grey, one day gone when only his skull is left, interred here with all the other dead Holy Fathers, something between a god and a man. “Since I met you on that beach and you gave me your rosary and I started going to Mass with my mother, since I was twelve years old I have fought to end up here, right here, in Rome, in the Vatican, and every bad thing that ever happened to me could be left behind because I was climbing higher, I was extraordinary, I was going someplace where no one could ever touch me. And I can’t just forget the past twenty-nine years. I can’t start over again. I’m sorry, I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“You don’t think I ever get scared?” you ask, tears flowing down your cheeks like scorching flows of lava. “You don’t think I have moments when I want to wall myself up in the convent and never leave again, not even for a day, not even for an hour, because I know that if I stay there I’ll never be hurt or alone, I’ll be safe until I die in fifty years? Of course I have moments of doubt. Of course I’m fucking scared. But sometimes the right thing to do is scary. You think Christ wasn’t scared when He went to the cross?”

“You’ll be alright out there,” Aemond says again, like he’s trying to convince both of you. “You’re...you’re real, you know? You’re kind, and you’re beautiful, and people will love you.”

“Aemo, you can have the life you want too.”

“In case you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m not a good person. But now I can do good for a lot of people.”

“And what about me?” you ask, your voice fracturing like when Saint Catherine shattered the breaking wheel; but you can’t free yourself from this. You aren’t a saint, you aren’t even a nun anymore; you’re just a woman. “You won’t miss me? You don’t want me?”

“Of course I want you,” Aemond says tenderly, like it’s a bruise that aches when it’s touched. “But my reign will be long, and the future holds so much promise. Every year more people support repealing the celibacy requirement—”

You scoff, astounded. “You’re going to be the pope and have a girlfriend?”

“Things will be possible soon that weren’t before. I’ll make them possible. And to protect my reputation, to preserve the sanctity of the Church...once I am the pope, any controversies will be neatly papered over. They concealed the late Holy Father’s mishandling of abuse allegations. Surely a consensual relationship is less damning.”

“I don’t want to be your secret girlfriend,” you hiss. “I’m not leaving the convent to be anyone’s secret. And you’re insane if you think a modern pope would be able to conceal anything resembling a functional relationship.”

“I would be above suspicion. People think I’m a saint.”

“You’re not even a Catholic.”

“No,” Aemond agrees, flat and cold like marble.

“That’s fraudulent, that’s dishonest—”

“And I am deceitful!” Aemond seethes, striking his own chest, rattling his gold cross on its chain. “I didn’t join the Church because I felt called to it, and I didn’t save those people on Nea Kameni because it was the right thing to do. I saved them because I knew it would get me made a cardinal. And when the earth split open and the lava that should have killed them poured down into the crevice, I let them tell the world it was a miracle.”

“But that’s not why you saved me from the car,” you say. “You didn’t do it to win the election, I know you didn’t. You didn’t have enough time to consider any of that. You were waiting by the gate before the crash ever happened, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to hear it.”

“I saved you because I love you,” Aemond murmurs, almost to himself, peering vacantly at the gold on the wall. In the metallic sheen, his reflection is a vague dark silhouette like a storm cloud or a plume of ash. “And I think maybe I’ve loved you my whole life. We should have never left that beach, but we did. And now we can’t go back.”

“Yes we can, Aemo,” you plead. “You’re flawed, we all are, we’re human. We’ve all sinned. But you’re not a bad person. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life atoning.”

“I abandoned my kid, who does that?!” And now his eye is glistening like the cold ripples of the koi pond. “And if I leave the Church, what the fuck am I supposed to tell him? That I ran away, and that I kept running, and that even when I heard his mother died I never considered reaching out to him so he could have one parent left? So many people have lost children who they loved desperately, and I couldn’t get far enough away from mine.”

“You’ll tell him the truth,” you say. “That you were so young, and hurt and confused and afraid. But that now you want to make things right. And in time, he will forgive you.”

“He won’t. I wouldn’t, if I was him.”

“So you’ll keep hiding forever?” you ask, staggered, heartbroken. “Here in the marble and the gold, buried in relics, clinging to your armor, retelling the same lies over and over, wearing the name of Saint Thomas Aquinas not because of any of his good deeds but because he was what you want to be, famous, legendary, one of the smartest men who’s ever lived?”

“I’ll help people,” Aemond says, echoing the faith of better men: Lucky, Kazi, Cam, Lando. “No one else will be able to do as much as I can.”

“You think you’re the only hope for the Church?! You don’t even believe in the Church!”

“But people believe in me,” Aemond says; and suddenly in his remaining eye, a crystalline blue window to the soul, you can see only the sins that have consumed him: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride.

What happened to that boy from the beach?

You take a step away from him. “I’ll pray for you.”

He lashes out, fangs and venom: “I don’t need your prayers.”

“I’ll pray harder,” you say, tears shimmering on your face, molten red heat replacing the marrow of your bones. “For your conscience. For your soul.”

He severs whatever is left between you—memory and strings and gravity—and storms out of the chapel. You hear his footsteps fade as he flees from the Vatican Grottoes, their ricochets becoming whispers and then nothing at all.

You go to the altar, take a book of matches from a pocket of your white habit, and light the candles there, white and red and half-burned down by the rituals of the nights before. Then, weeping softly in the firelight, you knit your hands together and pray.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is running but getting nowhere, and he is reminded of those years he spent as an anonymous priest on Santorini, dressed in black and with two eyes that hate what they see in the mirror, a coward, a void, something that gorges itself and yet is never satisfied. He doesn’t want to be this way. Why would anybody? If he could choose to be something pure and soft and human, he would. If he could go back to that beach in Sydney, Australia and be twelve years old again, he’d sign his name on the dotted line in his own blood. But who could offer that kind of contract? There’s no such thing as resurrection.

He hears the door open and sees a shadow spill across the white tile floor of the gym, too large to be her, and the way he feels a sinking inside is sickening. He shouldn’t still want to see her; he should let her go, he should want her to be free and happy like a dove loosed from a cage.

Lucky? Kazi? Seaborn?

But no; when Aemond looks to the doorway, who he sees instead is Cardinal Matej Jahoda.

Aemond hits a button on the treadmill, and he slows from a run to a jog to a walk as the belt decelerates until it stops. His grey crewneck and sweatpants—trackies, she would call them, he thinks randomly—are damp with sweat. Salt trickles down his lips until he can taste it; salt stings in his remaining eye, and that is not the only piece of him that’s missing, it’s just the only one people can see. Now he stands motionless on the treadmill, panting with his hands gripping the foam-padded handrails, his right palm still bandaged from where he split it open to save her from the burning car. Beneath the woven cotton and a gloss of antibiotic ointment, his mending flesh is inflamed and throbbing. He popped several of his stitches last night. Aemond isn’t sure what to say to Cardinal Jahoda. He waits for the man, broad and grey-haired and old enough to be his father, to speak instead.

“There are things beyond my understanding,” Jahoda begins at last. His sturdy hands are snarled tightly together, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His eyes are weary and downcast. He looks helpless, Aemond realizes, and feels an unexpected pang of pity for him. “Part of believing in God means that I surrender to His design, even if it is unfathomable to me.”

“How can I help you, Cardinal Jahoda?”

“You must be tough on Russia and China, and authoritarianism everywhere,” Jahoda says, and his words are commanding but his tone sounds more like a plea, something fragile, something that could easily shatter if left in the wrong hands. “I fear that in the bargains we’ve made to help the Church expand under these regimes, we have allowed ourselves to become the tools of tyrants. We legitimize them, we conceal their misdeeds.”

Aemond steps down from the treadmill, hiding his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants like he is concealing secrets. I have a responsibility to listen to him now. “Is there something specific you’d like to see done?”

“The 2018 agreement between China and the Vatican should be reassessed, and probably annulled. We are just rubber stamping priests that the Communist Party elevates because they don’t threaten the government, and in the process we have abandoned millions of the true faithful operating in secrecy there. Cardinal John Zen of China, a great champion of human rights and political freedom, has spoken to me many times about the harm this agreement has done to genuine Catholics in his country, and to the Church’s commandment to safeguard human life and liberty.”

Your concern for liberty seems at times to be somewhat selective, Cardinal Jahoda, Aemond almost replies. Instead, he makes a peace offering. If he is to be a living saint, he must learn to act like one. And who is the most saintly person he knows? What would Lando say? “I appreciate you bringing your concerns to me directly. I’ll speak to Cardinal Zen myself and look into this matter thoroughly.”

Jahoda bows his head; it’s a small victory, but it offers some consolation nonetheless. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

“And I’ll have a committee formed to ascertain the path forward. Would you like to be on it?”

Jahoda looks up, startled. It takes him a moment to get his bearings again. “I would be honored, Cardinal Targaryen.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “We have a very long path to walk together, Brother. We must learn to coexist.”

“I know you don’t have to listen to me,” Jahoda says. “I know you don’t have to listen to anyone now. But I ask you...no, I beg you to be cautious in your progressive ambitions. The Church has endured for two thousand years, what other modern institution can claim that? The Japanese imperial family, perhaps. And who else? Scientists are using the Catholic Church as a model upon which to create an ‘atomic priesthood’ to warn future civilizations about the storage locations of nuclear waste, a threat that will exist until our planet is obliterated by the sun in five billion years. We have outlasted the Egyptians and the Greeks and the Romans, the Mongols, the Byzantines, the Ottomans, the global empires of Russia and Britain and Spain. We survived countless wars. We survived the Black Death. We survived the Nazis and the communist revolutions that killed tens of millions of people. And through all of this we preserved countless lives and artefacts and sources of knowledge. We preserved hope in the possibility of a better world. We did not last this long because we are reckless. We must not change faster than the consequences of our actions can be fully considered. If we make a misstep and crumble as all the other ancient empires did, who will fill the void we leave behind?”

Who will implore the great powers to be compassionate? Who will help rebuild after disasters? Who will provide food, shelter, schools, medicine, guidance, fellowship, hope? “I appreciate your love for the Church and your commitment to its continued longevity. I will pray on all of this, and I assure you that I too—as well as the cardinals I have worked so closely with—are guided by only the purest of intentions.”

Jahoda smirks, exhausted, wry. “Intentions are never pure. But we try not to muddy them too much.” He sighs heavily, touching the gold cross that hangs from the chain around his neck as if to give him strength. “I will see you tomorrow, Your Eminence. It will be our last day spent in the Sistine Chapel. I’ll have to remember to take a long look at Michelangelo’s fresco while I still have the chance.”

Cardinal Jahoda gives Aemond a nod of farewell and then leaves the gym, a red column of slow steps and slumped shoulders. Aemond gets back on the treadmill and resumes his running. As he does, his wounded hand begins bleeding again.

I’m not a saint, he thinks, watching the bloom of crimson spread across his bandaged palm as sweat runs down into his eye. I’m just a man.

[captain-athos]

on progress and tradition in Conclave, or: why I don't refer to Vincent as a "liberal" or "progressive" pope.

I've seen posts comparing lots of different characters in Conclave but I've not yet seen one talk about Bellini and Tedesco. The entire Conclave is divided between the progressives and the traditionalists, between liberal and conservative, and ultimately neither of those things is actually presented as the solution. Like I know that it is more comfortable to headcanon Vincent as a "liberal" Pope but aside from his denouncement of Tedesco's comments (and, I suppose his assertion that he doesn't care for tradition if it stands in the way of serving the people of the church), we actually don't get a solid look at what Vincent's politics even are. More on this later.

I've seen plenty of talk about Tedesco's dogwhistles re: his comments on the latin liturgy and his remarks about Adeyemi, but on the flip side of this I've seen less acknowledgement of Bellini's "common sense approach" which I also find really interesting. Because common sense is really not all that common at all, and while his supporters will know what he means, Bellini uses language that is at best vague with regards to his intended policies, and ultimately frames his standpoint as "everything Tedesco does not." I also especially enjoyed the part in the book where he and his supporters tried to actually articulate what increasing the participation of women in the curia might look like, and weren't able to find a way to do so. I mean, nuns come into the auditorium while Bellini is making this point and everybody acts like they're making some huge imposition on the Important Man Talk until Lawrence, the only one who acknowledges them, says thank you.

Tedesco is equally ineffective, and for the same reasons. He and Bellini operate on a surface level, reactionary approach to their politics. They are the equivalent of slapping a band-aid on the problem. Tedesco sees that there is division in the college of cardinals, and he's right! They are a divided, petty, gossiping, politics-and-ego-driven group. He's noticed that the increased diversity has led to everybody sticking with their countrymen, and has concluded that the problem is diversity.

But the problem, in my opinion, is a layer deeper than this. We have diversity, but within the framework of an organisation that still favours eurocentrism, that is still built on centuries of ingrained, systemic racism. This beautiful Adeyemi-centric fic "although the virgin is white, paint me black angels - for they too go to heaven (all of the good black angels)" touches on this. Shoehorning a wider range of cultures into a church that was not built with their unique experiences and perspectives in mind is not addressing the underlying problem! We see this in hollywood all the time: thoughtless, arbitrary representation does very little to help marginalised people! And therein lies the issue: All of the changes that Tedesco and Bellini want to make do not address the fact that they operate in a church that systemically allows for, and in many ways nurtures discrimination, corruption, and abuse.

Furthermore, Bellini is a classic liberal, but in the way that liberals often struggle to enter into any sort of genuine conflict, and are largely concerned with appearances and messaging rather than action. Imo that's what makes him so reluctant to admit his interest in the papacy, and also what makes it so easy for him to bow out and move his support to Tremblay. He is, at heart, a coward with a fairly malleable adherence to his values, because it's the appearance of them and not the action that counts. He doesn't want to be seen seeking out the papacy. His meetings discuss the optics of the votes, of his policies, of the current standings of the top candidates. To cover his involvement with Tremblay's simony he grasps for excuses - he doesn't want to be the Richard Nixon of popes. He doesn't want to damage the reputation of the curia. It's all about optics, and while Lawrence does voice his discomfort with this as a priority, it's Vincent's gentle questioning that puts everything back into perspective. "You want me to vote for a man you see as ambitious?"

So where does this leave Vincent? I do believe that there are values that he would share with people like Bellini. But if we were to call him liberal or progressive, that defeats the purpose of him being there at all. Why not elect Bellini then? What's the narrative purpose of Vincent's character even existing?

Here's what I believe: he is the secret third thing. He is hope. He is faith. He is the possibility of forward momentum that has thus far not been considered. This is really hard to engage with in a fanwork or even as a writer though, because to me he represents the undiscovered! (however, there is a delightful fic series called "It’s Vincent And His Baseball Bat Against This Transitory Period" which touches on some smaller scale post-election possibilities I have had a great time reading about)

I mean, what would dismantling the power imbalances and abuse and corruption holding up the church look like? Would the church even survive something like that? That's the slow, slow work of so many lifetimes, and we don't even know what it could look like yet. What we do know is that Vincent would be up for it. In the book he actually refuses outright to indicate which "side" of the political spectrum he falls on, but he does tell Lawrence that he actually doesn't give a fuck if his actions do "ruin" the church - when Lawrence tells him to vote for Tremblay lest there be repercussions, even another schism... Vincent doesn't care! He remains steadfast that he will vote for whomever he deems most worthy.

I'm pretty critical of the Catholic church in general so do I personally think that this is a realistic hope that we end on? Not really. Vincent would get eaten alive. If we were being real, the papacy would kill him, I think. Being the pope is fucking brutal. But I don't think that's the point of Conclave anyway. By design, we very specifically never see Vincent as Pope. So I can respect the place he inhabits in the narrative. A pope whose hope for the future comes from the space between certainties.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #24: The Midwest Prince(ss)

Danny is a Singer/Siren/Banshee au where he’s basically a Chappel Roan-type figure.( Also, I'm Dead on Main trash so Strangers-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Celebrity x Civilian romance for two of my favorite boys)

Danny’s Ghostly Wail develops into vocal manipulation bc he’s a siren or banshee. Ember teaches him to sing and control the power. He finds music is a good outlet for his emotions and decides to pursue music as Danny. It takes him a few years but he develops a style and brand that he bases off the Realms. However, he doesn’t anyone to connect him to Phantom so he uses parts of his ancestors’ names to become “Walker Gale”(shout out to my beautiful mutual @mirigold-mayflowers for helping me pick that name), ordinary small-town midwestern boy turned Music Icon. He hires Val as his personal bodyguard, Sam as his manager, and Tucker as his head stage tech.

He dresses in really campy clothes the low-key mimic his ghost form as well as other ghosts he’s met. The outfits change to match the vibe of the song. So a rock ballad with an outfit inspired by Ember, Show Tunes-Murder Mystery-type-beat with a costume for Amorpho, EDM-techno-hyperpop themed song styled after Technus or Skulker, etc. He just has a lot of fun experimenting with his appearance and he’s an icon for it. He even makes friends with Star and Paulina through this and they give him feedback and help with new looks. The eventually join the team as his PR and Styling team.

Since he’s a banshee/siren all his songs have this underlying despair/sadness even if they have a fun and bubbly beat. He also references his feelings about being/hiding as Phantom and being partially dead and shit but vaguely so no one actually knows or assumes it’s a metaphor. Many of the themes are actually things lgbtq people identify with, specifically trans and bi fans. He also references battles he’s fought and ppl assumes he’s talking about mental illness or abuse which attracts another category of fans altogether. Again inspired by Chappel Roan his first album his called "The Ascent and Downfall of a Midwest Prince" gaining him the nickname the "Midwest Prince".

He’s weird and unfiltered and full of emotion and he gains a few fans in the hero community too. Raven and Zatanna start a fan club for him, well aware he’s some type of banshee/siren but knowing that the extent of his powers are being used to deliver beautiful performances. The are staunch supporters of him and his music and spread it to their friends. The current fan club is Co-Presidents Zatanna + Raven, VP Greta(Secret, a.k.a: a ghost hero), Starfire, Bart, Cassie, Tim, Kon + Jon, Steph, Cass, and Billy.

His identifying features are a signature make-up look and white underdye (when the color is on the underside of the hair). He’s grown his hair longer so it’s not super visible when he has it down and not styled. He also looks different without make-up so he can totally go unrecognized in public and live life semi-normal (as normal as a half-ghost vigilante powerhouse superstar can be). He actually planned it to be that way so that he could still go to college and stuff even though he’s doing it mostly online. All this to say that Danny has low-key got a Hannah Montana thing going on. Also, let's mix it up a bit and say he's based in Star City.

One day Danny goes to a second-hand book store because he's looking for a cheap textbook when he bumps into an absolute hunk of a man who doesn't seem to recognize him. Jason had been in Star City to visit Roy and Lian. He stopped at a second-hand bookstore to see if he look for some older editions of books (one time he found a second edition copy of Persuasion so he likes to peruse) and ran into a super pretty boy who made his chest feel funny and doesn't realize he's a Wayne. They got to talking about started really connecting. They decided to exchange numbers and kept in touch, meeting up every now and then when they had the chance. Danny gave him his private social media accounts so Jason never learned much more beyond that Danny worked in the music industry but not his exact role in it.

Eventually Danny moves to Gotham, either bc he switched labels or to be closer to Jazz whose doing her doctorate thesis on reforms that need to be made in Arkham. He and Jason begin meeting up in person more frequently and start catching feelings. Danny really wants to ask him out but feels sleazy doing it without telling Jason about his past and superstar alter ego. However, he also doesn't want to lose the mostly normal friendship they have. On the flipside Jason wants to date Danny but doesn't want to drag him into the life of a vigilante or the life of a Wayne. Both of them Pine and Agonize over this. In the end Danny decides to bite the bullet and tell Jason who he is, every part of who he is. He invites Jason over for a movie night and tells him he's got something important to tell Jason.

That same day Starfire decides to introduce Walker Gale's work to the other Outlaws and Jason really resonates with his work. He identifies with the lyrics on a literal and physical level and recognizes the underlying emotions that usually only other ghosts or liminals can. Starfire overjoyed that her friend likes his music decides to show Jason some of his music videos and photos. Jason, not being blind or an idiot, recognizes not only the props and costumes but his crushes face under that (very well done) make-up.

Jason is stunned and conflicted: it’s not like Danny lied to him about who he was, but he was entirely truthful either. Did he assume Jason knew? Or did he just not trust Jason? Why did he even bother with Jason, a seemingly regular guy, if he had such a claim to fame? And Jason keeps listening to his music and it’s speaks to him the same way hanging out with Danny does, making him feel seen and connected. It makes him all the more sure that someone incredible as Danny doesn’t need someone like Jason. He heads to Danny’s place that night very subdued.

He gets to Danny’s place and the smile that greets him twists him up inside. He puts on a mask and tries to act normal but Danny can tell somethings up but persists as he has made up his mind to be clear with Jason. He sits him down and tells him there is something important he wants to tell Jason. He starts by letting Jason know that he cares about him very much and appreciates the normality and closeness of their friendship. He confesses that he doesn't normally get that bc well, he's the superstar "Walker Gale". Danny goes onto say that the reason he didn't say anything earlier was because he treasures the simplicity of what he had with Jason and the reason he's telling him now is because he couldn't continue a relationship that he wants more from without being completely honest.

Jason's heart thunders in his chest and he stares at Danny with a slightly constipated look. Danny asks Jason what's wrong and on an impulse Jason word vomits his feelings. That he actually found out through a friend earlier today, that he really connected to his music the same way he did with Danny, that he's never felt seen the way Danny sees through him, that he's never felt the same way as deeply before, that he's completely and utterly in love with Danny but was scared to say anything and get him involved with his crazy life and the Waynes. And Danny sits and listens shellshocked.

And the only thing Danny can think to do is kiss this incredible boy senseless and tell him that if he likes him back then they can figure it out.

[drdemonprince]

Regarding the online left and moral OCD, how is that not cancel culture? In all seriousness? I know it's a somewhat loaded term and used as a catch all for a lot of irrelevant shit, but isn't that exactly the same system of values that leads people to send hate mobs after each other in the name of "accountability"?

"cancel culture" refers, in a pretty flawed way IMO, to one tactic that people use, not to the wider cultural phenomenon being critiqued here.

like yes, people make public call outs, and they do that for a variety of reasons that cant all be summed up easily -- everything from bringing attention to an exploitative employer or abusive boss to attempting to get an incredibly vulnerable poor trans woman kicked out of housing.

I do not think it's helpful to equate all of those things.

I'm firmly of the position that public callouts rarely work or bring anything but terror to the accuser, so they're rarely worth doing, but there is a HUGE difference between a group of Black trans people making a post calling out the security of the local queer community center for being racist and, like, a mob of anonymous strangers deciding they all hate a mentally ill trans person because of one weird post they made and pressuring others to socially ostracize that person.

like. a callout/cancellation is just a tactic, it kinda sucks and doesnt work mostly, and it can and has also ruined people's lives.

but that's just one part of the larger issue we are talking about here.

we're not just talking about calling people out and cutting them off, we're also talking about performing immense guilt regarding any small human behavior or feeling that has not been morally optimized, splitting hairs over the ethicality of choices so granular as to be meaningless, correcting other people on minute language differences, imposing western/united states oppression frameworks onto completely different cultures and situations, interpreting all vague statements in the worst possible faith, holding a person responsible for any conceivable negative interpretation or unacknowledged caveat to anything they say, demanding the performance of negative emotions such as grief and exhaustion and rage, pathologizing positive emotions such as joy and pleasure, denying individuals any right set boundaries over how they spend their time, convincing people that any moment not spent consuming upsetting information is an abdication of duty, immense focus upon individual effort with little regard for collective power or systemic change, victim blaming, self obsession, self loathing, associating a person's appearance or mannerisms or sexual proclivities with their goodness as a person, a permanent suspicion of the "other," a lack of faith in humanity, and on and on.

so i think it's a lot more complicated and deep than just people making incendiary call out posts online. but then, i did write a book on all this.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

hi shitty first post in like a month n then prob will disappear into special interest land for next month or so who knows but half formed thought of like 

been thinking abt how like have seen people say US early disability rights movements non inclusive thus ableist bc it focus on physical disabilities n exclude mental disabilities (which is always like, left vague but assumed to mean like. psychiatric + maybe low support needs autism adhd + mayyybe other neurodevelopmental disabilities + maaaaaaayyybe higher support neds autism adhd but like don’t count on it… it’s always SOME but not others that part be clear), focus on visible disabilities (by that they mean wheelchair users + people who move around world differently like visible ataxia spasticity etc) n not invisible disabilities, etc

n its like putting it as nicely as possible but people need be able get in building first before they can even talk about what go inside building. we need be able get into event first before we can talk about what go on inside event what *we* need inside event. 

n if you think what am mean by “people who need help get into building before they can talk inside” = physical disability or visible disability or wheelchair user or mix of all 3, and “people who can get into building who need help inside building during event” = [mental disability] or invisible disability or non wheelchair users. n then go give me who reaction base on that assumption then am sorry u really not understand disability as much as u think u do

my memory not be good right now. may have know answer to this years before but don’t now. so, historically idk what the case but. in my mind anti psych anti [abusive psychiatric institutions etc word] movement & like independent living movement always be connected. 

speak as someone who significantly disabled both physically & (neuro)developmentally & psychiatrically it like. you criticize how one group one movement one historical thing one modern thing haven’t included you but 1) have u really look into it yourself done research yourself understand historical circumstances understand those people’s lives n reasoning n needs understand why those movements came to be before you speak, & 2) have YOU your movements you identify with movements of your specific identity historically modernly been inclusive of those people also its not just one sided you know? have you aligned yourself with those people first n foremost?

and also sometimes we focus on different things like different group within one big group fight for different things? 

also again memory erase itself so not gonna pull thing out of ass n pretend expert but didn’t what we referring to as “US disability rights movement” thingie (that so broad) also literally fought for education rights & independent living rights & labor rights for people w intellectual & developmental disabilities (I/DD) n stuff like…

or wait are I/DD ppl who need that level of support not included in what u mean by mental disabilities m just checking - bc that not sound like me problem does it

[bluesey-182]

okay bear with me while i try to organize all of these thoughts.

even in arcadia is such an interesting album to me because it seems to simultaneously be the most AND the least lore-heavy album compared to all their other work. i've always been of the mind that very few, if any, of their songs are actually about sleep. vessel sings about his own personal struggles, a lot of those having to do with what was an obviously very toxic and potentially abusive past relationship, but i've never really thought he was singing about sleep for a good 99% of their discography. the songs themselves are the offerings. "here's all of my pain. i offer if to you" (in penance??? 👀). however, at the same time, the kind of metaphors and language he uses puts all of that pain behind a certain kind of... barrier, i suppose? that makes it seem like "maybe it could all just be a story". and then he comes into this album with songs like past self, caramel, provider, damocles, and gethsemane where it feels like he's being even more brutally honest and vulnerable than he's ever been before (which is saying something because dear god does vessel spill his guts and bare his heart through the project). he's talking directly to the audience in a way that's unfamiliar and new and gut-wrenching on a whole new level. it's like he's testing the waters of stepping out from behind the smoke screen he's been singing through in the past.

and yet. you get songs like look to windward, emergence, dangerous (this one to a slightly less degree than the others) even in arcadia, and infinite baths. he's saying things that almost don't seem like they'd be said to or about an actual person. they have these incredibly fantasy-battle-esque sounds and lyrics to them. and there are a million and one theories about what sleep is, but this album in particular has me feeling like sleep is a personification of vessel's demons and in this album he's fighting them like he hasn't ever before. he's not bowing down, he's actively out for blood. that's who/what he's talking to this time, as opposed to the person(s) he's usually addressing in his songs.

so that brings me to the house divide. "the house must endure" / "the cycle must end". house veridian and feathered host. and then you get the line "you know i live by the feather and die by the sword". like obviously this is the house divide, but the more i think about that line (especially with feathered host potentially being a nod to feathered quills and that suggesting the houses are actually the pen vs the sword) the more i keep thinking that like... this album is the inner battle between the poet who loves music and chose this project as the outlet vs the man behind the mask dying at the sword of that project. realizing he's gotten himself into this corner of constantly replaying his darkest moments ("i play discordant days on repeat") so he can make this music ("until they look like harmony") and realizing it's hurting him more than it's serving as catharsis anymore. and it all comes together in an album where he's both allowing himself to be what is potentially the most vulnerable he's ever been--ditching some of the metaphors to say things more point blank, addressing the audience directly, getting to be goofy and vulnerable in a lighter way through "provider"--while also giving us songs that are direct conflicts with this deity he's made himself vessel to and also building on that story in a way that has previously been incredibly vague and sparse in terms of actual canon.

it's an incredible dichotomy and i think this separation of the houses was a really clever way to do it. but it also makes me think that the album isn't as cut down the middle in the divide as i think a lot of us initially thought. it's also interesting to catch the lyrics in this album that reference each other across the aisle. (the one coming to mind rn is "war of attrition" being in both look to windward and caramel when they both have different themes to them).

all this to say, vessel is a genius and continues to achieve incredible and mind-boggling things in his music, and this album has really (in my opinion) been a gift.

[icanbringyouinhot]

Take something bad and make it into something good - Chapter 1

Paring: retired!Javier Peña x F!reader

Summary: After leaving Colombia, Javier slowly but surely slides into a post-burnout depression that he tries to self-medicate with alcohol and self-imposed exile. However, his friend Steve Murphy and his wife Connie are not having it. Turns out, their endless nagging got him in a very interesting situation that turned out to be exactly what he needed. (Though, he’ll never admit they were right.)

Here’s the song that inspired me: Something Good by Paul Haig (spotify link)

Warnings: I don’t think there are that many, honestly. There’s no smut (boo-hoo, this is my first fanfic ever posted in here, I’m shy ok?..). No physical description of the reader, though I did describe her clothes because we love a well dressed diva. Vague mentions of alcohol abuse. Mentions of blood, wounds, guns, and depression because our boy is traumatized by what went down in Colombia. The reader has one small tattoo on her forearm. Let me know if I forgot anything, this is my first fanfic, idk what the hell I’m doing.

Word count: Roughly 2k.

A/N: Ok so there’s a few things, PLEASE READ: (1) As I said two times already, this is my first fanfic, I’m nervous and insecure about my writing, so please, please, please, give me any advice you have, criticism, words of encouragement, anything that could help me grow. I ain’t no pussy, you can tell me this is shit and I won’t start crying (as far as you know teehee). (2) The story the reader is talking about is my latest hyper fixation, however, i couldn’t find the source. There’s an article that says it belongs to the Chumash Tribe, but there are also other articles and reddit posts that say the otherwise. I have no idea were I know this story from, it just spawned into my smooth brain. For safety measures I chose not to associate it to any Native American tribe and let the reader’s granny take the blow, because I don’t want to offend anyone and because I am from Europe, so idk what the hell I’m talking about and it would be disrespectful to pretend that I do. (3) The art pieces and the artist that are featured in this fanfic are real (they are also present in the little collage that I’ve made, there in the middle, for visual reference)!!! But i don’t have a clue when he did his work and I was too lazy to google it so i have no idea if they existed by the time Javier Peña left Colombia (or if the art pieces ever touched the American land). Once again this fanfic was a last minute thing I didn’t put that much thought into it. (4) Once again i pulled this story from my bum bum and i don’t know if there’s a Modern Art Gallery in Houston, but I don’t care, I take my artistic liberties to invent one on the spot. (5) English is not my first language!!!!!! I tried really hard to make my sentences beautiful and clear, because sometimes in my head everything is an absolute mess. Once again, Idk what the hell I’m talking about. This fanfic is 100% the concept of raw dogging life and see where it gets you.

Okay!!!!! I think that was it. I think we are ready for our first flight together. I have to inform you that I don’t have any right, license or experience into flying the FanFic Aircraft. Too late, you can’t get off now, I shut the doors. Thank you for choosing our company to fly towards your next destination: JAVI LAND!!!! (play national anthem.)

(Also if someone knows how to add those colorful spacers on a post, I also forgot how it’s called, please send me a message and explain to me like I’m your grandma, thank you!!!!!)

Okay here we go. I’m nervous.

Chapter 2 >>

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Javier Peña had a lot of sins he had to try to pay for, but never in his life did he imagine this would be the price.

Four months. That’s how long’s been since he’d left Colombia for good, leaving behind all the bullshit he had to endure, the mistakes he made, the deaths he’d witnessed.

In all fairness, he thought that going back to the states would motivate him to rebuild his life and start anew. That was his honest to God intention. However, once back in the good ol’ Merica, he realized it no longer felt like home, not in his dad’s old house, not in his new apartment, in a different city, nowhere. He became almost a recluse, filled with rage, resentment and frustrations, never leaving his house much, except for runs to the closest liquor store or the bar down the street.

The first few weeks, Murphy gave him space to sort out his thoughts, drink himself into oblivion, chain-smoke through the night and avoid human interaction like the goddamn plague, only checking on every now and then but never pushing.

Then, they started showing up.

First it was just Murphy, with beer and bad jokes, watching football games, doing anything but talk about Colombia or feelings. Then, Connie started showing up too, with thinly vailed concern and always bringing something for him to eat, all while trying to pull words out of him with pliers. They even had their daughter have a try at him, convinced that no one could resist the innocence of a small, bright-eyed child, especially one that loved her ‘uncle Javi’ like he hung the moon just for her. Yes, Javier loved his niece and would do anything for her, but that was the one thing that he couldn’t do, mostly because he didn’t know how.

No matter how many times he tried to turn them down, they were relentless. They’d pestered, prodded, and outright bullied him into getting out of the house ­– something about fresh air, new experiences, maybe even fun, as if he had any patience for that word anymore. They started up with the occasional dinner invitation, then it was offers to take him out for drinks – somewhere nice instead of the dingy, dimly lit bar where Javi spent his weekends. He never wanted to go anywhere, but Murphy and Connie always insisted until he gave in just to shut them the hell up. Well, more Connie than Murphy, really – she was the one planning every intervention, though she’d been sweet enough not to say that word out loud.

And now… this.

This one – Oh, this one took the cake.

A fucking art gallery.

Connie got her grabby hands on some invitations from an old patient lady that actually owned the fancy Modern Art Gallery in Houston, and Murphy, as the good husband that he was, just went along with it.

But Javier Peña didn’t belong here. That much was obvious from the moment he stepped through the doors of the establishment, wearing a scowl and the same old leather jacked that had seen more blood and dust than it had high society.

The walls were lined with massive canvases – some monochrome, others smeared in chaotic swirls of color – but what stood out the most were the ones that had been slashed and punctured, riddled with holes like someone had taken a knife to them in a drunken rage.

Murphy, the bastard, was actually trying to appreciate it. He stood next to Connie, nodding along as she pointed to different pieces. Javi had no doubt Steve didn’t understand a damn thing either, but unlike Javier, he was at least pretending.

He took a long sip of his whiskey – at least the open bar made this bearable.

At one point during the night, Connie leaned in and, in a hushed, reverent tone, explained that the artist, Lucio Fontana, had created these pieces with great precision to “explore spatial concepts beyond the canvases”, emphasizing “the interplay of light, shadow and space.” He just rolled his eyes and moved further away from her in a corner, plotting his escape.

What a load of bullshit.

All he could see were stab wounds. Bullet holes. Scars carved into the fabric of the country he had spent too many years fighting in. If he looked long enough, he swore he could see blood seeping through, hear the gunshots echoing in his skull.

And maybe that said more about him than the art itself.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. He needed another drink.

He turned to leave – and walked straight into someone.

“Shit, sorry.” He muttered taking a step back, but the woman in front of him didn’t seem bothered.

You were standing close to one of the mutilated canvases, your back straight, hands folded in front of you as you studied it. You wore a calf-length silk skirt that shimmered under the lights and a lacy top that showed just enough skin to be distracting. But what struck him the most was the way you were looking at the canvas in front of you – not with the pretentious admiration of the other guests but with quiet, genuine thoughtfulness.

You waved off his apology with a small smile before turning your gaze back to the painting – a deep navy-blue canvas punctured with what looked like a thousand tiny holes.

Javier should’ve walked away, but instead he looked at you looking at the painting, and the curiosity got the better of him.

“You actually like this shit?”

You smiled, slow and knowing, like you were expecting that reaction. “Maybe.”

Javier huffed incredulous, crossing his arms. “Really?”

You gestured to the navy punctured canvas, “It reminds me of an old story my grandmother used to tell me when I was little.”

Javier pulled his eyebrows together, puzzled. The only thing it reminded him of was the dark colored government van that got ambushed and was completely obliterated along with the agents inside. But he couldn’t say that, and before he could open up his mouth to say anything else, you already started telling your story.

“Before the humans appeared on the planet, the rocks, animals and plants lived in harmony. They were the people of the world. They lived in harmony and peace, appreciating and taking care of the nature and of one another. They woke up every morning greeting the Sun, and went to sleep waving goodbye to the Moon, thanking her for looking over them.”

Javi found himself listening despite himself, watching you as you talked, tilting you head in his direction, gaze lost, but a small smile creeping on your lips as you continued to narrate the story.

“As time passed, they started to forget. They didn’t greet the Sun anymore or show any appreciation, and the Moon was completely forgotten. They became jealous of each other, thinking others possessed more than them, greed taking over their hearts. They started to take more than they needed, either to consume or to sell away. They didn’t help each other, cooperation didn’t exist anymore. They separated more and more, arguing, hating, fighting, hurting each other.”

His eyes darted between you and the painting, his mind running a thousand miles per hour, but knew better than to try to interrupt you.

“The Creator had been watching and said ‘Enough’, throwing a blanket over the whole world. Now the world was in darkness, people frightened. Each of them tried individually to take off the blanket, but no one was able to reach that far. Desperate, they formed a council, to discuss what they should do. After endless meetings and failed attempts, a hummingbird came with a plan that demanded everyone to cooperate. The hummingbird got on top of the crow, the crow got on top of the owl, and the owl on the eagle. The idea was simple, the eagle was supposed to fly as high as he could, then when his energy ran out, the owl took over, then the crow, until finally the hummingbird got close enough to puncture the blanket with its beak. Light seeped through, and everyone got their hope back. They started working together until they punctured enough holes in the blanket for them to have light and warmth again. The animals that couldn’t fly helped from the ground, preparing water, food and shelter for everyone. The Creator was so pleased to see that the people were living again in harmony that he lifted off the blanket, and the people never took what they had for granted anymore.” You seemed to finish your story the moment your eyes were focused on again, this time shifting your gaze towards Javier. His face was an amalgamation of emotions – confusion, admiration, concentration. “Anyway, it’s said that after they lived again in harmony and peace for many, many years, the people started to forget again.” You added with a shrug, this time with a knowing look into your eyes.

Javier looked at the canvas again. He still saw violence – still saw the wounds, the tearing, the things he couldn’t erase from his mind. But for the first time, he also saw what you did. Something else. Hopeful.

“You got all that from a couple stab marks on a painting?

You turned to him fully, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Art is what you make of it.”

Javier tilted his head, watching you. “So, what do you make of that one?” he said pointing to a different canvas – one with a long, deep cut right in the middle of it, like a wound.

You studied it for a moment, pursing your lips, then said, “Loneliness.”

“Loneliness?”

“Yes, the loneliness we all feel sometimes, almost like a wound right in the middle.” You said tracing absentmindedly a finger over your chest. “Separation. The way we carve ourselves apart from others, whether by choice or by force.”

Javier’s smirk faded slightly. He wasn’t used to conversations like this. Usually, when he talked to women, it was all surface-level-flirting, small talk, nothing deeper than what was necessary. But this? This was different.

If your words affected him, he didn’t let it show, but truth be told, a bitch slap would’ve stung him less than this.

He scoffed giving a skeptical look, “Alright smartass, and that one?” he pointed to another, where multiple slashes ran parallel, like scars.

After another pause for consideration, you said, “Community. We crave connection, we need it. No one survives alone. Even if we are wounded, we heal better when we are surrounded by others. Pain shared is pain halved.”

He almost wanted to ask if you knew Steve and Connie and if they put you up to this, but something in your expression made him reconsider, because when you spoke, when you came up with these awful, soul barring interpretations, you seemed lost in thoughts for a second.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?”

You grinned, “Pulled it out of my ass, mostly.”

He barked out a laugh, “Figures.”

You leaned in slightly, voice conspiratorial, “Truth is, I think this whole thing is bullshit.”

Now that was something he could get behind. “Then how the hell does a smart woman like you end up stuck at an art gallery she doesn’t even like?”

“My grandmother owns the gallery.”

Javier blinked. “Shit.”

You smiled slyly, “Yeah, so don’t tell her I said that.”

“No promises.” He said, “I’m Javier, by the way.” he added, and you shook his hand telling him your own name.

After a beat, you cleared the air, “The only one I’ve actually meant was the first one. The story kind of stuck with me.” You said as you rotated your forearm, letting him see the tiny hummingbird tattoo you had, so small, fragile and beautiful. He wanted to kiss it, honestly,

“So, you really believe in that?” he asked with his characteristic smile plastered on his face.

You glanced at him. ‘Believe in what? That the sky is a blanket and the stars are holes?” you asked amused.

Javier shrugged, “I mean, the whole idea. That there’s a way out, that people could actually find a way to fix their world at some point.” He explained his question, because it sure like hell never felt like that when he tried to lift the proverbial blanket that the cartels threw over Colombia.

You smiled, but there was something wistful in it. “I think stories like that exist because people need them to. To make sense of things, to find hope. The world’s a little less lonely when you see that there are others with the same way of thinking. Maybe if more people knew the story and they’d believe in it, things would change too.”

Javi studied you. You weren’t like the rest of the people here – weren’t fawning over the art just to seem cultured, weren’t talking in circles to sound impressive. You were just… real.

And that was a dangerous thing for him to be around.

You two stood there, quiet for a moment, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space between you. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t.

Javi wasn’t sure when was the last time he’d met someone who actually entertained him, let alone someone who made him forget the shitstorm in his head. You had that way of carrying yourself – calm, amused, like the world was something to be studied but never taken too seriously.

“So, what about you?” you said after a moment, “If you hate this so much, why are you here?”

Javier sighed, glancing across the room where Steve was balancing a glass of wine while his wife animatedly discussed another piece. “Some friends dragged me.” He muttered.

You nodded in consideration, then looked around for your own dear grandmother. She was way over her head discussing with a circle of quests just like she did the whole night. Aside from knowing that you came, she didn’t get the chance to check in on you or chat at any point during the event, and you took a wild guess that it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon either.

You grinned, tilting your head slightly. “Tell you what – I’ll make you a deal.”

Javier arched a brow. “Yeah?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice. “There’s a bar two blocks from here. No abstract art, no bullshit. Just whiskey and decent company. Maybe some food too. You in?”

Javier hadn’t expected the night to be anything other than a painful endurance test, something he did mostly for his friends than for himself. He sure hadn’t expected to meet someone like you. And for the first time in a long time, he thought – why the hell not?

His lips curved into a genuine smile – he couldn’t remember when was the last time he smiled as much as he did ever since he started talking to you.

“Hell yeah, lead the way.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[xvxblahhhxvx]

I think Dazai's backstory is really cool in how, despite having more information about it than most other characters, majority of his life is just one giant noodle incident.

Yep, that's the line I'm going with as an introduction to this analysis. Just bear with me.

To start off, for those who don't know, the term "noodle incident" originates from the (amazing) comic Calvin and Hobbes. In it, the whole idea is that Calvin did this unspecified thing in school that involved noodles, but it's never confirmed what exactly happened. It's only referenced in passing, and it is clear that it was not good. Applied to general fiction, the term Noodle Incident refers to an event that is often referenced, but never clearly explained, and what is important is the characters' reactions and feelings towards it. The principle idea behind it is that imagining what said incident could be is way more significant and impactful than anything it would actually be if it was said. It's not the event that's important, but the effects and responses to it are. *for more info, I recommend Overly Sarcastic Productions trope talk video about it*

Now, how this plays into Dazai's life is that, while it is extremely evident that he likely has a horrible, tragic backstory, we never really get to see much of it. The earliest we are introduced to him, he is already suicidal, and he has lost most in hope in existence. These feelings are tempered a bit when he first joins the Port Mafia, but they come back all too quickly. And while you could argue that him being in the Mafia is a large contributor to his depression,the main reasons why he seeks escape clearly transpired before he ever met Mori.

Dazai was already trying to commit suicide at fourteen, which is how he met Mori. Something happened earlier in his life, but we don't know what. Asagiri himself says that he left Dazai's core, the reason he wants to die, vague on purpose. We aren't given many details, and honestly, we aren't given much backstory to it either. The two biggest hints that we get is when he is speaking to Odasaku. First in The Day I Picked Up Dazai, and the second from Dazai and the Dark Era.

We have no idea who or what Dazai is referring to. From all that we have seen, all the backstories and light novels we are given, the only people that we know of whom Dazai actually lost were Ango and Odasaku-for Ango, it was that special friendship, and Odasaku, it was his life. And even so, it isn't much of an explanation, because he was obviously suicidal before he met them, as evident from how he speaks to Odasaku, and losing them wasn't a catalyst for Dazai's depression. (As a matter of fact, it was actually the first step towards improvement, but that's a different analysis).

Yet for how much we don't know about Dazai's life, I think it's done in such a way that it doesn't really matter. It's a noodle incident, in that sense. Because it's not about the events that actually transpired, it's about how that affects Dazai and the way we see him. Don't get me wrong, I would love a full, confirmed backstory, but Asagiri doesn't seem to intend to write it, and that makes Dazai's character so beautiful. It's also one of the reasons why the dark era, especially the light novel, is so tragic. Because yes, you can argue that as far as tragic backstories go, losing two friends isn't near the most awful, especially not in this universe (I'm not trying to play the "which character has more trauma" game, but compared to, for example, growing up in an abusive orphanage, it's relatively not as inherently tragic. That doesn't make it any less horrible though). But the point of the backstory isn't just to explain the reasoning why things ended up the way they did, why Dazai left the Mafia, boo hoo his friend died, but Odasaku and Ango represent everything in Dazai's life, everyone from his past we never got to meet and I'm not sure if we're ever going to. They symbolize all the things in his life that mattered to him, everything he never wanted to lose but did. The last scene in the bar, where the three of them meet up for the last time, Ango leaves, the picture with the three of them laughing and smiling, the whole thing is meant to serve as a microcosm for Dazai's life as a whole. That he feels he's always going to lose everything, and that's why he wants to die. We don't get details, we don't know the specific events, but we're left with the emotions that gives us an important glimpse into this character's mind, more than his life, and that's what makes him such an interesting character that's left open to interpretation and analysis. We aren't privy to the tragedy, but the aftereffects of it. And, almost as if to prove the point, Odasaku dies the next day. Right after Dazai says he always loses everyone, further cementing the idea that there's almost a curse surrounding him, a void of loneliness that may never be fulfilled, which is as much as Odasaku tells him when he dies.

Whatever happened in Dazai's life before fourteen was probably something horrible and tragic. Maybe he had a family. Maybe he had other good friends. Perhaps he even believed in the goodness of life and humanity. But what's really cool about the way he's written is that the exact events are not important nor necessary to understanding his character. His life is one big noodle incident, yet because of that, we're able to glean an almost deeper understanding about him, by leaving the details in the dark and exposing only the raw, humane emotions left behind. The most important part about any backstory in fiction isn't about what actually happened, it's about how does this affect the character now? What lasting impact did it leave on them, and how is it evident in the way they interact with the story in the present? This is something that Asagiri nails on the head when it comes to his backstories. And I think the lack of clear information about Dazai's backstory, yet all the information we do end up getting about him, is one of the reasons why Dazai is such an interesting and intriguing character in the series.

Thank you all for you time. You may now return to your procrastination.

[trans-axolotl]

okay am i just going insane or does anyone else think that endocrine disorder is not like inherently a synonym for intersex. (in reference to this post and the discourse surrounding it). like at least when it comes to ICD coding, there's a million different endocrine disorder codes, and the code that specific doctor was most likely using was E34.9, which is for "endocrine disorder, unspecified" and doesn't automatically imply intersex variation and instead is so vague that it could mean any range of endocrine diagnoses from like thyroid disorders to diabetes to intersex variations. in the medical billing world i just do not think it is an automatic synonym for intersex variations and i don't think it's automatically treated that way by doctors!

because like as an intersex trans person who has been denied access to HRT because i'm intersex, yes, of course, i agree that it's a ridiculous idea to try to get intersex diagnoses added to your chart, and i'm pissed off by some of the posts I've seen denying the realities of intersex medical abuse and the current legal landscape for intersex people trying to access HRT. it would not help and it's honestly insulting + painful to see a few people suggesting that it would be beneficial to have an intersex diagnosis added to your chart--it shows me how some perisex people don't bother to listen to intersex people about what it's actually like to navigate this shit for us.

but i just don't think that's what people are talking about here, and i think it's honestly such a bad faith reading to assume that other trans people are instantly jumping to lying about being intersex. and i saw a lot of transphobic bullshit in the replies of that post from other intersex people. and i think i also just feel more suspicious about the motives of some people involved given like. the widespread transmisogyny + associated harassment campaigns in a lot of tumblr intersex spaces. like. i think it is completely reasonable for trans people to strategize about different ways to access HRT and i don't think we should be calling them intersexist if they haven't actually said any intersexist shit.

i don't know!!! i just think that it's always okay to lie to doctors and that it's valuable for us to discuss this shit and figure out strategies to try and what's going to be the most pragmatic! i also need people to educate themselves about what intersex healthcare actually looks like and intersex medical abuse and the way that gender affirming care bans also prevent a lot of intersex people from accessing hormones, because otherwise you get ridiculous shit where people were defending the hypothetical idea that doctors are helpful and support intersex people's bodily autonomy when it comes to our healthcare lmfao

like am i the only one feeling this way here like what is going onnnnnnnnn

sometimes being both trans and intersex online feels exhausting i have to say!!!

[virtualcryptz]

House MD characters with... BPD reader.

characters: allison cameron, eric foreman, gregory house, james wilson, robert chase

tws: self-destructive behaviour (binge eating, drug abuse, suicide attempts, self harm), enabling, vague description of manic episodes.

A/N: written at like 4am pls treat me kindly <3 house is slightly toxic but its accurate imo so cope!! tried to refer to a broader spectrum, including things i dont experience, so sorry if it's not all 100% accurate :C

Allison Cameron

Definitely one of the more understanding of the OGs.

Very big on communication puts a lot of effort into being completely open. Never wants to make you feel like you've been pushed aside.

Finds it kinda hard to move on from splits, but does get that, 99% of the time, you don't mean what you're saying. Still takes it to heart, though.

Will happily sit there and wait for you to come down and be ready to talk.

Worries a lot when you're manic. She doesn't want to infantalise you but she can be a little bit overbearing.

Non-judgemental when it comes to self harm. Just cleans up however necessary, sits with you and reassures you.

She does push you to stop self harming, but also realises it can be very addictive for most people.

She finds it quite hard to accept when you do something bad during episodes, but often excuses it and pushes blame onto whatever the trigger was. She's not that bothered about apologising tbh.

Eric Foreman

Struggles a lot, especially at first.

He isn't great with empathy, so it's hard for him to really understand, especially since you're considerably more emotional than he is.

After a while, he at least learns what you need from him, and he gets into the habit of reassuring you whenever you fight.

"I am mad, but that doesn't mean I hate you or I'm leaving you. We'll work it out."

After the first few splits aimed at him, he does stop taking it personally, but will understandably get annoyed if you refuse to apologise.

He takes note of any uncharacteristic behaviour - he hates to see you going down that slope.

Especially notices overindulgence in drugs, from everything with his brother. Overreacts if you end up doing any, especially if you spend a lot of money. It gets very heated, very quickly.

Good at grounding during dissociative episodes. Stays with you as long as you need him. He has little to no problem with missing work or showing up late for you.

Gregory House

Probably does a DDX on you when he notices any symptoms you display. He knew before you told him. Hell, his whole team knew before you told him!

That, and if you're diagnosed, he's probably gone digging around your records. Furthermore, if you are formally diagnosed, he does a LOT to make sure you don't have to deal with any biases.

He's honestly not great. Let's be real. But he does try, which is more than you can say about what he does for the others.

He's aware that the amount of time he spends with Wilson can be triggering for abandonment. But he's also pretty shit at reassuring you. So he brings you along to a lot of hangouts :]

Short of having his eyes on you 24/7, he never knows what to do when you're manic. He can make as many sarcastic jokes and backhanded comments as he wants it doesn't make him any less anxious.

Projects a lot of his own issues onto you, but amplifies it iykwim? Assumes that something that upsets him could trigger something serious with you.

He is possibly the worst person to split on. When you go low, he goes lower. Disagreements turn into shouting matches quickly and usually end in meltdowns.

You are one of the few people he'll actually apologise to you. Not just because he cares more, but also because there's a lot less that can go unsaid. He can guess that Cuddy and Wilson understand through his actions that he's sorry, it's less of a gamble he wants to take with you.

James Wilson

The MOST forgiving out of all of them.

The only downside is that, like he is with House, he is an enabler. He just can't find the line.

When you're splitting, he honestly just sits there and takes it.

Also never expects an apology. Would probably let you get away with using it as an excuse for poor behaviour, if you ever did.

That said, he does get that you can't really help a lot of it.

When it comes to self destruction, he's always focussed on making sure you're okay. Nothing else seems to matter in the moment, even if you've hurt him in the process.

I mean, he's a head of department in a hospital. reckless spending isn't too much of an issue. If need be, he's more than happy to use his status to get you better care.

However, as mentioned above, he does enable. He doesn't encourage it but rarely pushes you to quit more risky vices.

One of the few that would seriously push you to seek help. Very aware that BPD can be manageable, so long as there's proper help.

Also does what he can to get you medicated if that's something you're seeking out.

Robert Chase

He's not perfect, but he knows what it's like to feel alone and abandoned.

Very empathetic - he tells you he's here for you as many times as you need to hear it.

Incredibly worried about the idea of you making a suicide attempt - if it happens once he gets a little paranoid about it. If he wakes up in the night and you're not there, he panics.

He knows that splits aren't something either of you can really help, but it's tough. He tries not to leave you alone during episodes he's also not gonna sit there and take it.

Kind of mocks your delusions. It's well-intentioned but it can make it harder to be open about.

He's pretty used to being snapped at, from both family and work, so he mostly takes it in his stride.

That being said, he can usually tell when the shouting and hostility is coming from a place of self-sabotage, for the sake of burning bridges.

Overall, quite the worrier. Doesn't want to bombard you about it, but he picks up on most changes in demeanour and sort of notes it down for later. Just in case.