#i might revisit this one day but i think we both know that's not going to happen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ladytauria · 1 year ago

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"tell me a secret" with jaytim if youre still taking prompts, been enjoying all of the snippets!

um.

so.

this one ran away with me. a little bit.

it's. it feels very messy. but i like the direction i ended up going with it. i think--- i think i might revisit this premise again. but for now, nonny, i hope you like it!

(also, i'm glad you enjoyed my snippets~)

There are few things worse than truth pollen, in Tim’s opinion. Give him fear gas or sex pollen any day of the week. Losing control of his tongue, confessions spilling from his mouth, helpless to do anything to stop it… It makes him shudder just to think about.

However—

He would gladly have taken a blast of truth pollen right to the face, if it meant Jason wouldn’t have.

Jason’s locked himself in an isolation cell, now, while Tim synthesizes an antidote. The general pollen vaccine had done little to help the effects of this strain. Confessions had tumbled from Jason’s lips all the way home, all through the blood draw. Tim tries hard not to think about them, to forget them completely, but they linger in the back of his mind. Whether he wants them to be or not, he knows they’ve been imprinted in the back of his mind, where they’ll be sorted and cataloged, brought out later if ever he needs them.

He never forgets. It’s something of a curse.

As soon as the antidote finishes, Tim sends it to Jason through a panel in the isolation cell. It should take an hour for it to kick in—Tim will be upstairs, whenever Jason is ready.

Two hours pass before Jason joins him. Tim sits at the kitchen island, hands around a mug. Steam still wafts up from it; his face warm and damp where it caresses his skin.

“That better not be coffee,” Jason says. He sounds even grumpier than usual—not that Tim can blame him.

He chooses not to comment on his mood, for the moment.

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s tea.” He pauses. “Herbal tea.”

Jason grunts.

“There’s some for you on the counter.” He gestures.

Jason rounds the counter, finally coming into view. Tim’s shoulders loosen a little at the sight of him; curls and skin damp from a shower, cotton tee sticking to him. Sweatpants ride low on his hips. His socks have little gray cats on them.

“Did your cameras alert you I was coming up?”

Tim ignores the confrontational sneer in his tone. “No.”

For a moment, Jason’s body tenses like he’s going to challenge him on it—turn it into a fight, until one of them storms out or ends up sleeping in the guest room. Then he finds his tea, in a thermal traveling cup. The tension drains from him, then; weariness in the bow of his shoulders. He takes the cup and joins Tim at the island, settling onto the stool next to his.

Their shoulders brush. Tim knows it’s as close to an apology as he’ll get right now. He brushes against him again when he raises his mug to his mouth; a silent forgiveness.

Jason drinks his tea. He hums softly; a quiet, pleased noise.

They drink in silence. Tim wouldn’t describe it as comfortable, but the air isn’t as thick with tension as it could have been. He knew they would have to address it before they went to sleep; knew, for a while at least, that things would be… delicate. He’s not looking forward to walking on tiptoes—but it’s better than the alternative. It’s better than Jason leaving.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tim murmurs, finally. “I’m not— I won’t ask. We can pretend like you never said anything.”

Jason is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper. Tim isn’t sure he would have heard it, if he hadn’t been listening for it.

He brushes against him again, as he gets up to put his mug in the sink. He smooths his hand over Jason’s back; from one shoulder to the other as he walks by—both touches a silent reassurance.

He puts his mug in the sink and stops by Jason again. This time, he kisses his temple. “I’m going to bed,” he murmurs. “Join me when you’re ready.”

Jason leans into his touch—turning, when Tim pulls away, to catch around the waist and pull him close. He kisses the corner of Tim’s eye. “I love you,” he murmurs.

Tim squeezes his forearm. “I love you too,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a moment—a long moment. And then, finally, Jason lets him go, smearing another kiss against his skin when he does. Tim lingers a moment more, and then he heads off to their bedroom.

It’s maybe ten, fifteen minutes before Jason joins him, curling up in Tim’s arms; letting Tim plaster himself against his back, sighing sweetly when Tim’s chin rests atop his curls. He tangles their fingers together over their stomach.

Tim falls asleep knowing everything is going to be okay.

Tim doesn’t just forget about it. He can’t—though he tries. The things Jason said turn over and over in his mind, every time there’s a lull at work, on patrol, in the quiet moments he spends with Jason. He keeps his word. He doesn’t ask about them. He doesn’t even go digging through Batman’s files, or the city’s files—although the temptation sits heavy on his shoulders.

Instead—he ends up thinking, again and again, about secrets.

About Jason’s. About his own. About all the things that sit, buried deep under his tongue, where he would never dare to speak them aloud. But the more he thinks about the more he sees them as cracks—fissures, things not sitting quietly in himself but things keeping them apart.

He finds himself wanting to dig them up. To look at them in the light, offer them to Jason; see if he finds even those parts of him worth loving.

He wants to do the same to Jason. To look at the ugliest parts of him again—this time without the wrongness of pollen coating them—and cradle them in his hands, tuck them in the spaces between his ribs. Soothe the hurts they left behind.

Tim knows Jason won’t let him.

But.

Tim has never needed reciprocation.

He starts offering them, impromptu, in their quiet moments.

“Sometimes I feel more like myself in a dress and heels than I do in a suit,” he confesses, while Jason is reading; Tim’s head in his lap while he plays on his switch. “I’ve thought about looking into it—but honestly. Exploring... that on top of everything else just sounds exhausting.”

Jason pauses, fingers in Tim’s hair, and says, “If you ever want to, I’ll support you. I’ll love you, no matter what you decide.”

Tim turns and kisses his stomach.

A few days later, they’re cooking together. Tim stirs noodles, while Jason chops vegetables. “The first time I dressed up as a woman, I looked so much like my mother I almost couldn’t leave the manor. I don't think I would have, if not for the mission.”

The knife pauses; the sound of chopping stops. “That must have been a lot,” Jason says, tentatively.

Tim doesn’t have to look over to know Jason is giving him a weird look. He can feel it on the back of his head.

“It was,” he agrees. “Are you sure I salted this enough?”

His next confession is delivered when Tim is donning one of his aliases for an undercover job. Jason is sweet enough to do up his zipper for him.

“I created my first alias when I was seven. I mean, I guess it was more playing pretend, but... I dunno. It felt more serious than that, even then. I kept making more as I got older, trying them on... whenever I felt like it. Now it’s something I do as a hobby, to keep my skills sharp, but there was a time when I wanted to be anyone other than Tim Drake.”

Jason meets his eyes in the mirror; gaze unfathomable. “What changed?”

Tim’s lips quirk. “It’s hard to fall in love as anyone but yourself.”

The flush on Jason’s face is vivid red. Tim is helpless to do anything but turn and kiss him.

After a fight, Tim calls Jason. It goes straight to voicemail—not unexpected. It still makes his heart clench. He ignores it, instead offering,

“Jason… I’m sorry, for what I said, earlier. It— It wasn’t true. I meant it when I said I can live with you killing. I don’t—I don’t… The truth is, I don’t disagree with your methods. I’m tempted to join you, sometimes. A lot of times. I’m tempted to go even further, too. I… Sometimes I think the only thing that keeps me from going bad is Dick’s disappointment. Bruce’s, too, but. I don’t care what he thinks as much anymore.

“Some days the temptation is stronger than others, though. And that— It scares me. I cling tighter to the rules in response. I… It’s not an excuse for me to hurt you, though. I’m sorry. I love you. Come home whenever you’re ready.” He’s crying when he finishes, hanging up the phone. Thinks about staying in the basement; distracting himself with cold cases instead of going to bed.

He decides he’s disappointed Jason enough.

Jason comes home that night. Slips into their bed, gathering Tim in his arms.

“You could never go bad,” he whispers. “You’re too fucking good, Tim.”

Tim shakes his head, burying his face in Jason’s neck. “If I convinced myself it was right, or for a good cause…” He holds him tighter.

Jason is quiet. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Tim doesn’t even hesitate.

“Then trust that I wouldn’t let you.”

Tim knows Jason has broken his own moral code more than once.

He also knows that Jason is far more careful with the people he loves than he is himself.

It’s a trait they share.

So he nods. “Okay.”

“And you’ll do the same for me,” he says, softly—almost tentatively.

Tim holds him tighter. “Yes.”

He’s quiet for so long Tim thinks he falls asleep. Then, he offers, quietly, “Sometimes I think I’ll go too far, and— You’ll leave. Or that you’ll wake up one day, and realize I’m not going to change, that… That you can’t handle the killing after all. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you.” He doesn’t say, I thought I was losing you tonight, but Tim hears it anyway.

He kisses Jason’s neck. “You won’t,” he says, confidently. “But— If you ever do, or if it looks like you’re going to— I promise I’ll tell you. Warn you. I won’t just disappear without giving you a chance.”

Jason shudders in his arms. He tucks his face in Tim’s hair—Tim cups the back of his neck in response. “Feels like all you’ve given me a hundred second chances,” he whispers.

Tim nuzzles him. “I’ll give you a hundred more. You’re worth it.”

Jason starts making his own confessions, after that.

He lights a candle on the coffee table, filling the air with the scent of sandalwood. Then he stops. Turns his lighter over in his hand—flicks it on, then off again.

“I didn’t stop smoking because of how I died, or the Pit, or Talia, or for my health, or—any of the bullshit reasons I told everyone else. Sheila— Cigarettes remind me of her. The way she just sat there and watched.”

Tim stands, stepping into his space. He winds his arms around Jason’s waist. “You deserved better,” he says, quietly.

“We both did.”

‘We’ means Tim and Jason. It also means Sheila and Jason. Tim doesn’t know if he agrees with the latter—but. Whatever else she was, she was Jason’s mother, and that means something to Jason. So, he says nothing. Just presses a kiss to Jason’s shoulder.

After a rough patrol, another argument between Jason and Bruce—one that took both Nightwing and Red Robin to break up—Jason sits in the medbay of Tim’s nest, letting him stitch up his arm.

Tim is almost done, when Jason says, “I’ve given up on Bruce killing the Joker for me. I wish he’d let me do it. More than that—I just. I want him to tell me, to my face, that he missed me. That he loved me. That the loss of me was something painful. That—That he still loves me. I don’t. I don’t want to hear it from someone else. But I know— I know he won’t. The man who would have died with me, and sometimes I think that’s the worst of it all.”

Tim snips the thread, laying the needle down. He kisses the skin just above the wound, and lingers there. “I’m sorry.”

Jason is quiet. Then he turns, pressing his nose into Tim’s hair. He doubts it smells great—he hasn’t had time to hit the showers yet—but Jason doesn’t seem to care. “Me too,” he whispers.

Tim gets a box of cologne samples in the mail. He’s going through them, just for fun—handing the ones he likes best to Jason. As he passes over the third, Jason says,

“I don’t remember what Mom’s voice sounded like anymore—but. I found the perfume she loved. It was one of the most expensive things we owned. She only got it out for special occasions, or—or when she was sad, and needed something to help remind her of the good times. I— When I smell it, I can almost hear her again. Singing in the kitchen, or… Reading with me on the couch.”

Tim puts the cologne samples down. He tucks himself against Jason’s side and holds him tight. The vulnerability in Jason’s voice, in his expression… It scares Tim almost as much as it awes him. He just— He wants to protect him, to hold the softest parts of Jason close, where nothing and no one can hurt him again.

It’s an impossible wish, but. That won’t stop him from trying.

“Tell me about her?” he asks softly, laying his cheek over Jason’s heart. The steady beat is calming.

Hesitatingly—haltingly—

Jason does.

It keeps going. Back and forth.

“Sometimes I think no one actually wants me around—that people are happier when I’m not there.”

“I think I left a piece of myself in the grave. It hurts less that it’s missing these days, but. It still hurts.”

“I never felt like I was alive until I became Robin. That’s part of why losing it hurt so much.”

“Sometimes Bruce and Dick will mention things—and I don’t remember them. They sound like happy memories, but, when I go poking around, all I can find are blank spaces. It’s fucking terrifying.”

“In the early days—sometimes Bruce would forget, and call me by your name. I… It feels awful to admit, but. Those nights were my favorite.”

“I hate looking in the mirror. For—for a million fucking reasons, but one of ‘em is how much I look like my dad. Like Willis. He wasn’t a bad man, except when he drank. He just… he drank a lot. I don’t want to be him.”

Secrets traded, back and forth. A lot of them big, some of them small. Always in the quietest moments, in the carefullest tones. Each one met with acceptance, with love.

Tim feels freer than he ever has. Not even swinging between buildings leaves his step so light.

He thinks Jason feels the same; thinks he smiles more, now. Tim has caught him humming in the kitchen more than once—finds himself humming the same tune.

Tim has never needed reciprocation to love someone.

Jason has given it to him anyway.

Ivy’s not done with truth pollen—determined to perfect this strain. This time, Tim is on the other side of the city when Jason catches a face full. He doesn’t miss a beat; working with Spoiler to wrangle her back to Arkham. As soon as it’s handled, he beelines back to the Nest.

Tim meets him there.

Jason doesn’t lock himself in an isolation cell, this time. He works with Tim to distill the antidote. Tim isn’t foolish enough to believe that all of the secrets Jason has buried in the recesses of his mind have come to light. He knows his haven’t. He knows, too, that for both of them, there are some which never will. That's okay. Jason has shared enough that the pollen’s compulsion has little to cling to; little to nourish its roots.

So this time—he doesn’t talk as much, this time; only the occasional confession spilling from his lips.

Most of them make Tim blush.

It’s a torturous hour—albeit for entirely different reasons than last time—and it ends not with a shared cup of tea but Tim pinned to the wall in the Nest shower, Jason on his knees, worshiping him until stars burst behind his eyes.

Tim turns the tables on him as soon as he remembers which way is up—and then they stumble upstairs, to bed, curling into one another like two mis-matched halves.

Jason tangles their fingers together. “Tell me a secret,” he whispers, to the darkness of the room.

Tim does.

#jaytim #timjay #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #asks and answers #lovely anons #this is almost 3k <3

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theweirdwideweb · 1 month ago

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I'm on my second career path choice after disliking my first choice (both fields required schooling), and I'm finding that I also strongly dislike my second choice. I'll be 27 soon and I'm feeling like a failure. All I want is to make decent money and not be miserable. I really thought the fields I chose would be right for me when I chose them and had to learn the hard way that they weren't. I'm tired, tired of being a perpetual beginner and of spending so much time and energy on schooling and "figuring it out". I just want to be doing the thing and move forwards so I can focus on the things that really matter to me. Any advice for someone in this position?

It sounds really frustrating. I wish we lived in a world where a person was free to explore careers without attaching a university size price tag to it. Here's the deal though: 27 is not old. I know it feels old, but I promise you it's not. I'm 37 myself and exploring my options and I don't feel too old at all. Many people do it. Since you're asking for my advice, I think for now you can work the highest paying job you can stand and pay off debt. Personal fulfillment in one's career is something to be envied, but obviously not the reality for most people. Show up, cash your check, pay down debt, and invest time and energy into your relationships and hobbies. I imagine your disillusionment with the first two careers might have been caused by any number of factors: 1) A misunderstanding of what working the career looks like day to day. 2) A youthful ignorance to the realities of capitalism. 3) The personal transformation that occurs between the ages of 18-27 changed you into a person that's no longer interested in the things you once were. The good news is that your personality begins to settle as you approach 30. You know much better what you need and want, your limitations, and the limitations of the world around you. I think you'll find the career path you're looking for. Just buckle down, make some money, make a secure place for yourself financially and socially, then revisit the subject when your sense of self solidifies.

Now I never talk about this because it's plain rude and makes me look like a jackass. When I went to college at 18 I had a small fortune from my dead father's life insurance. $250,000 or right about there. I spent all that money in 4 years and landed flat on my ass at 22 with nothing. I worked assembly line, food court, drug dealing, writing for scam websites, retail, online sex work, and even sold buttons at sports games. It took me until I was 28 to go back to school and I had to take out student loans to do it. But by that time I knew what I wanted. That initial failure of losing all that money, in the end, gave me the life experience to make wise choices. It was soul crushing the entire time but even the poor can make due with friends and a sense of humor. Don't beat yourself up. The past is the past. You will be fine.

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sciderman · 3 months ago

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What do you consider to be good Deadpool adaptations? This movie was my first Deadpool content in like a looong while so in need some more accurate Deadpool stuff

having a crisis of faith these days when it comes to good deadpool adaptations – there are SO few offerings... but, as far as deadpool adaptations go, the first deadpool movie really does hold up, i think. it's so sincere, when you revisit it. we're lucky to have gotten that movie. it's by no means perfect, but it's sincere. deadpool 2 is an even more wobbly time on it's feet, but i still like that portrayal of wade. i think both of those movies do a much better job doing whatever they're doing than dp/w does. they're movies. about deadpool. could they be better? oh absolutely. so much better. but... you know, i take what i can get.

we don't have much in the way of deadpool adaptation - you'd be surprised. he makes very few appearances in any other form of media. he has a video game that i don't like very much by virtue of being sensory overload for me - (but i think maybe it's fitting of the character) - he's shown up in a few tv series - his appearance in ultimate spider-man might my favourite one, just because it's so completely unhinged.

i really love that stupid episode. it just gets so many genuine laughs out of me i don't know what to tell you. his VA is unbearable, but the writing just - it's genuinely funny. and i just think it's a thoughtful portrayal of deadpool too. there's a lot to chew. from his consistent unreliable narration of himself - his patented approach of being entirely dishonest not just for tactical reasons, but because he just doesn't like confronting truths about himself - the clever ways he breaks the fourth wall, the clever ways he deflects, his ego plays - and his parallels to spider-man - it's incredible how effortlessly they managed to cram all of that into a fairly short television episode for kids - i think it's one of the best adaptations of deadpool. i feel like the writers genuinely knew and understood wade's whole thing and brought it across so effortlessly. i love how fully-formed this wade feels, and i'd honest to god really like to write about him. one day, just you wait. one day i will.

#sci speaks #i cant belvieve. ultimate spider-man is the best deadpool adaptation #don't boo me im right.#ultimate spider-man honestly deserves more credit i think. and maybe a rewatch.#i actually. honestly remember so many scenes so fondly.#i remember some scenes about uncle ben that i think about to this day.#genuinely think ultimate spider-man is a more thoughtful and love-filled spider-man adaptation than any of the mcu spidey films.#dONT BOO ME IM RIGHT.

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icanseeyou2007 · 3 months ago

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HAPPY (late) 10TH ANNIVERSARY FNAF!!!

🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

the background is all of the things that made me find out and eventually HYPERfixate on fnaf:D

i forgot that it was already the tenth anniversary!!😭😭 sorry this is a bit late-

a bit of a ramble below the cut if you wanna listen to me yammer on about my history with fnaf:3

i originally heard about fnaf around the time it came out. not by anyone online no no no, no gameplay footage, but one of my very close friends at the time gave me the WHOLE RUNDOWN and lore of the foxy x mangle/chica series. i was a bit scared (as i was a child) of the thought of killer animatronics, so i wanted to keep my distance. i would always go to chuck e cheese with them, and they’d always talk about how chuck is gonna’ come alive and stuff. it was funny. i still really like chuck e. cheese :)

but then around 2019-2020, i found those comic dubs on youtube of both the ‘ask goldie anything’ and ‘springtrap and delilah’ series i fell in love with both of them immediately! (little disclaimer i’ve heard of the stuff that the springtrap and delilah creator did- i do not support them!! but anyways, back to it-) my autistic ass 11-12 year old self was going wild!!! i would watch them over and over again. the springtrap and delilah comic dub was actually how i found out springtrap killed kids and stuff, i didn’t know the whole purple guy bit till later, but to say i was scared was an understatement- i remember hiding under my covers at night thinking ‘AH!! springtrap’s gonna’ get me!’ … good times. :)

when security breach was announced i was ecstatic!!:D i found out about 8bitryan and dawko a bit after that, then looking into the lore, all of the games, the rabbit hole, if you will.

i remember that christmas, getting my grubby hands on all of the games on mobile i could buy, playing them all as much as i could even if i was scared. it was great.

before security breach came out, i really loved fnaf vr. getting my hands on a vr headset and all just to play it for myself!! i was (and still am) a very big glitchtrap enjoyer! used to watch that one cosplayer who played as glitchtrap and would do those ‘glitchtrap looks himself up on google’ and ‘glitchtrap reads your comments’. can’t remember their name- it i find it i’ll put it here! but i loved it. still do!

i would go on vrchat for hours and roleplay!! i really liked (still do) funtime freddy, used to think i could do an impression of him and i would rp and stuff as him… simple times- it was so amazing. that’s how i’ve met some of my best friends, and both of my boyfriends! i would die without them<33

then when security breach came out- oh i was waiting down to the SECOND it released! i stayed up for hours playing it- so exited!! even though it has its quirks, it’s still one of my favorites from the franchise, its what got me into it- like, really into it.

then the pipeline of making my ocs— i had a whole world planned out in my head for a fangame. might revisit it one day. who knows?

but then we have the present. the fnaf movie (in my opinion) was absolutely wonderful!!! so exited for the second- have hardly looked into fnaf vr 2 and the ruin dlc, (i know it’s been a year-) but i’ll get to it. all fandoms have it’s quirks, but i still love it. thank you Scott Cawthon, and the fnaf community for being such a big part of my life. i would really be lost today without it.

happy 10th anniversary fnaf!

#fnaf #fnaf fanart #fanart fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf tenth anniversary #freddy fazbear #springtrap and deliah #ask goldie anything #foxy x mangle #foxy x chica #fnaf help wanted #fnaf security breach #fnaf freddy #freddy fazzbears pizza #freddy fazbear fanart #freddy fazbear fnaf #my art <3 #happy anniversary!!!#thank you for all of the memories!!!<3

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ingravinoveritas · 6 months ago

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It's been just barely three days since the announcement of DJ Qualls and Ty Olsson's engagement, and after seeing the interview DJ did on a podcast where he broke the news, I am struck by the parallels between his comment above and things both Michael and David have said over the last five years about growing old together.

I can still remember when Michael first posted the tweet in the screenshot in 2019, and how much it stood out to me because of what was left unspoken. That he's thought about Aziraphale and Crowley growing old together. That he doesn't separate Aziraphale from him or Crowley from David--something we knew five years ago, and have become even more keenly aware of now--and was maybe, by extension, thinking of him growing older with David.

This only seems like it was cemented further by what we saw in the GO 2 interviews last year. Michael is again talking about Aziraphale and Crowley being old, but more specifically about him and David playing them that way. Seconds later, the idea of a theatrical tour is mentioned, and this time it's David who becomes the more vocal one. In this one entire moment, we have Michael revisiting that idea of playing the characters old, and David responding in a way that lets us know--without hesitation, without question--that he very much enjoys the thought of growing older with Michael.

So in thinking of what DJ said about Ty and how he wants to grow old with the person he loves, it just seems so incredibly similar to what Michael and David have said and are saying now. That they are going to be old men together, however that might look, in whatever form it could take. And given the incredibly positive reaction from the fans toward DJ and Ty (which Michael may have seen, since he does follow Misha Collins, who tweeted about the news), I would just like to hope that's what would be in store for Michael and David, too...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #dj qualls #ty olsson #spn #i know there have been a lot of posts about this lately but i wanted to share some thoughts #it's also interesting to me because David is the first person i've ever heard Michael say he wants to grow old with #and i've wondered if he never really thought about growing old with someone before David #you love who you love #even if people don't expect or understand it #the parallels are paralleling #they are perfect together your honor #i don't know if i believe in fate but i believe in them #ineffable lovers #discourse #gifs by me

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 15 days ago

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Between the Ropes: a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley fanfic.

Chapter 38: Make you understand what the fuck is going on.. pt. 2

December 27th, 2024 10:45 A.M

Rhea sat in the therapist’s office, her eyes fixed on the neutral beige walls, mind still grappling with the chaos of memories that seemed to swirl endlessly. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she knew something was buried within her past with Matt—something she needed to confront if she ever hoped to truly move on. Her therapist leaned forward, breaking the silence.

“Demi,” she began, using her real name to ground her in the moment. “Where do you think things went wrong?”

Rhea blinked, taken aback by the question. “Where things went wrong?” she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“With Matt,” the therapist clarified, her tone gentle but probing. “Where do you think it started to unravel? Before everything that happened… when do you think the issues began?”

Rhea’s mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out. She truly didn’t know. When she thought back on her relationship with Matt, the memories were blurred, clouded by a strange mix of warmth and unease. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her mind racing to make sense of it all. “I… I’m not sure,” she admitted, feeling a twinge of frustration. “I thought everything was fine… I really did. Maybe I missed something?”

The therapist nodded understandingly, her expression both encouraging and compassionate. “That’s often the case in relationships like these,” she said softly. “When we’re in the midst of it, it’s easy to miss the small red flags. They seem insignificant, like quirks or concerns that don’t really register as warnings. But looking back… we can often see the patterns more clearly.”

Rhea swallowed, feeling a familiar knot of discomfort settle in her chest. The idea of going back to the beginning, of picking apart her relationship with Matt piece by piece, made her stomach churn. But there was a quiet strength in her therapist’s gaze that urged her to keep going, to uncover the hidden truths she had once ignored.

“Maybe… we can start from the beginning,” the therapist suggested, her voice calm and steady. “Let’s go back. Sometimes, when we revisit our past with fresh eyes, we find things we might have overlooked. It could help you understand why things turned out the way they did—and why you stayed, even when you sensed something was off.”

Rhea took a deep breath, nodding slowly. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, willing herself to reach back to those early days with Matt, before the possessiveness, before the shadows had crept into their relationship. Her mind began to drift, sorting through fragments of memories, piecing together the moments that had once felt like love.

“Well…” she began, her voice almost a whisper as the memories started to surface. “We first started dating in August 2022…”

August 2022

The beginning of their relationship had felt like a fairytale to Demi. She had been swept up in the affection and support Matt seemed to offer so effortlessly. He was always there, at the airport, ready to drive her home or grab a bite to eat with her. She remembered the first time he surprised her with coffee after an early-morning workout after she had spent a night at his house, grinning as he held the cup out to her. She had laughed, playfully punching his shoulder. “You’re going to spoil me,” she teased.

And he had. Or, at least, that’s what she thought back then.

But there were moments, even early on, that seemed slightly off. During lunch with her friends, she caught him watching her a bit too closely, his eyes narrowing when she laughed a little too loudly at one of her male colleague’s jokes. “Better watch yourself around him,” he muttered afterward, only half-joking, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Demi had brushed it off, telling herself he was just being playful.

Yet the frequency of these comments started to increase. If she posted photos with friends or tagged someone in a story, Matt would ask about it. He’d say, “Just curious,” with that tight-lipped smile, a smile that made her stomach twist. Still, she didn’t recognize it as a warning. Not then.

Fall 2022

Months passed, and the playful comments about her friends turned into something darker, more invasive. Demi began noticing how he questioned every male friend she mentioned, every interaction she had outside of their relationship. She tried to brush it off, convincing herself it was just Matt caring about her.

One evening after practice, Demi lingered in the gym, chatting with some of her fellow wrestlers. Matt had been waiting for her outside, and when she finally joined him, he was silent, his jaw clenched as he stared at the pavement. “Something wrong?” she asked, but he just shook his head, gripping her hand tighter than usual. The silence in the car was heavy, palpable, and Demi found herself growing anxious, not understanding what had shifted.

Back at her apartment, Matt finally spoke. “Do you enjoy spending time with him?” His voice was quiet, yet laced with a dangerous edge.

Demi blinked, taken aback. “What? You mean my teammate? Matt, we’re just friends. It’s nothing.”

He nodded, the tension in his body not easing. “I just… I don’t like how close you are with him, that’s all. People might get the wrong idea.”

She laughed, thinking he was joking, but the look he gave her made her laughter falter. “It’s just work, Matt,” she reassured him, her voice softer, hoping it would ease whatever insecurity he was feeling. And in that moment, he softened, pulling her close, murmuring apologies against her hair. But beneath the apologies, Demi couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.

Winter 2022-2023

As the months turned colder, Matt’s presence in Demi’s life grew more intense. He started showing up at her training sessions unannounced, standing in the corner of the gym, arms crossed, watching her every move. At first, she’d found it endearing, a mark of his support. But then she noticed how he was less interested in her workouts and more focused on who was around her, his eyes flickering whenever she interacted with others.

One day, after she had hugged one of her friends goodbye, Matt pulled her aside, his jaw clenched. “Do you have to be so friendly with everyone?” he asked, his tone icy.

Demi frowned, feeling a mixture of confusion and defensiveness. “Matt, he’s just a friend. There’s nothing to it.”

But Matt’s face didn’t soften. Instead, he gripped her arm tightly, his gaze hard. “I know what guys are like, Demi. They don’t look at you like that unless they want something more.”

The conversation left her feeling drained, questioning her actions and her own boundaries. She began pulling away from friends, subtly, as Matt’s possessiveness crept into every corner of her social life. He was always there with reassurances afterward, telling her he was only trying to protect her. “I just love you so much, Demi,” he’d murmur, his voice warm and soft. “I don’t want to lose you.”

And somehow, she found herself nodding, convincing herself that this was what love looked like.

Spring 2023

As spring approached, Demi found herself living more for Matt’s approval, tiptoeing around anything she thought might upset him. She barely noticed how she’d begun isolating herself, choosing to spend every free moment with him, avoiding activities she used to enjoy without him by her side. She told herself that he was her priority, her partner, that this was how relationships worked.

One night, she tried to confront him gently, voicing her concerns about feeling overwhelmed by his constant presence. “I just need a little breathing room, Matt,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

He stared at her for a long time, an unreadable look in his eyes. Then he wrapped her in a hug, so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. “Why do you need space, Demi? Am I not enough for you?” His voice was low, tinged with a hint of pain that made her heart ache.

She felt guilty, doubting herself. Was she asking for too much? Matt’s words were wrapped in hurt, making her feel selfish for even suggesting distance. And once again, she found herself reassuring him, trying to calm his insecurities. He seemed to draw strength from her guilt, a subtle satisfaction in her willingness to abandon her concerns.

August 2023

By August, Demi was starting to feel cracks in the foundation of her relationship with Matt, though she still couldn’t pinpoint why. She felt like she was constantly treading carefully, ensuring she didn’t say or do anything that would upset him. But whenever she felt overwhelmed, he would pull her back in, his words sweet and affectionate, making her feel like she was the center of his world.

On a warm August evening, he surprised her with a trip to the beach. The setting was idyllic—golden sunset, waves crashing softly against the shore. As they walked along the beach, Matt suddenly stopped, kneeling before her, holding a small box.

“Demi, you’re the love of my life. I don’t want to live without you,” he said, opening the box to reveal a diamond ring, glittering in the fading sunlight. “Will you marry me?”

Overwhelmed by the grand gesture, by the way he looked at her with such intensity, she said yes, her voice trembling with both joy and uncertainty. In that moment, her doubts seemed to vanish, replaced by the excitement of their engagement.

But beneath his proposal, Matt’s intentions were far from pure. To him, this was not just a promise of love—it was a seal, a guarantee that she belonged to him. He held her close that night, whispering, “Now you’re mine forever,” his voice soft but possessive.

Demi, blissfully unaware of the darkness lurking beneath his love, let herself fall deeper into his embrace, convincing herself that this was the commitment she had always wanted. But with the ring on her finger, Matt’s control over her grew more secure, binding her in ways she could never have anticipated.

As they celebrated their engagement that night, Demi’s heart was filled with hope, while Matt’s was filled with triumph.

October 11th, 2023

It was an unusually warm evening as Rhea sat with her family around the dinner table, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. She was seated beside Matt, who, as always, had his arm draped protectively over the back of her chair. The two of them seemed inseparable, his touch never straying far from her shoulder or hand, his gaze constantly following her every movement.

As dessert was being served, Rhea got up to clear some of the plates. Matt’s hand lingered on her wrist for a moment, his fingers tightening slightly as if reluctant to let her go, before he finally released her with a nod. She flashed him a smile, brushing off his gesture as an affectionate habit, and headed toward the kitchen.

She hadn’t even noticed the look her father had been giving Matt all evening—one of quiet disapproval and barely masked concern.

Once she was in the kitchen, her father followed her, standing by the counter as she rinsed the plates. Rhea looked up, surprised to see him watching her with a troubled expression.

“Everything okay, Dad?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel.

He sighed, his face tense as he weighed his words. “Demi… I wanted to talk to you about Matt.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this conversation might be headed. “What about him?”

Her father hesitated, glancing back towards the dining room where Matt sat alone, glancing in their direction every few seconds. “I just… I don’t trust him, sweetheart. There’s something about him that doesn’t sit right with me.”

Rhea’s eyes widened, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. “Dad, come on. He’s perfect. He treats me well, he’s attentive, and he’s… protective. Isn’t that what every father wants for his daughter?”

He shook his head slowly. “There’s a difference between being protective and being possessive, Demi. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way he acts around others… the control, the subtle digs at people who get too close to you.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes, people like that don’t reveal their true selves until it’s too late.”

Rhea rolled her eyes, brushing off his words with a dismissive laugh. “Dad, you’re overthinking it. Matt’s just… particular. He loves me. That’s all this is.”

Her father’s expression softened, but the worry in his eyes remained. He reached out, pulling her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her with an almost desperate protectiveness. “One day, Demi,” he murmured, his voice laced with sadness, “I hope you see what I see. I hope you realize he’s not who you think he is.”

Rhea pulled back slightly, giving him a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry, Dad. I know Matt better than anyone. I promise, he’s a good guy.”

Her father watched her with a resigned look, his eyes filled with a pain that she couldn’t quite understand. “I hope you’re right,” he said quietly, glancing toward the dining room again where Matt was watching them both, his jaw clenched as if bracing himself against an invisible threat.

Rhea shrugged off her father’s words, brushing away the seed of doubt he had tried to plant. She couldn’t see it then, blinded by her affection and belief in Matt. To her, he was still perfect—still everything she thought she needed.

As she walked back to the dining room, she missed the look Matt threw at her father—a silent warning, a flash of anger that her father saw but chose to keep to himself, hoping that one day she would see Matt’s true colors without having to learn the hard way.

November 24th, 2023.

The studio lights glared brightly, casting a polished sheen over everything as Rhea and Dominik laughed, their chemistry lighting up the entire set. The photographer snapped photos of them, Rhea holding her title belt proudly as she and Dom posed with ease. They fell into a rhythm as if no one else was watching—a series of friendly grins, playful gestures, and perfectly timed glances. Their connection was effortless, a camaraderie that anyone could see.

But in the shadows, standing off to the side with his arms folded tightly across his chest, Matt observed every interaction with a dark intensity. His jaw was clenched, his gaze fixated on the way Rhea leaned into Dominik, the easy laughter she shared with him, and the mutual trust between them that was on full display. To everyone else, this was just a photoshoot between two colleagues, friends even. But to Matt, it was something else entirely.

As his mind spiraled into a possessive whirlwind, a voice cut through his thoughts. Matt turned slightly to see Finn standing beside him, eyeing him curiously.

“You good, man?” Finn asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, picking up on the tension radiating from Matt.

Matt forced a tight smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just… watching the shoot,” he replied, his voice strained, as if he was trying to convince himself more than Finn.

Finn raised an eyebrow, sensing something off. He tried to lighten the mood, making small talk about the recent matches and the Judgment Day’s storyline direction. But Matt’s responses were curt, barely masking the agitation simmering beneath his calm facade.

After a lull in the conversation, Matt’s eyes flicked back to Rhea and Dom, who were now looking through the preview photos on the photographer’s camera, laughing at some of the blooper shots. Unable to contain his insecurities any longer, Matt turned to Finn with a question that seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Hey, Finn… you know if Rhea and Dom have ever shared a room before?”

Finn’s smile faltered, his surprise visible as he tried to process the unexpected question. “Uh… yeah, mate. We’ve all shared rooms here and there. It’s a bit like family, ya know? Sometimes, it’s easier to stick together when we’re on the road.”

Matt’s expression tightened. “She shouldn’t be sharing a room. Not with him, anyway.”

Finn’s gaze sharpened, picking up on the undercurrent of jealousy and possessiveness in Matt’s tone. He hesitated before replying, carefully choosing his words. “Dom and Rhea are like brother and sister, man. There’s nothing weird about it. We all look out for each other; that’s what we do.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back at Rhea, now reviewing the last few photos with Dom, oblivious to the storm brewing nearby. He muttered, almost to himself, “I don’t want her too close to him. She should know better.”

Finn took a step back, the uneasy feeling growing as he realized just how deeply rooted Matt’s possessiveness went. He opened his mouth to say something—to defend Rhea’s autonomy and to remind Matt that he didn’t own her—but thought better of it. Sensing the tension radiating from Matt, Finn gave him a nod, masking his concern with a polite smile before turning to leave, feeling the weight of the awkwardness settle heavily between them.

As Finn walked away, he couldn’t shake the discomfort gnawing at him. He’d always known Matt was protective of Rhea, but this… this felt different. It felt darker, more controlling. And he couldn’t help but worry about what lay beneath Matt’s stoic exterior—the thoughts he kept hidden, the resentment he masked behind polite smiles.

That Same Night..

The bar was alive with the low hum of music and laughter as the Judgment Day crew settled into their corner booth, sharing stories and toasting to another successful event. Rhea excused herself, announcing she was getting another beer, and Finn immediately stood up, saying he’d join her. She raised an eyebrow, amused but grateful for his company.

At the bar, Rhea ordered a Michelob Ultra, and Finn opted for a Corona. The bartender slid their drinks across the counter, and Finn took a quick sip before glancing at Rhea, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Rhea…” he started, carefully choosing his words, “have you ever… noticed anything off about Matt?”

Rhea chuckled, rolling her eyes as she took a swig of her beer. “Matt is just Matt, Finn. You know how he is—quiet, intense… but harmless. What’s got you all suspicious?”

Finn shifted his weight, debating whether to push the topic. “I don’t know,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. “Maybe I’m just reading into things too much. But earlier, during the shoot, he seemed… I don’t know. Possessive. Like he didn’t like seeing you and Dom so close.”

Rhea waved him off, her laughter echoing softly above the din of the bar. “Come on, Finny. That’s just Matt’s way. He’s protective. Maybe a little over the top sometimes, but that’s how he shows he cares.” She playfully nudged his shoulder. “Stop worrying about me. I can handle myself.”

Finn forced a smile, sensing the weight of eyes boring into them from across the room. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was—Matt, undoubtedly keeping a close watch, his gaze fixated on them like a hawk. Finn could feel the tension building, the possessive stare Matt cast over them unmistakable. He took a deep breath and let it go, not wanting to alarm Rhea any further.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m probably overthinking,” he said, feigning a casual laugh. “Just… just looking out for you, is all.”

Rhea’s expression softened as she placed a hand on Finn’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Finny. For always protecting me.” She smiled, warmth and gratitude shining in her eyes. It was a simple gesture of friendship, yet somehow, it made her feel safe.

But as they turned back toward the booth, Finn couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at him. He glanced back, his eyes meeting Matt’s for a brief, tense moment, before he looked away. Finn’s instincts told him something was wrong, and though Rhea brushed it off tonight, he hoped for one day for Rhea to see it through Matt.

— Present

Rhea looked at her therapist slowly, her expression pensive. “There were signs…” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, as if the realization itself weighed heavily on her.

The therapist set the pen down, meeting Rhea’s eyes with a gentle gaze. “Often, we don’t see them,” she reassured. “It’s easy to miss things, especially when we’re caught up in the emotions of it all. You’re not alone in that.”

Rhea took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and guilt surface. She hadn’t even realized how much she had buried these thoughts until now, how much of herself she had ignored in her desire to make things work with Matt.

The therapist smiled gently, sensing Rhea’s exhaustion. “Why don’t we take a break and regroup next week? Same time?”

Rhea nodded, feeling grateful for the support and the space to process it all. As she stood up, the therapist gave her some words of encouragement. “In the meantime, consider journaling. Write down whatever comes to mind, especially as memories surface. And talk to Jey about the idea of couples counseling. It could provide both of you with a safe space to address everything you’ve gone through.”

Rhea managed a small smile, her mind already racing with the thought of opening up further to Jey. “I’ll try,” she said softly.

“Good,” the therapist replied warmly. “Remember, healing is a process. You don’t have to rush it.”

As Rhea left the office, her heart felt just a little bit lighter, though she knew the journey ahead wouldn’t be easy.

Yall are probably wondering two updates in one day? So the chapter before this one was to include this section as well but I thought it was going to be a bit over crowded so I just separated it 😂😂😂 also this chapter has another part but I’m nowhere near close to that one. I do have to remind yall that I’m a non linear story teller which means some things are out of order. :)

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pixeldolly · 14 days ago

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The Sacrifice - Part 5

Evelyn's sensitive nose identified apartment A3 as Roman's last known destination, where his scent faded into nothingness. Her nerves were on edge: something about that place made her heckles rise, although she couldn't put her finger on it.

Meanwhile, Jacob tried to gather information using more conventional methods.

"Damn it! There's no name on the mailbox."

"We could just try knocking."

"And say what? 'Oh hello, sorry to disturb you at this hour, perfect stranger, but have you, by any chance, seen our missing friend? He's tall, blond, completely gorgeous?'"

"Gorgeous, huh?"

"I didn't mean it like that! I'm just stating an objective fact."

Evelyn decided to stop teasing him; they could revisit the matter of Jacob's unresolved feelings for Roman once they found him safe and sound.

Like it or not, someone needed to try talking to whoever lived in apartment 3A and see if they knew anything about Roman's whereabouts. It was their best lead. Their only lead, in fact.

Heart pounding, Jacob summoned up his nerve and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he knocked again, louder this time, then a few more times after that.

Still, nothing.

If anyone was at home, they weren't answering.

Frustrated, Jacob signalled for Evelyn to come out of hiding. That had been her idea, since the sudden appearance of a werewolf on one's doorstep after dark tended to make people less than willing to open the door.

"I don't like this, Jake. There's something really weird about that place. Being close to it feels like approaching a bear's den; your fur stands on end and you can practically taste the danger."

Jacob, who liked it less and less himself, turned his attention to the apartment on the left.

"There's a light on in Fiona's bedroom; that means she's at home."

"It might also mean she's busy, if you know what I mean."

Jacob was willing to risk it; his sister would be supremely pissed if he interrupted her date, but this was important.

To his relief, Fiona turned out to be home alone. Not that he expected her to be eager to help; the two of them had never been close, and Fiona was no fan of Roman Turner.

Well, if he had to beg, he'd beg.

"Hi, sis. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but we, uhh...we need your help. It's about Roman..."

He glanced at Evelyn for support.

"He's...kind of gone missing, and we have reason to think he might be in this building."

"Possibly against his will. Can we talk? Please?"

Fiona Merridew stared at her impromptu visitors, hand on hip and an unimpressed look on her face. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, becoming brittle.

"And I thought this was going to be a boring evening," Fiona said at last. "Please, do come in, and bring me up to speed on the latest drama involving your ex."

Her acid tone and withering gaze made both Evelyn and Jacob wince.

"This is ridiculous, you know that, right? Even if he is next door, has it occurred to you that he may want to be there? And that he doesn't want to be contacted? It wouldn't be the first time he's gone off with a new lover and left you high and dry."

Jacob bit his lip; what if his sister was right, and he'd made up this whole kidnapping fantasy because he didn't want to consider the more mundane alternative?

But no, Evelyn and Ulf believed it too!

"There's some bad vibes coming out of that place. Whatever's going on in there, I don't like it."

"What's going on is probably Eliza casting some spells -"

"Wait - Eliza? You know her, then?"

"I know her name's Eliza Clare and she's a dark witch who recently moved back into town. We spoke a bit the other day, but she's not my friend or anything."

Jacob felt his legs turn to jelly on the spot, and a lump of ice settled into the pit of his stomach. The room, together with Evelyn and Fiona, swam before his eyes.

"Oh no...oh no no no!"

"What's the matter with you?"

"That's her! Roman's mother! The witch who did terrible things to him as a child! He told me! He said her name was Eliza Clare!"

"Now you're making even less sense than before. The woman who lives next door is in her 30s - there's no way she's old enough to have a son of Roman's age."

"She's a witch! Couldn't she make herself younger with magic?"

"Well, there are various illusion spells one could use to project a different appearance, but they're inconvenient to cast and maintain long-term...Then there are the more permanent methods, but that's where we start getting into blood sacrifices and demon-summoning."

There was a pause, during which the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

"Hmmm...come to think of it, she does resemble Roman quite a bit."

"Well, shit."

#sims 2 #the sims 2 #sims2 #ts2 #sims 2 story #sims 2 bacc #bacc: walden #story: the sacrifice #jacob merridew #evelyn morgan #fiona merridew

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glisten-inthedark · 29 days ago

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The Flashback might not be a flashback

aka flashbackgate

There are going to be a lot of questions here that are coming from someone that hasn't gone into a Stranger Things deep dive because I was/am/forever will be too busy obsessing over Byler but I have questions so please be patient with me because I'm unaware of like 65% of theories regarding the UD and Vecna and all of this bellow relates to Byler on some level.

Anyway, I was stuck on this letter, right?

This will come to play later so be patient lmao. All of this is based on 3 assumptions that may as well be incorrect so bear with me for a second:

The letter was from Mike and it was written the day Will went missing

There's going to be time travel shenanigans The flashback might not be a flashback. So the first point is the date of the letter.

As some of you pointed out, it might not be connected but I particularly have a hard time believing there isn't a connection, mainly because I don't see the point of attaching a date if it doesn't mean anything. I could be wrong, so take this with a grain of salt, but I do think the letter was written on the day Will went missing.

If that's the case, it begs the question of why was it written that day? We know the UD is stuck on the day Will went missing but we aren't sure as to why, so it's there a connection between those two facts?The other assumption is mainly based on the fact that time has been mentioned since season 3 in one way or another.

Firstly with Hopper's letter, secondly with Henry's monologue to El and thirdly by the connection to Back to The Future. So I particularly think the possibility of something connected to time being at play here is quite big.

Also, one of the movies that was on the inspiration bord was Arrival, and that movie also deals with time but if I remember correctly it wasn't crossed out, so it either means they didn't use and aren't planning on using it, or they are going to in some other way.

Which leads me to my final theory/point about the tiny Will, Mike and less tiny Jonathan scene that we know we are going to get.There's a chance it might not be a flashback, but one of them (or them both) actually revisiting that moment in time, whether by Vecna or in some other way (which again would connect to Arrival but in reverse to what happens in the movie).

So it's not that we'll see the past, is that we might see them seeing the past or even interacting with said past. I think the letter might be some kind if "We tried to stop X from happening" (which is why there's the I couldn't get it done) but again, they couldn't stop it. Maybe it was El from opening up the gate which allowed the demogorgon to get out. Maybe it's something else that happened that day that we don't know about yet. And maybe Mike from the future writes it for Will to the past and it gets lost somehow?

I don't even know if I'm making any sense anymore lmao.

Again, this hypothesis is coming from someone that has yet to go through all the theories regarding the UD, or Vecna or even Byler for that matter. I might be way off and if I am please just be kind/cordial about it.

#byler #byler analysis #byler endgame #mike wheeler #stranger things #will byers

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seaofreverie · 2 months ago

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Sparkstember Day 2: A Woofer In Tweeter's Clothing (The Louvre)

Another very solid album! I think I've heard some say that it's not really that good besides a couple standouts, but I must respectfully disagree!! More down-to-earth and less of a bag of delightfully mismatched oddities than its predecessor, yes, but that still doesn't really diminish its value in my eyes. Yeah, it doesn't really have many low points for me but it also definitely does have those couple of total classics that totally stand out (and interestingly, I realized while writing down my favourite songs that I could consider every single one on the first half of the album a favourite. Not that the second half is necessarily worse... but still interesting to actually have it spelled out and visible like that and be able to think about it). And all in all Woofer definitely continues with a very similar kind of feeling and imagery as the previous release so I'm definitely a big fan of that aspect! I really like this album a whole bunch and revisit it a lot. Just making it clear here... just in case... that yes, I do like it, even if I don't have that many specific things to sing praise about this time, maybe? Or at least not as loudly. Who knows!

But ok, there actually IS another very important thing I can't forget to mention about Woofer. Because this is THE impressive Russell vocal moments album for me, or maybe more appropriately, Russell making sounds that are both impressive and intriguing in nature. That defintely makes it stand out even among all the other early 70s albums (which also have their own fair share of such moments of course). But I'll say more on those specific moments below.

And also, continuing the topic of seasons associations here too (for as long as I remember to inculde these here, I might forget about it pretty quickly however, maybe it's just that with some later albums the associations aren't as pronounced and important! Yeah, it could be that), this album is totally autumny to me, a sunny and warm sort of autumn but when most of the leaves have already fallen down. For once it's not the exact moment when I started listening to it that becomes the associatied season, huh? But even then, I can still hear some elements of late winter / very early spring here as well.

Favourite songs (and other highlights):

Girl From Germany (this is just THE sound of the summer kind of song for me, it just makes me instantly happy. Which I guess is kind of funny considering its subject matter but that's just how it is with Sparks and I think we all got used to that at this point)

Beaver O'Lindy (!!!!! no explanation needed, right)

Nothing Is Sacred (suuuuuper underrated, I especially love Russell's entire... whatever is going on at the end here, it's one of my favourite moments on the entire album)

Here Comes Bob (this is silly but at first whenever I heard this song I always pictured the character Bob from Animal Crossing going on a little stroll so that definitely makes it funnier)

Moon Over Kentucky (another timeless CLASSIC. I don't even know what to say about it, it's just so good. And has plenty of those vocal moments too for sure)

Batteries Not Included (not... really a favourite but I still wanted to give it a mention, because I think there's something very cool and unique about it, even besides being sort of a funny little... ugh, I hate to use this word but, novelty?? song (I can't find a better word for this that doesn't come af sort of derogatory but I hope you can see what I mean with this haha)). Oh, and of course it's the first on the list of "short intro" type of Sparks songs, which I always find quite great and memorable whenever they show up over the following years.

#i feel like i'm not giving it my best with these writeups yet #so hopefully i'll just get a better hang of it with time just like with the drawings!#because yeah beginning with the next one is when i actually start being happy with how they turn out. so that's something great #sparkstember 2024 #my art #goose monologues

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nalyra-dreaming · 4 months ago

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I have questions about the San Francisco flat, Armand mentioned Louis brings his victims here, in the hundreds, as if they have stayed in this one location for over a hundred days, Daniel said in season 1 that Louis "used to live in a dump" refering to that flat and in the book it is canon that this is where Louis brings hie victims, no human lives in this place

And yet, the kitchen looks lived in, there's cooking utensils on the counters and fresh bread too, it doesn't look like it has mold on it, if one of his early victims had gotten the bread just days before inviting Louis in for a hook up and ended up as dinner only for Louis to look around after and deciding he loles the place and the is going to keep it then Louis (or Armand) would have gotten rid of the bread or it would look spoiled, but it looks fresh

I know it's just a little detail but it's driving me crazy

Do you think it's just the set designers not having gotten enough info and therefore they made the place look like a human was living in there not that long ago?

Or is there more to it?

Memory is a monster and everything, do you think maybe we'll revisit this particular memory again from another point of view and that would be explained?

My tinfoil hat theory is the suicide attempt didn't actually happen the same night they meet Daniel but years after and either the three of them were living together by that point or that was Daniel's flat, I just love the idea of past devil minion arc including Louis and Armand making them both forget it because the whole thing made him feel too vulnerable and he can't have that, he can only let himself have vulnerability if it's play pretend

Ideas?

Mhhhh. I think that flat might have originally have belonged to a victim, yes, but the bread?

I think the bread is for what Louis did with it in Paris, namely feed (and capture) pigeons.

He is not eating them anymore at that point (or might not). But I can easily see this a habit then, because it is something that connects him to the time he lived with Claudia in Paris.

It could also be that we saw a kind of warped memory there which includes tidbits of their shared flat, true! But... I have a feeling the SF apartment was "only" the interview apartment.

I am not sure if I expect them to revisit tbh. I think if we have flashbacks to DM then other parts of the relationship more than this.

#Anonymous #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire #the devil's minion #armand #daniel molloy #devil's minion #pigeons #bread

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amarielebeau · 2 years ago

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Gambit, Mental Health & Trauma

(Prefacing this with this is my interpretation and analysis of Gambit as a character, past and current events. I've been a fan of roguegambit for over a decade- I love them both so much!!!!!)

Gambit is a character who has canonically experienced a lot of trauma- being abandoned by his parents, growing up on the streets, sold into slavery as a child, his first marriage failing, being exiled from his hometown, etc. (I could honestly go on for days.)

Yet, this is largely ignored by comic writers. In situations where his consent is violated, for example, it's brushed off as a silly haha, and he has no reaction to it whatsoever.

I think the reason his trauma is so unexplored is firstly, because he's a man, and secondly, a lot of these events happened in solo's written by men. Examples of this are Gambit (1999), when he was sold into slavery and Etienne died, as well as the Foxx storyline in X-Men (2004)- both were written by men.

Even in Astonishing X-Men (2017), after the Foxx storyline, Mystique claims -in a throwaway line- to have slept with Gambit presenting as twin sisters. His reaction is, "Wait, what? How?" and that's it. No one else in the group reacts, and it's never acknowledged again.

Personally, if I found out that the mother of my (ex-)partner, who sexually harassed me over an extended period of time in the past, had gone on to violate my consent in such a manner, I would be upset. To say the least.

It's only in more recent years that conversations about men's mental health and consent have begun to happen, so it's not much of a surprise to me (sadly) that events were ignored or brushed over in the past.

The reason for my pointing all of this out is in response to his characterisation in Rogue and Gambit (2023).

Thus far, rather than dealing with his trauma, Gambit has ignored it.

RG23 is the point where everything has caught up with him, and he doesn't know how to cope. I can understand why it might seem like he's suddenly being written as a completely different person- for a very emotionally-driven person, somehow, his trauma has never negatively affected him in the past.

However, to understand RG23, we need to revisit Knights of X (2022)- where Gambit's depression came to the forefront. In issue 1, we see Rogue has left a note stating, "Shug- Working late. Don't wait up - Cher". We see he's unhappy about this, it's not the first time, and it's what leads him to join KOX and travel to the otherworld. He's lonely.

This panel from issue 2 tells us everything we need to know about Gambit's headspace at that point in time. He misses Rogue, he doesn't believe she misses him, and he doesn't believe she loves him anymore.

Gambit has always struck me as the kind of person who desperately wants to be loved, but does not believe he is worth loving. At the beginning of his relationship with Rogue, he wanted her to love him, but he couldn't let himself emotionally invest in her.

This could be attributed to a whole number of things, but I think it all comes down to low self-worth. We know Gambit doesn't think of himself as a good person, which leads to him willfully making bad decisions at times (self-destructive behaviour). We also know that when he loves, he loves with everything he has and more.

After his exile from New Orleans, Gambit chose to abandon Bella Donna instead of bringing her with him. I think, from his perspective, he'd done irrevocable damage to the peace between their families, not to mention killing her brother. He couldn't allow her to sacrifice everything just to be with him, so he left her. Why? Because he didn't believe he deserved her love and dedication.

I'm certain this is a mindset Gambit took to all of his relationships going forward. Flirting, flings, and one night stands are an easy way to feel important for a minute without the risk of someone truly knowing him and deciding he isn't worth their time.

I think this is why it took him so long to admit to Rogue (and himself) that he was in love with her. I think this is also why we've seen him completely give up on communicating with her between KOX and RG23.

If Gambit starts a conversation with Rogue about their relationship, he's opening himself up to rejection. We know from RG23 issue 2's Rogue interview that she would never reject him (from her perspective their marriage is fine), but he doesn't know that. To hear the one person he loves most in the world outright say she doesn't love him anymore... It would break him completely. So, Gambit avoids the conversation.

In KOX issue 3, Gambit essentially killed himself to save his team.

Now, consider his mindset: he's in the Otherworld because he thinks Rogue doesn't love him anymore.

I'm not saying that directly led to him killing himself- as I said, he did so to save his team. However, I think it's safe to say if his mental health was in a better place, he wouldn't have made such a decision, let alone have gone to the Otherworld to begin with.

This page from KOX issue 5 highlights his feelings for Rogue. She's his heart. His reason to live. Compare her statue to all of his:

Rogue's statue is surrounded by light. There's no way anyone could miss seeing it versus his statues, representing multiple versions of himself- all of them are shrouded in darkness, no visible details.

Not only does Gambit not want people to see him, he wants them to look at Rogue. To Gambit, Rogue is the best part of him.

I'm not gonna pretend that's a healthy mindset. If anything, it further emphasises to me his low self-worth.

I want to point out this page for several reasons.

Firstly, it could be said that Gambit didn't want to be saved, and that's why his Death persona manifested to kill his team. He wanted to stay dead.

Secondly, Death is the very very worst part of him, yet he says, "You ain't really changed if you ain't looked in the mirror and seen the worst parts a' yo'self. I am Death, mes amis." He's essentially telling them that this terrible, awful person is who he's always been deep inside. We know this isn't true, but this is what Gambit believes.

Thirdly, as mentioned earlier, when Gambit slips into that belief of "I'm a horrible person", he often makes bad decisions. In RG23 issue 2 (set after KOX), we see him tie an innocent civilian's hand to a gas stove, turn it on and then set it on fire. Gambit knows this is a horrible thing to do, but he's in such a horrible mental state that he doesn't think he's above this behaviour. I will come back to this point.

Gambit asks how anyone new is coming to the Otherworld because the gate between Krakoa and the Otherworld was closed, and Betsy could only take ten of them. To partake on such a dangerous mission, Gambit chose to risk leaving everything behind without knowing if he'd even make it back alive.

In a sense, he abandoned Rogue in a similar way to abandoning Bella Donna. He went somewhere neither of them could reach him. Or supposedly couldn't.

Rogue was first to greet him after his revival. Gambit couldn't believe this because a) he thought he was dead, and b) why would Rogue, who is too busy for him, be the first to see him after his resurrection?

It's easy to think that this moment resolved Gambit's worries that Rogue didn't love him, and that, going forward, their problems were fixed, but as RG23 shows, it didn't. Rogue showing up for him once isn't enough to fix their current issues because the problem lies deeper than Rogue's absence.

At a superficial level, it's easy to blame her for Gambit's mental state, but I believe this depression he's fallen into has been a long time coming. Decades of unprocessed trauma, insecurity and self-destructive behaviour- literally dying and coming back to life, have culminated in the Gambit we see in RG23. To be honest, you have to be in a very very dark place to kill yourself, self-sacrifice or otherwise.

Issue 1 of All New X-Factor (2014) shows Gambit is no stranger to drinking and barfights. The difference is his mindset. We know he can win a fight against multiple people- we've seen that happen many times. So why, in RG23 issue 1, was he suddenly unable to block a punch, let alone hold himself upright?

Because he didn't want to win.

When Rogue arrives to rescue him, we learn multiple things. It's not the first time he's disappeared somewhere without telling her; it's not the first time she's found him so drunk he's incapacitated; it's not the first time she's had to save him from a fight he's not winning.

What this tells me is that Gambit is purposefully putting himself in dangerous situations as a form of self-harm. He doesn't tell Rogue where he's going because he doesn't want her to save him. He drinks to the point he can barely stand to make sure there's no way he can win a fight, and then he starts a fight to get the shit kicked out of him.

It almost seems like, in some sense, he still wants to die, but he can't kill himself. Not while he remains in limbo with Rogue.

It works both ways- if he never asks Rogue how she feels, he never finds out that he's right and that she doesn't love him. He also never finds out he's wrong and that she does love him.

It's important to add here, that Rogue is in a very difficult position.

RG23 issue 1: we can see Gambit actively shutting Rogue out. He calls it a "misunderstanding" and his "business". Despite the fact that they're married, Gambit is basically telling Rogue to stay out of it.

Again, he's shutting her out, making light of such a dangerous situation and then outright ignoring her. In fact, Gambit's completely disregarding her feelings. We can see Rogue is exhausted. It's hard to care about someone who doesn't care about themselves.

And Rogue does care. A lot. Every time Gambit goes missing she goes out to find him, saves him and then brings him home to take care of him.

But she can't help him if he won't let her.

When someone you love hurts themselves, it hurts you too, and Gambit is indirectly hurting Rogue, but he refuses to see that because he's decided that she doesn't care. In his spiral of self-destruction, he's completely shut down communication between them.

Asking for help is never easy to do, and we know he thinks she's too busy for him. He doesn't want to burden her with his issues.

Furthermore, he doesn't want to face his issues and resolve them.

In issue 2 of RG23, after losing their powers, Rogue is freed from the burden of having to consciously control them at all times, and we see them share a moment of physical intimacy.

I find his use of "tête-à-tête" here (French for "a private conversation") ironic because we all know they weren't talking.

Returning to what I said earlier about Gambit and flings- physical intimacy is an easy way to briefly fill the void of what he's missing in emotional intimacy.

I don't believe he suddenly views his relationship with Rogue as something akin to a fling. I think the opposite.

Gambit invests in their relationship physically but not emotionally because to him, that's the safest way he can connect with Rogue right now. Touch is his love language, and when he can't find the words to speak, physical intimacy is the best he can do.

Rogue and Gambit (2018) showed us that, back then, Rogue was the one struggling to communicate her feelings, and Gambit was always very open with her about where he stood, so why the role reversal?

We can see Rogue trying to communicate, but Gambit shuts her down, pushing her away.

By doing this and holding onto the idea that Rogue doesn't love or care about him anymore, Gambit is sub-consciously trying to ruin their relationship.

Given how much he loves Rogue and wants to be with her, this tells me he's still in a very dark headspace.

Going back to the statues being parts of himself he doesn't want anyone to see, as well as becoming Death once more, and finally confessing his core belief- that he can't change, he will always be a terrible person: Gambit's trapped himself in his own insecurity.

If he opens up to Rogue, he risks her seeing him for who he truly believes he is. What comes with that? Rejection.

Here, we see Gambit drinking once again. Rogue also mentions how, on one occasion, he argued with a sommelier over wine. In both issue 1 and 2 Gambit's use of alcohol has been highlighted in a negative light. It's an unhealthy coping mechanism.

Also, it's easy to look at this scene and think Rogue is the one who can't let loose and lighten up, but I think what's actually happening is Gambit is ignoring her feelings, as he did in issue 1. She has a drink and two glasses next to her on the table, so it's not as if they haven't already spent a considerable amount of time having fun there.

When Rogue says they should leave, Gambit's more interested in continuing his escapism- until Black Panther arrives, and he starts another drunken fight he can't win. A pattern has been established.

"He'll save her. He's a hero." is a very telling line that reveals why Gambit did what he did- because he's not a hero, and he knew the woman would be saved.

To reiterate, Gambit believes he is a terrible person who is not above doing terrible things. He does not change: he will always be who he was as Death. The worst of the worst.

By risking an innocent woman's life to save himself (and Rogue), he only furthers this belief.

We see here that Gambit looked back to check if Black Panther did indeed save the woman he endangered. Without looking at Rogue and speaking quietly (evidenced by the smaller writing and bubble), he says to himself, "He saved her." Because Gambit isn't the terrible person he thinks himself to be- he couldn't leave without knowing the woman was safe.

This is how we, the reader, know that Gambit hasn't suddenly changed and become a terrible person. He's struggling with his mental health and sense of identity after a lifetime of trauma.

Honestly, there are so many more traumatic events I could talk about.

There's a long list of people Gambit's lost- as mentioned before, in his 1999 solo, it was shown he was partly responsible for the death of his cousin, Etienne.

In X-Men (1991), we found out that, after a failed heist, Gambit was forced by Sabretooth to pick between saving his brother and saving Genevieve. He chose his brother, and she was killed.

In his 2012 solo, Gambit's love interest, Joelle, killed herself in front of him. In his 2022 solo, he failed to save his love interest, Marissa, and as a result, she became visibly disfigured.

It goes without saying events like the Morlock Massacre would've had a huge impact on his mental health and sense of self-worth too.

If you've read all of the above, you might be wondering why only now are we getting to see the repercussions of all this? Why does all this trauma suddenly matter?

Rogue and Gambit (2018) opened the doorway for exploring their issues as a couple. Mr and Mrs X (2018) gave Rogue an opportunity to revisit her trauma (and finally conquer her powers in the process). Now, I think it's Gambit's turn. At this point, he's surpassed rock bottom, and the only way up is finally confronting these issues.

Will everything I've mentioned here be explored in Rogue and Gambit (2023)? I doubt it. It's very plot-driven and only five issues long.

However, I do think the first step for him is resolving his communication issues with Rogue, which I'm certain will happen in RG23. Afterwards, it wouldn't surprise me if we see him continue to fight his own demons in future issues until he finds his closure.

IN CONCLUSION: I understand the frustration with Gambit's characterisation and why it may seem like he's suddenly become an entirely different person. I don't expect everyone to agree with everything I've said!!

This is my personal interpretation of everything- I'm not trying to blame the current situation entirely on Gambit and act like Rogue can't make a bit more effort.

Their issues are a lot more complicated than simply Rogue not spending enough time with him.

I look forward to seeing this develop further in RG23 :D

tl;dr in my opinion his characterisation so far in Rogue and Gambit (2023) makes sense following the ideas established in Knights of X (2022): Gambit is depressed, has a very low self-esteem, and doesn’t believe Rogue loves him anymore

#i hope this all makes sense my brain turned to mush towards the end #rogue #gambit #analysis #knights of x #rogue and gambit 2023 #remy lebeau #anna marie lebeau #romy #roguegambit

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insanityclause · 7 months ago

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Tom Hiddleston Says Revisiting Loki Was ‘An Honor,’ Thanks Co-Stars for ‘Chemistry and Inspiration’

Ahead of accepting Variety’s Virtuoso Award at the Miami Film Festival, Hiddleston reflects on previous roles and impactful creative collaboration.

By Jenelle Riley

Tom Hiddleston knows “Miami.” That is, all the words to the Will Smith song titled after the famous city — a video of him reciting the lyrics once broke the Internet (not an unusual occurrence for the actor.) That was in 2012 when he was doing press for “The Avengers,” the movie that would change his life and career. It was also the same tour that last brought him to the city — but that was a whirlwind two days of press. “I do recall promoting ‘Avengers’ in Spanish and the city had a great, unique energy,” he says. “I’m really excited to be back as an explorer.”

The British actor will be returning on April 9 to the Miami Film Festival to accept Variety’s Virtuoso Award for his career achievements and will participate in a Q&A at the Adrienne Arsht Center – Knight Concert Hall. Tickets are available here.

And while Miami is known for its food and culture, the actor has one thing on his mind. “What will the weather be like?” he queries of the town’s famously balmy temperatures. “Because I’m coming from the wettest February on record in London’s history.”

Hiddleston admits it’s somewhat ironic to be receiving the Virtuoso Award there, because “when somebody says ‘virtuoso,’ I think of a dazzling soloist in an orchestra, and I feel about as far from that image as it’s possible to imagine.”

He continues: “I am the opposite of a soloist, actually. I always feel like I’m at my strongest in a team. What we do is a collective creative act and the joy of it is in the shared imagination.”

This might explain why his resume is filled with standout ensemble pieces in every genre. Hiddleston’s worked on stage — he earned a Tony nomination for his 2019 Broadway debut in “Betrayal” — the SAG Award-nominated ensemble of “Midnight in Paris,” up through his most current turn as the God of Mischief in Season 2 of the Disney+ series “Loki.”

The second season’s finale, “Glorious Purpose,” remains the highest-rated episode ever in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and brought a conclusion to an epic character arc that has spanned 14 years of Hiddleston’s life. The actor, who also served as producer on both seasons, says it would have been impossible without his “deep bench” of castmates, which includes Owen Wilson, Sophia Di Martino and Season 2 addition Ke Huy Quan, Oscar-winner for “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”

“I don’t know who said it, but there’s the phrase: ‘If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together,’” he notes. “And it’s never been truer than for this show.”

Community and collaboration are perhaps his favorite aspects of the work. “I truly find the most interesting work I have discovered happens between people. You show up and ready and prepared, but you take that preparation onto the dance floor and see what there is between you. If I’ve done anything of value, it’s because of that chemistry and inspiration I receive from another actor.”

Hiddleston says that team spirit extends to his next project, “The Life of Chuck,” a big-screen adaptation of the Stephen King novella that also stars Karen Gillan, Mark Hamill and Chewitel Ejiofor. “I’m a lifelong tennis fan and I feel like being on set is like playing tennis,” Hiddleston notes. “It’s all about who you’re playing opposite and the energy back and forth between you. And I have some great partners on ‘The Life of Chuck.'”

As for continuing Loki’s story in a third season, it’s a question Hiddleston is asked pretty much every day — several times. “I truthfully don’t know,” he says. “I am so proud of where we landed in Season 2. To go from this lost, broken soul in Asgaard, and be given a second chance and learn so much about life that he actually gives himself to protect other people, has been such an honor.” For tickets to the conversation and Variety Virtuoso Award Presentation to Tom Hiddleston, visit here.

#tom hiddleston #miami film festival #virtuoso award

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coopigeoncoo · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Gender Neutral Reader

Rating: Teen+

Tags: Reader-Insert, Stalking, Kidnapping, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Psychological Torture (There is a plot for a character to get kidnapped and assaulted, but it doesn't actually happen), Sex Toys, Happy Ending

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A late night meal delivery to Pro Hero Shouto goes terribly wrong, leaving you trapped in a room together with no obvious means of escape. You find yourself holding out hope not just for a rescue, but also for Shouto to somehow stay oblivious to the massive crush you've had on him for months now.

With the outlook for you future growing increasingly hazy, one thing becomes pointedly clear:

You can't keep things bottled up forever.

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"It's true we don't know what might happen to us," Shouto admitted, his mismatched eyes locked onto yours; intense and mesmerizing. "But we'll face it together, okay?"

"Okay," you swallowed thickly. "But I think you definitely pulled the short straw as far as teammates go."

"Really?" Shouto asked, his eyes shining as he stared at you. "I don't think I could have chosen anyone better if I tried."

---

Continue reading below or follow the link to Ao3!

Society is built on a series of white lies, little untruths we tell ourselves to make life seem more bearable. Things like how good will always prevail over evil, that hard work equates to success, and that your Quirk didn't dictate the direction your life took.

You had some increasingly strong suspicions about those first two platitudes, but the fact that you had a teleportation Quirk and had only ever been hired for courier work left you feeling very certain that the last one was absolute bullshit.

Last month your boss had commemorated your third year of employment at Über Munch, a meal delivery service for Heroes, with a mesh bag half-full of dollar store candy and a keychain with the company logo on it in lieu of something you would actually appreciate.

Like a raise. Or a day off once and a while.

So you were feeling pretty unenthusiastic about work these days now that you knew how little your effort was actually valued by the suits down at the corporate office. You had never been this tempted to quit before and knew it would likely be a smart move to start sending out resumes and have something else lined up for when you eventually snapped, but it was hard to actually put forth the effort when you didn't totally hate your job most days.

Your Quirk, Revisit, allows you to instantaneously travel to anywhere you've walked before. It made some aspects of your job easier, like quickly delivering meals directly to Hero agencies in the major metropolitan area; but it didn't make it effortless. Some orders were just more difficult to fulfill than others.

A call from Fat Gum always requires multiple trips from a handful of different restaurants to fulfill, a task that left you winded and lightheaded from both the quantity of food you had to carry and overusing your Quirk. But he always tipped generously, which was more than you could say for other Heroes. Accepting an order from Vine would guarantee that you would end up dumped on the edge of some overgrown forest with a bag of vegetable samosas in one hand and a compass in the other, rewarded for all your trouble with an evangelical comic tract once you'd actually managed to track her down.

But then there were the clients you didn't mind getting calls from. Mt. Lady never ordered meals, she just wanted someone to drop off a bottle of her favorite bargain brand rosé on her days off so she could focus on relaxing. She'd answer the door in an old pair of sweatpants with a clay mask pasted thickly across her face, a rom-com blaring in the background as she accepted her delivery. It was a charmingly domestic view of a woman most often seen splashed across the covers of beauty magazines.

And then there was your favorite client of all, Todoroki Shouto. Every Tuesday and Thursday the same request would ping across the screen of your work phone: cold soba with extra ginger to be delivered to his agency precisely at eight thirty, which was when he took a break from his nightly paperwork. You'd started to become friendly over the course of your routine interactions, sharing courteous greetings and anecdotes from your respective work weeks. Shouto's stories were always more engaging than yours, but he was polite enough to laugh and offer commiseration at the appropriate points as he unpacked his dinner.

You tried to appreciate Shoto's companionship without interpreting his gentle smiles and welcoming demeanor as anything other than what they were; a show of kindness from a good man. But every time Shouto gifted you with a glimpse of his pearly whites you couldn't stop the sudden hitching of your breath, mind racing with snippets of impossible dreams you couldn't help but crave.

It was easy to let yourself imagine being with him; waking up in a tangle of limbs as early morning light streamed across your bedspread from between the too-wide gaps in your blinds. Knowing your breath was sour from sleeping but kissing him anyway, too needy for his attention to wait until after you'd brushed your teeth.

But you know life isn't like it is in the fairy tales. Princes don't marry peasants and pedigree Heroes don't end up with minimum wage service workers. You'd keep on delivering Shouto's noodles twice a week until inevitably, a year or two down the road, the tabloids would be saturated with news of his engagement to some super model or socialite. That was what was expected; what he deserved.

But you could, and would, fantasize about what could have been if things were just a little bit different. If you were richer or more successful. If you hadn't been too scared to take the entrance exams for placement at a Hero School. If you existed in the same social stratosphere as each other.

They were nice, those little flights of fancy you allowed yourself; the small sprinkles of sweetness that made the bitter taste of reality more palatable. You made time for one more brief daydream; a vision of gentle sighs and entwined fingers, before you dug your phone out of your pocket. Thumb swiping across the screen, you bring up your work app and see a new notification light up your screen: a request for cold soba with extra ginger.

With a weary sigh, you clutched your phone to your chest, screwed your eyes shut, and disappeared in a shower of sparks.

You'd become a regular feature around Shouto's agency, recognized on sight by the security guards and night cleaning crew. So the sudden appearance of a new receptionist next to the doors to Shouto's office was a jarring change in an otherwise predictable delivery routine. A sharp looking woman had replaced his usual assistant, the round-faced and rounder-bellied Mrs. Yamori; a devastatingly friendly and heavily pregnant woman with a heteromorphic gecko Quirk.

Customer service smile firmly in place, you approached the desk, checking the gleaming name plaque set in front of her.

"Hello, Ms. Yokubou!" You greeted cheerily, startling the receptionist who had been focused on sorting through a small pile of mail. "Did Mrs. Yamori go on maternity leave already?"

"How am I supposed to know?" The woman snapped, carefully placing a small box at the top of the stack. "I'm here to help Shouto, not spread office gossip."

"Right," you coughed nervously in the face of her hostility. "Well, I have his dinner. So I'll just go ahead and knock."

"Dinner?" She hissed, swiveling her chair to face the monitor on the left side of the desk. "There isn't any mention of dinner on his schedule and I certainly didn't call you."

"I don't know what to tell you. I deliver Mr. Todoroki's dinner every Tuesday and Thursday at this time," you sighed, pleasant demeanor slipping as this conversation eroded what little was left of your patience after a long day.

"Well, not today you don't," Yokubou sniffed, waving you away with a dismissive hand. "Shouto is simply too busy this evening. You may go."

"Listen, even if I wanted to go, Über Munch guarantees delivery to Heroes. That's sort of their entire business plan."

"I told you that your services won't be necessary!" Yokubou screeched, reaching her hand towards the receiver on her desk. "Don't make me call security!"

"Would you, actually? They know me down there and it seems like getting a third party involved might help speed things up a bit."

Yokubou's brow twisted as she pulled the desk phone up to her ear, but whatever sort of retort she had poised on the tip of her tongue evaporated the moment Shouto's office door opened and he stuck his head out curiously.

"Shouto!" She crooned, rolling her shoulders back to push her chest further out, the top buttons on her fitted blouse struggling under the added pressure. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you! But I have everything under control and-"

"There you are," Shouto sighed in relief as his gaze landed on you, pointedly ignoring the antics of his receptionist. "I was starting to get worried."

"Sorry I'm late," you said, holding the bag out for him to take. "This is normally the part where I would apologize for your food getting cold, but it was already cold to start with, so I'm just going to skip that bit."

Shouto accepted his dinner with an amused huff, fingers brushing yours as the bag changed hands.

"Would you like to come in?" Shouto asked, pushing the door to his office open wider. "I need some help on today's crossword puzzle. There's a lot of pop culture questions that I don't know the answers to."

"You can't, Shouto! Not tonight! You're far too busy!" His receptionist said, shooting to a standing position and grabbing the pile of mail into her arms. "There's something important here that needs your immediate attention."

"Is there, now?" Shouto hummed thoughtfully, shifting the bag with his soba into the crook of his arm so he could accept the towering stack of mail.

"And I'm sure you need privacy to open classified mail," Yokubou insisted, squeezing herself into the space between you and Shouto.

"It'll be fine," Shouto assured her with a tight smile. "I'll just save all the top secret letters until I'm alone."

"But-!"

"That will be all for today, Ms. Yokubou," Shouto dismissed, reaching around her to place a palm between your shoulder blades and guide you into his office.

"No! You don't understand!" Yokubou wailed, clawing at the stack of mail Shouto held securely to his chest, trying to pry the missives away from him.

"I understand that it has been a very long day and you must be exhausted. Go home and rest and we'll talk about your lack of professionalism first thing in the morning," Shouto said sternly, shutting the door quickly behind him and engaging the lock with one swift motion. He ignored the pounding knocks that shook the door in its frame and the repeated frantic cries of 'Shouto!' as he made his way across the room, depositing the contents of his arms down onto his desk before collapsing into his office chair with a bone weary sigh.

"Well she sure is…something," you offer diplomatically.

"Fired is what she is," Shouto laughed dryly, scrubbing his hands furiously across his face. "That woman has been an absolute menace since day one. I tried to give her a chance to settle in, but it's beyond obvious that this job isn't a good fit for her."

"She only started on what? Friday?"

"Saturday," Shouto corrected, prying the lid off of his dinner and happily sniffing the ginger-covered noodles. "And since then she's thrown away all my fanmail, canceled a joint interview I had with Creati, and she keeps finding excuses to barge into my office. I've had to start locking my door."

"Yikes," you said, wincing in sympathy and a fair amount of second hand embarrassment. "How long is Mrs. Yamori supposed to be gone?"

"Too long," Shouto groaned, pulling out a set of disposable chopsticks and snapping them neatly in half. "Do you think I could convince her to come back to work early if I hire her baby too?"

"I'm fairly certain that's illegal. Child labor and all that," you laughed, pulling one of the guest chairs up to the front of Shouto's desk and spinning the abandoned crossword around to glance at the clue columns. "Plus, babies cry a lot. It would probably be pretty disruptive."

"It couldn't be worse than my current situation," Shouto grumbled, the faint sounds of Yokubou's wailing still audible in the background.

"I suppose the dental coverage for a baby would be pretty cheap," you muse, penciling in the answer for number thirty-two down. "They don't have any teeth."

"I wonder what's in that mail pile that had Ms. Yokubou so wound up," you pondered, tapping the pencil eraser against your cheek thoughtfully.

"Good question," Shouto said, using the cheap paper napkin to dab primly at his lips even though you were fairly certain he didn't get a single particle of food on his face with how carefully he ate. "I thought she had slipped a confession letter into the stack, but all that's here is official mail and a couple of packages."

"Maybe one of those then?"

"Maybe," Shouto mused, separating out the parcels in question. "But I am expecting some deliveries. My Mother's birthday is coming up and I'm having her gifts shipped here so she doesn't stumble upon them when she visits my apartment."

"I guess the only way to know for sure is to open them," you say, tossing your pencil down in defeat and refocusing your attention onto Shouto as he picked up an envelope mailer and ripped open the tab. Reaching into the envelope, Shouto pulled out a small paperback novel.

"It's the next volume in her favorite book series," he explained, setting the book aside with a smile. "I pulled some strings and got her an advanced copy."

"The ladies in her book club are going to be so jealous!"

"I know," Shouto grinned fiendishly in delight, the mischievous glint in his eye making your stomach muscles clench wickedly.

"And uh, what's in the last box?" You ask, trying to focus on anything other than your misplaced desire for the man in front of you.

"Let's see, shall we?" Shouto said, slicing open the packing tape with a large set of shears from his desk drawer. Carefully reaching in through the layers of tissue paper, Shouto pulls out a long glass bottle. It's overly ornate, with pink tinted glass and gilded edges, the sort of thing your grandmother would have proudly displayed on her vanity while smacking your small hand away for trying to touch it without permission.

"It's lovely," you say, only half-lying as you watched the golden tassel tied around the middle sway back and forth. "What's it for?"

"Perfume, I think?" Shouto guessed, face scrunched up as he examined the bottle closely. "I ordered the type Fuyumi told me to, but I don't remember it looking like this on the webpage?"

"Maybe it's a limited edition?" You suggest. "Or they noticed who was ordering and upgraded you to the deluxe version with like, extra ambergris or something?"

"I hope not. That would throw the fragrance completely off balance," Shouto winced, viscerally imagining the perfume you described. "Better check and make sure this isn't the deluxe edition."

And with those words, Shouto grasped the stopper on the bottle and pulled; a plume of thick yellow smoke billowing out from the mouth of the bottle. Gasping in surprise, you accidentally inhaled the spreading vapor; skin prickling painfully as you lost control of your limbs and tumbled to the floor. The last thing you saw before your vision blurred and unconsciousness claimed you was Shouto reaching out across the floor towards your prone body; shirt pulled over his nose and mouth in an effort to filter out the unknown gas.

Untold minutes passed before the smoke finally dissipated. And when it did, there was no trace of you or Shouto left. Just a shiny pink bottle with it's stopper wedged firmly in place, glimmering cheerily in the warm light of Shouto's office.

You woke up suddenly, contorted into an uncomfortable position on the floor with your clothes clinging to your clammy skin. Head pounding and stomach churning, you take in a deep breath and then promptly regret it as you inhale a lung-full of incredibly potent incense smoke.

"Ugh," you coughed, nose twitching as you got hit by another low-hanging cloud of patchouli. With one last sputter you shifted your focus to examine the room around you. The walls were an eye watering bright pink and every horizontal surface, from the tables to the numerous book shelves mounted to the walls, were stuffed full of flickering candles and arrangements of waxy-petaled lilies.

"Are you okay?" Shouto asked, voice calling out from behind the other side of the circular bed frame you were laying next to.

"I dunno'," you mumble, pausing to let out a tiny belch that seemed to help settle your stomach. "I think so?"

"Good," Shouto stated, voice still commanding despite its breathy quality. "Can you walk?"

"Let me try," you said as you went to roll over onto your side, only to discover that your body wasn't responding the way it should; your limbs dragging and heavy. Panic flooded your body, blood thrumming hotly in your ears as you once again tried, and failed, to roll. Exerting more concentrated effort than you ever had before in your life, you managed to slowly rock over onto your shoulder; body now facing towards the bed.

Whatever gratification you felt from your accomplishment was quickly forgotten as you realized that your heaving gasps of exhaustion were slowly pushing you off balance, sending you toppling face first into the shiny wooden bedframe. Your forehead landed with a dull thunk; the shock of the impact intensified by the headache throbbing sharply behind your eyes.

"Ouch," you hissed through your teeth, sucking up the pain as best you could. "Moving appears to be beyond me at the moment."

"That's okay," Shouto said, his voice dropping a decibel or two into a more comforting timbre. "Wait there. I'll come to you."

The one good thing about your fall was that it positioned your head closer to the foot of the bed, so you could watch as Shouto grasped handfuls of the carpet in his fists, pulling himself slowly into view with great heaving breaths. His strength finally gave out an arms length away from you, his fingers creeping along the floor until they collided with yours.

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes, the embarrassing result of too many big feelings fighting against each other to be felt first- sadness and frustration and fear and utter relief when Shouto's fingers curled around your own.

"You don't need to cry," Shouto soothed, his thumb rubbing small circles into the back of your hand.

"I don't think I can stop," you sobbed, sucking in huge lungfuls of the incense-spiked air.

"That's okay, too."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm," Shouto hummed. "I'm told that crying can be very therapeutic. Do you feel any better?"

"No," you snorted, trying to downplay the telltale blubber of mucus collecting in the back of your throat.

"Do you need to cry some more then?"

You nodded as emphatically as you could with the feeble muscles in your neck, and then opened your mouth and let out a piercing wail; tears streaming down your face and soaking quickly into the plush carpet fibers.

"Can you use your Quirk?" You sniffed, tears dried and tacky on your skin. You'd tried to wipe them away but only managed to poke yourself in the eye instead. "Because mine isn't working."

"No," Shouto growled in frustration, eyes narrowed at his hands as though they had personally betrayed him. "I'm hoping we'll regain control of them once our bodies recover."

"If we recover," you mutter dismally, shifting your gaze reluctantly towards Shouto when you felt him squeeze your hand tightly to gain your attention.

"It's true we don't know what might happen to us," Shouto admitted, his mismatched eyes locked onto yours; intense and mesmerizing. "But we'll face it together, okay?"

"Okay," you swallowed thickly. "But I think you definitely pulled the short straw as far as teammates go."

"Really?" Shouto asked, his eyes shining as he stared at you. "I don't think I could have chosen anyone better if I tried."

At Shouto's insistence, you began doing little exercises in an attempt to kick start your muscles back into working order. You started small, with toe curls and rotating your arms in little circles. Everything was slightly numb and hard to control, a little like how your cheeks felt after you had a cavity filled at the dentist.

"I'm scared, Shouto," you whispered as you lifted your forearm a paltry couple inches off of the floor. Shouto had already graduated to doing floppy bicep curls, but that was the difference in athletic ability between a Pro Hero and someone who's preferred marathon experience involved popcorn and a handful of movies. "Where do you think we are?"

"I don't know," he grunted from exertion, sweat beading at his temples. "But I have a couple of theories about how we got here."

"What're you thinking?"

"It's obviously some sort of Quirk at work," he gasped. "You're a Teleporter, right? Could it be something like that, do you think?"

"No. It's not teleportation," you groaned, arms collapsing limply onto the floor as you burned through the last of your energy. "I'm in an online chat group with a bunch of other Teleporters and we all have the same basic experience. And this is not it."

"Really?" Shouto said, pausing in his exercises to join your brief respite. "That's fascinating."

"Yeah. I guess rearranging all your atoms is a complex enough process there's just one way it works correctly."

Shouto huffed, staring up at your reflections in the large mirror that covered the entire ceiling. "What's it like? Teleporting, I mean?"

"I- it's sort of hard to explain," you say, wrinkling up your nose in thought. "So, like, imagine if people were made entirely out of sand."

"That sounds awful," Shouto grimaced. "Can you imagine what it would feel like if your tongue was made out of sand? Everything would taste gritty."

"It isn't literal," you huff. "You can imagine anything small. Rocks, sugar-"

"Rice," Shouto interrupted, nodding resolutely.

"Yeah, sure. Rice. Imagine people are made out of rice. Teleporting is like, if every single one of those grains just scattered," you try to wave your hand around for emphasis but only succeed in making it flop on the ground like a dying fish. "But they aren't lost. I know where every single last one is, no matter how far away it wandered. And I can just pull them all back together again, wherever I choose."

"And it doesn't make you feel like all your muscles have atrophied?"

"No, not at all," you say, letting your head loll from side to side in an exaggerated shake. "I'm just- letting myself fall apart. I'm like ice when it starts to melt; shifting and warm."

"Oh," Shouto said, a sudden ring of clarity in his tone. "That's a nice feeling."

"Yeah, it is."

Eventually, you and Shouto progressed to being able to move around on the carpet. Shouto had worked himself up into a crawling position while you had adopted the much less elegant solution of wiggling around like a worm. You could tell by his puffed up cheeks and pointedly averted stare that he was barely holding back laughing at your expense.

"Don't you dare laugh at me," you warned him, butt stuck up in the air as you wiggled your shoulders from side to side to achieve forward momentum.

"I'm- I'm not," Shouto lied, wheezing with every inch he crawled towards a distant dresser.

"Please," you scoffed. "I went to middle school. I know what it looks like to be laughed at. You could at least have the decency to do it to my face."

"Right, sorry," Shouto apologized, turning his head to look at you and promptly losing all composure; crashing to the ground as his laughter wracked his body and threw him off balance. He landed hard on his shoulder, still too uncoordinated to break his fall well.

"Ow!" He snorted out between guffaws, body shaking as he rubbed at his shoulder with limp fingers. "That- that hurt."

"Serves you right," you mutter peevishly, pushing your derriere further into the air to power your next creep forward. "I'm going to beat you to the dresser. That'll teach you to laugh at me."

"No," Shouto gasped, stumbling back onto his hands and feet. "I'm gonna- gonna get there first."

"Oh yeah?" You countered, summoning up your go-to school yard taunt like the paragon of maturity you were.

"Yeah," he shot back, the call of competition doing a lot to sober his demeanor as he rocked on his hands and took a shaky shuffle forward.

"Hey, Shouto!" You called, waiting until he was looking at you before you wiggled your butt from side-to-side as much as you could without toppling over. Shouto, not anticipating your underhanded maneuver, collapsed face first into the shag rug, the long fibers muffling his delirious cackling.

"Cheater!" He cried out.

"Winner!" You laughed, sliding forward onto your belly and making a good headway towards the dresser, steadfastly ignoring Shouto's calls for a do-over.

Shouto had predictably rallied and beaten you to the dresser like the finely tuned muscle machine he was, but you were proud to say you had given him a run for his money. The two of you now sat propped up against the dresser, bodies slumped against each other for an additional layer of support. You'd passed a fair bit of time by guessing how many flowers were crammed into each vase and then counting to see who came the closest.

"Aaaaaand that's another round to me!" You proclaimed, nudging Shouto sharply. with your elbow when you heard him grumble discontentedly.

Todoroki Shouto, it turned out, was a very sore loser.

"One more time," he pouted, looking around the room for another cluster of lilies to tabulate. "Best fourteen out of twenty-seven."

"Yeah, I can agree to that. Because I've already won fourteen times," you reminded him smugly.

"This game is silly," Shouto grumbled, managing to cross his arms across his chest petulantly on the second try. "I don't want to play anymore."

"Fine by me," you yawned, only slapping yourself in the face a little as you tried to cover your mouth. "I'm getting tired anyway."

"Go ahead and sleep," Shouto said, nudging your shoulder with his own until your head slid down into the cradle of his neck. It was wildly uncomfortable and far too intimate for your level of acquaintance, but you'd sooner eat your shirt than complain about it. "I'll take first watch."

"Watch for what?" You grumble, already well on your way to being unconscious. "There aren't even any doors."

"Or windows," Shouto added with a frustrated sigh as he dropped his head down onto yours, smushing your cheek into the hard edge of his clavicle.

"Righ'," you mumble as your eyelids droop shut. "No win'ows."

"And I suppose if anyone was going to come in and kill us, they would have done that while we were lying defenseless on the floor."

Your eyes shoot open, all traces of exhaustion banished as you pry yourself away from Shouto and scramble into a more upright position.

"What's wrong?" He asked with genuine concern. "I thought you were tired?"

"I was, until someone started talking about us being killed," you laughed dryly, eyes darting around the room suspiciously, cataloging all the places a person could be laying in wait. There weren't a lot, but the privacy screen next to the chaise lounge was looking a little too sinister for your liking.

"No, I specifically said that we likely wouldn't be murdered."

"Yeah, but you still mentioned the killing part! And now I can't stop thinking about it!" You babbled anxiously, trying to calm your rabbit-fast heartbeat with a couple of deep breaths. "This is probably the closest I've ever been to being murdered before, so a little bit of panic feels justified!"

"There is a strong correlation between kidnapping and murder," Shouto nodded.

"Do you- do you think that's comforting?" You screech, hysteria ratcheting up another few notches.

"I- no?" Shouto said, voice pitching high in uncertainty. "But it is statistically significant!"

With a pitiful whine, you drop your head down into your mostly stable hands, doing your best to hold back another round of water works. Shouto, at a loss about what to say, drops his hand onto your back.

"There, there," he says, rubbing his palm slowly down your spine

"Now this- this is comforting," you sigh, arching your spine against his trailing hand.

"I'm glad," Shouto smiled. "This is how I pet stray cats, too. It's good to finally get some feedback on my technique."

"Now that we're back on our feet-," Shouto began, watching anxiously as you stumbled and were forced to grab onto a floor lamp for support. "-mostly, anyway. I think it would be a good idea for us to look around the room more thoroughly."

"Sounds good," you say, glancing at the lamp cord and wondering how far you explore while keeping your makeshift crutch plugged in. "Is there anything in particular we're looking for?"

"I'm not sure," Shouto said, setting his sights on the dresser drawers. "We know so little about our current situation that any information at all would be helpful."

"Right," you said, still unsure about what exactly to do, but not wanting to hinder Shouto's progress any further. You decided to inspect behind the privacy screen that had made you uneasy earlier. It was a tall thing that stretched far over your head, white wicker edges nearly scraping the mirrored ceiling.

"Finding anything interesting," you panted over your shoulder as you took another baby step towards the screen, dragging your support lamp along with you.

"No!" Shouto yelped, slamming the top drawer he'd been staring into shut. "I mean, yes. There are things. But they aren't important. They're uh-," he paused to cough uneasily into a loose fist. "They're- intimacy supplies."

"Ah, sex toys," you nod, turning back to face your destination and give Shouto what little privacy you could to work through his embarrassment. "Say no more."

"I- yes. Thank you."

"But that opens up an entirely new realm of possible explanations," you grunt, tired but excited by your continued progress across the room. "Like, did we get knocked out by the gas from that bottle and dropped into a love hotel or something? As a joke?"

"A love hotel?" Shouto screeched.

"Yeah. They're normally all schmaltzy and themed like this," you explain, gesturing vaguely to the abundance of bright pink decor. "Normally that theme isn't Barbie Escape Room, but I'm not here to kink shame."

"I think you maybe should have taken on the dresser inspection. I'm completely out of my element here," Shouto lamented, holding up a large paddle for you to see. "I can't even begin to imagine why there's a cutting board in here."

"Oh, that's not-"

"Actually," Shouto interrupted, holding up a hand to halt your explanation. "I don't think I want to know."

Shouto continues to rifle through the drawers, utterly befuddled and horrified in equal turns when you finally reach your destination.

"Alright," you said, mustering up the courage to peer behind the screen. "Let's see what's going on behind here."

You push the right side of the screen back slowly with your still weak arms, panels buckling at the hinges as it folded itself up like an accordion.

"Any murderers tucked away back there," Shouto teases, weighing a comically large steel buttplug in his hand.

"Not a murderer, no," your voice trembling with mounting horror as you step out of the way, allowing Shouto to see around you for the first time. The wall behind the screen was full of pictures of Shouto, hundreds of them pieced together into a collage of obsession. Magazine covers, promo pictures, and selfies from Shouto's official social media accounts were all present in the mashup; but far more distressing were the inclusions of what had to be candid shots of the Hero.

Blurry and over processed snapshots of Shouto shirtless that had been taken through his apartment window, spoon hanging from his mouth as he ate a cup of yogurt.

A far away street shot with him and a friend- you couldn't tell who it was exactly because they had been scribbled over with a pen so many times they had worn a hole in the paper; the bright pink of the walls visible through the missing space where a person should be.

Classified photographs detailing the injuries sustained in the line of duty that had been copied from official Commission files; terrible, gruesome things of Shouto bruised and bloodied and at his most vulnerable.

"You have a stalker, Shouto," you whispered.

"Oh," Shouto said numbly, the butt plug falling from between his fingers and hitting the top of the dresser with a loud thud. "Then this isn't a love hotel then," he paused and swallowed thickly, eyes glazed with an emotion you couldn't recognize as he stared at the wall behind you. "This is supposed to be my prison."

Things had only gotten worse from there. Now that you realized the purpose of the room, you were unable to unearth all sorts of hidden features that made your skin crawl. Hooks carved into the delicate filigree on the bed frame that were obviously made for handcuffs, a box of truffles with tiny syringe marks poked into the bottom, and a set of menacingly sharp sewing scissors tucked away in the bedside table drawer.

Your stomach was churning painfully, but you couldn't tell if it was from hunger or fear.

Not really knowing what else to do, you fumbled over towards the bed and collapsed onto it, nearly sliding off the slick satin duvet cover. A frantic scramble had kept you from dropping onto the floor, but it was a near thing. You watched as Shouto slid down onto the ground, a blank look on his face as he positioned his hands by his ears and began doing crunches.

"Are you- are you okay?" You ask from your sprawled out position on the bed. You'd tried to make eye contact with him through the mirror ceiling, but his gaze remained stubbornly averted to a blank spot on the wall you couldn't understand his interest in.

"I'm fine," he grunted through clenched teeth, forcing his shoulders up off the floor.

"You don't have to be."

"Yes I do!" Shouto bellowed, startling you as he threw himself down onto the floor, hands fisting in his hair in frustration. "You're trapped in here because of me! It's my responsibility to get you out safely and I can't do it if I'm like this!" He said, waving a hand down at his sluggish body.

"None of this is your fault," you assure Shouto, sliding to the edge of the bed and peering down towards him. "You're just as much a victim here as I am."

"You shouldn't even be a victim in the first place."

"Yeah, me being here obviously wasn't what your stalker had planned," you said, suppressing a shudder as you stared briefly at the collage of photos before reaching down and taking Shouto's hand into your own. "But I'm glad. I'm glad that it's me here with you, instead of- instead of them."

"I'm glad it's you, too," Shouto whispered, squeezing your hand tightly. "And not just because you don't have any plans to torture me."

"Being trapped in a room with me is torture enough," you joke, lazily swinging your interlocked hands back and forth in the air. "There's no need to overdo it."

There are faint memories of some long ago humanities class echoing in the back of your brain; something about needing to have your basic needs met before you're able to consider any other, arguably more important, matters. So while you understood that you were likely waist-deep in mortal peril and should be very worried about your long term health and wellbeing, you were far more concerned about the fact that you really had to pee.

Like, right now.

"Hey, Shouto?" You clear your throat nervously, not entirely sure how to broach the subject of bodily fluids with the top-ranked Hero laying on the bed next to you. "I, uh- have something I need to say. But it's sort of embarrassing?"

"Oh?" Shouto asked curiously, turning his head to face you, your noses nearly brushing. "What is it?"

"Well, I just- I know that a lot is happening right now, and I don't want to burden you anymore than I already am, but I just don't think I can hold it in any longer."

"Tell me," Shouto whispered breathlessly, his eyes wide as he watched you nibble on your lower lip nervously.

"I-"

"Yes?" He said imploringly, face inching closer to yours.

"I really need to pee!" You cry out loudly, sending Shouto reeling back from the force of your sudden screech.

"Oh- uh," he stammers. "That's, hmm."

"God," you whine, covering your face with your hands. "This is so embarrassing!"

"There's no need to be embarrassed," Shouto rushed to assure you, grasping your wrists gently to pull them away from your face. "I'm sorry, I should have reacted better."

"It's fine," you mutter sheepishly as you peer up at him from under your lashes. "It's gross and uncomfortable and I shouldn't have just blurted it out like that."

"No, it's not that- I was just caught a bit off guard. I thought you were going to say something different," Shouto admits with a wistful sigh.

"Like what? That I need to poop?"

"No," he snorts, pushing himself to the edge of the bed and standing with relative ease. "Don't worry about it right now. Let's just focus on finding a place for you to relieve yourself."

"I'd suggest just picking a corner like animals do, but that doesn't seem like a viable option in a round room."

"We'll just have to get creative then, won't we?" Shouto smiled, lifting up one of the largest vases of lilies and flipping it upside down; water and flowers spilling onto the floor at his feet in a soggy clump.

Shouto had originally set up your makeshift chamber pot behind the creepy stalker screen to give you some semblance of privacy, which was incredibly thoughtful of him. But the idea of peeing in front of one Shouto was hard enough, there was no way you could ever possibly bring yourself to pee in front of hundreds of little Shoutos pasted onto the wall. So the two of you combined your minimal strength together and managed to pull one side of the tall dresser away from the wall, creating a triangular little hidey-hole you hurriedly wedged yourself into.

"Don't look!" You called out over your shoulder, already pulling your zipper down before he could spin around fully.

"I won't," Shouto promised, staring dutifully across the room. With nothing more engaging to stare at, you join him in spectating the wall you were squeezed against. The pink paint had some sort of iridescent sparkles mixed into it that caught every flickering candle flame and created a hazy sort of glow that did nothing to help alleviate the headache you'd been nursing since you first woke up. The effect wasn't any less assaulting up close, so you were in the process of averting your eyes when the light behind you suddenly shifted; Shouto's dark shadow passing over you and catching on some strange divots on the otherwise smooth surface of the wall.

Hesitantly, you raise your hand and run your fingers across the wall, watching the route your fingertips take as they follow the nearly invisible grooves.

"Letters!" You gasp in excitement. "Shouto! There are letters on the wall!"

"Where?" Shouto demands, appearing over your shoulder in a flash, heedless of the fact that you were still mid-piss.

"Ahhh! No peeking! NO PEEKING!"

"Sorry! I'm so sorry!"

After you had emerged from your commode and dunked your hands into a bowl full of lily water to cleanse them, you and Shouto set about moving the dresser further from the wall to accommodate both your bodies as you squinted thoughtfully at the letters.

"They're really hard to make out through the shimmery paint," you grumble, waving a candle around to see if a different light position would make it any easier to read.

It didn't.

"I think that's the point," Shouto hummed thoughtfully. "They used paint and a dresser to hide the message, so they really didn't want us to discover what's written here."

You both stared at the shimmery wall for a moment longer before inspiration suddenly struck.

"I have an idea," you said, wobbling away to the other side of the room on stiff legs and returning moments later, the box of drugged chocolates tucked underneath your arm.

"Take one," you instructed Shouto as you pulled the lid off the box; selecting a dark chocolate truffle for yourself.

"I know things seem bad, but poisoning ourselves isn't the answer. Yet," Shouto added grimly, staring down into the box with a deep frown.

"I'm not gonna- ugh! Just watch!" You huff, placing your truffle onto the wall and smearing it over the letters with firm strokes. The chocolate transferred easily onto the wall, leaving brown streaks across the pink paint but skipping over the recessed grooves of the letters.

"Clever," Shouto smirked proudly, a sight that you stared at for longer than was strictly appropriate; permanently etching every last detail of this moment into your memory.

Chocolates in hand, you and Shouto began scribbling across the wall like two poorly supervised toddlers, the message slowly coming into focus as the number of truffles in the box quickly dwindled. The message was much larger than you had originally anticipated and you were a bit worried that you were going to run out of chocolates before the message was fully revealed. But in the end you were left with half a truffle and a bit of doggerel poetry outlined in cocoa:

A love confession you must tell,

If you wish to break the bottle's spell.

Sweet nothings alone just will not do,

You're trapped until your words are true.

"Well, I don't know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn't rhyming couplets," you admit, rubbing your sticky hands onto a nearby tufted throw pillow.

"The bottle," Shouto stated confidently, following your lead and wiping his hands on a decorative curtain. "The one I opened in my office earlier. The poem leads me to believe that we're inside of it."

"I- I suppose that makes sense," you admit, thinking back on the bottle you'd briefly seen. "You opening that bottle is the last thing I remember before waking up here."

"Removing the stopper must have been the trigger for the Quirk that trapped us to activate."

"That's why Ms. Yokubou was so insistent about getting into your office! She knew about the bottle!" You gasped, spinning to face Shouto. He didn't look too surprised by the revelation.

"She knew what the bottle did and likely intended to be here in your place," he nodded somberly. "Ms. Yokubou is definitely the most likely suspect."

"Really?" You scoff incredulously. "'The most likely suspect?' It's blatantly obvious that she's the one behind all of this."

"I took an oath to uphold the presumption of innocence. Ms. Yokubou isn't guilty unless she's proven so in a court of law," Shouto insisted with a sour look on his face, his morals at war with what he knew was true.

"Well, I didn't take an oath," you informed him proudly, puffing out your chest and resting your hands on your hips. "So I'm free to say that she's a creepy, rotten, low-down, guilty, bitch."

"Yes, you certainly can say that," Shouto grinned brilliantly. You tried to return a smile with similar intensity, but considering how rough you looked in the ceiling mirror after a full day of work and captivity you're positive it's no match for Shouto's natural radiance. But from the small sparkle you saw appear in the corner of his eye, it seemed that Shouto appreciated your efforts just the same.

"Are your hands starting to tingle?" You ask worriedly, staring down at the sharply prickling skin on your fingers.

"We need to wash the remaining chocolate off. Now," Shouto ordered, shoving the vase you had rinsed your hands off earlier into your lap; dunking his hands into the water after yours.

"I wonder what was in those truffles," you mutter in concern as Shouto's fingers worked defly over your skin, doing his best to scrub the chocolate residue off with firm strokes. You tried to return the favor, poking at the back of his hand with your clumsy digits, but it was growing increasingly difficult to will your fingers to bend.

"Likely just a tranquilizer," Shouto assured you, pulling one of your hands out of the water to check on how clean it was before lowering it back into the vase with a frown. "Whoever put me in here-"

"Ms. Yokubou," you filled in.

"-seems to have wanted me docile, not dead."

You tried to focus on the muted feeling of Shouto's hand on yours instead of the red hot anger roiling in your belly. It was a testament to the strength of your ire that you barely registered Shouto's gentle caresses.

Shouto had taken it upon himself to push the dresser out of the way so you could more clearly see the poem on the wall from a more comfortable position on the bed. The dresser had tipped in the process, drawers falling open and spilling their contents out across the ground; shiny new dental tools and lacy-edged corsets mixing together in a heap on the carpet. You had thought it had been an accident at first, Shouto simply underestimating his returning strength, but then you had seen the malicious glee spread thickly across his face and understood it had been a calculated act of wanton destruction. He dropped down onto the bed beside you, glaring at the mess he had made on the floor.

"Oops," he said unapologetically, kicking the pile of lingerie with a sneer. In a show of solidarity, you swept your arm across one of the bedside tables, sending an oil diffuser and a copy of the Kama Sutra crashing to the floor.

"Oh nooo," you said flatly, swiping at a teetering wine glass that escaped your first attack. "Clumsy me!"

Shouto's smile was a forced thing, too-fast and insincere compared to his normal grins. You watched as his shoulders slumped, head hanging down towards his chest as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I hate it here," he admits after a long moment of quiet. "I can't stop thinking about what could- what would have been happening to me. And I- I just-"

His foot jostled one of the hooked dental probes laying on the carpet, both your and Shouto's eyes locked onto it as it skittered across the floor and hit the baseboard with a tinny clang.

"We need to get out of here," you swallow thickly, hand blindly reaching out for Shouto's across the bed. He squeezed your fingers too tightly, your joints aching in protest; but you didn't tell him to stop.

"So, if we're interpreting this poem correctly then Ms. Yokubou-"

"The unconfirmed suspect," Shouto corrected.

"-the suspect intended keep you trapped in here and torture you until you were convinced you loved them."

"That seems to be the case, yes."

"That's so fucking awful, Shouto."

He didn't respond, staring thoughtfully at the words on the wall with a furrowed brow instead.

"Ms. Yoku- I mean, whoever did this obviously has some sort of feelings for you, but not really? They want you, but not the actual you," you ranted, the bubble of rage you had kept pushed down inside had finally built up enough pressure that it was spilling out against your will as you stomped around the room. You took a special sort of pleasure in grinding the discarded lilies down into mush with every lap you took.

"They don't care about what you think or- or feel, they just care that they get what they want, even if it destroys you. I just- I don't understand? How can they believe that they love you when they're so willing to hurt you?" you whispered brokenly, furious and devastated on Shouto's behalf.

"And I know that is an emotionally charged situation for you, but could you please say something?" You beg, sagging down onto the bed beside him, exhausted from your outburst. "If you don't, I'm pretty sure I'm just going to keep talking until I drive us both crazy. Which, admittedly, doesn't seem like it would be a very long trip at this point-"

"It can't be that simple," Shouto suddenly blurts out, putting an end to your rambling.

"What's not simple? Driving you crazy? Because I have some high school teachers with stories you wouldn't believe."

"No, not that," Shouto said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm talking about the poem."

"What about it?" you asked, squinting at the rhyme inquisitively.

"It says that only a true love confession will break the bottle's spell and, presumably, set us free."

"Yeah, and that's sort of a huge issue? A forced love confession is just coercion," you explain. "You can't create genuine affection like that."

"Exactly," Shouto agreed, "And that would be a problem if the kidnapper was the one stuck in here with me. But instead, by some incredible stroke of luck or karma or kismet; I'm in here with you."

Between your persistent headache, bone-deep exhaustion, and the thick fog of panic blanketing your mind there was no possible way that you were interpreting Shouto's words correctly.

"What do you mean?" you said, swallowing thickly as you braced your heart for the let down you knew was coming; the walking back of his words, the incredulous laughter once he realized what he was mistakenly insinuating.

"I had a plan for this," Shouto sighed, a melancholy sort of sound. "There was supposed to be dinner. And music. And flowers. Not lilies, though," he rushed to assure you.

"Thank goodness. I don't think I ever want to see another lily again for as long as I live."

"Same here," he laughed dryly. "But we would have had a good evening together. Better than this one, at least. And at the end of the night I would take your hand in mine, just like this," Shouto said, cradling your hand between both of his. "And I'd finally tell you what I've been too scared to tell you for weeks now."

"Which is what?" you whisper breathlessly, precariously hanging on his every word by your fingertips; moments away from slipping and plummeting down into something- some feeling that couldn't possibly be real. You weren't that lucky. You weren't that anything, really.

"I'd tell you the truth," Shouto promised, his eyes shining with a soft sincerity that made your chest ache with longing. "That I am totally, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with you."

You opened your mouth to respond- how exactly, you weren't entirely sure. Cheer, maybe? Cry? Ask him if he was serious? But the actual sound that came out was a prolonged scream as every muscle in your body twisted and burned.

And then, all you saw was darkness.

You woke up suddenly, contorted into an uncomfortable position on the floor again. But there was one immediately noticeable difference between waking up in the bottle and now, and that was the fact that your limbs were hopelessly tangled up with Shouto's; the two of you twisted together like a fleshy pretzel.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Shouto smiles down at where your head is pillowed on his chest, his heart thumping quickly beneath your ear.

"Nope, not allowed," you mumble in complaint, trying to push yourself off of his chest. You weren't able to make much protest with how loudly your muscles were protesting, so you just settled back down and tried to ignore how your heart skipped a beat when you felt his arm squeeze you tightly into his side. "I'm the funny one here. You're not allowed to have better one-liners than me."

"Apologies," Shouto said, your body rocking gently along with the quiet laughter that shook his chest. "I did have a bit of time to think of it though. It's taken you a little while to come around."

"You didn't move me?"

"No? Why would I?" Shouto asked, tilting his head to the side easily; obviously less inhibited by the soreness of his muscles than you were.

"Well, we're out of the bottle now so I thought…" you trailed off uneasily, unsure of what words you could put together to push this conversation along. It wasn't like you really wanted to talk about what happened; to pop the bubble of happiness that was filled to almost bursting inside of your chest. But you knew that the longer you drew it out the harder it would be to face reality; to acknowledge that Shouto discovered a loophole, a convenient lie he could believe just enough to free you both from that bottle.

Maybe he just loved you like a friend? Or worse, like a sister? Maybe that kind of affection was enough to have met the nebulous requirements for the Quirk to deactivate? The poem didn't have any footnotes that you could see, so maybe it wasn't quite as strict as you and Shouto had theorized. Maybe you could have gotten away with professing your love of Rock and Roll or sleeping in on the weekend?

You wish you would have experimented a bit more inside of the bottle and maybe saved yourself the devastating experience you were currently thrust into: staring literal heartbreak in the face as you gazed helplessly up at Todoroki Shouto.

"Thought what?" Shouto asked, the edges of his sweet grin slowly dipping down into the start of a frown.

"Well, we're out of the bottle now. So I don't expect- I won't hold you to anything you said. I know it was to just get us out. So, uh- thank you for that. But you don't have to keep pretending. It's okay," you assure him with a watery smile. You'd never been particularly skilled at lying and were even worse at it when you were emotional, and right now you were feeling very emotional.

But instead of looking relieved like you had expected him to be, Shouto looked positively exasperated; his face creased into a deep scowl.

"You don't believe that I have feelings for you?"

"Well, I mean, not like you said- not romantically," you explain, panicking internally as his expression grew even more displeased. "Just- like a friend?"

"I see," Shouto huffed. You could practically feel yourself withering under the intensity of his disappointed stare. "Is that how you see me? As just a friend?"

"I mean, we are friends, right?" You laugh nervously, growing increasingly concerned that this conversation might just torpedo your entire relationship into smithereens.

"Yes, of course. Very good ones I think," Shouto said, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your jaw gently to keep your attention firmly on him. "But is that all we are?"

"I wasn't aware there was any other option," you whisper honestly, your gaze jumping between each of his eyes, trying to see if one color was less intimidating than the other. But both gray and green burned with a deep intensity you couldn't fully comprehend.

"Really?" Shouto deadpanned. "I've been inviting you to stay with me in my office alone, after hours, for months now, and you didn't take that as a hint that I was interested in you?"

"I just thought you wanted some company while you ate," you admit quietly, still staring at Shouto much like a deer caught in a set of headlights. "And that you were like, really bad at crossword puzzles."

Shouto groaned miserably, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto the floor with a loud thunk.

"I didn't want just anyone's company," he sighed. "I wanted yours, specifically."

"Oh," you replied, stunned. "Then why didn't you, you know? Ask me out? Let me know that you were interested?"

"I thought about taking a more direct approach," Shouto says, staring up at the ceiling despondently. "But my friends told me it was inappropriate to ask someone out while they're working."

"That's true," you conceded. "So what was your plan then, exactly?"

"I was trying to make you relaxed enough in my presence where you would feel comfortable asking me out,"

Shouto said, shifting uncomfortably at your incredulous expression.

"You could have waited one thousand years and I still wouldn't have been able to muster up enough courage to ask you out," you laugh dryly. "But even if your plan had worked, I still signed an employee code of conduct when I started working at Über Munch. I'm not allowed to flirt with customers."

Shouto hummed thoughtfully, tightening his arm around you once more. "I guess maybe it's a good thing we got stuck in that bottle together then, huh?"

"Too soon," you chastised him immediately, eyes wide as you shook your head quickly from side-to-side.

"Right. Of course. Sorry."

Once you were able to move without crying in pain, you and Shouto had reluctantly pried your bodies apart and started acting like responsible adults. Shouto did his official Hero thing and reported your bungled kidnapping attempt to the police while you called in to work.

You'd ended up needing to use one of the Personal Victim Leave days you'd been accruing, which was fine. This was the exact sort of scenario you were supposed to use them for, but you still felt a little bitter because you had been hoping to cash all of them out at the end of the year to pay for holiday gifts for your family.

The next few hours were a blur of commotion as you were interrogated by so many detectives you were pretty sure they had to be bussing them in from the surrounding precincts just to have the opportunity to interview Shouto. But the attempted kidnapping of a high-profile hero was likely a large enough case to elevate someone's career into the big leagues, so you couldn't fault them for their efforts; as self serving as they likely were.

Eventually, you and Shouto had been escorted out of his office so they could start photographing the crime scene; officers delivering you down to a line of ambulances waiting to take you to the hospital for an After Quirk Exposure check-up. All you really wanted to do was go home and sleep for a week, but everyone had a story about some second cousin's friend who skipped the routine examinations and ended up turning inside out or something hours later.

Most of those stories were probably urban legends or some sort of Hero Commission propaganda, but either way they made you just wary enough to agree to climb onto the gurney and accept a juice box and pack of cookies from the paramedic without raising a fuss.

You and Shouto were separated at the hospital, the attending physicians swiveling your gurneys off into separate wings. Shouto was whisked away to the private Hero section of the hospital while you were shuffled into the ER with the rest of the civilians, shoved into a curtained off nook and left to your own devices with a small cup of ice water and a dwindling phone battery.

It was a testament to your exhaustion that you were able to fall asleep even with the cacophony of sounds from the ER filtering in behind your privacy curtain, waking only when the nurses arrived to wheel you around the hospital for one screening or another.

You were on your way back from your third exam, some sort of organ scanning thing you had never bothered to learn the name of, when you noticed that the nurse had pushed you past the corridor that led back to your shrouded nook in the emergency department and towards the elevators.

"Am I going for another test?" You asked in confusion, watching as she swiped her key card across a scanner mounted next to the elevator control panel, selecting one of the numerous unmarked buttons after the scanner accepted her ID with a high-pitched beep.

"No, you're all done for now. We're just waiting for final results to come in," the nurse explained, pushing you out of the elevator doors the moment they opened far enough. "It's been requested that you be moved into a room for security reasons."

"I don't understand. Am I in danger-," your query was cut off as you were pushed into your new hospital room where Shouto was awaiting your arrival, neatly tucked into his own hospital bed. You could tell from the overcrowded cluster of monitoring equipment that they had shoved his bed closer to the far wall to make room for your gurney to be positioned next to his.

"Ah, there you are," Shouto smiled in relief as the nurse engaged the locks on your bed wheels. "Thank you so much for your assistance, Nurse Yamamoto."

The nurse blushed tomato red under Shouto's direct attention, doing her best to hide her burning cheeks behind her clipboard.

"It- ah, it was nothing. Just um, ring the buzzer if you need anything and I'll be back to check on you in an hour?" She stammered nervously, the end of her sentence pitching up into a questioning tone.

"That sounds perfect. Thank you again," Shouto beamed, flashing his teeth in a wide grin that stunned the poor dear so severely she attempted to exit the room by pushing on a door that had to be pulled to open. You grimaced internally in sympathy for her, knowing full well that she would replay that fumbled exit over in her mind every night before she fell asleep.

Once the nurse was safely down the hallway, the squeak of her rubber soled shoes far enough away that you knew she wouldn't overhear, you spun to Shouto with a disbelieving look carved deeply into your face.

"Did you just charm a nurse into letting us be roomies?"

"Please. I didn't just charm a nurse," Shouto scoffed, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. "I also lied a little."

"I can't believe you're this big of a menace," you laugh, flopping back as far as the stiff hospital pillows would allow. "Your PR team must be incredible."

"They better be, for how much I pay them."

You hummed in acknowledgement, looking around his room with a critical eye, noting the immaculate condition of all of the decor and medical equipment, as well as the humongous TV mounted on the wall opposite you; a muted nature documentary flashing across the screen. A large bouquet of blue and yellow flowers were laid next to Shouto's bedside, as well as a carafe of some hot beverage; likely coffee based on the small mountain of tiny creamer tubs stacked up next to it.

"So there's no actual security risk then?" You mumble quietly, fiddling with the edge of your thin knit blanket, doing your best to swallow down the worried lump in your throat. "No sign of Ms. Yokubou or anything?"

"Nothing yet, I'm afraid," Shouto admitted, his face pinching tight with guilt as he examined your anxiously twisting hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you unnecessarily."

"It's alright. I've just never been someone's potential target before. It's got me feeling sort of jumpy."

"Understandably," Shouto was quick to assure you. "I guess I'm so accustomed to this sort of thing I didn't really stop to think of how scary it might seem to someone less used to it."

Shouto averted his gaze to the TV for a few moments, flipping to the programming guide channel to allow you the illusion of privacy to collect yourself while you discreetly dabbed the tears pricking the corner of your eyes with the edge of your top sheet.

"So, uh- what was your motivation for moving me in with you then?" You ask, trying to set the conversation back on track after your emotional derailment. "Did you already miss being stuck in a room with me that much?"

"Not quite," Shouto huffed in amusement. "I came to the realization that this was the first time that you and I were both off the clock in the same building. I thought it would be a shame to not make the most of this opportunity to legally fraternize."

"I'm…not sure I'm entirely following your line of thought here," you say, brow furrowed. "You want to what, exactly? Have a date in the hospital?"

"That was my intention, yes," Shouto admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck bashfully. "But hearing you say it out loud makes me realize how silly it sounds."

"No!" You say quickly, shooting up stalk straight in bed, startling you both with the ferocity of your cry. "It's not silly at all! It's kind of sweet, actually. That you can't wait to spend time with me."

"It's just- things are going to get really busy for the both of us now that we're tangled up in a criminal investigation. And I'm not sure when we'll eventually get the chance to be together again,"

"You're right. We should make the best of the time we have together," you nod, rolling onto your side to face Shouto more directly. "And I can say with full confidence that this is the nicest place you've ever taken me. There's a bathroom here and everything!"

"There is!" Shouto laughed excitedly, reaching over to pull the flowers at his bedside into his arms. "And I got these for you, too."

"Really? They're beautiful, thank you," You beam, tugging the collection of blue blossoms into your arms, running a finger softly across a fuzzy green leaf. You notice a card tucked in amongst the blooms and pull it with a quick tug; snorting in amusement at the cartoon stork carrying a blue-bundled baby printed on the front.

"Ughhhhh," Shouto groaned when you showed him the card, scrubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "I asked the gift shop for any bouquet without pink flowers or lillies and this is what they sent. Give it to me and I'll throw it away."

"No!" You cry, pressing the card against your chest away from Shouto's wiggling fingers. "It's mine now, you gave it to me. I'm going to scrapbook it."

"Please don't," he begged, leaning over the rail of his bed to make a closer swipe at the card.

"Or maybe I'll laminate it. Keep it in my wallet for good luck," you muse with a hum. "Would you sign it for me? That would really increase its sentimental value."

"You want my autograph?" Shouto asked, arm paused mid-grab as he stared at you searchingly- for what, you weren't entirely sure.

"No. I want you to sign the card you gave me," you clarify, pulling the card away from your chest and sliding it into his hand. "That's just good manners."

Shouto pulled his hand back, eyes softer than they were just a moment ago as he opened up the side table drawer and pulled out a hospital issue pen.

"You're right. I apologize for my oversight," he said, quickly scrawling on the inside of the card with a speed born from years of practice. You snatched the card back from him as soon as he held it out, excited to see the message he wrote.

'Congratulations, it's a boy!

(The boy is me)

Love, Shouto'

"I'm definitely laminating this," you whisper to yourself, cheeks aching from the force of your smile as you tuck the card safely back into the bouquet and clutch it to your chest protectively.

"So, what else do you have planned for our date?"

Dinner was up next, not because you were necessarily very hungry with the swarm of nervous butterflies you had fluttering around in your stomach; but because a member of the kitchen staff had let themselves into your room to take your meal requests.

"You know, I sort of thought by how much fancier the Hero rooms are that you guys would get better food too," you say, spooning another mouthful of the thin vegetable broth into your mouth.

"All the hospital food comes from the same kitchen. The meals for Heroes aren't any better in quality, but we are permitted to have as much as we want," Shouto explained, prying the lid off of a pudding cup and giving it a tentative sniff. You decide to follow his lead and shift your focus to your dessert, a parfait that was mostly yogurt with a bit of granola sprinkled on top.

"This is actually turning out to be a pretty good date," you say when the TV starts showing a commercial for a local refrigerator repair service.

"You think so?"

"I do," you assure him. "We've even hit two of the major date features you mentioned before. We're having dinner together and you got me flowers. The only thing missing is the music."

"I can fix that," Shouto says as he reaches for the TV remote and punches in the code for a music channel. A music video starts playing; starring a man with bright green skin wearing sunglasses on the beach, flanked by a line of women in bikinis.

"Girl, I think your Quirk must be Twerkin', because your booty really knows how to work it-," The man sang, slapping the right buttcheek of the dancer closest to him.

"So romantic," you sigh, holding a hand to your chest dramatically.

"I'm changing the channel," Shouto grimaced as the camera panned away from the singer and zoomed in on the background dancer's wobbling butts.

"You can't! 'Twerkin' Quirk' is officially our song now, Shouto!" You laugh in delight, soaking in his misery like sunbeams on the first warm day of Spring.

"Everytime I think something else couldn't possibly go wrong, it does," Shouto lamented, a pained look on his face as they began spraying the bikini dancers with champagne while they gyrated next to a sports car with spinning neon rims.

"It sure does seem that way," you agree, fishing out the lone blueberry from the bottom of your parfait. "I'm probably going to have to reevaluate my opinion of this date now."

"Has it finally sunk low enough to earn the 'Worst Date Ever' award?" He sulked, flinging the remote down onto the end of his bed irritability.

"It's definitely cinched the nomination for 'Most Memorable'," you tell him with a smirk, putting your dessert cup down so you could reach across the space between your beds to offer him your hand. The feel of his hand in yours was already a familiar thing; your fingers at home twined together. "But I don't think any date could be bad, so long as you're with me."

"I think you're giving me too much credit, but I'll take it," Shouto grunts softly, deflating down into his pillows to watch the finale of the music video.

"I'll let you take as much credit as you want so long as you take me on another date."

"Agreed," Shouto replied instantly. "And I promise, it'll be better than this."

"I don't think you'll ever be able to top this," you laugh brightly, heart thumping happily as you bury your nose into your flowers and watch as the singer on screen smears oil across his chest while a confetti cannon fires behind him.

"But I can't wait to see you try."

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