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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

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Already Gone || MV1 {1}

Pairing: Max Verstappen x spy!fem!reader Summary: You ease yourself into Max's life for a job but find it harder to leave than planned. Warnings: criminal activities WC: 2.6k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two

Formula one wasn’t just an expensive sport to race in but it was first and foremost a lucrative business. With hundreds of millions of dollars being invested each year it was no surprise that your services were sought.

The hooded figure slid a file across the table, the crumbs and sticky residue of beer catching on the cover. “This is the target,” he whispered over the noise of the drunkards left in the bar at this late hour. “Everything we have on him is in there, use it to get close and get into their factory.”

“Why waste time with a relationship?” you questioned as you opened the file and saw the headshot of your target. Not someone you would call classically handsome but there was an appeal to him nonetheless. “Why don’t I just apply for an entry level job and this will be done in a week?”

“For my employer, this isn’t just about their technology, they want his spirit broken too.” He jabbed an angry finger at the portrait.

“Ah,” you chuckled as you closed the file and slipped it into your handbag before rising from the dark booth, “psychological warfare, that I can understand.”

“How do we reach you again?” the stranger asked as he made to follow but you held your hand out for him to stop.

“You don’t, our contact ends here. You know my fee, and you will know when the job is complete.”

“How?”

You rolled your eyes at the stupid the question. “Front page headline, of course.”

There was no denying Monaco was beautiful, but you missed your high rise apartment in New York. The birds eye view of Central Park had become home and it was where you spent most of your time. Corporate espionage was always in demand on Wall Street so it was convenient to live close by despite owning properties all over the world.

You had spent a week researching your target, reading every article and watching every interview. You knew his mannerisms and his values, what features his ex-girlfriends all shared and why they broke up. You knew his entire history, all so you could manipulate his future.

Once you had learned everything there was to know about him you had tracked him down to Monaco where he was spending a large portion of the winter season off. That was where the real work began.

Any wig was irritating, no matter how expensive it was, and this was no different as you suppressed the urge to touch the dried glue along the hairline. Up ahead, the target kept pausing on his walk to sign a few autographs and let children have a photo taken with him.

Unbeknownst to him, all the posters and adverts along the street had been subtly changed so the models held small semblances to you. He wouldn’t actively notice them, but his subconscious would. Over the next week, his brain would recognise your features selling products he was familiar with and trusted, something you were going to use to your advantage when you finally decided to cross paths with him.

As midnight passed you took a little stroll through the streets lined with mansions and pulled out a tin of cat food. The crinkling of the foil tearing open broke the relatively quiet night in the exclusive community and a few curious cats appeared through the perfectly trimmed hedges. You softly called two Bengals closer, nudging the others aside, before giving them a scratch behind their ears as you put the tin on the ground and earned their trust too.

“I have a little friend for you,” you whispered as they finished the food and rubbed against your leg, purring happily. You reached into the pouch of your oversized hoodie and carefully woke the kitten you had adopted. He released a small mew at being disturbed but when he noticed the company around him he started to nuzzle around them. “That’s it, get nice and acquainted.”

The lady at the animal shelter had promised that the little guy had come from a big litter and was very friendly around other cats so you were glad she was right as you picked up the rubbish and tossed it in a nearby bin. Giving the trio one last scratch, you lingered on the tabby with a whisper, “I’ll see you soon, Achilles.”

You left the neighbourhood after slotting a missing cat poster with your phone number into the mailboxes along the street and as the three animals disappeared into the hedge together you hoped it wouldn’t be too long before your phone rang. “Bye Sassy, bye Jimmy.”

You were going out of your mind as you lounged around the house waiting. You checked your phone a handful of times per minute, even testing it was working with your burner phone once an hour. It was only as the sun began to set on the second day that the ringtone sang out over the news channel relaying the latest stock market figures.

You took a deep breath, falling into the character of your alias as you saw the unknown number on the caller ID. “Hello?” You had to hide your grin as you perfected the balance of worry and hope in your voice.

“Uh, hi, is this Madilyn?” a man asked, the Dutch accent one you were familiar with after all the videos you had watched of him. “Your kitten is missing?”

“That’s me, please tell me you have some good news,” you begged softly, pitifully.

He laughed quietly and you could hear purring close to the phone. “I think he found his way into my home somehow. He is very friendly.”

“I’m so sorry,” you grabbed your keys and helmet off the kitchen side, slamming the door loudly as you left. “We just moved here and I must have left a window open. Where are you so I can come and pick him up?”

He gave you his address and you rushed to thank him before ending the call and throwing your leg over the motorbike you had recently brought, all added to the bill of your latest employer. The roar of the engine drew the attention of the pedestrians out for an evening walk as you raced through the narrow streets and you arrived in his neighbourhood in under a minute.

The wrought iron gate was closed when you pulled up but the front curtain inside the mansion swayed as a dark figure peeked out before it started to swing open.

By the time you pulled your helmet off and hung it on the handlebars he had already opened the door and you skipped up the steps excited by the sight of Achilles tucked in the crook of his arm. Lights from inside the home spilled out onto the front porch as Jimmy and Sassy padded their way out, brushing up against your shins.

“He looks so cosy,” you said sheepishly as you went to reach for the sleeping Achilles only to pause and pull back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Max.” He offered his hand instead and you shook it weakly before crouching down to pet his cats. “They like you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you said with a smile as you looked up at him and found him staring back intently. “Do I have helmet hair?”

You rushed to your feet, brushing down the strands that might have been messed up and windblown but he shook his head with a small smile. “You look familiar, have we met?”

You stepped closer with a small shake of your head and ran your fingers through Achilles fur, your arm brushing against Max innocently. His eyes followed your touch and you could see him taking the bait like a starving fish, not knowing how close he was to the hook.

“I would definitely remember meeting you,” you said as you caught your bottom lip between your teeth.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away only for them to land on your motorbike. “Is that a Softail?”

“He has a good eye,” you praised as he recognised the same model Harley Davidson as the one he owned. “Do you ride?”

“Not as much as I would like. Unfortunately my one is back home in the Netherlands.”

“I owe you for finding Achilles.” You pulled the key from your leather jacket and dangled it in front of him with a grin, the silver keyring twinkling and catching his attention. He eyed up the figurine of the Trojian Horse, an inside joke you liked to use when on mission because the meaning always went over their heads. “Wanna take her for a spin?”

His hesitancy lasted only a split second since the conditioning of trust that had been instilled subconsciously all week quickly told him there was nothing to worry about.

He looked down at his casual shirt and shorts he wore, clothes definitely not suitable for riding a motorcycle, before stepping back inside. “Would you like to come in?”

Max didn’t know the mistake he just made or the real reason you smiled the way you did as you stepped over the threshold, your body brushing close to his.

He was already gone: hook, line and sinker, he was yours.

Four Months Later The coffee pot was almost empty and your eyes were bleary as you sat on the sofa watching the live feed on your laptop for the fourth straight hour. The video footage was being recorded as it played and you already had sent a thumb drive full of similar files with the parts and manufacturing plans you had stolen on your last visit with Max to the Red Bull factory in England. This next one should be ready to send in the morning.

It hadn’t been difficult to organise a ‘work’ trip to London during the time Max was going to test some new features they were working on and he practically begged you to visit him since it wasn’t far to Milton Keynes where they were based. You wanted to hate him for making it too easy, for being too trusting and too kind.

You wanted to hate him for making you feel guilty.

You lived for this job, playing mastermind and dancing the moral lines, and you were very good at it. The world was your stage while you got to write the play, direct the show and be whatever character you wanted to be. But more often than not you found yourself forgetting to be ‘Madilyn’ when you were with Max and realised at some point you were able to be yourself.

It was a problem, and one you didn’t know how to solve.

That was a lie. You could take the thumb drive down to the post shop and send it before disappearing into the night. Job done, problem solved.

But that would mean never seeing Max again and the truth was you weren’t ready for that.

Achilles padded into the living room and jumped onto your lap, purring as he nudged your hand for a pat. “Don’t get too comfortable, this is just a temporary arrangement,” you said as you scratched his neck. “You wouldn’t like New York anyway. The air smells, the people are rude and there’s no Sassy or Jimmy to play with.”

You were going to miss Monaco when it came time to leave. Everyone had been so friendly and welcoming to this stranger, if only they knew the havoc you had come to wreak on their city.

Your doorbell suddenly rang and you swiped your phone off the coffee table to open the app and saw Max on your front step. You had specifically told him that you were feeling sick so he didn’t come around. He had a race this week and shouldn’t have been taking the risk of going near anyone sick but there he was, a bag of takeaways in his hands.

You cursed to yourself as you closed your laptop and went to open the door just a crack. “Max? What are you doing here?” you asked with a rasping voice.

He pushed the door open wider and stepped inside, aiming to kiss you but you turned your head away so his lips landed on your cheek.

“I’m sick, you shouldn’t be here. You could catch it too.”

“I don’t care.” He placed the bag on the hall table so his hands were free to cup your face, holding you still as he greeted you with a proper kiss. It was impossible to resist him and your lips parted as you grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer.

He was far too responsible as he stopped you from unbuttoning his shirt, though he didn’t seem too pleased about stopping you from taking things further. “Eat first,” he ordered, placing one hand on the small of your back and the other grabbing the food.

Max’s season had been off to a terrible start with a third place podium the best he had been able to achieve behind the Ferrari’s who had come back strongly from last year's poor result. The journalists called it a miracle - that the Italian team were able to produce a car to rival Red Bull’s - but really it wasn’t quite that unexplainable. They had inside information thanks to you.

Despite the stress in his life and the pressure he was feeling from his father to push harder, he still found time for you and a part of you resented him for that, for making it harder to complete the job.

Your laptop on the coffee table kept drawing your attention as you sat down with the chicken noodle soup Max had brought. It was like a ticking time bomb that you couldn’t ignore and everytime Max’s hand passed over it to get a napkin or the remote you felt your heartbeat in your throat. If he opened the lid he would see something you couldn’t explain away so you needed to get him away from it for your own sanity.

“I’m really tired, babe,” you lied as you faked a yawn and Max checked his watch with a frown when he saw how early it was.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” he suggested as he pressed his hand to your forehead and mistook the clammy heat as a fever, but it was purely from the stress you were under watching him reach over your laptop yet again for his can of Red Bull.

“A bit of rest is all I need. You don’t need to worry about me, you should be worrying about your race.” You shifted on the couch to face him and saw how relaxed he was with his arm draped across the back of your cushion and Achilles curled up on his lap. “How are you planning on beating Ferrari?”

He shrugged and focused on scratching the tabby between the shoulder blades. “I’ll get the most I can out of the car and it will either be enough to win or it won’t. I can only try my best and avoid making mistakes.”

You curled into his side, hiding your guilty face in his neck as his arm closed around you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered your confession.

“Why?” he laughed softly, “it’s not your fault.”

If only he knew.

But he could never know.

Click here for part two.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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6ad6ro · 10 months

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this might sound insane, but considering that nowadays the internet takes up such a huge part of our lives? the countless issues with social media are starting to feel like a human rights issue. no corporation should get to dictate how we communicate with people online when it's our main form of communication.

imagine if you had to hear ads in the middle of a phonecall from service you already paid good money for. imagine if there was somebody constantly interrupting your private hangouts with obnoxious curveballs and brick walls, all for the sake of gathering human reaction data. imagine if restaurants all collaborated with one another to purposely make it hard to converse with your friends. to drive expectations down so they could pass it off as a "new feature" they would charge for later. and imagine if the very concept of you having control over your own free time was described by these companies as "piracy".

there are actually demons living inside your computer and they are called "CEOs". big tech bastardizes the art of psychology into a tool of financial manipulation. all these extra clicks and microtransactions and hoops we have to go through add up. so much of our lives are going to waste in order to line the pockets of people who already have more money than god.

the internet is like a knife. a helpful tool that could be used for so many constructive things. that HAS done so much good for humanity. but instead it's now being used by genuinely bad people to slit our throats.

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unveilandresist · 2 months

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A scathing critique of how Aaron Bucknell's self immolation is being portrayed by US media.

In Bushnell’s case, the US political-media establishment appears to be doing its best to not only decontextualise but also posthumously discredit him. Time Magazine’s write-up, for example, admonishes that the US “Defence Department policy states that service members on active duty should ‘not engage in partisan political activity’” – as though actively abetting a genocide weren’t politically “partisan”. Furthermore, the magazine specifies, US military regulations “prohibit wearing the uniform during ‘unofficial public speeches, interviews’”, and other activities. Perhaps Bushnell’s ashes can be tried in military court.

At the bottom of the Time article, readers are charitably given the following instructions: “If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental-health crisis or contemplating suicide, call or text 988” – which naturally implies that Bushnell was simply the victim of a “mental-health crisis” rather than someone making a most cogent and defiant political point in response to an extremely mentally disturbing political reality.

At the end of the day, anyone who is not experiencing a serious “mental-health crisis” over the genocide going down in Gaza with full US backing can be safely filed under the category of psychologically disturbed.

...

while we journalists are supposed to be the ones speaking truth to power, suffice it to say that Bushnell has put Western corporate media to shame.

Rest in power, Aaron Bushnell.

#aaron bushnell #palestine #free palestine #anti imperialism #gaza #west bank #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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justplainwhump · 10 months

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So you want to be a BBU writer...

Congratulations, you are one. The idea of the shared BBU multiverse is, that all takes at the core concepts are valid; there is no canon, and the same time, everything can be canon for your story!

Is there something everyone agrees on?

Probably not; but here are some things I consider widely accepted/canon:

- The setting is dystopian, somewhere between present and near future; in a society similar to ours but with (even) more power in the hands of corporations.

- In several countries, there is a "pet industry", a legalised concept of serfdom/ slavery that allows to own other humans as so called pets, (usually) in a household.

- The term "Pet" is more focused on the ownership and companionship aspects; in most BBU stories the pets are considered less than free people, but aren't actually treated like animals.

- The law states that these people have signed up voluntarily and have been compensated for it. Sometimes though, rich people or corporations go against the law.

- The whole process, from signing up to marketing and sales is in the hands of influential corporations

- Biggest of these, usually, is WRU; there is no canon on what the letters stand for. (It was a tumblr inside joke that makes absolutely no sense in-universe, but the acronym stuck). Some writers create other companies with different methods or focus.

- Pets are classified according to 'designations'; at the core there are Domestics (household chores), Platonics (companionship, nannies, caretakers...) and Romantics (different sort of companionship, including... bedroom chores), plus combinations. Guard Dog (protection) has made it into many stories as a fourth designation. This isn't the limit, though; there are also writers with Object designations, more involved 'service' concepts, 'Chewtoys' and several more.

- Pets are identified by number codes, usually six digits, every writer has a different system behind them. As an abbreviation, handlers tend to use the last three digits. This number is also tattooed on them as a bar code, often on the wrist.

- Somewhere during the training process, trainees are made to forget their entire past and also certain skill sets that pets aren't meant to have. Owners can specify certain things they want to be erased or remembered. Usually, this is handwaved by writers; there's advanced drugs and neurological stimulation involved. The process and the drug administered for the memory loss is often referred to as "The Drip".

- Often, Pets are made illiterate to make them more dependent on their owners

- Often, Pets are made to wear collars and consider these "safe". There's a lot of themes around "safety" taught to pets to keep them contained.

- There are standardised sets of numbered positions the trainees are taught; extra positions can be added on request

- There are also a lot of memorised rules and phrases from training the pets are made to repeat and will sometimes in their everyday life

- Training involves all sort of torture, mostly psychological, drugs, isolation, shock collars and shock batons and serious gaslighting

- Often, training facilities are described as uniform and white and designed like mazes; trainees at facilities wear a 'uniform' of a white shirt and black shorts

- Pets are usually terrified of the memories of their training; including especially "white rooms"

- The term "Respect" spoken by a person with authority will make the pet fall to their knees instantly and await further instruction

- Pets are shipped in a box, which is the idea that spawned the whole universe; usually in a human sized crate with some accessories added. They're also called boxies, box boys/box babes/... because of that.

- Unwanted or stubborn pets are sent back to WRU for "refurb", trained again and sold with big discounts; it's used as a threat and most pets are horribly afraid of this

- In the outside world, there are movements to help runaway pets or even fight the system overall; usually called "pet lib"

- Pet lib runs safehouses where they take in runaways and work on deconditioning

There are more posts like this out these, some more extensive, some very similar; a very good one here. This is the set of things I consider most basic for my own writing, at least.

I've reblogged some more posts and discussions on @bbu-on-the-side as well, so feel free to look around, use whatever you like, and discard the rest.

Also, new (and old) BBU writers always feel free to tag @bbu-on-the-side should you ever do an intro. I'll share them there.

*Edit- I've also started an archive on established tropes and the existing writing for it, here!

#bbu #bbu worldbuilding

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ezekiel-krishna · 11 months

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JuPiter In Different HoUses Observations 💫

1st House: With Jupiter in the 1st house, you are likely to be optimistic, confident, and enthusiastic. You have a strong sense of purpose and a desire to make a positive impact on the world. You may have a talent for leadership and a natural ability to inspire others.

2nd House: With Jupiter in the 2nd house, you tend to have a positive attitude towards money and material possessions. You are likely to be financially secure and may even have a talent for making money. You are generous and enjoy sharing your wealth with others.

3rd House: With Jupiter in the 3rd house, you have a natural curiosity and a love of learning. You may be an excellent communicator and may have a talent for writing or teaching. You are likely to have a large social circle and enjoy connecting with others.

4th House: With Jupiter in the 4th house, you have a deep appreciation for family and home. You may have a strong sense of tradition and may be interested in genealogy or history. You may also have a talent for interior decorating or real estate.

5th House: With Jupiter in the 5th house, you have a love of creativity and self-expression. You may be talented in the arts, such as music, dance, or theater. You have a playful nature and enjoy having fun. You are also likely to be a natural with children and may enjoy working with them.

6th House: With Jupiter in the 6th house, you have a desire to be of service to others. You may have a talent for healing or may be interested in health and wellness. You have a strong work ethic and may be successful in your career.

7th House: With Jupiter in the 7th house, you place a high value on relationships and partnerships. You are likely to have a strong sense of fairness and justice and may be interested in law or politics. You have a desire for balance and harmony in your relationships.

8th House: With Jupiter in the 8th house, you have a fascination with the mysteries of life and death. You may be interested in the occult or psychology. You have a deep understanding of the power dynamics in relationships and may be successful in business or finance.

9th House: With Jupiter in the 9th house, you have a deep love of travel and adventure. You may be interested in philosophy or religion and may have a talent for teaching. You have a desire to expand your horizons and may be successful in international business or law.

10th House: With Jupiter in the 10th house, you have a strong desire for success and recognition. You may be interested in politics or the upper echelons of the corporate world. You have a natural talent for leadership and may be successful in your career.

11th House: With Jupiter in the 11th house, you have a love of community and a desire to make a positive impact on society. You may be interested in social justice and may be successful in activism or non-profit work. You have a strong network of friends and colleagues.

12th House: With Jupiter in the 12th house, you have a deep spiritual connection and a desire for transcendence. You may be interested in meditation or yoga and may be successful in the healing arts. You have a deep compassion for others and may be successful in philanthropy or humanitarian work.

Please Reblog if you enjoy reading ✅

For Paid Readings & Reviews ,

Please Refer to my Pinned Post ⬇️

Certified ✅

#astro observations #astro notes #vedic astrology #astro community #advertising #astroloji #astroworld #astroblr #tarot reading #astrology

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obstinaterixatrix · 3 months

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Amelie, a dreamy and romantic young Belgian woman, arrives in Japan to being work as a translator for the giant Yumimoto Corporation. For Amelie, who spent her childhood in Japan, this is a dream come true. It is her chance to become a "real Japanese." Eager to please her bosses and co-workers, she diligently accomplishes her daily tasks with invention and enthusiasm. But unfamiliar with the customs of the Japanese workplace, Amelie commits a series of cultural missteps and is singled out as a deviant within the company hierarchy, suffering a string of demotions. The harder she tries, the more wrathful her superiors seem to become, the more unreasonable and humiliating their demands. Unable to stop her downfall, Amelie suddenly stumbles upon her own extraordinary means of liberation.

happy femslash february, here’s a 2003 french-japanese movie about miserable office workers.

so. the thing is. this movie makes me insane. it’s deranged normal office drama. it’s mundane absurdism. it’s psychological warfare and power harrassment. it’s not romantic. it’s extremely homoerotic. and it is very french. I’m putting it in my femslash feb recs because. well.

these women are Not Normal about each other. with amélie it’s much more obvious since it’s from her perspective, but there’s a lot about miss mori you pick up from context and extrapolation and she is also extremely Not Normal about amélie.

since it’s about culture clash, I’m sure it’ll be very hit or miss with some folks in terms of how much it leans into stereotypical(/satirical) depictions of japanese office culture, but I felt like 1) there was a wide enough variety of characters to offset completely flattening the conflict, 2) it’s clear to me that amélie is supposed to be shown as having A Very Biased (and sometimes cringe) Perspective.

if you have any interest in toxic office yuri. I Highly Recommend This Movie. it’s available to buy/rent on some streaming services, there are some dvds floating around, and there are other ways to find it if you really want to

#IN FACT YOU CAN SEND ME A DM. FOR THE PLACE. YOU CAN FIND IT.#WATCH IT WATCH KT WATCH IT #ff recs #recs #femslash feb recs #oh also as a warning #1) fatphobic about one of the boss characters #2) at one point for metaphor the main character describes one character as r@ping another #3) people are forcibly dragged sometimes #4) blood? gun? kind of?#that’s all the warnings that stick out to me #oh also 5) nonsexual nudity during a scene after the midway point

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coopigeoncoo · 9 months

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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

---

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.

---

"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."

#pigeoncoos #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha x self insert #mha x gender neutral reader #todoroki shouto x you #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x you #shouto x y/n

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writingmochi · 5 months

Text

a terra incognita character introduction

cast: jake ✗ fem.reader

synopsis: as the world entered the middle of the 21st century, many things have changed for the better or for worse in the newly united korea peninsula: the preparation for the succession of the new conglomerates of the past decade, the uprising of deviant androids, and the new layer of life shield by walls of codes. in the middle of it, two beings are trying to understand each other and the situation of the world they live in; an unknown territory

genre: cyberpunk, cyber noir, psychological thriller, science fiction, dystopian future, politics and philosophies regarding artificial intelligence and humanity, romance, drama, angst, mature content (war and revolution, explicit smut)

based on: video game cyberpunk 2077 (2020) and detroit: become human (2018), anime serial experiments lain (1998), and tv show succession (2018-2023)

masterlist

from south seoul

shim laboratories is a korean multinational megacorporation dealing in manufacturers of machinery and artificial intelligence. the company is also one of the largest distributors of androids in the global market, pioneering the creation and usage of androids to be used on a day-to-day basis such as in domestic activities or even as soldiers. prior to the release of their android products, they also excelled in the usage of artificial intelligence in day-to-day life including hardware manufacturing or machinery used for city facilities, home appliances, and military technology such as drones that were used in the cyber war of 2027-2030.

jake

aliases: wolfe (cyberspace)

age: 20

species: human

gender: male

family: dad (alive), mom (alive), yoon (sister; alive)

affiliation: shim laboratories, shim conglomerate

backstory: born in 2030, jake is the eldest of the shim siblings and will succeed his father as the ceo of shim laboratories. a versatile man, he's currently doing a double major in business management and mechanical engineering at seoul national university while also doing training in the labs.

yoon

aliases: gynger (cyberspace), yoon (nickname)

age: 18

species: human

gender: female

family: dad (alive), mom (alive), jake (brother; alive)

affiliation: shim laboratories, shim conglomerate

backstory: born in 2032, yoon is the youngest of the shim siblings and a so-called rebel among the conglomerate children. passionate in humanities, she wants to study anthropology after graduating high school.

park corp is a korean multinational megacorporation specializing in police contracting, personal & corporate security, and security consultancy services. they invest in the military-industrial manufacturing of advanced defence tools in united korea, producing weapons used to help defend the korea soil in the cyber war of 2027-2030. their role is pivotal to protect high-ranking people in united korea, making them successful post-war as their services are also used by people worldwide.

jay

aliases: blu (cyberspace)

age: 20

species: human

gender: male

family: dad (alive), mom (alive), seonghwa (brother; missing), uncle (alive), aunt (alive), chaeyoung (cousin; alive), sunghoon (cousin; alive)

affiliation: park corp, park conglomerate

backstory: born in 2030, jay is the youngest of the park siblings and will succeed his dad to be the co-ceo of park corp, specializing in defence and weapons manufacturing, who works alongside his uncle (sunghoon's dad). studying business management and law, jay was pushed forward in the line of succession as his brother, park seonghwa (b. 2026), is currently missing.

sunghoon

aliases: frost (cyberspace)

age: 20

species: human

gender: male

family: dad (alive), mom (alive), chaeyoung (sister; alive), uncle (alive), aunt (alive), seonghwa (cousin; missing), jay (cousin; alive)

affiliation: park corp, park conglomerate

backstory: born in 2030, sunghoon is the youngest of the park siblings and will succeed his dad to be the co-ceo of park corp, specializing in security services, who works alongside his uncle (jay's dad). studying business management and law, sunghoon was pushed forward in the line of succession as his sister, park chaeyoung (b. 2025), decided to drop out of the line to go and live in aotearoa.

intelee is a korean multinational megacorporation that is working in the manufacture of computer software, information technology, and computer networks. their role is pivotal as they created the cyber wall to protect united korea in the cyber war of 2027-2030, utilizing their intelligence to defend against cyber warfare attacks such as malware and viruses. after the war, they contributed to connecting the technological network of the korean peninsula and recovered the internet after it was shut down during the war. their protective software and platforms are sought after by governments globally as they recover the fastest after the war.

heeseung

aliases: roe (cyberspace)

age: 21

species: human

gender: male

family: dad (alive), mom (alive), jaehee (sister; alive), uncle (alive), aunt (alive), soojin (cousin; alive)

affiliation: intelee, lee conglomerate

backstory: born in 2029, heeseung is the eldest of the lee siblings and will succeed his father as the ceo of intelee. he's currently majoring in business management and computer sciences.

jaehee

aliases: dion (cyberspace)

age: 18

species: human

gender: female

family: dad (alive), mom (alive), heeseung (brother; alive),uncle (alive), aunt (alive), soojin (cousin; alive)

affiliation: intelee, lee conglomerate

backstory: born in 2032, jaehee is the youngest of the lee siblings. passionate about healthcare, she wants to study biological engineering after graduating high school.

OTHER CHARACTERS

soojin

aliases: katt (cyberspace)

age: 21

species: human

gender: female

family: dad (alive), mom (alive), uncle (alive), aunt (alive), heeseung (cousin; alive), jaehee (cousin; alive)

affiliation: intelee, lee conglomerate

backstory: born in 2029, soojin is part of the lee conglomerate as the cousin of both heeseung and jaehee. currently studying business management specializing in finance, she is in the line of succession to replace her dad as cfo of intelee.

jimin

aliases: lin (cyberspace)

age: 20

species: human

gender: female

family: dad (alive), mom (alive)

affiliation: kim conglomerate

backstory: born in 2030, jimin is the only child of the kim conglomerate who controls the current largest media company in united korea. she's currently studying communications and business management and will succeed her mom as ceo.

taglist: @raeyunshm @endzii23 @fluffyywoo @camipendragon @hiqhkey @wccycc @cha0thicpisces @y4wnjunz @yeehawnana @beansworldsstuff @kimipxl @blurryriki @reallysmolrenjun @frukkoneeeeg

#enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen angst #enhypen fanfiction #jake x reader #rsc: t.i.#cr: jake #cs: enhypen #sc: regina

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Happy Hour Improv Comedy Corporate Team Building Times Square NYC

Corporate team building workshop today was made truly complete with happy hour catering. EMAIL request for private shows, workshops etc. Check menu links for public shows/workshops. Almost daily, we present shows and workshops, hosting corporate teams at our Times Square NYC theater or bring our team to your office or other venue of choice. We’ve performed at just about every type of venue, from…

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 18 hours

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By: Benjamin Ryan

Published: Apr 23, 2024

The prominent American transgender activist Erin Reed has repeatedly and insistently made demonstrably false claims about pediatric gender medicine.

During the two weeks since the publication of the Cass Review, England’s mammoth report about this controversial and politicized medical field, Reed has emitted a fusillade of false claims about the review, its findings and the systematic literature reviews on which it was partially based. Reed has only doubled down when fact checked, even when the corrections have come from lead author of the report, pediatrician Dr. Hilary Cass, herself.

Reed publishes a popular daily Substack, “Erin In The Morning,” focusing on trans legislative, civil-rights and medical issues. Over the past couple of years, as access to gender-transition treatment by children has become a major political fight in U.S. statehouses, Reed has amassed a large following, both through her coverage of these issues and her activism against such laws and for gender-distressed children’s access to such treatments.

The Cass Review was four years in the making and published to considerable fanfare in the UK on April 9. The 388-page report scrutinized the field of pediatric gender-transition treatment and found it was based on “remarkably weak evidence,” as I reported for The New York Sun.

The report has heralded the end of an era in England. It helped shutter the troubled pediatric gender clinic, known as GIDS, that once provided puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones to members of a burgeoning population of thousands of British minors distressed about their gender. Going forward in England, holistic psychological care will be prioritized for such young people, as it now is in multiple Scandinavian nations.

For gender-distressed minors in England, puberty blockers will only be available through a planned clinical trial. And the nation’s National Health Service looks likely to heed Cass’s counsel to reverse its recently announced policy to permit cross-sex hormones to 16 and 17 year olds. Furthermore, signs from Parliament suggest that the government will likely crack down on any private and overseas clinics prescribing of puberty blockers for gender distress. Even members of the Labour party have expressed support for Cass’s findings and recommendations.

Reed stands at the forefront of a full-court press by British and North American activists and online influencers to undermine and cast doubt on the Cass Review, including through falsehoods. This comes as English politicians and medical societies, the NHS, and even major UK LGBTQ organizations have fallen in line and pledged their support of the report’s findings, or at least refrained from fighting them. U.S. medical societies, meanwhile, have remained notably silent on the matter. They all unwaveringly support pediatric gender-transition treatment.

Most notably, Reed has falsely claimed on repeated occasions that the Cass Review simply “disregarded” a substantial proportion of the available medical literature on pediatric gender-transition treatment. Sometimes phrased as the notion that Cass tossed out 98% of available studies, some version of this false claim ran rampant during the first week after the report’s publication. The game of falsehood telephone stormed across social media, showed up in the opinions of LGBTQ charity leaders and English MPs, and in an error-laden Canadian Broadcasting Corporation article that I fact checked on X.

Finally, Dr. Cass herself cried foul.

In an interview with The Times published April 19, Dr. Cass did not mince words. She denounced those who had falsely claimed she had not included 100 papers on pediatric gender medicine in her review. (I explained the finer details of why this claim is egregiously incorrect in my Substack from last week, so I’ll go into only just a bit of explanatory detail about this later in this report.)

The Times reported:

Calling the assertion “completely wrong”, Cass said that it was “unforgivable” for people to undermine her report by spreading “straight disinformation”. The physician, 66, who has spoken about the toxic debate around the issue, also revealed that she had been sent “vile” abusive emails and been given security advice to help keep her safe. Of her critics, Cass said: “I have been really frustrated by the criticisms, because it is straight disinformation. It is completely inaccurate.

Reed’s false claims, about the Cass Review in particular and pediatric gender-transition treatment in general, have likely had a substantial impact on the global conversation about the care of young people with gender distress, given the wide reach of her platform. She has many eager followers and her tweets routinely rack up tens or hundreds of thousands of views. She is taken seriously by media outlets and even doctors and is routinely asked to speak at medical conferences.

I spoke with Erica Anderson, a trans woman, psychologist and the former head of USPATH, the U.S. branch of the World Professional Association for Transgender Health, or WPATH, about Reed’s influence on the larger conversation about pediatric gender medicine.

Dr. Anderson, who has become a vocal critic of WPATH’s full-throated support for pediatric gender-transition treatment, told me:

“It’s unfortunate that Erin Reed in her mistaken efforts to advocate for transgender persons repeatedly and demonstrably promotes falsehoods, including most recently about the Cass Commission report.”

Referring to the fact that, in every tweet thread that Reed posts promoting her Substack essays, Reed asks people to pay for a subscription, Dr. Anderson continued: “She asks the trans community to support her efforts financially. There is no way I can do so.”

[ All of Reed’s tweet threads about her Substack articles, which are often laden with errors, come with with a financial ask. ]

Reached for comment, Reed said: “Readers should not trust a fact check done by somebody like Benjamin Ryan, who himself has consistently misrepresented studies on gender affirming care and gotten basic facts about them incorrect.”

I stand by my own 23 years of professional science reporting and am proud that I have never had to run a major correction.

Erin Reed’s Two-Week Marathon of Falsehoods About the Cass Review

Over the past two weeks, Reed has repeated various versions of the false claim that Dr. Cass simply “disregarded” a stack of papers about pediatric gender medicine. Why did the author of the Cass Review do such a thing? Because, Reed claimed, those studies didn’t suit her “predetermined conclion [sic] ”—meaning conclusions.

Without going into too much detail, here is the truth:

Two systematic literature reviews, conducted by the University of York on behalf of the Cass Review and published by the BMJ the same day as the Cass Review, examined puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones as treatments for gender distress in minors.

Between them, these two reviews examined 103 studies. Using a validated scoring method, they identified two high-quality papers, 58 moderate-quality papers, and 43 low-quality papers.

Only the high-quality and moderate-quality papers were included in the review papers’ syntheses.

When reaching their ultimate conclusions—essentially that the evidence base was largely unreliable and inconclusive, although there was some evidence that hormones were associated with psychological benefits—the review papers leaned on the high-quality papers, but did not discount the moderate-quality papers.

[ The conclusion of the systematic literature review on cross-sex hormones. ]

Cass considered all these papers in her own analysis and did not simply disregard or discard any of them, as I reported on Substack last week.

That said, the central purpose of an evidence-based medicine approach is to discern which studies are more likely to provide reliable results and which are less likely to do so. This is meant to keep false study results, such as those driven by bias, from influencing medical practices. Reed and other activists mischaracterize this effort as capricious and biased, one that starts with a desired outcome and then reverse engineers it.

Discernment of study quality is particularly important, evidence-based medicine experts have insisted, when caring for the particularly vulnerable population of gender-distressed children. And it is of paramount importance, these experts say, to prioritize higher quality research when devising treatment guidelines for this group, considering that children cannot consent to their own care and may lose their fertility and sexual function as a result of treatment with puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones.

These systematic reviews were conducted independently and were structured to be agnostic about their results.

Reed was not convinced.

On April 18, she denounced the Cass Review as a member of a collection of “sham reports concocted to justify escalating crackdowns on their care.”

The day after the Cass Review was published, Reed published a Substack condemning it. The false or misleading claims Reed made in this report included:

The report did not, as Reed claimed, “call for restrictions” on social transition. It advised that families observe “caution” when considering the social transition of a child.

The Cass Review did not “[advocate] for the blocking” of trans young adults receiving cross-sex hormones,” as Reed claimed. It advised a review of young-adult gender services, suggesting that the problems that have plagued the pediatric clinic may be similar in young-adult care.

The theory of rapid-onset gender dysphoria has not been “discredited”, as she claimed. It remains a hypothesis under investigation by researchers.

Systematic literature reviews are considered the gold-standard source of scientific evidence. They are not mere “reviews”, as she wrote—in scare quotes meant to dismiss them.

The Cass Report stated that there was not sufficient research to determine the rate at which young people who receive cross-sex hormones will detransition—meaning revert to identifying and presenting as their biological sex.

But Reed insisted that an audit of some 3,500 GIDS patients, mentioned in Appendix 8 of the Cass Review, showed that only 8 out of 3,000 detransitioned, for a rate of just 0.27%. (Approximately 9,000 patients were seen at GIDS since 2011.)

As I explained in the tweet below, Erin had the denominator wrong, and the true rate was about 1.6%.

Regardless, the 1.6% figure is woefully incomplete. Because this audit only considered GIDS patients assessed upon discharge, including because they turned 18 and aged out. And as Cass stated, her interviews with clinicians suggested that detransitioning can take 5 to 10 years. So the young people would likely need to be followed into their mid- to late-20s to establish a true detransitioning rate. But such data was unavailable to Dr. Cass’s team, because the NHS adult gender services refused to share it with them. (It looks likely the British government will ultimately force those clinics to hand over the data. However, activists have sought to convince these patients to forbid the NHS to share their personal, if anonymized, health records.)

In an April 18 appearance on the super-lefty Majority Report podcast with the super-cranky Emma Vigeland, Reed claimed that Dr. Cass was secretly conspiring to ban pediatric gender-transition treatment. Reed also falsely claimed that the Cass Review did not factor in the voices of trans people or their care providers.

Here is how the Cass Review diagrammed all the sources Dr. Cass and her team drew upon when crafting the report, including trans people and their care providers:

Reed then suggested to a super-credulous Vigeland that the Cass Review was aligning itself with an anti-trans propaganda machine, because in a footnote it referred to a video posted by that account’s YouTube channel.

Below is the video in question, which is an unedited, 37-minute video of GIDS director Dr. Polly Charmichael speaking at the 2016 WPATH conference. The YouTube account’s politics notwithstanding, the video itself is provided with no extra editorial comment by the account; it is just the words and slides of Dr. Charmichael.

youtube

In an April 18 Substack that she characterized as an opinion piece, Reed argued that “England’s Anti-Trans Cass Review Is Politics Disguised As Science.”

In the single paragraph below from that Substack, she made at least six false or misleading claims.

Reed falsely claimed that the Cass Review was crafted with a predetermined conclusion. In fact, as I mentioned, Dr. Cass commissioned seven independent systematic literature reviews on various facets of pediatric gender medicine from the University of York. Their findings informed Cass's conclusions.

Reed falsely claimed the systematic literature reviews were “highly susceptible to subjectivity.” The reviews used a validated scoring method, the Newcastle-Ottawa scale (NOS), and two independent reviewers each. The paper on the NOS scale to which Reed linked in her Substack actually states much more modestly that there is apparent “room for subjectivity in the NOS tool.”

She falsely claimed the Cass Review disregarded all research not deemed high quality.

She falsely claimed that the theory that gender dysphoria and trans identity may be influenced by social contagion has been "debunked". This remains an open question subject to ongoing research.

She makes the misleading suggestion about the YouTube footnote.

She falsely claims that the Cass Review asserts that rates of detransition are high. In fact, Cass states that the detransition rate is “unknown due to the lack of long term follow-up.”

In an April 19 Substack, Reed began pushing the particularly far-fetched claim that Dr. Cass had somehow, after publishing a nearly 400-page report following a four-year effort, suddenly reversed herself and endorsed the prescribing of puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones to minors outside of a clinical trial.

“Dr. Cass Backpedals From Review: HRT, Blockers Should Be Made Available,” Reed trumpeted in her headline.

Her source for this claim was a supposed transcript from an interview Dr. Cass had apparently given to The Kite Trust. The transcript was inexplicably written in the third person, referring repeatedly to “Dr. Cass.” Reed mischaracterized statements that Dr. Cass apparently made about how she envisioned children receiving puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones in clinical trials of such drugs; Reed presented those statements as if they applied to everyday prescribing of drugs.

Fact Checked By Cass, Reed Doubles Down, Repeats the Same Falsehoods

Reed has remained resolute that she is right and Dr. Hilary Cass is wrong regarding the evidence backing pediatric gender-transition treatment.

After Cass castigated those who propogate such “disinformation” in her interview with The Times, Reed repeated her false claim that Cass discarded perfectly good research.

In response to an April 22 BBC tweet thread that painstakingly diagrammed how the misinformation about the Cass Review spread around the world, and why it was wrong, Reed responded:

“Not accurate.”

Reed then proceeded to mischaracterize the systematic reviews syntheses, describing them as if they were capricious processes and not structured to weed out study results that are unreliable. Referring to the 58 moderate-quality studies that were factored into the syntheses, Reed wrote: “Much of what was in the moderate section was also discarded, especially in Cass’s conclusions.”

This tweet came as the UK LGBTQ charity Stonewall backed off of its previous claims that Cass had egregiously discarded a large crop of research.

“We are grateful to Dr Cass for taking the time to clarify that both ‘high’ and ‘moderate’ quality research were considered by as part of the evidence review, both in the media and directly to trans and LGBTQ+ organisations,” a contrite Stonewall tweeted.

That same day, the UK Royal College of Psychiatrists also backed the Cass Review. Its president, Dr. Lade Smith CBE, stated in a press release: “It is a comprehensive and evidence-based assessment that needs to be acted upon with a fully resourced implementation plan.”

Who Is Erin Reed?

Reed has been Substacking for a relatively short time, but has quickly amassed a large following. She has 54,000 subscribers, among whom a group that is apparently in the thousands pays either $50 per year or $5 per month for their premium subscription.

She is recommended by doctors.

In the wake of the March publication of the so-called WPATH Files by Michael Shellenberger’s nonprofit Environmental Progress, Dr. Carl Streed, the current USPATH head, wrote in a letter to USPATH colleagues that he was “grateful” for Reed’s reporting about the Files—for correcting the “numerous false claims running rampant in the media.”

(Dr. Streed, whom I’ve interviewed a couple of times, took a clear swipe at me in the letter. First he called into question the findings of a recent Finnish study that found no independent association between receiving gender-transition treatment and the suicide death rate among gender-distressed youths. Then he wrote, “I seriously question the motives and ethics of any reporter, legislator, or professional citing it as evidence.” I was the only reporter to cover the study for a major U.S. media outlet, the New York Post. Reed was no fan of the article either and, as she noted in her message to me about this Substack, published her own takedown of my work in the Los Angeles Blade. I stand by my reporting. My motive is to report the truth. As it happens, Cass also found that there was no evidence backing the suggestion that gender-transition treatment impacts suicide deaths in youths.)

The Cass Review excoriated WPATH, saying that it exaggerated the strength of the research backing its influential guidelines for treating gender distress in children.

The LGBTQ nonprofit GLAAD, which has falsely claimed the “science is settled” on pediatric gender-transition treatment, is also a vocal supporter of Reed’s writing.

However, not all doctors see Reed as a trustworthy intellectual. Last October, at the Society for Evidence Based Medicine conference in New York City, I cited Reed when asking a question of a panel of researchers and physicians. When I noted that one major media outlet refers to Reed as a “legislative analyst,” the room broke out into derisive laughter.

Reed is no fan of SEGM’s and repeatedly claims they are a hate group. I got no such impression from the conference in particular, which provided a crash course on evidence-based medicine practice. Politics came up only briefly. This was a science conference.

Reed recently became engaged to Montana state Rep. Zooey Zephyr, a Democrat.

Reed, whose writing has also been published by Harper’s Bazaar, was recently lionized as a journalistic force to be reckoned with by The Nation. The progressive outlet (which I have written for a few times) charactered Reed’s Substack as one of “the most reliable sources for information on the exploding campaign against trans rights.”

Don’t tell that to Laura Edwards-Leeper. She is a child psychologist who was part of the team to first import to the U.S., in 2007, the so-called Dutch model for prescribing puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones to treat gender-related distress in children. More recently, Edwards-Leeper, who practices in Oregon, has become one of the most prominent voices calling for reform and caution in the pediatric gender-care field from within its ranks.

[ Laura Edwards-Leeper ]

Dr. Edwards-Leeper is no fan of Reed’s.

“Erin Reed is harming children with her false claims about the Cass Review,” Dr. Edwards-Leeper told me. “Because many providers, parents, and even professional organizations are believing these claims without taking the time to read the actual review themselves. By ignoring the Cass Review, the most comprehensive examination of the evidence for treating gender-distressed youth medically to date, providers and parents who believe Erin’s false synopsis are making decisions that are not accurate and will undoubtedly harm children.”

Echoing Dr. Cass, who said, “This must stop,” of the toxic bullying that has intimidated many health professionals out of speaking out about the subject of pediatric gender medicine, Dr. Edwards-Leeper said of Reed’s routine publication of falsehoods about the Cass Review and pediatric gender medicine:

“This behavior is unforgivable and must stop immediately.”

I encourage you to retweet a thread about this Substack: https://x.com/benryanwriter/status/1782653360207761431

Ben brought the receipts.

Follow-up:

PSA: Reed is most correctly addressed as Globally Discredited Shill Blogger "Erin" Reed.

#Benjamin Ryan #receipts #Erin Reed #Christopher Reed #compulsive liar #pathological liars #misinformation #dishonesty #disinformation #debunked #Cass review #Cass report #Hilary Cass #Dr. Hilary Cass #religion is a mental illness

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