#and i was stupid to believe otherwise and to waste all this time and effort . like girl move on

[kimmkitsuragi]

the way this is all pointless and hopeless and i am gonna end up as a disappointment. whatever

[fuck-customers]

There's literally NO point to this! WHY are you wasting my time?

Our store forces customers to hand over their phone number and other personal information under the guise of a "rewards system" that 100% does not exist. The phone numbers are purely for tracking purposes.

I only ever actually ask customers for their number if a manager is within earshot, otherwise I just keysmash a bunch of numbers and make a fake "customer." It literally does not matter. I've been doing this for over a year and no one has noticed.

Anyway, this particular day, the manager was backing me up on registers, so I was actually asking customers for their number. I asked one customer for her number and there was a clear language barrier and it was very obvious that she did not understand at all what I was asking of her, since I asked for her phone number multiple times and she handed me her item, then she handed me her basket and then handed me her phone itself.

I figured I made a genuine effort to get her stupid ass phone number and hit "skip" and started scanning her items.

Cue my manager FLYING over to my register to rip the scanner out of my hand and demand that I get the customer's dumbass phone number, despite her literally watching me try and fail to do so. I'm sick of her shit, so I tell her that I tried and couldn't get through to the customer, but she should switch with me if she thinks she'll have any luck. She does.

20 minutes later, I've gotten the line completely down by myself and she's still trying to get that one woman's stupid phone number. I don't believe she ever actually got through to the woman and simultaneously completely failed to back me up, since I ended up having to ring everyone else up aloe while she was dicking around with one transaction. A+ management.

[cariantha]

Prom

Book: Open Heart, Book 2

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: Teen

Category: Fluff

Word count: 2.2K

Summary: Ethan helps Sawyer remedy one of her biggest regrets.

A/N: This fic was inspired by an ask from @jerzwriter who wanted to know whether Sawyer and Ethan attended their high school proms.

Sawyer slept peacefully in his arms for a couple of hours before waves of excruciating stomach aches began to crash over her. Having done everything he could medically, all Ethan could do now was hold her hand through it and hope that the others would be able to manufacture a miracle.

Sawyer could no longer diminish the severity of the pain. She cries and wraps her arms around her waist as the next bout of sharp cramping cripples her body. 

“I know, Rookie… I know,” he gently rubs her back, feeling otherwise helpless. As her suffering subsides, Ethan eases her back against the pillow and dabs the tears from her face with a tissue. The dull reflection in her eyes concerns him. As the maitotoxin steals the strength from her body, the hopelessness of the situation robs her of the will to fight. 

“What a waste,” she whispers looking up at the ceiling. 

“What’s a waste?”

“My life.”

“How can you possibly think that?” he questions, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. With plastic-covered hands, he brushes some stray hairs from her face.

“I spent half of my life doing what I thought other people expected of me. I’ve spent the other half working myself to death to become a doctor. And for what? I’m finally at the finish line and it’s all been for nothing. I could have spent more time with my family. Hell, I could have had my own family by now. I could have traveled. I could have… I could have gone to prom!” she turns and sobs into the pillow. 

“Sawyer, you can’t think like that. Don’t think about what you didn’t get to do. Think about what you’re going to do when you get out of this room.” 

They both sit in silence for a moment when Ethan shakes his head with a chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, wiping away the new tears.

“Prom? Really? That’s one of your biggest regrets?” he laughs.

Sawyer plays it back in her head and starts laughing with him, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. 

“It’s stupid, I know!” she admits, “But it was just one of those rites of passage moments that I missed out on.”

“Why didn’t you go? It’s hard to believe that no one asked the smartest and most beautiful girl in school.”

Sawyer can't help the big smile that spreads across her face. A small win for Ethan as he tries to keep her spirits up. 

“Thank you. No one got the chance to ask because I graduated from high school a year early. I didn’t get to do any of the senior year stuff like spring break, ditch day, prom, graduation parties…” 

“I didn’t go to my prom either.” 

“Really? Why?”

“I couldn’t justify digging into my college savings for an over-the-top one-time date. My dad offered to help with a little extra cash, but I didn’t feel right accepting when he still had to work overtime to make ends meet. And honestly, there wasn’t anyone I was willing to suffer through that kind of evening with.”

“If I had been in your class, would you have asked me?”

Thinking of all the things he would have done differently since meeting Sawyer, “I would have been the first in line to ask and I would have spent my whole damn savings just to impress you.”

She holds onto that thought as another agonizing wave of pain rolls over her.

********************

It’s been several months since the attack and Sawyer slips into a period of depression, the aftermath still too heavy a burden at times. All that hangs in the air as a result of the impending hospital closure causes overwhelming anxiety and sadness. 

Ethan begins to notice the signs. Lack of interest. Withdrawal. Tiredness. Dwelling on the past. 

To his credit, Ethan’s made quite the effort to remedy his biggest regret. Determined to make every precious moment count, he holds Sawyer in his arms every chance he gets and shows her as often as possible just how much she means to him. But he wants to do something more. Provide a distraction. Give her something to look forward to. Make up for lost time and missed chances. And that’s when the idea comes to him. He’s going to take Sawyer to prom. 

********************

“Hey, Dr. Hottie! What brings you to my neck of the woods?” 

“Kyra,” he warns.

“Sorry. I need to remember you can report me to HR now,” she laughs. “What’s up, Doc?”

“I was hoping for your assistance with a personal matter.” Ethan takes a seat in front of her desk and explains his idea. “Given your experience with event planning, I figured you’d be the best person to ask. So, what do you think?”

“What I think, Dr. Ro-man-sey… is you just got my vote for prom king.”

Rolling his eyes at the new nickname, “Ok, so where should we start?”

********************

A few days later, Ethan is in the cafeteria waiting in line for the cashier. From behind him, he hears, “Hi, Dr. Ramsey!” 

“Trinh.”

“Kyra filled us in last night and I’m so excited for Sawyer. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

“Thank you.”

“So, how are you planning to ask her?”

“I was going to mention it tonight during dinner.” 

“No, no, no,” she shakes her head, “You have to come up with a cute prom proposal.”

“A what?”

As they reach the register, Ethan pays for both of their lunches. 

“Thank you!” She follows him to a table, sits down, and continues. “A prom proposal. Hold on… let me show you.”

Sienna pulls out her phone and opens the Pinterest app. She starts showing Ethan the different ideas and he vehemently shakes his head. 

“No.”  

“Ethan, it’s a major part of the prom experience nowadays.” 

As he pinches the bridge of his nose, Sienna scrolls down the page, commenting on the different photos. “What about this one?... Ooh, this would be super cute… Aww, look how sweet…”

“Go back up,” he instructs and points. “That one.”

She pauses to consider, realizing that was probably as “cute” as it was going to get coming from Ethan Ramsey. “Yeah, that’s perfect. Here’s what I think you should do…” 

********************

The next day, Ethan asks Sawyer to meet him for an afternoon break at Derry Roasters. He arrives twenty minutes beforehand to place a special order with the friendly barista who is more than happy to accommodate.

Arriving right on time, Sawyer greets him with a quick peck. “Hi.”

“Hi. I placed our order already,” pulling a chair out for her to sit. He notices the slump of her shoulders and the circles under her eyes. He reaches for her hand and holds it in her lap until their order is called.

“For Ethan!” the barista shouts. 

“Here you go,” Ethan returns, strategically setting the cup in front of Sawyer. 

“Thank y– wait, I don’t think this is mine,” she responds, looking around the café for a pair of teenagers.

“That’s your usual. It’s what I ordered.”

“Yeah, but it says, ‘Prom?’ I think this is meant to ask someone to prom,” showing him the writing on the cup.

“It is. So? Will you go to prom with me?”

“What?” she giggles, looking at him like he’s crazy.

“I want to take you to prom.”

Ethan can see the smile starting to form at the corner of her lips and a twinkle of excitement in her eyes. 

Raising her eyebrows, “How are you going to do that?”

“I have my ways.”

“And when is this happening?”

“Saturday after next. You can go dress shopping this weekend.”

As she looks at the cup in her hand again, a huge smile spreads across her face. Her eyes start to glisten with happy tears and she moves into Ethan’s lap wrapping her arms around his neck. Placing a gentle kiss on his lips, “I would love to go to prom with you, Ethan.” 

“Sawyer! Your date is here!” Sienna sings out. She and the other roommates all gather in the living room to see their friend’s grand entrance. 

With one last check in the mirror, Sawyer makes her way down the hall. A vision in glittering gold sequins, but it's the sparkle that has returned to her emerald eyes that captures Ethan’s attention.  

“Hi,” welcoming him with an uncontrollable smile. Her fingers run over the lapel of his tuxedo jacket, “Wow, you look great.”

“And you look–”

“Appropriate?” she teases. 

“Will that joke ever get old?” he wonders out loud. Leaning close to her ear, “I was going to say hot. If we didn’t have an audience right now…” he trails off placing a kiss on her cheek. Offering his arm, “Shall we?” 

“Oh, real quick. Si? Would you mind taking a couple of pictures before we go?”

Minutes later they step out onto the street and Sawyer can’t believe her eyes. “You rented a limo?” 

“Of course I did. It’s the prom.” As the chauffeur comes around to open the door, Ethan reaches into his pocket. “I have something for you. Hold out your hand. It’s not the traditional flower corsage…” he explains clasping a vintage Tiffany’s bracelet around her wrist, “but I wanted you to have something to always remember this night.”

Looking up into his sincere eyes, she kisses him. “How could I ever forget?” wrapping her arms around his waist, “And in case I forget to tell you later... thank you for the most amazing night.”

While Ethan and Sawyer enjoy a five-star meal at an exclusive restaurant downtown, her friends change and head to the venue with their plus ones. 

As the limo pulls up in front of the hotel and the chauffeur opens the door, Sawyer immediately spots a familiar face. “Alan?” she meets with a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I had to see my boy off to his first prom and get a photo for the mantel.” Taking a step back he squared up his phone, “Squeeze together and say ‘Prom!’” 

Alan escorts them inside, and when Sawyer enters the beautifully decorated ballroom, her eyes begin to swell. There is a dance floor in the middle of the room flanked by a couple of tables on each side. On stage, a live band plays a Bruno Mars’ cover of “Just the Way You Are”, a popular song from the year Sawyer graduated high school. As she turns to Ethan, she sees a small crowd gathering behind them. 

“What?!,” she spins around in shock, “I can’t believe you were all in on this!” 

She hugs each of her friends and exchanges pleasantries with the newcomers. Elijah and Phoebe. Bryce came with his kid sister, Keiki. Jackie, Aurora, and Kyra with dates that Sawyer hadn’t met before. And Rafael who had suggested to Sienna that they go together, knowing she was still struggling to move on after Danny. 

Off to the side, Sawyer noticed one other person.

“And where’s your date, handsome?” she kisses the older man on the cheek. 

“Oh, I’m not here as a guest, my dear. I’m your chaperone for this lovely event,” Naveen jokingly clarifies.

“Well, I’m going to save you a dance anyway. As you know, I sort of have a thing for authority figures,” she quips, backing up and wrapping an arm around Ethan’s waist. 

As the evening carries on, Sawyer hits the dance floor with her friends. Ethan cuts in for nearly every slow dance, only allowing turns for Alan and Naveen. Sawyer tries to get Ethan to stay for a couple of upbeat songs. Arm looped behind her and around his neck, she rocks her hips from side to side. Ethan stands in place, and with his hands on her swaying hips, it looks as though he’s moving along to the beat.

When the band starts playing another lively tune, Ethan makes his way to the bar for a drink. 

“It’s like a trial run!” Naveen shouts over the music.

Alan clinks his glass against Naveen’s.  

“What are you two conspiring about now?” Ethan interrupts.

“Naveen was just saying tonight could be seen as a trial run… for you know… da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum,” Alan hums with a crooked smile. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Ethan rolls his eyes and moves around them. “Bartender, a double?”

After Sienna surprises them both by announcing Ethan as prom king and crowning Sawyer prom queen, the evening begins to wind down. Naveen offers to give Alan a lift back to Ethan’s apartment. The friend group splits off, some heading home while others continue their date night activities elsewhere. 

Sawyer finds Ethan, his hand outstretched to tuck her into his arms.  

“This has been the most amazing night. I don’t want it to be over yet,” she breathes into his chest while squeezing him.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says, holding up a hotel key card. “I’ve arranged for a private afterparty in a suite upstairs.” Leaning down to whisper into her ear, “If you think I’m not going to make a play on my girlfriend and try to steal her prom virginity… you’ve misjudged me.”

“Well then, consider yourself lucky, Ethan Ramsey. Because I was definitely planning to put out for you tonight.” 

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @ofmischiefandmedicine @openheartforeverinmyheart @doriopenheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog

[queenharumiura]

🎂+ "Did you even notice me or am I just a replacement for Juudaime?" ((you already know who this is from))

Today is the day I celebrate Haru because of her shorthand (86) and I'll answer any questions. [x] ||Time's up! No longer accepting!|| I do know this is to take place in the future, so I'm taking some creative liberties as I don't exactly know how things lead up to them being a thing, so bear with me.

“Huh. Fuck.” What was the saying, tongue in cheek? It would be better for her to keep her silence and storm off in a fit of anger, but she was told to be honest and to not hold back, hm? She looks down at the piece of paper giving her directions for the day. All she knew was that she was going to have a strong word with a certain mun later for this horrendous idea of hers. When can a Haru ever have peace? “So this is how we’re ending things tonight with the questions? Okay.”

She honestly thought that she was safe and free, and yet everything snowballed at night, and look at this now. She’s ending things off with a bang, hm?

“You know, I expected something more out of you than this, Gokudera.” A derisive snort, “You waited until now to ask because I have to be honest and you didn’t trust me otherwise, is that it?” A relationship had to be built on top of trust, and she was being made to feel that he didn’t trust her. That deep down he felt that she still had a flame for Tsuna.

He didn’t believe that she loved him, and for someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, he’d effectively taken her love and slapped her in the face with it, thinking that he was just a replacement. This entire situation left a bad taste in her mouth both figuratively and literally. She could taste the blood from her biting so hard on her lower lip in anger.

Her line of vision kept shifting on different spots on the ceiling as she was trying to calm herself to not just launch into a slew of explicatives. Deep breath in and deep breath out, keep the tears at bay. Staring at the ceiling in an attempt to keep her composure for long enough to not break down into tears as she’s forced to address this.

There were a few things to note about Haru and her speech patterns. When she stopped referring to herself in third person, she was being very serious, and the moment she ever utters a curse word, you know you messed up, royally.

“I sure am curious though. Is this something you came up with yourself, or is it because you hear things other say about me and now you doubt me?” Don’t worry, regardless of the answer she’s still mad at you. You still went and fucked up. Mun-san really had a lot to make up for, that’s for sure.

She takes a deep breath in, holds it for a few seconds before she exhales, trying to release a lot of her frustrations with it. She managed to center herself with that one. “When I gave upon Tsuna-san all that time ago after exhausting everything I could try, that was the end of things. I had a clean break with my feelings. I did all that I could to have him see my way, but it didn’t work. I did try to hide it and I don’t know how well I did at that, but I was a mess sometimes because of it all.” She hated the fact that she was being made to admit to anything and everything.

“Did you think I didn’t know who he was pining for? Sure, I’m a stupid woman as you say, but I won’t have anyone come here and tell me that I was in the wrong for trying. The stupidest thing you can do is NOT try and lament that it never happened. I did my best to appeal to Tsuna-san. I did everything I could to try something… ANYTHING, but nothing came of it. What came out of it? Me understanding that it wasn’t going to work out. After that, all I needed to do was sever my feelings and move on.”

She says it as if it was an easy thing to do, but it wasn’t. She needed time to come to terms with the futile efforts and to understand that this was going to be viewed as a waste of time to everyone else.

“I don’t regret all that I did then, as I learned a lot from him. I developed some skill sets that I’m proud of to this day. Everyone else may think that my time spent pinning for him was a waste of time, but I see it as my journey of going through my first love and seeing it to the end. Some people can get stuck and get hung up on it forever, but I’m not like that. When I stopped loving him, that was the end of it. It was time for the next stage of my life, whatever that was.”

If she had to regret anything, it was the amount of emotional baggage that followed her after the fallout of her feelings for Tsuna. “I know that others pitied me for my futile efforts… and I know I probably looked stupid to a lot of them (if not all of them). I pretended to not see it, even if it was coming from those I cared about.” It was one thing to be pitied by random people, but to be pitied by your friends and family? It was the absolute worst. They were seeing her at her lowest, but she kept a smile on her face, pretending to not see it. Haru thought that it would hurt more if she let them know that she saw the looks.

It would be worse to acknowledge it and have them be more discreet about it.

“Ahh… fuck” she ruffles her fingers through her bangs, “there was a time where I really thought I’d be okay with being a shadow woman if only it meant he’d notice me when he thought to look down.” A scoff. “It’s stupid, how low I was at that time. Just how badly I was willing to degrade myself to relegating myself to being a shadow.” She really hated that part of her. It disgusted her every time she recalls that.

She shouldn’t have ever thought that way or spoken that way, even if at one point it may have been a joke. That’s the thing with jokes, they can feel real once you say them enough. She’s irritated on all accounts now as she’s reeling over the real question at hand and the memories relating to the question. “Do you just want me to stay hung up on the past? You just won’t let me get past it to heal and feel better about myself, will you?” She’s biting back with her own words. “Does it make you feel better to kick me down when I’ve already done that enough? Was my self-confidence and self-love tanking not enough? You have to kick me down too? Is there a point to this? Is it a game to see who can break me worse?”

What was that about holding back tears? Well, she tried.

“You know, I always wanted to have an average life by getting married to someone who loved me and start a family one day—but I can’t have that. By some twist of fate, I am affiliated with the mafia. I can’t just love a civilian and expect them to follow me into the Mafia. That then involves their family too by extension. I don’t have other options available to me. I lied to myself telling myself that it’d be okay if I was alone moving forwards. It’s too late for me to go back to being a regular civilian. I gave up on one of my dreams to stay with you all.”

That is to say that she treasured the bonds she made with everyone more than her dream of having a happily married life with some normal guy. She would’ve been plenty happy with that. Not to be a narcissist, but she would make a great wife! She’s wasting her potential here, you know?

Damn it, she couldn’t stop the tears from flooding down her face NO THANKS TO SOMEONE. She stopped as she was hectically rubbing at her cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears. Well, the show must go on, right? You wanted the full truth, after all. She won’t have anyone accusing her of wasting time by stalling.

“I already had the reputation of being the silly woman who pined after Tsuna-san for so long. That moniker will never leave me for as long as I live, I’m sure. People are going to talk and make whatever they will about my interpersonal relationships with others. They’re going to suspect that I still hold a torch for Tsuna-san, or that I’m secretly hoping for Kyoko-chan to reject him or what have you.” It was so tough on her to think that’s how people may perceive her character.

She spent the majority of her life being a regular civilian girl. She wasn’t some conniving person who lusted after power. She wasn’t someone who was willing to do any underhanded means to get what she wanted either. She was just an innocent girl who wholeheartedly loved the wrong person.

“I didn’t want to fall for anyone else associated with the Vongola. I knew that people would talk, assume that I was using them as a replacement. I didn’t want to be the reason for any of you to be looked down on. I… I’m not worth your reputations being sullied because of me.” Haru walks over to a chair and brings her knees to her chest, hiding her crying face in her knees. “I trusted that you’d believe me.” We see where that got her.

“I was fine with anyone viewing me as the worst if only my lover trusted me. That alone would be worth it. Maybe I could prove myself in the eyes of others if they saw just how much I loved you but I can’t even convince YOU that you’re the only one that I have in my heart?”

What was the point then? What is a relationship without trust at a bare minimum?

This is incredibly heartbreaking.

“You deserve someone who makes you feel confident in the fact you’re the only one for them, and I deserve someone who doesn’t doubt me even when I gave them everything that I had to offer. If with all the love I had to give you, you still had an ounce of doubt in me, I can’t stay here. I don’t deserve this.” She may have trampled her self-worth when she was pining over Tsuna, but she made a promise to herself to not do that again.

“If you truly think that you’re just a replacement for me, consider today the last time you can call me your girlfriend. I’m NOT tolerating this bullshit. Not from you.”

It’s past midnight and that’s the last of the questions she was accepting for the night, so she storms out the questioning room to cry for the rest of the night.

[wolfnanaki]

Nanaki's Late Night Thoughts (2/11/2023)

Ramblings of a trans wolf girl late at night.

When it’s coming to an end, Then why hold back? Why save it for yourself When you have so much to tell?

What is it going to take for me to do the things I actually want to do in my life? I have this weird habit of trying to make everything “just right” before I do anything, and yet it never happens. I have so many story ideas floating around in my head, playing out in my thoughts like an endless movie, and yet I can’t bring these stories to the one format I’m good at producing. I’ll have all these ideas, go home, sit in front of my computer with Word open, and then do nothing. More cycling through YouTube, talking to friends on Discord, browsing Twitter, burning through my finite time in this world instead of following my dreams.

Mom keeps pushing me into getting a Human Resources position because she believes my experience and skills are perfect for the job. She even went as far as to enroll me in a HR certification course, which I succeeded at and got my certificate. But still, I don’t feel like it’s the right job for me, I can’t see myself doing it as a career in five, ten years. I promised myself as a kid I wouldn’t allow myself to waste away at a dull office desk job, that my life would have some fucking MEANING, that I’d reach for the stars and follow my dreams.

I’m enslaved by impulses. Even now as I type this, I had to stop myself from reaching for my phone to play a mobile game. I have to look away from Twitter and other social media platforms that hit my brain in just the right ways that ensure I’m always on them. Looking at and sharing other people’s thoughts is a hell of a lot easier than sharing your own. And there’s always a hot new topic for you to dabble in, just peeking out from the “Trending” tab on the side. Want to see how many people you thought you could trust and respect still follow J.K. Rowling? Want to watch another manmade horror happen live? Want to get swallowed up in stupid debates with loser bitches whose primary goal is to make you upset and haven’t evolved their worldview since they hit puberty? Welcome to Twitter, stay a while and suffer. I’m almost glad Elon Musk is burning it to the ground, though I wonder where all the worst people in the world will go once their stomping grounds are gone.

It’s too late now anyway, So when you feel you have something to say, Why save it for yourself? Don't let those you love get away.

A few minutes before I started writing this, when I went downstairs to make myself a sandwich, I felt my foot bump into something on the floor in the darkness. It was my dog’s chew toy. It’s always in our walking path at night for some reason, and I always move it out of the way because I worry that one day, mom isn’t going to see it and will trip over it. When I started toasting my bread, the toaster started smoking, and I turned it off to look inside. My older brother has a habit of toasting a sandwich for himself every night, and he uses the toaster to reheat leftover pizza too. Whichever the case may be, there’s now a hardened black blob of cheese at the bottom part of the toaster that’s supposed to cook the food. I hope he recognizes his mistake and fixes it, otherwise I’ll have to do it for him.

Ever since I lost my job, I’ve noticed little things like that around the house, but especially in the kitchen. No matter how much you sweep, no matter how many hours you devote to cleaning the place, there’s always something dirty to it. You always feel crumbs under your toes. It makes the whole process feel pointless. I don’t get why mom puts so much effort into cleaning it when it’s always dirty anyway. Maybe one day it can be clean for real, probably the day we move out and spruce this place up.

Mom wants to move up to Jacksonville – or at least near it – since my youngest brother and his girlfriend just moved there. I’m surprised at the trajectory of my brother’s life. He traveled the world, taught English in China, started online businesses for selling tat and books, started dating a girl, and now they’ve moved in together. His girlfriend has a daughter who happily calls my brother her dad. He's 28. I’m 32 and I haven’t even been on a date. But it’s hard to compare myself with him in that way; he’s always been comfortable with who he is and how he presents himself, whereas I’m a trans woman trying to find her body, her comfort and her happiness. I don’t think I can truly open up with a romantic partner if I don’t know for sure how they’ll take me being trans, especially considering the way I look right now. I can’t “pass” the way I am, I haven’t done much vocal training, and I live in an anti-trans state. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep trying to live as my most authentic self.

Authenticity – my job, my gender identity, my dreams, my personality. It’s all exhausting but it’s a journey I must face head-on. If I don’t define myself for myself, it’ll be other people who define me for me. And I’ve given years of my life to other people who didn’t have my best interests at heart, who used and discarded me. That’s not who I want to be. Maybe that’s why I’m so hesitant to settle into a Human Resources career. I don’t want to live a life as another person’s lackey. And I don’t dream of labor. I just want to write my stories and life as my true self for the world to see.

And this time there won’t be another day, And now I know This is the only way. And when we go...

Back in December, I listened to a song. It’s called “Constellations,” performed by Dabu and sung by Brigitte Naggar, composed for the soundtrack for an upcoming indie game called Goodbye Volcano High. The game’s story is about anthropomorphic dinosaur teenagers in their senior year of high school having their lives being interrupted with the revelation that a comet is on its way to strike the planet and wipe out the dinosaurs. The player character is a nonbinary pterodactyl named Fang, who must figure out what they’re going to do with their remaining time. The game is billed as “the end of an era and the beginning of a love story.”

The song “Constellations” hit hard for me; its lyrics encapsulated so many of my feelings, trans and otherwise. It’s a beautiful and heartfelt song, but when I listened to it in full for the first time in full that cold night, I couldn’t handle all those feelings at once. I was overwhelmed. I was a sobbing mess for ten minutes. It hurt, but it was also cathartic in a way. I shared those feelings that night in posts, not for attention or anything, but because I desperately needed to share them in case they reach the eyes for someone else going through what I’m going through, and maybe it’ll help them knowing they’re not alone, that someone else has felt their feelings and is healing.

It was that night, influenced by the song’s lyrics, that I came up with a personal motto, one I have now posted on as many platforms that allows for it:

“When the world is ruled by hate, rebel with love.”

So many of our online interactions are defined by hate, outrage, disgust, contempt. No platform is truly safe from that influence because when we feel those feelings, they’re incredibly strong and we NEED to vent them. We spend our time arguing with each other over the most petty things, leave feeling miserable, and then prep ourselves for when we’ll do it all over again. And frankly, I realized that night that I don’t want to fall into that trap anymore. I want to live a life celebrating good, influenced by love and compassion. Because love is so much stronger than hate. Love yourself enough and you can overcome anything. Love strong enough and you can change the world. And when so much of our daily lives are defined by hate, showing true, honest love becomes a form of rebellion.

Right now, I have many parts of myself that paint me as a target for hate. I’m Jewish when antisemitism is on the rise, I’m a transgender woman when anti-trans bills are being passed across the USA, and being a furry, I’m part of a big, openly queer space that’s now also under attack by the political right. I am surrounded by hate, and if I’m not careful, hate will be my end. But that’s even more reason to love. I don’t plan on being a martyr or anything, but I let the hate and fear of other people control my life, then just like when I’m boymoding, I’m not living as my true self.

I’m a trans woman, I’m proud, I’m full of love, and I want to make the world a better place. Whatever dreams or achievements I accomplish before I’m gone, that’s one legacy I want to leave behind. And I hope my words reach people who need them, who find comfort in them, and who come to choose to live a life of compassion and love. We only get so much time in this world, let’s make it worthwhile.

You can see it in the constellations. It spells our legacy above. There was love, there will always be love.

[knwbetter]

day 5 since we last talked: i've definitely been thinking of him today. there were moments where he entered my mind and face would grimace in pain. i missed him still a lot today. i miss talking to him, i miss his presence, i miss our banters and subtle flirting that we had every day. i miss when he so clearly wanted to talk to me every day... he would bombard me with messages, i don't have that anymore and i miss him so much. i want him back so bad even if that's probably not the best idea. i really thought we had a connection especially when he first mentioned that he had the same situation as me growing up. he seemed really intrigued by me from the start. he would make the effort to talk to me every day and i did the same as time went by bc i felt like we had a connection going on. he seemed genuinely interested in what i was into that he ended up watching the films i love and the games i love. how could he spend all the time for me when in reality he wasn't into me? i'll never be able to wrap my head around it. i'd never waste all that time on someone i didn't like, it's just crazy behavior. was he just bored and found me easy? it's hard to believe in anything he's said to me now, i don't think i trust him. but at the same time, i still want to talk to him. i feel like i'm expecting him to text me again out of the blue. it doesn't seem likely tho. i still can't believe he played with my feelings. i don't think i've done anything to deserve it tbh. what was his intentions when he talked to me? i've always wondered about that ever since the beginning. it felt like he had some kind of intention with the way he was talking to me which was probably why i felt so guarded. he was overly familiar and trusting too in the beginning which made me feel so uncomfortable bc i didn't know who tf this person was. slowly but surely tho he made me open up to him. i did notice tho that when i shared small tidbits of myself that he didn't ask for, he didn't acknowledge them. that hurt my feelings tbh bc i rarely share something like that and knowing that he simply ignored it definitely hurt me. after that i told myself i wouldn't share much of myself unless he asked. he did ask a lot about me but that was it, only interested in what he wanted to know about me. i must say, he was interested in a lot but in the end i didn't know what he wanted from me.

around two weeks of talking he told me i was a joy to talk to. even said he's become pretty comfortable with me. and a bunch of other flirting with me but idk any of that was real which hurts. now he can't even be bothered to talk to me, when old him would text me about anything. did i do something wrong? was i too ugly for him? after reassuring me countless times too that i was perfect and that he already likes me for who i am. i didn't believe him of course bc how could you say that without seeing someone's physical appearance? well as you would have it, he started acting off after i showed him my picture. he even said that he'd obviously like to see me in person first before entering a relationship but could say yes for now, even if he already saw what i looked like. and prior to saying this, he said that i was definitely his. so what is what honestly? he made me more confused and i was super hurt ngl. i might've been stupid to bring that up but i wanted to know what his intentions were and if he was serious about me, otherwise i didn't want any of this fake shit. we'd just be wasting time, feelings, and effort for each other. yes it was fun but i don't want it if it isn't going to go anywhere.

i yelped a few times whenever i thought about him today. i couldn't believe i was that open and vulnerable with him. i also cringed at myself for my behavior with him, i didn't know i could be like that with someone. i had the hugest urge to pull up our chat and text him. how would that make me look tho? desperate and needy, when he probably doesn't even want me like that. it hurts! we were cute but he had to ruin it. i really thought he had a pure heart from how he presented himself to me. he was so sweet and patient with me and i thought it was too good to be true. and it really was. it's like i just imagined the whole thing. like none of it was real or that it happened. now i'm super curious what he wanted from me. i guess he wasn't the person he pained himself to be. god, i really fell for that act? oh he's good, lemme tell you. i really felt that he was genuine and usually i'm pretty wary around people and go super analysis mode on them. i guess i misjudged him hard, i was probably blinded by how much i liked him. which is so funny to think about bc i was annoyed at him in the beginning and felt that he was cringe. anyway yea, i still missed him a lot today even if i shouldn't be. i need to think of the way he treated me last and think if i really want to be with someone like that. he should've at least communicated that he didn't like me that way. i remember we agreed on communicating and talking it out is the best and i told him i was glad we were on the same page. i guess i was worried about it for a reason. turns out he's not the best at communicating. he's not the person i thought he was. i honestly thought he was mature enough to talk about these things like proper adults but nope. he still has a lot of growing up to do. i felt sad a lot today whenever i thought of him. plus why does every damn thing have to remind me of him? from tv series to music like give me a fucking break.

[enderwoah]

"Impulse, don't let them get to you," Tango warns, shutting the chest and jumping to sit on it. Impulse, who was looking a bit nervous and probably about to say something he shouldn't have, snaps his mouth shut. "He's trying to get in your head." "I'm doing no such thing," Owen says, adequately vexed at being interrupted, as that was exactly what he was doing. "I don't even know what that means."

(ao3 link)

(6,150 words)

Gems do not need to sleep, nor was Scott entirely sure they were capable of doing so, but he and Jimmy found the idea so novel that they put their first bit of effort as a part of Life into refurbishing the large bed they had found inside of the Crastle, complete with new blankets and sheets made of wool they had found and dyed blue with the help of several dozens of flowers (as the idea of using the naturally-generated lapis, as the others had been doing, found itself to be a bit much for Jimmy). Cleo found the endeavour to be partially a waste of time and partially sickeningly heartwarming, so she let them be.

He is fully aware that there are three Homeworld gems that are inside his base (albeit way, way down), but he finds himself laying on that bed, staring at Jimmy's gem resting on the soft wool beneath him. When he closes his eyes, he doesn't see images of Jimmy shattering anymore, which is a wonderful bit of relief in an otherwise oppresively anxiety-inducing situation.

His eyebrows sets and the corners of his mouth downturn into a slight frown. "You promised you wouldn't do anything stupid."

Jimmy, predictably, does not respond, though Scott likes to imagine that he feels an iota of shame radiating from inside.

He picks up the gem with all the gentleness he has in him as a sapphire and smooths his thumb over the surface, biting the inside of his lip as he tries for a smile.

"You take your time, okay?" he finally whispers, taking note of every blemish in the blue that he's already seen and noted dozens of times before. "I'll be fine. All of the others are here to protect me, too. You just...stay out of trouble."

Jimmy still doesn't respond, whispers a quiet, "I love you, Jimmy," then sets down the lapis and exits the room.

Almost immediately, he has to side-step out of the way of Bdubs almost barreling into him, his eye somehow looking even wider than it usually is. Cleo is not too far behind him, and he can only imagine that Tango and Impulse are taking care of things nearby—or down-downstairs, where the Homeworld gems are.

"Scott, what is your plan here?" Bdubs all but shrieks, making Scott wince and take a step back. "Why are there Homeworld gems in our base?! Why did we let Homeworld gems into our base?"

"I was technically a Homeworld gem that you let into your base," Scott says densely, pretending to not understand what he meant.

"You were a Homeworld gem that just fused with a different type of gem!" Bdubs shouts, his voice turning into something of a squeak towards the end. "You asked us to stay!"

Scott glances out the window with a sigh, squinting into the forest for any sign of the Homeworld gems' ship and finding nothing. "Look, Bdubs—"

"They poofed Jimmy!"

"And Jimmy poofed their quartz," Scott says sharply. "We're lucky it didn't break out into a full-on fight."

Bdubs looks scandalised. "We could've taken them, easy! There's—there's six of us and three of them!"

"Four of them," Scott corrects. "They have a pilot."

"Whatever!" Bdubs says with exasperation. "The point is, they have a bunch of fragile gems and one quartz, we have Cleo and Impulse and Tango and me!"

"And you," Scott says dryly. Bdubs gives him a stink eye rather than responding, and Scott obnoxiously rolls his own eye, despite nobody being able to see it. "In any case, it isn't kind to judge a gem by their cut. Owen could probably take out most of us with little resistance."

Bdubs scrunches up his face. "Who in the world is Owen?"

"The padparadscha," Cleo interjects. Scott looks up at them, and he cannot believe he missed the stern look they've been giving Scott this entire time. Their gaze is piecing as they ask, "Right?"

"Erm. Yes."

Bdubs stares at him. "Why do you know his name?"

Scott starts to move towards the steps leading downward—not to be rude, but because he doesn't want to embarrass himself by getting stuck to the floor with ice during this line of questioning. "I know him."

"You know him?"

"Yes, Bdubs, I know him," he says irritably, making his way downstairs. Bdubs and Cleo both follow him closely. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Is that why you wanted them to stop fighting?" Bdubs asks incredulously. "Because he was your friend?"

"I never said he was my friend," Scott replies, though it sounds weak even to him.

"You were at least close enough to know his name," says Cleo. Scott can hear her skepticism. "And it's not like padparadschas are so common that they need them."

Scott ignores his comrades. The silence is painfully loud.

Scott can't actually remember when he first met Owen. He supposes it must have been on some mundane deployment where they regarded each other with little more than a nod—just enough for Scott to be able to recognize him later. The second time (or third, or fourth—it doesn't matter to him, it's the first time he actually paid attention) they met, they were traveling with a couple of quartzes meant to protect them as they were assigned to help advise an expedition on a volatile and rather dangerous planet.

Scott remembers getting a vision of himself poofing—and then a sudden, terrifying darkness. It made him immediately freeze in his tracks, just as the padparadscha in front of him suddenly darted into the surrounding foliage, drawing a short, crackling blade out of his gem and swinging at something unseen in the bushes. His long garment turned into an dress much more suited for moving through the underbrush, and Scott immediately drew closer to the orange gem, despite what may have been best for his health.

He then got to witness what may have been the most entertaining display in his life: a padparadscha—a sapphire beating the life out of some native, stalking beast that was half-translucent and about three times his size. By the time the quartzes caught up and actually managed to dispatch the creature, the padparadscha had already caused it significant enough damage with his weapon (his weapon that he shouldn't have even had) that it couldn't have hurt anyone if it wanted to. It was, in simple terms, incredible.

After that mishap, they were assigned on two more missions together before the padparadscha introduced himself properly—Rose-OW32, or Owen. Scott didn't have a nickname, but he didn't need one—Owen said he was recognisable enough.

It took one more mission for them to start developing what Scott would dangerously call a friendship. As it is with gems, it was primarily born from usefulness—Scott had a vision that he, rather foolishly, chose to ignore, as he figured it wasn't very probable considering their situation. Owen, as he later explained, had a retro vision of Scott's future vision (something Owen took delight in explaining to other people and watching their faces morph into abject horror and confusion), combined that with the very, very reliable information he obtains from his retro visions, and proceeded to save the both of them from whatever may have been posing a threat at the time.

They realised that the combined retro and future vision turns the branching streams of the future into something much closer to a river—that is to say, far clearer than Scott ever could have seen on his own. It was this reasoning that got them placed together for almost every assignment, aside from the times where Owen would be busy with his own specialised missions.

Scott tries very hard not to think about how this entire situation would have been different if Owen had accompanied him on this mission. He can't tell if it would have ended up better or worse.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, he realises that Bdubs and Cleo have been waiting for him to speak this entire time. He sharply turns on his heel and disregards how Bdubs abruptly stops and causes Cleo to almost bump into him.

"Look," he starts, floundering to figure out how to speak like he's still the rational and sensible one around here, despite the unprecedented circumstances. "We went on several missions together and grew fairly close due to our work. It's only because I know him personally that I'm willing to assume that he wants to work this out in logical manner."

Bdubs and Cleo both look extremely skeptical, the latter sighing and shaking her head. "Scott—"

"Cleo."

She glares at him. "The damage has already been done. We're willing to follow your lead if you're sure that he's..."

She trails off, trying to find her words. Bdubs helpfully fills in, "Not going to try and shatter us as soon as we let our guard down?"

Cleo nods. "Yes. That."

Scott lets his shoulders slump with relief. "He's not. He's not like that. Look, we'll just—we'll wait for their quartz and for Jimmy to reform, and then we'll just...answer their questions like they want us to."

Bdubs makes a face at that. "Why can't we just do it now and send 'em off? I know Jimmy's quick at reforming, but we have no idea how long their quartz will take and I am not keen on sharing a living space with Homeworld gems for any longer than I have to." He crosses his arms in defiance, closing his eye and turning to the side.

Scott shakes his head. "They won't want to do anything with us without protection. Owen—Padparadscha isn't stupid, okay? He's not going to do anything when we clearly overpower him, and I'm not even sure their jade can form a weapon."

"I don't even know why he's apparently able to form a weapon," Bdubs grumbles. "What kinda sapphire—padpraska—whatever, knows how to summon a weapon?"

Scott stares at him, deadpan. "...those who find a need to do so?"

"But even you didn't even know how to summon a weapon before you showed up here!"

Scott blinks heavily. "...because I never had the need to do so? I always had—" He trips over his words and tries to make it as subtle as possible, clearing his throat. "—someone else to take care of things for me. You know how it works. I told them where to hit, they hit."

He looks past Bdubs, who looks unhappy about the situation but begrudgingly accepting of it, towards Cleo, who is staring at him with such scrutiny he feels like he's being disassembled piece by piece. Out of nowhere, she abruptly says, "Bdubs, stay here. I need to have some words with Scott."

She brushes past Bdubs as gently as possible so as to not knock him into the banister and picks Scott up, not even looking back as she holds up a hand and says, "Back in a minute."

Scott can see Bdubs cross his arms and drop onto the second step, grumbling to himself about something or another. Cleo takes him to the closest room with a table, placing Scott delicately onto the wooden surface so he remains standing and so they are somewhat close to eye-level with each other.

Cleo continues to stare at him, picking him apart with his eyes. He clears his throat. "I'm feeling judged."

"Good," they say. "I'm judging you."

"Ah."

They cross their arms, look him up and down, and let their head drop with a sigh. "Scott. You know I trust you, yeah?"

"I should hope so," he replies, a bit of concern in the edges of his tone. "Considering we've been working together for dozens of years."

"And I'm sure you trust Padparadscha for the same reason, yeah?"

Scott blinks, hard, and almost takes a step back. He wasn't exactly expecting that one, and he can only make out a weak, "Well—" before Cleo cuts him off again.

"Don't try and pretend, Scott," they say sternly. "You're good at hiding your emotions from everyone else, not me. Maybe Bdubs couldn't tell because he wasn't there, but I was, and I saw how quickly you wanted to just...bring him along with us as soon as you recognised him for who he was."

Scott opens his mouth to try and respond, but no words end up forming. He grips his dress again and looks off to the side, a heavy frown setting on his face. He can't even imagine how this might end up going. He feels a twist in his chest just thinking about properly talking to him, and he's too terrified to use his future vision in case something goes wrong. It's selfish, he's sure of it, but he just wants to hold onto whatever hope he has remaining that this will go well.

Cleo lays a hand on his and holds it, a sort of gentleness that starkly juxtaposes their rather firm tone as they say, "Scott. Look at me."

Scott looks at them. Most wouldn't necessarily call Cleo an expressive person, but Scott has generally figured out how they look when they're feeling certain emotions by now, and he can see something along the lines of pity (which makes him feel a bit sick, if they're already looking at him with pity and nothing has even happened yet) and a fierce determination at the same time.

"I know you want to believe that this can all go well. I know you want to believe that your friend and his friends will suddenly decide to stick around once we show them how beautiful Life is, and that they'll never want to go back home." They start to say something, stop, and furrow their brows. "But...Scott, I don't need future vision to be able to tell that that's not gonna happen."

Indignation flares up inside of Scott's chest as he balls up his fists in the sides of his dress. "You don't know that."

"You're right," Cleo responds immediately, tone unchanging. "I don't. And you don't know whether he's going to stay with us or not. And I'm not saying you should give up all hope, but you have to consider which situation is worse for us if we don't see it coming. If we're prepared for them to stay loyal to Homeworld and they surprise us by being...swayed by the beauty of Life—sure, that's great. But if we're prepared for them to be kind and they get the jump on us..."

Scott clenches his jaw and turns away again. Cleo sighs and takes a step back, proving her hand from Scott's. As angry as he tries to feel, the worming anxiety in his heart knows that she's right. She's right, but Scott is too much of a coward to see which outcome is the most likely. All he manages is a weak, "He's not like that."

It rings out into a disbelieving silence, and he musters up the will to continue, "A-At the very least, he would make his intentions known. If he does or doesn't plan on listening to us, he would say it. He wouldn't betray me."

"But you're willing to admit that he might betray your trust," Cleo says. "You're willing to admit that no matter what we say to him, he might still find a way to go back to Homeworld and report us."

Scott grits his teeth and shakes, but he nods. It feels like betraying Owen, in a way, but he knows it's true. He knows it's true and he can't put other people in danger because of his personal biases. If this was any other group of Homeworld gems, a group that Scott knew nothing of, they probably never would have made it into the Crastle in the first place.

Cleo nods and steps back, holding her hands up at chest-level as if surrendering. "Then we're on the same page. That's all I wanted to say."

Scott nods again and slips off of the table, smoothing out the wrinkles in his dress caused by his nails, swiping as discreetly as possible at his eye before raising his shoulders and saying, voice strained, "I'm gonna go...find something to do to pass the time. While they reform."

He starts walking out, and he can hear the surprise and slight confusion in Cleo's voice as she says from behind him, "Aren't you going to go talk to him?"

His stride only falters for a moment, a squeeze in his chest warning him against even thinking about the situation too hard, let alone confronting the source.

He walks out of the room without another word.

"We're going to die here."

Owen sighs for what might be the billionth time in the past few hours. "We are not going to die here."

"We're stuck down here, Padparadscha!" El repeats for, again, what might be the billionth time in recent memory. "We're stuck in the basement of a bunch of volatile, deserting, rebel gems that poofed Beks without so much of a second thought!"

"Seemed to me like there were a lot of second thoughts," Owen says dryly, leaning his head back on the wall and closing his eye. "Seeing as how they stopped as soon as it happened."

He can feel El's glare without having to look at her. The room they're 'trapped' in is made entirely out of stone, giving off an unfinished feel despite the deserters' attempts to make it seem purposefully threatening. All they did was section off the room into two halves—one half dedicated to their terrible storage system, the other half separated by metal bars that would be too thin for either of their gems to fit through without scratching. It seems to be working on El, who has not stopped freaking out ever since they were put down here hours ago.

"We're going to die," El says miserably, and Owen cracks open his eye to look at her. "They're conniving about what to do with us before they shatter us."

"Personally, I think they'd do the shattering first and the conniving later," Owen says helpfully.

"You are not helping," El snaps, hands raising to grip her hair. "Isn't this why you're here? To make sure nothing goes wrong with these—these—maniacs!"

"I'm here to help you interrogate these maniacs," Owen corrects, stretching out his legs. "It was Beks job to keep them under control, and. Well."

"And she's somewhere we don't even know," the jade supplies, a very obvious tone of dread descending upon her words. It's worth noting in the back of Owen's head that she and Beks seem to know each other somehow—perhaps El has somehow managed to be important enough to have a constant personal guard? He's deathly curious, but he supposes this isn't the time to ask. "They've probably shattered her already! We're completely defenseless in here, and you're just—fine with it!"

Owen winces. "I just don't think they're going to try and kill us. Why would they put us down here if they were just planning to get rid of us? You saw what they had—a bismuth, a jasper..."

A sapphire, his mind rather unhelpfully fills in. Your Sapphire.

He clears his throat. "They could have taken us out, easy."

El glares daggers in his direction. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

Owen shrugs. "It'll make you feel however you want to feel, Jade."

"El."

"El," he amends, rolling his eye. He hesitates, then continues, slightly more quiet, "And, in any case...this is sort of my field of work. These gems that stay behind on worlds they deem too precious to be colonised are far more inclined to talk than fight if you don't come off as immediately hostile. They're soft."

El looks at him suspiciously. "Is that true, or are you just saying that because you and the sapphire know each other?"

Owen's hand crackles with electricity. "Both."

El remains silent.

It doesn't help. There was a part of him relying on El's constant panicking to keep his mind off of what he saw—or, he supposes, who he saw. He still feels a bit ill due to his retro vision going on the fritz because of his panic, which is not a thing that happens particularly often (but has still happened many, many times) because he doesn't panic. He's almost known for keeping a level head at all times; even while he's in what could be a particularly emotional situation, he doesn't...freak out and become half-comatose. The most emotion he thinks he's ever shown in front of anyone besides Scott is anger.

And yet, there he was—floundering in front of four gems he barely knows and Scott like a child. His reputation must be in shambles. They must think he's utterly incapable. It's been years, Scott must think he's grown soft—

Owen's face is immediately shadowed by a deep-set scowl. He's nothing close to soft, compared to the gems he's currently being 'trapped' by. He's heard it all before, really—about the beauty and the native wildlife and the nature; deserters all seem to follow a textbook script to try and convince him that what they're doing is right. He almost pities the poor souls.

He reaches up his hand to bite at his nail. He supposes Scott is part of that group, too—he can still hardly wrap his head around it. There's something that just doesn't click. Scott is funny and dry and sarcastic. He's useful and utterly proficient with analysing and interpretating his future vision, certainly thanks in part to Owen. He's talented and very smart, something that Owen would call a friend, and above all else, he was trustworthy.

...to him, at least. To everyone else, Scott was the most skilled liar to ever walk the face of several planets, but he never lied to Owen. Maybe it was because he knew Owen could tell, but he never even seemed to want to. They never had anything to hide from each other.

It speaks volumes, then, how this feels less like a rogue sapphire betraying Homeworld and their race and more like his Sapphire (his Scott, he supposes), personally turning around and stabbing Owen in his back. With a corrupted knife. While setting him on fire.

"We're never getting out of here," El whines again, and Owen's focus immediately shifts to the nearest distraction. "They're going to torture us until we give them the location of our ship and then shatter us and pilot themselves to Homeworld and then shatter everyone there, too."

"What—no, no, no!"

Owen flinches at the sudden appearance of a new voice, though it is nothing in comparison to El, who ducks he head behind her arms and scoots into the furthest corner from the bars. Owen turns his head slightly to see the bismuth coming into view, carrying an assortment of random items that have covered his arms in multicoloured stains.

"Nobody's getting tortured or shattered, here," he says decisively, popping open a chest with his foot and haphazardly dumping all of the items inside. He lets it drop shut while dusting off his hands and approaching the bars. El seems to reach to her gem out of instinct, and for a moment, Owen thinks she might have a weapon—and then she pulls out a folded up fan. He rolls his eye.

She points it at the bars with a shaking hand and barks, "S-Stay back! I know how to fight!"

The bismuth holds up his hands and takes a step back. "I'm not looking to hurt either of you. Can't we just have a conversation?"

El looks at him suspiciously. She glances at Owen, who shrugs, and she lets her hand drop but keeps her 'weapon' held tightly to her side. "You stay out there, we stay in here."

"Easy," the bismuth says smoothly. He holds a hand to his chest. "My name is Impulse. We've only put you in there so you don't do anything silly and try to hurt one of us. We're not planning to kill or maim any of you."

"We were, but Scott told us not to," comes a voice from elsewhere in the room. Owen has to hold back a snort, but El immediately pushes herself further into the corner again and points her fan at Impulse.

"You—I knew you were all wrongens!"

"Tango, shut up," Impulse calls towards the voice, turning his head and narrowing his eyes. Owen tilts his head to the side and catches a glimpse into the past of a short, red gem dropping into the room with a box in hand from the other side of the main entrance. Seems like there's multiple ways in.

"I'm right!" 'Tango' replies, finally crossing into vision to start unloading the box he was holding into the chests. These names are bloody ridiculous—Impulse, he can at least understand—maybe it's his defining characteristic—but...Tango. What even is a 'Tango?'

"No, you're not," Impulse says, turning back to the pair of jailed gems. "He's lying. Nobody ever planned to kill you."

El then proceeds to directly face Owen, asking whether that's true with her eyes. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he looks back into his retro vision and shrugs. "I believe it."

"Thank you!" Impulse says brightly, not really understanding that Owen can just tell that it was true, no belief necessary.

El looks at him suspiciously. "And where is Beks?"

Impulse blinks at her. "Beks," she repeats. "My—our quartz? Where is she?"

"Oh!" He exclaims. "She's fine, her gem is in the other room. She hasn't reformed quite yet, but she'll be safe when she does."

El turns to Owen again, who nods. Impulse smiles very widely. It's a bit unnerving, in Owen's opinion. "See, we're all just here to be cordial." He pointedly looks back at the shorter gem unloading a box. "All of us."

"That's wonderful," Owen says, tilting his head to the side. "You are cordially invited to let us out of here, please."

Impulse sucks in air through his teeth and looks off to the side. "Sorry, man, I can't do that. Boss' orders."

"And who's the boss?" Owen asks lightly, staring up at the bismuth.

"Um," he replies smartly. "I don't—we don't really have a boss, really. It's just sort of something I say."

Owen almost immediately clocks the lie for what it is. "Come on, now. I'm just curious."

"Impulse, don't let them get to you," Tango warns, shutting the chest and jumping to sit on it. Impulse, who was looking a bit nervous and probably about to say something he shouldn't have, snaps his mouth shut. "He's trying to get in your head."

"I'm doing no such thing," Owen says, adequately vexed at being interrupted, as that was exactly what he was doing. "I don't even know what that means."

Impulse smiles brightly and wags a finger at Owen. Owen almost feels sick at how lighthearted he's being. "Ohhh no. I am not gonna be the one to leak important rebel secrets to the Homeworld gems, no siree."

"So you are willingly and with full intention betraying Homeworld?" Owen asks with a smug smile. "I see no reason as to why you would refer to yourself and your group as 'rebels,' otherwise. El, make sure you—"

"Already on it," El replies, having already pulled up her screen to make a transcription of what this poor idiot just said. The bismuth is opening and closing his mouth like a fish, pale as a sheet, and Owen could almost feel bad, if it wasn't so funny.

And then...Tango starts to giggle. Owen can't tell if he's just hysterical or if he's laughing at his friend, but then he wipes a tear from his eye and says, "Oh, Impulse. Never change, buddy. Never change."

"Hey, it's not my fault!" Impulse protests, suddenly looking very flushed and embarrassed. "He—he—"

"Got into your head?" Tango offers.

"Yes!"

Tango continues to cackle, and when Impulse looks down at Owen with an almost betrayed expression, he can only offer up a tight-lipped smile in return.

"If it's any consolation, we probably could have guessed," El says, still tapping away at her screen. "Verbal, explicit confirmation is always better in court, though."

"Court?" Impulse says with an air of disbelief. El laughs, evidently delighted at the idea of not being the cornered one anymore.

"Yes, court," she confirms, finishing off her sentence and pulling the screen down and away. Stars, how Owen wishes he didn't break the recorder. He would have loved to be able to listen back to this. "If you're lucky, you'll be rejuvenated—though, I don't see why they would waste the effort on either of you. You both will most likely just be shattered, and your jasper, too. The lapis and the sapphire, maybe not."

"I'm quaking in my boots," the red one says dryly.

"Don't forget Bdubs," Impulse says lightly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Right, right, we have a nepherite, too," Tango realises. "What are your predictions for him?"

El snorts. "Of course he's being shattered. You think we can't spare a pilot?"

Owen is a step away from facepalming. There is simply no way she hasn't noticed that they're not taking her seriously, right? He can't be the only competent one in this group, right?

"We can't let Bdubs be shattered," Impulse continues, putting his hand on his cheek. "Cleo'll have a meltdown."

Tango shrugs. "Guess we'll just have to keep them in there, then."

"Hey—" El exclaims, sitting up with a frown on her face. Stars above, Owen is getting a bit tired of this back and forth. "Hold on a tick."

"Until the end of time, I'm guessing?" Impulse carries on, ignoring El with a cheeky smile on his face. Tango nods solemnly, and Owen takes this as a chance to do something about their situation.

He laughs at them. Tilts his head back until it hits the wall yet again and makes it known how amusing (and tiring) he finds this situation.

Tango raises an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

Owen lets his laughter die down slowly, holding a hand to his chest. He lets his head hang for a moment, then turns to them with as much sass as he can muster and asks, "Do you seriously think you can keep me locked in here?"

The two gems on the other side trade glances. Impulse stops leaning on the wall and comments, "You seem pretty locked up to me."

Owen takes the opportunity to stand up, pushing off of the wall and standing a centimetre or two away from the iron bars. The red gem also slides off of the chest and stands up, trying to look threatening in all of his tiny, lonely glory. Owen genuinely doesn't think he's seen a gem that looks like him on his own...ever.

"How much are you willing to bet that I could get out of here in..."

He makes a show of squinting at the bars and tilting his head to the side. "Less than five seconds?"

"Ha," Tango practically barks, walking up to the bars and looking Owen dead in the eyes. "If you could've done that all this time, why didn't you do it until now?"

"Maybe I just wanted to show off," Owen replies, smiling in that infuriatingly smug way he does to purposely get on people's nerves. It works wonders in trying to get them to say things they shouldn't.

It seems to do its job, as Tango's hair amazingly starts to curl off into tiny flames as he crosses his arms. Owen can't help but look at him with mild awe. What a delightful malfunction—he almost wants to see how far it could go.

"I don't believe you," Tango says stubbornly. Owen isn't looking, but he can see Impulse's expression turn mildly concerned in his mind's eye. "You have no weapons on you. And I don't see why either of you would have summonable weapons, but she definitely doesn't."

"And what if I do?"

"Then I would love to see it for myself," Tango says hotly—literally, as the wisps of flame flare a bit on his emphasis of the word 'love.'

Owen raises his eyebrow and turns back to El. She's staring at him with furrowed confusion, but he ignores it. "Did you hear that? He said he'd love to see."

El nods slowly. "That...is, indeed, what he said."

Owen nods understandingly, taking his time to turn back to face the barrier in front of him—then tears his weapon from his gem and cuts through the bars like air.

His weapon is about as shockingly unfitting as it gets: a short weapon with a curved blade that is essentially a scythe crossed with a sickle. The orange blade crackles with light that snaps in haphazard bands of 'electricity' around it, and the gem connecting the two parts of the weapon emits the lightest of glows into the otherwise dim cell.

With two swipes, the middle part of the bars are swept away, clattering onto the floor as Owen stands there, unmoving, weapon over his shoulder with that diamond-forsaken smile that has gotten him in so much trouble before.

A majority of Tango's hair is now flame, rippling and flicking with every twitch in his utterly laughable expression. Impulse's isn't much better, but he seems to be on the verge of breaking out into laughter as he holds a hand to his mouth.

"'Impulse, don't let them get to you,'" the bismuth mocks, snickering through his words. "'He's trying to get in your head.'"

"Shut up," Tango snaps.

Despite himself, Owen feels a twinge of annoyance in his chest as he poofs away his weapon. "You two are arrogantly unserious."

"What kind of sapphire has a gem weapon?!" Tango shouts, his hands flying into the air as his hair fully and properly bursts into fire. Owen stares in amused surprise.

"The kind that finds a need to have one," he replies, like he always does. Tango kicks at a rod that fell onto the floor and marches back towards the chest he was perched on before. Impulse holds out his hand to bar him from sitting.

"You're gonna burn through the chest," he explains apologetically. Tango looks like he wants to bite off Impulse's head, but refrains from doing so and instead sits on the stone ground.

There's a moment of silence as Owen looks at the red-hot remains of the barrier between him and freedom. He glances back at El, who looks almost as shocked as the two rebels had. She's more pushed into the corner than she was before.

"So..." Impulse starts, scratching the back of his neck. "You broke our bars."

"Our perfectly good, expensive bars," Tango grumbles, looking much like a child throwing a tantrum on the floor. His height doesn't help him at all.

"Oh, cool it, Tango," Impulse chides. "They weren't that expensive."

"Tell me that when you're the one mining the iron."

"I probably was the one who—nevermind."

"Indeed," Owen says wryly. "Are you going to attempt to lock us up again?"

Impulse looks vaguely exasperated as he holds out his hands and shrugs. "I'd rather not waste the materials."

"Perfect," Owen says. He hoists up his dress and takes a step over the bars, causing Tango to snap his head up and Impulse to hold his hands out as if to placate him. "You know I'm not going to do anything. You seized our communication devices and anything else that may have been used to contact the ship. I'd just like to take a look around, if that's alright."

Impulse and Tango look at each other, as if having a silent conversation, before Impulse shrugs and Tango's hair dies down a tad, turning back into actual hair at the roots. "I don't think we could stop you without things turning ugly, so."

"So?"

Impulse sighs. "Just don't break anything that would make Cleo try and kill us."

Owen could almost laugh. Deserters; he swears, they get more gullible every time he sees them. "I'll try my best." He turns back to El and asks, "Are you coming?"

El's eyes slowly trail from him to the other two gems in the room. She looks completely and utterly frazzled: her dress is torn, her hair is a mess, and her hands are trembling in their position in front of her face.

She shakes her head. Owen shrugs, and mutters, "I'll be seeing you, then."

He turns back and stares at the positively archaic door before twisting the handle and taking his leave.

the other side of the war

summary:

Scott likes to think he is a sensible person. Because of this, he doesn't find it at all unreasonable for him to start freaking out when he catches a glimpse of a Homeworld ship passing over the Crastle. Owen is rather certain that he is a sensible person. Because of this, he feels as if his response of dropping his recording device onto a rock and breaking it instantly upon seeing the sapphire that exits the large castle is entirely reasonable.

or: owen, beks, and eloise go from homeworld to find the deserters on earth. owen very much recognises scott. title from story of tonight (reprise) by lin-manuel miranda. au by @chrisrin. fic is life on earth by @sixteenth-days. read the tags!

(ao3 link)

(2,593 words)

Scott likes to think he is a sensible person. Whether that is true or not is entirely subjective, but he's quite sure he is one of the most level-headed gems currently residing on Life, if not the most.

Because of this, he doesn't find it at all unreasonable for him to start freaking out when he catches a glimpse of a Homeworld ship passing over the Crastle.

"Glimpse" is a loose term—he both sees it in a vision and then sees it out of the corner of the window only a few seconds later, almost too fast to catch and not looking like it was planning to stop. The vessel was yellow in colour and rather small, which at the very least tells him that it's not another colonisation attempt or scouting expedition. His relief from that realisation is very quickly undercut by the strangling anxiety at what it could be instead, and his efforts to try and pry into the future to see what could be on the ship are suddenly interrupted by the knowledge that Jimmy was going to come barreling into the room from the window in a few moments.

He does so with as little grace as Scott saw, his foot catching on the ledge and making him lose his balance on his way inside, all the while yelling, "Scott- Scott, I saw another ship fly by-

"I know," Scott says coolly, pretending like there aren't fractals crawling across the wooden boards around his dress.

Jimmy fixes himself from somehow being tangled up in a stone slab. "You know?"

Scott grips the sides of his dress. "I saw."

"Oh," Jimmy says shortly, shoulders slumping. He looks back out the window as if expecting the ship to come around again—which it very well might- before turning back to Scott. His wings are refracting the light of the sun onto the ground, making their trembles all the more obvious. "What do we do?"

"Tell the others, if they haven't seen already." He kicks his legs to break the ice sticking his dress to the floor before it becomes unbearable. "Hopefully, it'll just pass by without encountering us at all."

Jimmy tilts his head to the side like a bird, which are quickly becoming one of Scott's favourite things on Life. "I don't see why it would fly this close to the surface if it was just passing by."

"'Hopefully,' dear," Scott says with a weary smile. "I said 'hopefully.'"

"Ah."

Scott laughs lightly, the warmth in his chest chasing away his anxiety as Jimmy giggles to himself, face turning a slightly darker shade of blue. He reaches out to lay a hand on Jimmy's arm—

—and then there's a small ship in a forest, there's orange and green and blue, there's weapons and shouting and a lapis falling to pieces in front of his eye—

—and Scott's grip on Jimmy's forearm turns almost violent in its intensity. Jimmy looks down at him, concern preciously obvious in all of his body language. Scott doesn't look up. His hands are shaking.

"You saw something," Jimmy says softly, immediately crouching to be at eye level with Scott.

"I did."

His face is pinched with concern and worry and stubborn, stubborn love, a fierce protectiveness that has lead to his hypothetical death in several timelines in Scott's vision. "Was it about the ship? Was it bad?"

Scott shakes his head on instinct before catching himself and leaning more into a head-tilt, like the birds. "They're coming. They've spotted us. There's only three gems, I think, and they're going to land in the forest in front of the Crastle."

Jimmy's face goes pale. "Could you tell what type of gems they were?" Scott shakes his head, and Jimmy immediately pulls him into a hug, which has been his thing lately. Spontaneous displays of affection—though this one, Scott supposes, is not that spontaneous. He hugs Jimmy back and does his best not to touch his wings so as to not drench his arms. "It's gonna be okay, Scott. We'll be alright. We always end up alright."

Scott simply hums in return. The amount of confidence he speaks with is almost hilarious, considering how many times Scott has saved him from shattering without him even knowing. It would be hilarious if they weren't visions of his flower dying gruesomely branded onto the inside of his eyelid. "I know. Just stay close to me, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

Jimmy pulls back but leaves his hands on Scott's shoulders. "I never do anything stupid."

Scott is not content with giving him a look that he will not be able to see. He pushes his bangs out of the way and fixes Jimmy with the most lightheartedly withering glare he can manage.

Jimmy bursts out laughing. Scott can hardly help himself but follow.

-

Owen is rather certain that he is a sensible person. If the contrary was true, he is almost certain that he would have been shattered ages ago, or at the very least, reconditioned due to his innate value. He is almost completely positive that he is one of, if not the most level-headed gems that has ever stepped foot into consciousness.

Because of this, he feels as if his response of dropping his recording device onto a rock and breaking it instantly upon seeing the trio of gems that exit the large castle is entirely reasonable.

There is a jasper that positively towers over him, a lapis lazuli that is shooting him and his company a very distasteful look, and a sapphire, front and centre, just like him.

He gazes into Sapphire's bangs, and Sapphire stares right back.

They're both frozen, the plant matter around Sapphire's dress freezing so quickly the lapis begins to try and kick it away and the matter around Owen's dress cooking to a light sear. The vision of El and Beks' confused expressions flashes like a spotlight into the front of his mind, and he can see equally as perplexed looks on Sapphire's friends' faces.

He cannot believe what he is seeing—it shouldn't even be possible for him to be seeing this. This is wrong, this is terrible, this is—

"Owen?" Sapphire says, taking a step forward. Beks immediately matches the step, but Owen holds out his hand to keep her still. "Owen—Padparadscha, is that really you?"

"Yeah," Owen breathes, before clearing his throat and fixing his posture to be more straight. He glances at Beks and she immediately snatches up the pieces of the broken recorder. That was entirely his fault, be will admit—a reasonable response to seeing a friend currently siding with a bunch of deserting rebels he was sent to interrogate, but his fault nonetheless. "Yes, Sapphire, it's me. What are you doing?"

Sapphire's demeanor almost seems to brighten at that. "Oh, Owen, you wouldn't believe the things we have out here—I go by Scott now, by the way."

"'Scott?'" Owen repeats, rolling the name around in his mouth. "Why? That has nothing to do with you or your cut."

"No, no," 'Scott' says, shaking his head. "It's an alien name. I chose it myself, do you like it?"

"Do I like—Sapphire—Scott, whatever, do you realise how serious this is?"

Scott falters a bit, taking a slight step back as the lapis frowns at Owen. Owen stares directly at him, and he shrinks a bit but still asks, "'Serious?' What makes this so much worse than all the other trips out here?"

Scott elbows the lapis in the thigh, and before Owen can really process the fact that this...group of gems have encountered the other missions, El steps forward and clears her throat. She has been furiously tapping on a holographic screen ever since Owen broke the recorder, most likely transcribing the entire conversation. She doesn't even look up as she begins to speak.

"The Great Diamond Authority has recognised the presence of living and functioning gems on this planet that have not returned to Homeworld after several scouting and retrieval missions. The three of us are here as an extension of their luminescent grace and power to decipher and report upon the locations and intentions of these...missing gems."

The word 'missing' is dripping with distaste and scorn, and Owen is rather sure everyone felt it. Scott takes another step back and Owen stamps out the resulting twist in his chest. It isn't his problem if Scott decided to run off onto some planet and desert his home for...whatever reason. It isn't his problem that the sapphire has seen this writhing, damp, cluttered mess of a planet to be worth more than his life and the lives of those that took the mission with him. He is not going to think about it too hard because he is sensible and would prefer to remain that way.

"So what does that...mean?" the lapis asks, fiddling with his fingers.

"It means we're here to get answers, moron," Beks snaps, leaning on the hilt of her greatsword. "Though I honestly think the fact that you're not begging us to take you home is answer enough."

All three of the gems standing across from them (including Sapphire, and Owen really is trying to wrap his head around the idea that Sapphire is over there and he is over here and they are enemies?, he supposes?) make some sort of scowl, and he sees the water in the pond not too far from them start to ripple, except that was about ten seconds ago and now the surface of the water is choppy and the lapis' gem is starting to glow.

"Owen," Scott says quietly.

"Padparadscha," Owen hisses, digging his fingers into his dress and staring down the lapis lazuli. He feels lightheaded. "No deserter is a friend of mine."

"Stars, Homeworld gems," mutters the jasper, who has looked nothing but mildly intrigued this entire time and is now gazing down at Owen with an unidentifiable expression that makes his skin prickle. "So dramatic."

"There's really no need to get overly-hostile, here," El says nervously, though the fact that she actually glances up from her holoscreen is sign enough that she is ready to bolt at any given moment. "We just want to ask some questions."

"No, I think the quartz may have been right," the jasper says, stretching in a way that cracks her knuckles and other assorted joints audibly but plays it off like a normal stretch. "We've given you answer enough."

"Are you suggesting we fight?" Beks asks, though she sounds more like she's gleefully proposing something rather than asking a question. "'Cause we're not leaving until we complete what we've been told to do. Unlike some, we still have a modicum of responsibility left in our rays."

"Beks," El says irritably, shooting the quartz a glare. "Stop antagonising them."

Beks stops leaning back and forth on her sword and instead properly wraps her hand around the hilt, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just talking."

"We'd appreciate it if you stopped," the lapis insists.

"We'd appreciate it if you shut up," Beks snaps back, the tip of her sword digging further into the ground, piecing through the layer beneath their feet. Owen can't stop staring. "Really, I mean—a bloody lapis? And a sapphire? I mean, I wouldn't expect anything more from a jasper, maybe even a lapis under insane circumstances, but a sapphire? For this? This disgusting, pulsing planet?"

Owen blinks, and he can see serrated spikes rising from the water's surface.

Scott blinks, and he can see that same image of a lapis shattering in front of his eyes.

For a moment, the two of them are in sync again.

And then the spikes go flying, and Owen shouts out Beks' name as she lifts her sword to attack and the lapis kicks into the air with his wings. El immediately shrieks and ducks away, dress snagging on the sharp edges of the terrain as Beks' sword goes swinging in a terrifyingly wide arc in front of them. The only thing Owen can do is yell, really, until he realises he can do more and throws himself into Beks' back as hard as physically possible. He lands on top of her, and then falls straight onto the forest floor, something sharp digging into his abdomen.

At the same time, Jimmy's name is torn from Scott's throat as he lunges towards the lapis, attaching himself to his legs and pulling him down, yanking him closer to the ground just as weapons make contact and suddenly, Scott is holding nothing.

Scott snatches Jimmy's gem off the forest floor (thank the stars, thank the stars, that was entirely too close and he can barely breathe and he is shaking so hard he's scared the vibrations might end up shattering Jimmy, anyway) and shouts, "Enough! Enough, please. Cleo, please."

Owen's vision shifts back to reality (after watching three shards of ice go directly through Beks' head as her sword cut clean through the lapis' neck) and he realises that he is at the end of the jasper's weapon—'Cleo's' weapon, apparently. He looks up at her and sits up, scooping Beks' gem into his hands and clutching it close to his chest.

"This...this will get us nowhere," Scott says through ragged breaths, and Owen blinks and he sees a lapis gem shattering from Scott's point of view- a disorienting past-vision of Scott's future-vision that makes him feel dizzy. He hasn't done that in so long. How long has Scott been out here? Owen knew he went on a mission somewhere, but it isn't that uncommon for those to take several months, or even years before becoming a real concern. How long has Scott been missing?

"I—I agree," calls El from several feet away. Her dress is shredded at the bottom and Owen is quite sure this is the first time he has ever seen her legs. He blinks, hard, and sees Scott holding the lapis' hand as they walked out of the castle in front of them. A deep, painful pit settles in his stomach. "Please, let's just sit down and talk."

Owen feels a bit ill. The present and the recent past are often a bit too similar and a bit too frequent for him to properly categorise, and he suddenly fears the idea of getting them very, very badly confused like he has done several times before. For some of those times, Scott was there to help him. He sees Scott pushing his hair back, staring at him, except when Owen actually looks, his hair is down and his hand is hovering by his chest. Around where his heart would be.

"Owen," he says quietly. "Let's go inside."

Owen blinks and sees Scott and this lapis encouraging each other, warning each other just behind the door, hugging each other, Scott standing on his toes while the lapis leans down and—

Oh. His vision shifts focus again. He's too dizzy for this. The sun is going down and the sky is painted in brilliant shades of yellow and orange and red and purple. It's black and tainted with trillions of stars in his vision alone.

"Yeah, alright," Owen whispers, looking down at Beks. He swipes his thumb against the face of the gem and holds her tighter in his hands. Scott is pressing the lapis to his forehead. The lapis is in a blue bubble within Scott's hands. Owen feels dizzy. "Let's go inside."

[roaringkingofthezodiac]

I can’t shake off of me the feeling that I’ll never amount to anything. And this feeling is fucking dreadful.

There is no achievement I can be proud of without caveats, without admitting that I didn’t do all the work, that the bar to reach was just too low.

I would say it’s imposter syndrome but, many people would agree with me. They don’t agree face to face, they always - as good friends do - try to support me and lift my spirit.

But I can see their achievement, I can see they did it all by themselves, I can see how much time, dedication, sacrifice they put into that achievement.

I never did and I never do. I never sacrifice anything. I want achievements without sacrificing my routine, my time wasting activities. I would call them hobbies, but that would imply that I care about these activities, which I don’t particularly. Otherwise I would invest time into them.

I mostly play video games, but I neve watch tutorial to improve my skills, I never practice, I never delve deeper. Fuck, even as a professional game designer that is stupid. But I just can’t be assed. Never winning, have way less fun than what’s possible, skimming the surface of game systems, nothing pushes me to sacrifice time and effort to it.

At this point I think it just might be pathological. I must have a pathology that prevents me to put effort into anything unless I’m motivated by outside forces.

This really breaks my heart in a way I can’t fucking describe with words. I believed my entire life that I could achieve anything I’d put my mind to, but now I just can’t put my mind on anything.

I’m worthless not because I don’t do enough with my life, not because I don’t “invest my time”. I’m worthless because I see all the possibilities, all the incredible things I could make, all the fun I could be having and I say “yeah fuck that, let’s hop on a videogame I can barely play for the next 4 hours” and I’ve kept this on all my life.

[balkanradfem]

If you’re a woman, and you find yourself assuming, planning, or putting effort into something with certain expectations, and then when you get to the point where your expectations should be fulfilled, suddenly you realize none of it is how you imagined, and you start feeling small, foolish, over-optimistic, presumptive, stupid or embarrassed, I want you to know that there’s a huge chance that it’s not your fault, and the situation was, in fact, orchestrated this way.

M*n will orchestrate situations where they give women certain assumptions and expectations, then turn the situation nowhere in that direction. They do it so they would get exactly what they want out of the situation, while giving away nothing but false hope, false expectations, and encouraging false assumptions. You did not have a false assumption because there’s something wrong with you! You were not stupid or over-indulged! It’s been set up for you to feel exactly that way, otherwise you would never indulge, you’d never put effort, hope, energy, expectations or positive assumptions there.

Not only m*n orchestrate simple situations like this (like putting women on the spot where they’re expected to deliver subservience, obedience, forgiveness, their time and company, physical intimacy), but they orchestrate entire institutions and way of life this way. They develop marketing schemes out of that manipulation. They start and keep up relationships by keeping women’s assumptions always positive. They even go as far as to criticize, slander and demonize women whose expectations are anything but the most positive, optimistic and humanizing for them.

Women are supposed to assume every guy is the nice guy, even when walking into the hands of a rapist or a predator. Women are supposed to believe marriage with m*n is a place where they’ll be loved and taken care of, even when there’s a way higher chance of ending up in domestic servitude, or worse, domestic violence and life danger. We’re set up to find ourselves in situations where we either deliver whatever is expected of us, or we’re considered selfish, cruel, evil, leading someone on, and ‘making all other women look bad’. It’s not fair! It’s not fair to keep managing our expectations to remain optimistic, while already planning what to extract from us, all the while holding the card of calling us a slur or becoming violent the second we break the illusion.

When you’re safe to, you should get to call it out. It’s okay to say: “This is not what I was led to believe. This is not why I did all of those things. This is not what you’ve been saying to me all this time. This is not what I was told to expect. This is not what I agreed upon. This is not the expectation you’ve given me and you know it. This is not what I said yes to. You should have told me the truth earlier. You shouldn’t have led me on to believe this is what was about to happen. You shouldn’t have assumed I would keep being polite while you lie to me about what we’re doing here. I’m not partaking in this. You’ve wasted my time.”

If you do this, instead of assuming you’re just silly or naive, in most scenarios you will be completely correct. It’s not naive, foolish, or presumptive to have optimistic expectations, or to believe that people are telling you the truth, that you’re not being led on every time someone gives you positive expectations out of them. But people who would exploit that in you? They deserve to lose everything they hoped to gain by taking advantage of you.

[itsclydebitches]

Nitpick November

Okay, this is an ancient nitpick now and I’m like 95% sure I already ranted wrote about it in a previous year, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Why oh why didn’t we learn what Ruby bought at the gift shop?

This is a fantastic, lighthearted moment in an otherwise depressing Volume! It shows off the characters’ personalities in a natural way, helping to distinguish what will quickly become a fairly homogenous group! Ruby is spending her money (Qrow’s money?) buying gifts for her teammates. Weiss thinks it’s all a waste of time (getting annoyed over inconsequential dolt stuff to hide how anxious she is about returning to Atlas). Yang is actually acting like a sister, getting playfully mad that Ruby won’t say what she got her and making a grab for the bag. “You’ll have to wait and see~”

Except Yang - and the audience - never get to find out what Ruby chose for her. It’s like a domestic Chekhov’s gun, but the included element is actually inconsequential. You wanted the story to follow up on a question it posed, one another character expressed enthusiastic interest in? Lol don’t be ridiculous.

The fact that RWBYOQ seem to have lost all their luggage (except the bike) and never comment on that is downright weird to me. Yang rants about gaining a “defenseless old lady,” but not that they presumably lost whatever was in the 9+ bags they were traveling with.

Which, given that they expected to have a nice, leisurely, day long ride into Argus on an otherwise dangerous quest, most likely includes things like dust and weapons supplies. You know, the important stuff a huntress would miss when suddenly stranded in hostile territory.

Give us a bonding moment where Ruby tells Yang what her gift was in an effort to cheer her up. Add tension to their travels by limiting the means with which they have to defend themselves. Hell, give a meh, but technically believable line about how gee golly gosh, we sure are glad everything we were traveling with was up front with JNR. I’m sure they’ll have it all unpacked at whatever safe house we’re heading towards. Oh look, there we go. Here’s your gift, Yang!

As always, the most annoying part is that RWBY’s nitpicks are, often, not actually nitpicks. The show forgot Ruby’s shopping spree in the Argus train station. Okay, big deal. Problem is, the show forgot everything else that happened in the station too.

Like the letter Qrow sent to Ironwood, the one that goes a long way towards explaining his increase in security (among every other justification) and providing the group with a means of entering Atlas if they just show a little patience. It would be real silly for our conflicts to revolve around entering the city + the group’s cliff-hanger shock at Ironwood defending his Kingdom + then seguing into total suspicion of the general when Qrow started the Volume with a letter that boiled down to “Things are awful and if you get this first, oopsies, things likely got worse and you’re on your own.”

Or, a revision:

“Dear James,

Things are really fucking bad right now! Worse even than you’re hearing and definitely worse than is safe to say over mail. So we’re coming to you. Trains are faster than letters, so if you get this first then, uh, something bad probably happened to us? Like, I don’t know, we got stranded in the woods with apathy-inducing grimm. Or something. Just tell your people to be on the lookout for wandering huntsmen because you’re smart enough to realize that getting this letter before we show up is a #BadSign.

You and I, we’ve had a playfully antagonistic, but ultimately respectful relationship over the years, which is why I’m warning you ahead of time. I look forward to resuming our partnership. I definitely don’t plan to become so randomly suspicious of you that I try to live in Atlas as a fugitive, then return your hug, then lie to you for weeks, then trust you again, then decide you need to die for my own stupidity. That would be wild, right?

See you soon!

Love,

Qrow

P.S. I bet Ruby bought you something at the gift shop. She’s a nice kid and would definitely want to thank the guy who gave her beloved sister a state-of-the-art arm, helping to bring her out of the depression that Ruby then had intense guilt over leaving her in to hunt a power-hungry murderer. Something to look forward to!”

[freshsprout]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ || "smaller dose." her answer is quick this time, unwavering, as she meets tighnari's gaze. she doesn't even ask any questions—what do you think would be best? what are the pros and cons of each option?—because logic has no place in her young and frightened mind. all she knows is that most "medicine" she's been given has caused her nothing but pain.

though she has no reason to believe that the medication she's been offered during her stay here is nothing but helpful, she'd really rather not be on any medication at all; a wish that is unlikely to be fulfilled given how sickly she is, but a wish nonetheless. "i don't... i don't like it." there's more to it, but she can't find it in her to voice all the thoughts, the fears. how medicine makes her think of treatments that make her think of experimentation that make her think of—

she swallows thickly, looking away again. one of her hands moves to clutch at the hem of her shirt. it's stupid that she's nervous; tighnari is supposed to be a helpful person, right? collei has no reason to believe otherwise, and yet...

she's trying, at least. it's the least she can do, to make sure the kindness of her friends in mondstadt will not go to waste. it's a shame her efforts don't look like much when she's still far too on edge to act like the child she is. she's still relearning how to laugh and be carefree, learning that there are people in the world who wish for her happiness.

It doesn't take long for the leaves covering the door to move aside just enough to be taken as an invitation into the hut. Though it's only been a few weeks, Tighnari hopes he can convince Collei to decorate a little. Make the space her own more than just a place she occupies. The walls are still mostly barren, with the furniture already there when he moved her in.

She's still very quiet, but luckily Tighnari can talk enough for the both of them. He thinks it's lucky at least, and hopes Collei shares the sentiment.

"I think we can start changing your medicine regime." Tighnari starts carefully, laying his bag on the table and unpacking the things he'd brought with. "Since you've been stable for a few weeks, I think you can take it less frequently and at a lower dose. If you have a flare up, we can adjust. But otherwise I think it may be more effective to work on stretching and mobility exercises. They'll put you in a good position to tolerate flare ups of your eleazar, and hopefully bounce back a little easier with muscles that are more apt to hold up to it."

He wishes he could give her any treatment with certainty. That it wasn't a constant guessing game and testing of theories. She isn't the first eleazar patient he's assisted with, but she's the first he's taken the lead on, and the only who'd been brought to him after extensive Fatui experimentation. Her case is... unique.

"However, your current dose will not hurt you by any means. If you would rather maintain that, we can do so. Or simply wait a bit before changing it." He adds, glancing over at Collei, where she resides near the wall, arms crossed over her chest. It still breaks his heart a bit to see.

"What do you think? We can stay the same if you want time to consider, or we can change it today. You may also ask any questions you may have about it."

These choices are... difficult. There's part of him that thinks it would be easier on both of them for him to have a strong, firm opinion to enforce. But after all she's been through, he wants her to have as much say in her care as possible. Then again, she's still a child. She doesn't know anything of medicine. Not for the first time, Tighnari wishes there was just a right way to do any of this. Or even someone to ask.

Still, he stays quiet, allows Collei to think before she answers.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

Hiya! I am definitely on the writing block train with ya, I’m sending all the positive writer vibes your way tori!

You’re writing is always something I look forward to reading- I just- *chef’s kiss*

In the event of overcoming this writing slump I would love to req. some nsfw bokuto x reader with the lovely smut prompt of either #55 or #99?

Thank you and I truly believe that you can ko this writing block’s ass😉.

but I’m hungry

// nsfw (minors dni!!), f!reader, oral f!receiving, no seriously some good good pussy eating thanks, domestic smut mmm

ty for the posi vibes, but more so, thank u for req bokuto because i have been on a bokuto brainrot for like,,, mmm ~~ weeks thanks ,, srsly one of the best things I’ve written I think so this is a part of my 3k event ! ~ go request smthn or send me hcs

“You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in.” His head is still in the refrigerator when you enter the kitchen. Either he is disgustingly aware of your morning routine or your footsteps aren't as light as you thought.

"It is 7 in the morning, don't you think it's a little early for stupid pickup lines?" Your eyes are half-lidded, still contemplating going back to sleep instead of starting your day as a blurry Bokuto takes 3 strides to meet you where you stand.

He wastes no time wrapping his arms tightly around you. "Who said it was a stupid pickup line? Maybe I'm just hungry for something in particular this morning."

"Don't you have practice in like an hour?" you ask, rubbing your eyes with one hand so you can actually focus on your boyfriend.

"But I'm hungry," he whines, pressing his forehead to yours, pleading eyes waiting for any bit of approval that you'll give him. You lock your arms together around his neck as you nod. What were you supposed to do? Turn him down?

The pleas in his eyes are replaced with excitement and a more unapologetic hunger as he lifts you, quickly making his way to the counter. You can't help your laugh, "What? No bedroom?"

His fingers are already hooked into the waistband of your shorts and underwear when he looks up at you, joking confusion all over his face that almost immediately turns into a grin. "I'm eating in the kitchen where I'm supposed to."

He pulls them off in one motion, nudging your legs apart with his own before lowering himself and hooking his arms under your knees, locking his fingers together on your lower back.

It's always a gamble when Bo gets in between your legs. Some days he takes his time, teases you for hours using only the tip of his tongue until you're so sensitive that his breath could make you come if he asked you to. Some days he savors it, letting you come whenever you feel it approaching, but staying buried between your legs for as long as he can hold his breath so he doesn't have to be away from you.

Some days he wants to make you come as many times as you can handle just to prove to himself and you how much power he has. Some days he goes as hard as he can, using whatever he can to hear those unbelievable noises you make, making a huge mess of you and wherever you are.

Today... Today your boyfriend is hungry, starving actually from the looks of it as he stares between your legs, mouth watering as he just takes in how fucking pretty you are.

He looks up at you, not for permission, but so that you can see the gratitude that's taking over every single one of his features. His eyes are locked on yours, focus resting on the golden color as he inches closer to you, mouth open and tongue out.

Your jaw relaxes, mouth opening slightly as your tongue rests against your bottom lip, waiting with bated breath as you feel yourself growing wetter.

He licks a long strip between your lips, dipping into your hole before running the flat of his tongue against your clit. It's the most control that he exhibits all morning. Tasting you on his tongue, feeling your juices coat his tongue, all of his restraint is gone.

He buries himself as deep between your legs as is physically possible, his nose pressed up against your clit as he slurps whatever wetness he can, using his bottom lip to make sure that he doesn't miss any of it.

"mmm taste so fucking good," he mumbles against your pussy, the vibrations making your thighs clench. "fuck, baby, baby, you taste so fucking good." You're already coming, lacing your fingers into his hair as he moans into you, tongue diving so deep into your cunt, scooping out all of the cum that he can.

But he wants more. He needs more. It's not enough. He pulls you closer to him and you're convinced that he can't breathe. Your thighs are engulfing him and your pussy is suffocating him and he has never looked happier. You've lost his eye contact from how submerged he is between your legs. You know that they're probably shut in concentration and appreciation, but your fingers are digging into his shoulders and you're whimpering and you just want to see how much he's enjoying it. "Bo, mm, please look at me."

He pulls back only enough for you to watch his eyelid flutter open and see the drunk-like look in his eyes, but it doesn't last for long because you're coming on his tongue again and he needs every drop.

Time doesn't exist in this moment. You've lost track of how many times you've came and how many breathes he's taken. Your legs are tired from tensing so hard and you're sure that Bo's back is raw at this point and you have absolutely no thoughts in your head other than how in love with him you are and he shows zero signs of stopping.

Despite his best efforts, between his spit and how many times he's made you come, you're dripping onto the counter beneath you so much so that you are so grateful for the hold that Bo has on you because otherwise you would be sliding all over the counter. Your fingers are gripped onto the edge of the counter now, no longer clawing down Bo's back.

You're coming down from what you're quite positive is your 15th orgasm when you hear a vibration against the counter. You're out of breath and your mind is foggy, but you can see Bo's phone buzzing, the screen lighting up with Atsumu's face and a time that is most definitely later than you thought.

"Baby," you murmur, but it's like he doesn't even hear you. "Bokuto," you say, louder his time, reaching to grab his phone, sitting upright as you unclench your thighs from around him.

At the absence of you completely surrounding him, he looks up at you. The entire lower half of his face is sheened with you and no matter how many times he swallows, it's not enough. It's catching up to him now being buried between your legs, taking deep breaths to compose himself.

"'s Atsumu," you say, offering his phone to him. "You are very late for practice."

By the time Bokuto finally composes himself, the phone stops ringing, but he doesn't make any moves to get up. He licks his lips, savoring the lingering taste of you and you swear to God if his phone didn't start ringing as soon as it stopped, he would've kept going.

You can barely hear Atsumu from the other side of the line, angrily asking where he's at and if he slept passed his alarm. Your eyes are trained on Bo as he looks up at you and then between your legs once again. "Yeah, I'm actually not feeling good this morning. I thought I texted Meian, but the text must not have sent. I'll be there Thursday though."

You can't focus on whatever response Atsumu gives, but it sounds apologetic enough, all you can focus on is the way that the corner's of Bo's lips upturn into a smile as he nods with fake concern. "Yeah, right, I will. Thanks, 'Tsumu."

And then he hangs up the phone.

"Sorry, where were we?" he asks, wasting no time before closing the gap and picking up right where he left off.

♡ leave a tip ! ♡ ♡ reblogs & likes appreciated ♡

[kitacco]

friends.

pairing: osamu miya, fem!reader (timeskip!).

genre: angst, happy ending.

cw: none.

worcount: 3.2k.

! first post of 2022, had this saved for some time, i didn’t feel like posting it, but i read it again today and thought it was really nice, and i wanted to share it too. !

loving osamu was complicated.

he was a sturdy, sometimes mindless guy, despite the calm look on his face and blank eyes. thinking back at it, you still don’t know what exactly hauled you to fall for such a guy; he wasn’t your type at all.

nonetheless, there you were, planted in front of the entrance to the gym and where the inarizaki volleyball team was currently practicing. you’d never been the shy kind, accustomed to speaking your heart out, but when osamu eyed you from his height, and suddenly, for the first time, you took in his presence closer than where you’d normally see him in the hallways, you felt yourself shrinking. 

“what is it?”

he used to tell you that was the first time he’d ever seen you - you don’t believe him. otherwise, how would've he known what your intentions were that evening as the sun was setting? while your body was shivering because of the breeze and osamu started to lose a little of his patience because he was in the middle of practice and his twin and captain were going to lecture him for wasting time.

despite your poor effort of confessing your feelings for the wing spiker, he was able to pick on it quickly - which only fueled your suspicions that he did actually know you before that day. 

osamu turned out to be a little tougher than what you'd imagined. fighting was quite common for the both of you, you were too foolish and osamu too vigorous.

osamu didn’t necessarily live an amazing life, and with that blank stare he always had, you were aware that many things ran through his mind everytime the two of you went out on a date - which was never common, osamu too busy and you slowly realizing how draining being by osamu’s side was.

osamu expected things from you that, in your little experience with dating (zero), you didn’t think was fair. he expected you to soothe his back, put up with his arguments, sometimes abrupt thoughts and continue to come back every time he told you he didn’t want to talk to you. maybe the two of you were too young to understand, maybe it was your fault, or maybe it was osamu’s fault, still, one day you decided you didn’t deserve to be treated that way, and as expected, you walked away.

you can’t really say, at this point of your life you can’t remember. that day of graduation, and the last day you’d see osamu at school, instead of telling him how much you loved him, how much you would miss him, you realized osamu wasn’t the kind of guy you wished he was, and you weren’t the kind of person he was expecting you to be.

osamu was a year older than you, and after suddenly announcing to atsumu his decision of quitting volleyball, abruptly the picture you had of osamu in your head started to crumble, if there was anything left before. it was stupid, you can admit that now - it’s not that the idea of your boyfriend not continuing to play his favorite sport hurt you, but it hurt because you realized osamu would stop being the person you knew and loved, or that you were still hoping to love. as you spoke your heart out, and subconsciously hoped osamu would ask for another opportunity you were more than willing to give, he only nodded his head, and agreed to finish things. that day you realized you never were on the same level as osamu. you realized things were over long ago.

you never heard, or saw him again after that.

that is, of course, until today.

you had a bad feeling, of course you did. one of your college friends had a boyfriend in tokyo. you weren’t curious, that was her personal life and after being single since that breakup, the idea of love didn’t exactly resonate with you. that’s why, when she asked you, begged you to come to tokyo with her, you were hesitant. the city was big, and you didn’t feel like third-wheeling on a couple that’d be seeing each other after so long. still your friend managed to convince you.

of course, she hadn’t told you all the details.

“professional player?”

“yeah,“ she hums, a huge smile on her face. “this is a really important match for him, i mean, the olympics isn’t anything, i had to come watch him.”

you’re uneasy, only nodding to what your friend tells you. in that exact moment you’re unable to remember. volleyball wasn’t your thing, never was, and after the breakup, the sport simply disappeared from your head. still, there was something calling out for you, but you weren’t oblivious to it, unable to drag it out from the bottom of your mind.

you never believed in fate. osamu, for anybody’s surprise, did. he begged you to never tell anyone after he poured his heart out to you, talking about how much he believed every person was destined to another, linked by a thread. you never mocked him, nor believed him. fate simply didn’t make sense to you. because if fate were real, the two of you would be together, right?

it clicks the moment you see it, too late to back out.

atsumu wraps his arms around your friend and spins her in a circle, face full of joy as the both of them embrace each other in such a loving manner your heart almost cracks, the familiar face bringing way too many familiar memories.

“this is a surprise, isn’t it?”

you jolt.

you’re quick to take a glance around, thinking of any possible path you could quickly take to disappear. like a child, you refuse to see it. you refuse to believe you were naive enough to come into a volleyball field thinking that you wouldn’t meet the last person you hoped you’d meet.

but there is nowhere to go, nowhere for you to run off and hopefully forget about everything. there he is, a smile on his face, black hair and black shirt along blue eyes, in front of you. it’s so abrupt you’re unable to react, staring at his face for way longer than what you’d wished to.

“i didn’t know—”

“your friend was dating atsumu? me neither,” osamu lies, speaking a little too fast, he thinks.

osamu did know, actually, atsumu had told him once over text, when his girlfriend posted a picture with you on her instagram story, which atsumu quickly screenshotted and sent to osamu in the middle of the night. osamu since then, would sneak in your friend’s account to catch an update about you, hopefully.

was he still holding onto you? he couldn’t tell. it’s been quite long, and, even though he was at fault, your decision still hurt him. like you, osamu thought, if you were in love, why’d you break up instead of fixing things?

it took him a few years to realize you weren’t the one to blame. you were young, and so was he, both of you with heads full of ideas, dreams, hopes, wishes. osamu had decided his future, and you didn’t see yourself in it, and instead of trying to tell you there was space for you, and hope for you to enter his life, he let you think you were part of a present he no longer wished to live. the both of you were young, and love wasn’t strong enough to prevent the two of you from falling apart. 

osamu’s shoulders tense when your face changes, the surprise no longer in your eyes, instead, a look of hurt and hatred - towards him.

“c’mon, you don’t wanna ruin your friend’s day, do you?” osamu chirps in. “traveled all the way here to cheer on her boyfriend, that’d be awful of you.”

“i’m going to the bathroom,” you call out to your friend, passing by osamu’s figure.

he’s quick to circle your wrist with his hand, “i’m gonna go too, atsumu you show your girlfriend the seat and i’ll show y/n the seats after we come back.”

“no, stay here,” you half whisper half yell, glaring at osamu. 

he knows, he can tell how angry you are right now, but on one part, he genuinely doesn’t want to ruin atsumu’s night right before a match, and the chance he got to see his girlfriend after so long (he’d been talking about it for months), and also, osamu wished to have a word with you. just a little chat would be enough.

“don’t be silly, this place is huge and you can get lost,” osamu simply responds, dragging you to the restrooms.

it’s silent and you don’t dare to say a word. it’s not like you have anything to say to him, what were you supposed to say, that you hoped he was okay? having fun with whatever path he chose? that you were happy for him despite the situation? as childish as it seemed, you couldn’t lie to him like that. you simply did not care.

osamu doesn’t say anything, suddenly too nervous of your actions. he wasn’t expecting you to react like that, with such little affection towards him, and quickly osamu felt a little lost. he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. it’s not like the two of you would see each other again and feel the butterflies you once felt fly inside your stomach. you were hurt and osamu had changed. was there a possibility to get the two of you back together?

you come out of the restroom after what feels like fifteen minutes, and walk past osamu’s figure leaning against the wall right outside the girls’ restroom.

“hey!”

“listen, osamu, let’s not do this,” you sigh, a hand pressing your forehead as you look around, searching for the way back to the seats your friend most likely was seated in already.

“do what? i’m trying to be nice—”

“well don’t do it!” you exclaim. “we’re not friends.”

osamu doesn’t say anything, simply walking by your side, which genuinely surprises you. osamu hated when you’d say things like that, dismissing his words or contrasting his ideas, he hated when you went to the other side in conversations. but he’s not upset, nor angry, he simply stays quiet, thinking of what to say. you frown.

“we don’t have to be friends if you don’t want to.”

you don’t respond, deciding to ignore whatever he’s trying to say.

the both of you are quick to find your way back to the benches. your friend waves her hands for you to approach her, a compassionate look. it’s not like she knew osamu and you knew each other, but she could tell something was wrong, and she was regretting forcing you to accompany her there.

you smile at her, but she knows you’re not pleased at all. you pat her back and the both of you sit again. osamu takes a seat too, after you hurry (almost run) towards your seats, having enough of his presence. but he doesn’t seem to take a hint, and decides to sit right next to you.

“excuse—”

you grab your friend’s wrist, as she’s ready to woo osamu away from you. you shake your head and half roll your eyes, assuring her. she only nods, and distracted by her too excited boyfriend a few seats down there, she smiles and waves back at him.

the place starts to get a little crowded, excited fans ready to see their favorite team win. there are cameras everywhere, and people running from left to right.

you feel a little uneasy. even while in high school, you didn’t enjoy going to osamu’s matches. big crowds made you nervous, especially when it came to sport events. inarizaki was quite intense when it came to cheering, and took every play to heart. as for you; you could barely keep up with the ball. and while you attended every single game, you dreaded the situation more and more. you’d always have to force yourself to go to osamu’s match, despite trying to constantly confess to osamu how much you hated the atmosphere. you tried once, and after you told osamu you didn’t think you could go watch another of his games, he got so angry, he didn’t talk to you for a month. maybe that was the start of the end for the two of you, who knows.

osamu eyes you from the side. you’re restless, he can tell. you keep bouncing your legs, and searching for the source of any loud sound that reaches your ears. the lights move a little, and people seem to grow more and more frantic, expecting for the game and its outcome. as for you, you wish the game was over as soon as possible. more people take their seats around the three of you, and you seem to jolt at every sudden encouraging word that comes from behind or in front of you. osamu takes a look at the people behind you, and then places (quietly) an arm over your seat, in hopes nobody would touch you accidentally.

but you see it, and misunderstand it.

“don’t play games, osamu,” you whisper, so your friend doesn’t notice the two of you.

“i’m not playing any games,” osamu whispers back, shifting, nervous of your accusation. “i know how you get when it comes to these places.”

you want to roll your eyes, you really do. but instead, something falls from your throat to your stomach, and you wrap your arms around yourself. it’s like time didn’t pass for him, you think.

it almost makes you believe osamu did care about you.

you don’t entertain the thought any further, and to your luck, the game started shortly after the little situation.

atsumu shines as bright as ever, a he always did in every stadium he’s had the opportunity to stand on.

so did osamu, once.

each player enters the area, and after the presentation of every team, the game is quick to start. again, you can barely keep up with the ball and every play, and it gets even harder when people seem to cheer and lament with every move. you decide it’s better if you follow one player at a time, and decide to follow atsumu for a while. it doesn’t take long for you to start searching for another player, and another, suddenly finding the sport a little more entertaining than what you remembered. every play has you gripping tightly the edge of your seat, to the point you sometimes jump a little at every point made, or almost made. you get lost in the game, forgetting about the chaos around you, and the presence of the black haired guy next to you.

he barely can keep track with the game. he would be lying if he said he was just stealing one or two glances your way, just to make sure you were okay. at first, he did only look at you to make sure you were alright, but as the game progressed, and you seemed to get more and more lost in it, osamu often found himself completely lost in you. your expressions, the light in your eyes, the little marks on your forehead everytime you didn’t understand why a point wasn’t given or lost, and the relaxed expression you’d wear whenever they did get the point. he wondered then, what he’d done wrong all along. 

osamu wished you would’ve gotten this excited over his matches and plays. he wished you were this delighted by his volleyball, by his team and by his time spent on the court. 

osamu can’t help it, entertaining the thought of what if. what if you were still together, what if he had noticed your feelings, what if he had asked you to stay. what if and what if not.

but he knew those questions held no meaning now, because, the answers he would’ve hoped to hear, now would be the complete opposite. you didn’t want him in your life anymore, and osamu knew it would be selfish to beg you to accept him again, to give another opportunity.

because, who could promise the two of you it would work out this time? how could osamu blatantly lie to your face and tell you everything would be alright now, if he himself wasn’t sure he could make it up to you even the slightest. 

but gosh, he wants to hold you like he’s never wanted to before. osamu wants to embrace you like he should’ve done that day you decided to say goodbye. keep you in his arms where you belonged, where he thought you were supposed to stay.

the two of you are immersed in different passages. the game comes to an end, and despite the long rally and tired face of atsumu and his teammates, japan manages to secure their place once again. you jump, and so does your friend, clapping and celebrating the victory reached that day. and osamu is still reminiscing, as he watches the excitement you exceed. his arms are open, and you’re a little out of it, jumping to wrap your arms around osamu to celebrate.

osamu and you embrace each other, the two of you for different reasons.

osamu holds you tight, finally.

and you hold him drunk on a feeling you had never experienced before.

but once you try to pull away, and osamu grabs your sides a little more tighter, you realize it. you realize the both of you, once again, are in different moments. once again, you’re not on the same page.

you pull away, tense. you’re upset, but the roaring of the crowd and exciting flapping of your friends quickly makes you forget the situation, as you run behind her to try and approach her boyfriend.

osamu calls out to you as you disappear from his sight, extremely shaken up.

he gets it now, he knows what he has to do now.

he’s not letting you go again.

but it’s not easy to reach your side again.

and it’s harder than he’s ever thought it was.

when he was a teen, he thought he had given up enough for you. he thought whatever he was doing was enough for you. he failed to realize you never asked for much. you just asked for his genuine love and affection, and he failed you every single time.

maybe the two of you were too young, too naive, too foolish. maybe it was his fault after all, maybe he was in the wrong all along.

maybe he just had to work a little harder.

but god was he willing to do it. was osamu willing to have you back.

he reaches you after what seems to be endless, useless running. you’re right outside the lockers, where he supposes you were waiting for your friend to come out. he smiled to himself, knowing his brother and the possible love the both of them felt, that it wouldn’t be soon.

you see him, instantly turning around.

osamu doesn’t speak, sneaking to a place right next to you, leaning against the wall you’re against too. his eyes search for yours once, but you don’t respond, and he chuckles.

“it’s fine, we don’t have to be friends,” osamu finally speaks, barely a whisper, only you and him can heart. “after all, i don’t think i wanna be your friend.”

[gladerscake]

No One Better

(Gally x Reader)

Hope you have some time, because this one’s large and in charge (of the feels, that is). Huge thanks to all the lovely people who encourage me to keep writing. Enjoy!

A few beads of sweat rolled down your temple, your bottom lip beginning to sting from how hard you were biting down on it, your brows furrowed in intense concentration, all while you were struggling to finally saw through this one stupid chunk of wood. It was a particularly thick one - you’ve been at it for almost ten minutes, with frustratingly minimal results. The muscles of your right arm were positively aching, pleading for you to drop the shucking saw and just ask somebody for help.

However, your resolve was stronger than your protesting muscles. You could do this. You didn’t need help.

You gave yourself a minute to rest before drawing in a deep, determined breath, and getting right back to it. You couldn’t believe it - will all this effort, you’d only managed to saw through half of it, thus far. Gally always made it look so easy...

“Having a bit of trouble there, baby?”

Your mouth immediately curled in a little grin at the deep sound of his voice. Gally’s voice. As if on cue, just when you were beginning to think about him.

The Keeper of the Builders, who you now proudly called your boyfriend, seemed to have a sixth sense for those things. To anything that had to do with you, really.

It’s been a bit over a week, since you two had made the fateful transition from close friends to something much, much more thrilling. And even though it hasn’t been that long since the change of your relationship’s nature, you could say, without question or a shadow of a doubt, that you’ve never felt happier.

The way Gally treated you on the daily, with such gentleness, care, and endless affection, made your heart bloom with delight at his mere presence. You couldn’t say you had been shocked by his manner - he’s always been kind to you, since the moment you two have met. But seeing this side of him, the loving and warm side, the one nobody else but you got to see, was a gift in itself. You believed you were immensely lucky that Gally returned your feelings and wanted you by his side, and you couldn’t wish for someone better. To you, there was no one better - simple as that.

As of this moment, you chose to bite back a cheeky remark in response to Gally’s slightly teasing question. Instead, you straightened out your posture, allowing your grin to grow as you loosened your death-grip on the saw handle and turned to face him.

“Me? Not at all! What gave you that impression?” You chirped as Gally chuckled, deeply, taking a big step closer to you. His striking bluish-green eyes peered down at your delicate features, an amused grin playing at the corners of his mouth. God, you could never get used to how attractive he was to you...

“You’re kidding, right? I could hear your grunts all the way from the Deadheads.” He glanced at the saw in your hand, trailing his gaze to the chunk of wood and your underwhelming progress, and swiftly figured out what was causing his girl such distress.

You playfully rolled your eyes at his comment “Well, not everyone is a big hunk of muscle like you, my Keeper.”

Gally tried to control the blush he instantly knew was about to paint his cheeks. ‘My Keeper’. You’ve been calling him that often since you two became a couple, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t absolutely love it. It almost always distracted him from whatever he was doing or talking about, but he didn’t mind. He definitely didn’t want you to stop.

Nonetheless, he kept his composure and cleared his throat, grinning down at you “You flatter me, baby. But you’re not wrong.”

You released a light-hearted laugh as he quickly scooted behind you. “Here, let me help.”

You felt a familiar warmth spreading through your body and circling your abdomen as Gally reached around you, his powerful torso nearly pressing against your back, his calloused hand enclosing around your smaller fingers on the handle, in order to guide your movements. Your pulse was already beginning to quicken, your face gradually getting hotter, as you struggled to ignore the effect his closeness was having on you.

“T-Thanks...”

Gally pressed a sweet peck to your cheek as he tightened his grip “Mm-hm. Now, shoulder up...” He instructed, softly, his breath slightly tickling your ear. You did as told. “Yep, just like that. Now lock your elbow. Your arm’s a little wobbly - that’s why it’s taking so much out of you.” Again, you did as he said, doing your earnest to focus on the task at hand, and not on your boyfriend’s low, breathy voice in your ear, or the heat of his strong body, or the way his arms felt around you...

“Like that?” You inquired, timidly, glancing up at his freckled face.

“Exactly. Now, drag it back and forth, and don’t squeeze the handle too hard - you’re just wasting energy that way.”

You took a deep breath and proceeded sawing through the wood, with Gally’s help, as he kept a firm grip on your hand. To your surprise and relief, it really did feel a lot easier, now that you were no longer straining your muscles in all the wrong ways, and in a matter of minutes, the sawed-off piece fell to the ground with a soundly “thump”.

You let out a victorious laugh, causing Gally to chuckle at your reaction. He thought it was entirely too cute.

“Finally! I did it!” You beamed at your boyfriend as he pried the handle out of your hand, placing the saw on the work table before interlacing his fingers with your own.

“You sure did. Next time, if you’re struggling with something, just come get me, okay? There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.” He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes, blissfully, giving him a short nod of agreement. “Fine, fine, if you insist...” You mumbled, the urge to kiss him coating your senses and pulling you closer into him. You didn’t fight it. Standing up on your tippy-toes, your linked your arms around his neck and leaned in, pressing your soft lips against his, your ears basking in Gally’s deep hum of satisfaction. His hands wasted no time gripping your waist as he kissed you deeper, his lips moving so seamlessly and tantalizingly against your own, your mind beginning to swim at the sensation.

Despite not wanting to break the kiss, the distant sounds of other gladers working and chattering forced you to stay aware of your surroundings as you reluctantly pulled away from Gally’s lips with a sweet final peck. The builder grinned, giving your waist a languid squeeze before delivering you a wink that almost made your knees buckle.

“As much as it kills me, I gotta get back to work, baby.” He feigned a sneer as you chuckled, nodding in compliance and unwinding your arms from around his neck. You stepped back, already missing his closeness and warmth.

“Same here. Meet you at dinner?”

“You’d better!” Gally smiled, genuinely, before turning on his heels and departing to his task of fixing the Med Hut’s leaky roof.

-later that day-

“Alright, boys, let’s wrap this up. We’ll get back to it first thing tomorrow.” Gally clapped a couple of his builders on their backs - his way of letting them know they had done a good job without actually having to say it. He wasn’t big on dishing out praise and compliments, unless it came to you.

“Whatever you say, boss!” Scott, one of his most capable builders, quipped as he climbed down from the roof, fist-bumping a couple of his friends while they stretched their sore muscles.

Gally huffed to himself before going to pick up his instruments, his tall form disappearing from the guys’ line of vision.

As soon as the Keeper appeared to be gone, Scott’s expression promptly melted from cool to sour, a hint of spite flashing through his eyes.

“Looks like someone’s in a hurry to get back to his girlfriend.” He deliberately over enunciated the last word, frowning, as if just the thought of it was too ridiculous to occur.

Another builder, Jack, cocked a questioning brow at his friend “Oh? Jealous much?”

Scott rolled his eyes in response “I just don’t get it! How did that even happen? Why him? She had like forty shanks to choose from, and she went for him?”

Jack had to snicker at the guy’s plain and obvious jealousy, the sight of it being thoroughly entertaining. “Hey, easy, man! Clearly she sees something we can’t. She’s made her choice - deal with it.”

“Yeah, but did she have to pick the ugliest one? I mean, honestly, if it were someone like Minho, or Ben, or hell, even Newt, I’d sort of get it, but...”

Gally scoffed, bitterly, rejecting the idea of listening to the rest of that lovely conversation. Did they really think he couldn’t hear them? He’s only been a few feet away this whole time, for shuck’s sake. His features darkened, his hands clenching into fists. He knew it was stupid to let something like that get to him - obviously it was nothing more than jealous ramblings of some dumb shank, who would most likely wet himself if he knew Gally had heard him.

Still, as much as he despised to admit it... It stung, hearing that. Mostly because, deep down, some obnoxiously self-deprecating part of him, agreed with Scott’s words.

Gally had never really given much thought to his looks. That is, until you came along. As his feelings for you grew, so did his insecurity. He knew he wasn’t conventionally “hot”. True, he was one of the tallest guys in the glade, and he assumed he had a nice body, thanks to his job as a builder, so he at least had that going for him. His face, however... Gally didn’t believe it was anything to be considered “handsome”. As opposed to you, who he thought was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

He hated this, hated feeling like he didn’t deserve you, hated knowing that you could probably do so much better than him, especially when you weren’t there to reassure him, to tell him otherwise and kiss away his every troubled thought.

Gally growled, internally, his jaw tensing and his knuckles turning white. No, he needed to snap out of it. What the hell? You wanted him. You chose him, you were with him, you were his. He couldn’t let his faith in your devotion to him crumble, just because some dumbass had opened his big resentful mouth.

With an exasperated grunt, Gally stalked off to meet you for dinner, as promised. He was sure that as soon he saw your face, he would forget all about what had just happened. He hoped gazing into your glimmering eyes would be enough to hush every last unwelcome thought. Yet, as hopeful as he was for that, the tension in his broad shoulders remained, as if something heavy was weighing down on him, with very little he could do about it.

-later-

Something deep within you was telling you something wasn’t right. You felt a nagging sting of worry pinching at your heart as you made your way back to Gally’s hut, that you and him now shared.

You couldn’t help but sense that Gally had seemed a bit... off, all throughout dinner. The soft smiles he’d sent your way didn’t reach his eyes. His usually bright bluish-green eyes had been tinged with an underlying bleakness, and you had no clue where it was coming from. You’d tried to ask him about it, but the only response you got was a mumbled “It’s nothing” and a hurried kiss on your cheek.

You didn’t like it. You knew Gally so well by now - you could tell when something was bothering him. You cared about him, deeply, and so, seeing him so obviously anxious about something and not telling you what it was, put you in a bothered state as well.

Whatever it was, you needed to get it out of him. Gally was your boyfriend, and a pretty amazing one at that. If there was anything at all that you could do to help him deal with what was plaguing mind, you would do it, over and over again, if you had to.

You pushed the door open and entered the hut, a loving smile curling your lips as your eyes fell upon Gally. The builder was sitting on the bed, busily scribbling something in his journal, his knit brows and slightly clenched jaw painting his face with a look of pure concentration. Probably sketching in some alterations for the Med Hut expansion. You released a muted giggle, thinking his expression was entirely cute.

Gally immediately looked up at the sound that escaped you, his smile reflecting your own, his deeply focused gaze softening the second it landed on you “Almost bed time, huh?”

“Yes, indeed.” You delivered a little grin as you shut the door behind you and approached him, your delicate hands landing on his shoulders with a pleasant squeeze “And you’re still not done working?” You eyed the journal in Gally’s hands.

He responded with a scratchy chuckle “Perks of being a keeper, baby - I’m never done.” He feigned a deep sigh that made you giggle once more, but nonetheless, placed the journal aside, wanting to give you his full attention.

The only instances where you two got to be truly alone with one another were early in the morning and right before bed, so Gally cherished these moments with you. He would spend every second of every day alone with you if he could, but for the time being, he’d take what ever little scraps of time he could get.

“Well, I’m here now, so... Maybe you’re done, after all?” You smiled, your hands kneading his shoulders in a relaxing manner, feeling his firm muscles slowly release built-up tension under your touch.

Gally grunted, deep in his throat, as his own hands took a hold of your waist, pulling you closer in a not-so subtle motion.

“I sure as hell am, now...” The deep, slightly raspy tone of his voice made you weak in ways you hadn’t imagined before, but you were far from complaining.

With a playful smirk, Gally suddenly fell back on the bed, and you yelped in surprise as with one simple, yet effective tug, he brought you down with, causing you to topple onto him.

“Gally!” You attempted to scold, lightly slapping his chest, but the laughter bubbling from within you, as well as the rising pink hue to your cheeks, let him know how you truly felt about it.

“Aww! Sorry, is this too much?” He asked, almost rhetorically, a cheeky glint dancing in his eyes.

The blush adorning your cheeks only grew as you gazed down at him in pure fascination. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe Gally was yours, that you got to see the side of him everyone else was blind to. You shook your head, leaning down to plant an amorous kiss on his plump lips, as he took no time melting into it with a low-pitched hum. His large hands, warm and eager, gripped your waist tighter as he shifted you both up the bed, until the back of his head almost knocked against the makeshift wooden frame. You whimpered, softly, against his mouth before breaking the kiss. You witnessed, with a tinge on satisfaction, that his freckle-littered cheeks were now even redder than your own, his breath escaping through his parted lips as he stared at you like you were something out of this world.

Gally felt like he could never get enough of you. Your closeness had his heart nearly beating out of his chest, and the intoxicating sensation of your lips on his sent him reeling with more need than he knew what to do with. However, as he gazed at you, taking in every detail of your breathtaking features, his mind involuntarily called back to his inner turmoil, a couple hours prior. The spark in his eyes dulled, the corner of his lips twitching with a barely-noticeable frown as he was pulled back into that loathsome state of self-doubt he’d tried so hard to fight against.

The rapid change in his expression, as minimal as it was, did not evade your notice. In a blink of an eye, your dream-like state morphed to concern as you reached up a hand to cup his warm cheek “Hey... Gally, what’s wrong?”

He huffed a light puff of air, tilting his head to nuzzle his face into your cupped hand, the small gesture nearly making you swoon.

“It’s nothing. Stupid. Don’t worry about it, baby.” Gally mumbled, the response identical to the one you’d received at dinner.

Well, that wasn’t going to be good enough this time. You frowned in sympathy “Yeah, that’s what you said earlier, too. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe it now.”

Gally relinquished a hushed groan, evidently reluctant to share what was on his mind, but all you wanted was for him to know that there was nothing in the world he couldn’t talk to you about. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the exasperated crease on his forehead, momentarily feeling it smoothen out under your lips.

“Come on... please? I can’t go to sleep if I know something’s bothering you.”

Gally sighed, deeply, his intent gaze meeting your own, and once again you were met with the somber pool of dejection that you had been so quick to spot.

To say he was hesitant to discuss it would be an understatement, but the plea in your gaze and soft voice was impossible for him to ignore. There probably wasn’t a single thing you couldn’t get out of him.

With a defeated grunt, Gally reached a hand up to carefully thread his calloused fingers through your silky hair, his voice dipping an octave lower as he finally spoke “Sometimes it just doesn’t feel like I’m good enough for you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched at the mere sound of those words leaving his mouth. You felt a ferocious urge to stop him right then and there, yet... you didn’t. No, you couldn’t interrupt. You asked for this, for his honesty, so now he was giving you exactly that. You had to let him finish.

“I mean... You could’ve had anyone. Absolutely shuckin’ anyone, but for a reason I still don’t fully understand, you’ve picked me.” Gally bit the inside of his cheek, his rough fingertips turning cold as he let the words fall from his mouth. “I know what people are thinking. ‘What the hell is an amazing, sweet, funny, beautiful girl like you, doing with one of the ugliest shanks here?’. And you know what? I hate it, but they’re not wrong.”

Every sentence shot an icy pain through your heart as you had to bite your bottom lip to physically restrain yourself from shutting him up. You couldn’t stand that Gally was so critical of himself, especially when you saw him as the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“And please don’t take this the wrong way - I’m not doubting your... feelings for me, and I’m so lucky that they’re even there, it’s just...” He trailed off, briefly, wanting to choose his next words carefully. “It’s a bit of a struggle to understand. Because you deserve the best, and I’m... well, hardly that.”

A short pause. Finally, it sounded like he was finished, and now it was your time to let him know precisely how you felt about all of it.

With a preparatory intake of air, you cupped his face in both hands, making him look nowhere else but at you, your eyes shining with determined empathy. “Gally... I chose you, because it’s always been you. Forty shanks here, and not one of them ever made me feel even a fraction of what you make me feel. I can’t explain why, because it’s not something that has an explanation - I don’t have an alphabetised list of reasons why I fell for you! I just... did. Because of who you are - that’s everything about you. And I don’t know who you’re calling ‘ugly’, because it sure as hell isn’t my boyfriend.” You paused, watching his eyes as he stared at you, mesmerized, without blinking, his mouth falling slightly agape as you could practically hear his heartbeat drumming in his chest. “So... Yeah, I can confidently say, without question, that I’m pretty happy with what I chose.”

After a few seconds of wired silence, Gally finally broke out of his entranced stupor, his voice nearly quivering as he traced a finger down the soft curve of your jaw.

“And what is it, that you chose?”

His touch made the loving warmth within you spread like wildfire, soothing your throbbing heart and coaxing a delicate grin to etch your lips “The best.”

At that, Gally released a short, incredulous huff, but couldn’t find it in himself to question it any further. You were truly a gift to him, a gift he had no idea what he’d done to deserve. In that moment, all the worries he’d had were effectively silenced, pushed away into the farthest, deepest crevices of his mind, not to be heard from again in a long time, if ever. Not a minute more would be wasted caring about anyone else’s opinion on your relationship with him. The only one that mattered was yours, and that’s the one he would hold into, for as long as you’d allow it. For as long as you’d want him.

Gally’s muscular arms wrapped around your frame, pulling you into him, tightly and protectively, as he buried his face in your hair, trying to get you as close as humanly possible, and still feeling like it wasn’t enough.

You responded by nuzzling into the warm crook of his neck, your lips pressing the gentlest of kisses to his sun-kissed skin, the heat of his strong chest soaking into you and shrouding you in an impenetrable sense of comfort and love. His love. The type nothing else could compare to or dare to challenge.

“You know, the day you change your mind will definitely be the most devastating of my life...” Gally whispered, almost inaudibly, the consuming safety of his embrace clouding your senses.

All you could do was breathe a soft chuckle, holding onto him tighter as your lips murmured against his neck “I guess it’s a good thing that day isn’t coming.”

Because in your mind, with all the uncertainties and uneasiness that surrounded the glade, that was the one thing you didn’t have a single doubt about. It was him. Gally. And there was no one better.

Thank you for reading!

Tags: @seldomabsent @obsessivelycapricious @ultraintrovertedgryffindor @maraudersimp @lattsgocaps @magnoliabloomfield @sherbertscarrothead-2 @the-marvel-meme-emporium @abundantxadorations @izzymultifan @willseyebrows @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

[zevlors-tail]

I don't wanna scared you or something even worse *breathe deeply and with the voice whispering* What do you think having a Incubus!Villain Deku?

Do you know I wrote all of this on mobile? In my car? On a 15% battery? Welp-

TW: Incubus!Izuku, Demon!Izuku, unprotected sex, mind fuckery?, tail play?, idk what to tag this lmao, biting, oral (reader receiving), fem!reader.

It starts with dreams. Bits and pieces here and there, fragments of memories that plague you randomly throughout the day. You're doing something completely mundane and suddenly there's a flash of something you can't quite recall...mostly in shades of green and black. It only takes a few times to fully realize what your dreams are about and remember them, though, and that's when the real problem starts.

That's when you become acutely aware of the incubus that's been taking up residence in your home (and subsequently, your mind) lately. He tells you his name; Izuku, was it? But please, call him Deku, as that's his preferred demon name and the name you should use to call upon him. He corners you the first time he becomes visible, makes you feel small and submissive, but in a lighthearted way so that you think you're still in control of the situation.

You're not.

He's so much larger than you; he towers over you easily as he traces an index finger over your bare arm and gives you a look of amusement. "Did those dreams feel nice?" But he doesn't need you to answer, because he already knows they did from the way you cried out and made a mess of yourself for him in your sleep. Many a nights you had woken yourself up mid-orgasm before having to strip your sheets from your sweat-soaked bed to wash them.

You can't put your finger on it, but there's something about his velvety tone and his darkened eyes that make him so persuasive while he offers to give you something even better, something physical that you can feel even when you're awake.

"I won't hurt you," he promises, and you can't help but believe him. It's easy to lean into his touch, to let him tilt your chin up, to meet his gaze and hold it while he silently asks permission.

You make the mistake of giving it to him.

Slowly he leans in, lips parted just as yours are, but he doesn't close the distance right away. He teases, smirks down at you from above and watches as your pupils slowly dilate with lust. You don't feel the prick on your back from his tail, never notice that something other than your own blood is now pumping through your veins. And while he can't play with you until he's earned a proper invitation, he can...help speed up the process.

If you had any doubts before, the aphrodisiac coursing it's way through your bloodstream is quickly changing that. You're overtaken by need like you've never felt before, and suddenly it's not a matter worth discussing anymore; you need to have him right now. You reach for him, pull him close as you meet his lips with yours, eagerly reveling in his immediate touches and caresses that he seems to offer so freely. He smiles into the kiss deviously, knowing what's just been done is essentially all he needs to corrupt you, to make you his, to use you as he pleases.

And he does.

He wastes no time in ridding clothes, his tail crawling up one of your legs and winding round and round until it reaches cloth and pulls. In one smooth effort your pants have been ripped to shreds, and now you're stuck in place; you're not going anywhere as he curls his tail around your midriff and pulls you to the floor. He makes quick work of his own clothes and your top, and then he moves on to the main attraction of tonight: you.

As he pins you to the ground and holds you there, you finally get a proper look at him, and boy is he a sight to see. Two small horns protruding from his head, his green mop of hair a wild curly mess, and canines so sharp that you're willing to bet he could eat you with those. And god, do you want him to. Your eyes trail down to his exposed chest, and you can see that he's clearly sculpted by whatever deities may exist. His muscles ripple under his skin, abs solid but still soft to the touch when you bring a hand up to feel. Below that, there's a very pronounced V-line, and a happy trail of forest green to match his messy mop up top.

Who knew demons could have happy trails?

You go to take your hand away, unsure if it's alright to touch him so freely. But he stops you, takes your hand in his and presses it back to his warm chest, slides it up to his collarbone before bringing it back down to rest over the part of him you'd been avoiding looking at up until now.

"It's quite alright if you touch me," he tells you, and again you find yourself entranced by his words. "I'd prefer it if you did, actually. Unless, of course, you'd prefer me to be in control? You humans are so interesting," he purrs. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen. But do say it out loud, otherwise it won't be any fun!"

There's a pause in which he presses your hand lower, and your eyes widen nearly twice as wide as you feel him pulsing in your hand. Already leaking and throbbing and still somewhat soft, he's easily much thicker than anyone you've ever had. Your breath hitches as he helps you to give him a few pumps, and you're practically shaking in apprehension to be filled up.

"Or, perhaps..." he starts again, "you want me to act on your fantasies without having to be asked to do so? After all, I've been inside that pretty little head of yours. I know every single one of your naughty desires you have, Y/N... There's no point in hiding them from me."

"I want-" You try to tell him, but you just seem so lost on your own words. You don't just want one thing, or two, or even several. You want all of it. All of him, and all of his cock. You can't tear your eyes away from him; he's alluring, addictive, intoxicating...

"I want you," you manage to breathe out, and he acts on it immediately.

"You want me?" he taunts, his free hand reaching down to easily curl two fingers into your dripping cunt. "You want me to play with you, is that it?"

He's merciless, his thumb rubbing circles onto your clit before making a come-hither motion against that soft spot deep inside of you.

"Fuck!" You can't help but cry out, slick already gushing from you no thanks to the aphrodisiac. "More!" you find yourself asking. "Please, more! Need-!"

And he gives you more. He continues to finger you through your orgasm, spreads you open only to lick it all up with his tongue before curling it deep inside of you and sending you to another high. The more you give him the harder he seems to work at you, but you're too blissed out to put two and two together. He is an incubus, after all. He feeds on pleasure.

After you think you can't take it anymore, after you've been pushed over the edge and fucked stupid on his monstrous cock too many times to count, you wonder when it will end. You've been at this hours, and you should feel tired. You should be exhausted and worn out, ready to crawl in bed and pass out into a deep sleep. But despite how much you've cum, Deku still hasn't, and instead of feeling worn out, you feel as needy as ever, unsatisfied in the sense that you still want more.

"Deku," you plead with him, "please! Please, please, give- ahah! Ahhhnnngh-! Need more!"

"Oh, dearest, I'm only getting started."

Sometime after, hours into your eventful evening, Izuku finally takes mercy on your poor soul and decides enough is enough...for tonight.

"You gave me your half of the contract, so it's only fair I give you mine, isn't it?"

Somewhere in the middle of your eyes rolling back and your body convulsing under him, you wonder what he's talking about. But you can't retain the thought, and it fades away as quickly as it came. You don't have time to think about that anyway while he finally loses himself, cock throbbing against your fluttering walls as he fills you to the brim with his scorching demon seed and punctures the skin above your collarbone with his canines.

You feel absolutely delirious with pleasure, wave after wave of bliss consuming you until you're sure you're going to pass out. You squirm excessively under him, hands gripping into his hair and pulling, fingers trembling as you drink in your highs together. Somehow you feel tainted and whole at the same time, impossibly hot, completely lost in the feeling he's giving you.

And then you feel it, something searing hot burning through you, something incredibly potent and yet not tangible acting as a tether to bind the two of you together invisibly.

"You're mine. You're all mine!"

You find yourself unable to bend from his will, your body acting exactly how he wants it to and your mind giving in to his commands.

There's no going back now.

Maybe you should learn to read the fine print before signing contracts with demons so easily.

[after-witch]

Takeout (Yandere Dabi x Reader)

Title: Takeout (Yandere Dabi x Reader)

Synopsis: You haven’t been eating. Your captor brings home takeout.

Word Count: 1165

Notes: yandere, depression, mentions of malnutrition and injuries

 Dabi shuts the front door of the apartment you two share with an unusual gentleness, dangling a large bag of take-out in one hand and the keys for the myriad of locks he’s installed in the other. He normally likes to make a show of coming home--keys jangling, door slamming, anything to get you riled up and tense and reacting. But since you’ve fallen so deep into your… funk, as he calls it, he’s been strangely quiet. Truth be told, he’s afraid that his usual loud noises and intense demeanor might shock you into some further place inside you, making you infinitely harder to reach.

So it’s with this careful quiet that he enters your bedroom, noting with a frown that you’re in practically the same position as when he left. Curled up on your mattress, holding a small, ratty pillow to your chest. You turned over at some point--that’s something, at least.

“Hey,” he says, casually--with more practiced effort, it must be said. He tried being his usual snarky self with you at first, thinking you were being stubborn and pouty when you refused to get out of bed or even respond to him. But even nasty threats hadn’t coerced you to react more than glancing at him, eyes unusually dull. A healing burn on your arm, a last ditch-attempt on his part, was testament to just how deep you’d fallen in.

In any case, you don’t respond.

He sets the takeout bag down on the foldout table he’d found near a dumpster and promptly co-opted for his place, and begins pulling out the containers. The smell of the array of takeout boxes, filled with freshly steamed vegetables, fish, curry and an array of dishes he knows you like fills the otherwise stale smelling room.

He glances over at you as he starts popping open the staples on the boxes, but if you’ve noticed the impressive takeout spread he’s started to lay out, you don’t give any signs. His eyes roam over your prone form and he feels a twinge of anxiety beginning to bubble. You hadn’t been eating much, sometimes not at all, for a few weeks now. Lately you refused to even feed yourself, and he had to resort to offering you bites, which you would--only sometimes--nibble.

You would compliantly drink water if he held the glass to your lips, and sometimes he overheard you sipping it from the sink in the bathroom; but any attempts to make you eat more than a bite or two had ended in messy spills, wasted food, and your sobs. You’ve lost weight, and the dark circles under your eyes are showing more as each day passes. The burn on your arm is healing more slowly than it should, much slower than the other burns and scratches and bruises you’d received since he brought you home.

“I picked up some of your favorite things at that place you used to go to all the time,” he says, taking the time to keep his tone pleasant. “I even paid for it--if you can believe that.” He glances over again--you haven’t moved a muscle.

“I got some desserts too.” He pauses. “You can eat them first, if you want. Or should I stick them in the fridge?” Maybe a question will get you to respond, he thinks.

When he glances over next, you’re looking at him, but any relief he feels is short lived. Your eyes have a sad, glazed over look that he’s come to know all too well over the past few weeks. He tries to pay it no mind as he dumps a bit of of each thing on a plate, before setting your tray carefully down on the floor next to the mattress.

“We can freeze what you don’t eat. This should last us a while, huh?” His voice trails off at the end. Your eyes are--you barely look like you’re even there. Finally, something inside him seems to snap and he takes a few staggering steps towards the door.

“I’m… a real piece of shit.” He looks back at you and smiles, a sad, unusual smile that he’s never shown you before. “I fucked up real good, didn’t I? I can’t believe I--” He doesn’t finish.

He suddenly leaves the room, but he doesn’t make it far past the threshold before he collapses on his knees. He begins to cry, an unusual, soft piercing sound that carries easily through the open doorway to your shared room.

He doesn’t see you shift on the mattress, pulling yourself into a sitting position as you learn forward to look at him. But he does finally feel your gaze and glances over, noting that you’re looking at him not with the lifeless expression you’ve been wearing for days but with a dulled version of… pity? Sympathy? He doesn’t know, but the thought lasts only a moment because the next thing he sees is you lifting the pair of chopsticks he left near the plate. Your hand is shaking slightly as you take up a piece of fish and bring it to your mouth. He’s entranced as you take a small bite.

He wants to run through the doorway and shove the rest of the food in your mouth. Eat, damn it, eat! But he knows that would be monumentally stupid. Instead he slowly gets up from his crouched position and quietly makes his way back into the bedroom. He sits down near the doorway. He doesn’t want to break whatever spell is simmering between you. He watches you pick up another small bite, some plain rice, and eat that, too.

He scoots closer to you and, seeing that you don’t show any sign that his presence is disturbing you, continues until he’s close enough to touch you. You seemingly ignore him as you set down the chopsticks and takes a small, gentle nibble of a sweet pastry. Dessert.

He places his scarred hand on top of yours and finally, you do look up at him. The sight of something--pity, sympathy, sadness--in your eyes causes Dabi to let out a shuddering breath. It’s a beautiful sight.

He strokes the top of your hand gently.  “That’s so good, (Y/N). You’re doing so good. I’m so proud.”  

The praise seems to make you tremble, and he sees you wipe away a tear before you take another bite of the sticky pastry.

It’s just a bite, a bite or two. But it’s a start.