#i wrote like two chapters yesterday for the first time in months

[verityblack]

“Wow that’s such a cool scene, someone should really write that” I say to myself staring at my WIP hoping words spill from my fingers independently from my unmotivated brain

[selarina]

True Blue

→ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader (Series Masterlist)

Chapter 2: The Green Light

Content Warnings: college bf!gojo, long-distance, fluff, smut, established relationship, summer, phone sex, nudes, light angst, emotional tension, insecurities, gojo is rich and clingy! Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.6k words

Author's Note: had "Good Looking" by Suki Waterhouse on repeat as i wrote this. can you tell?

You had thought coming home for the holidays would mean endless days spent with Gojo, caught up in each other with nothing else to do in this sleepy town. Here, time moved differently, like honey trickling from a spoon.

Time spent in college had been different— there were classes, assignments, and the whole college thing — but now, time with him would be luxurious, unhurried, just the two of you, without the world pulling you apart.

But it had been two weeks since you last saw him.

To start with, your mother, in that peculiar way mothers are, still treated you as if high school had just ended yesterday. And then there was the summer ritual – three weeks spent with your grandmother, a tradition that pulled you three states away, leaving Gojo behind in all his boredom. The first week of summer had been his, or at least partially, for even then half of it was lost to the tournament that kept him longer on campus. Now, only a single constrained week and a month remained, 

“So, you’ll be back by then?” he asks, a kind of hope edging in his voice. You almost feel bad.

“I don’t know—” you speak up. “I always spend three weeks. I don’t want to leave earlier.”

“It’s only a week early and it’s my birthday, baby,” he whined, his plea childish, like a boy who doesn’t understand why he can’t have everything he wants.

“I know, but we can always celebrate later,” you offered, knowing full well it wasn’t the answer he wanted.

“Okay,” he says, and you hear it, his voice is thin and worn. It’s not the first time he’s asked you to come back earlier, nor would it be the last. “How’s it going in Midsommar-land anyway? You need to start sending me more pictures or I’ll forget how you look.”

You scoffed, but there was a smile in it. It was the least you could do. “I promise, I will.”

You chat on about things, meandering through familiar territories. And when you finally ran out of things to say, Satoru started asking you about colors, shapes, chickens, and just about anything he could think of to keep the conversation going. 

Four hours had passed, and the weariness in his voice was clear.

“Satoru.”

He hummed in response, his voice soft, almost dreamy.

“Go to bed,” you say gently.

“But I don’t want to,” he mumbled, the resistance fading even as he spoke.

“Yeah,” you said, understanding. “I know. I’ll call you tomorrow anyway.”

“Mmkay,” you hear him yawn through the crackles of the phone. “Don’t forget — pictures.”

You hummed in agreement, ending the call.

You fell back onto the bed, feeling the dull ache in your elbow from holding your head up for so long as you spoke. 

The ceiling, plain and blue, stared back at you as you tried to think of what you would do today. And then it struck you — pictures first.

Your fingers moved quickly, perusing through the squares in your phone’s gallery, searching. But the images were all wrong— food, your grandmother, endless trees, and greens, but not a single one centering you.

You frowned, scrolling back to the last picture of you —a simple mirror selfie. The first week of summer, it dated. You were standing clad in Gojo’s tournament jacket and shorts. The memory brought a smile to your face.

You got up then, moving with purpose — like a mad scientist, you started to dig through your suitcase until you found it. You took your top off, as you pulled the jacket on. The heat was far too horrendous for both items layered on top of one another.

You fell back onto the bed again, the pillow soft beneath your head. You held the camera up — your hair spreading around your white pillow covers, with your face in focus.

You realized you looked tired, dark circles blooming like dark mold under your eyes, but your grandparents would return soon and you wanted to get this over with now and for all. 

Click.

You drew your hands back a bit more, making sure the jacket engulfing you was visible.

Click.

Your eyes caught a glint— a silver shine at your neck. Of course. You reached for it, a delicate gold necklace with a blue jewel at its center, Gojo’s 6-month anniversary gift to you. You remembered the guilt you felt then, for you had given him a silly joke of a book in return.

It now lay over your — his hoodie — sitting against the hoodie, a small, almost hidden detail.

Click.

The phone was warm in your hand, the screen glowing softly in the dim light. One more, you decided. The last one.

You listened, straining for any sounds in the silence—footsteps, voices—but there was nothing, just the quiet of the empty house.

You pulled off the jacket, your movements quick but deliberate, and you lifted the phone above you, adjusting the camera before snapping a shot of you with your bare chest. Bare, but not entirely so — the gold necklace still graced your neck. 

The moment passed as quickly as it came, as you pulled the jacket back on in haste.

You selected the last two photos, sending them in quick succession. The order mattered, after all. 

—

The next morning, you had risen a bit too late in the afternoon. The light of the afternoon sun already slicing harshly through the curtain. The evening yesterday was eventful with the bonfires you helped build, and food you helped grill. It had been lovely. Exhausting. Glorious.

You immediately reach for your phone. Almost giddy with anticipation. 

But when you opened the screen, there was only one message from Satoru.

Satoru <3: Pretty 

The text specifically replied to the first picture you had sent, conveniently leaving the second unacknowledged. Your brows knitted together. 

You tapped his contact and pressed the phone to your ear, the silence of the room amplifying each drawn-out ring.

Once. Twice. Then, the line crackled, and his voice came through, light and smooth.

“Afternoon,” he drawled. “Did you just wake up? It’s late.”

“Pretty?” you ask, agitated. 

“I am? Thank you,” he says, you can almost hear the grin form on his mouth. 

“Satoru,” you reply, it was your turn to whine now.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, feigning innocence. Oh, he was loving this, wasn’t he?

“Just pretty?” you asked, your patience stretched thin but still intact. You felt small, however, in an odd way you couldn’t explain.

“You’ll get more than that,” he said, “if you say you’ll come to my birthday.”

A groan escaped you. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered. “No more pictures for you. Ever again.”

And you only smile when you hear him fumble — words overlapping one another as though he’s finding one that’s appropriate enough to satiate you — to convince you to do both. 

“I just want you here,” he said finally, the simplicity of the statement catching you off guard. “I really do.”

“You’ll see me two days later,” you countered. “You don’t even care about your birthday.”

“I don’t,” he admitted easily. “But everyone else does. You know my mother will make a whole thing out of it — the birthday will be loud. And annoying. I need you with me. Please—”

“You only want me there because it’ll be annoying,” you replied, your frown deepening, though a certain softness crept into your tone later. “It’s only two days. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Yeah, how? you’ll send me more pictures?” he asks, his voice lithe.

“I don’t know,” you teased, the earlier irritation melting away, as it does. “You didn’t seem to like the last one.”

Silence. 

“I liked it,” he finally said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “I did.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your voice lower, mirroring his. “What did you like about it?”

“I liked you,” he said. “You’re pretty.”

“I am?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Very.”

“Why thank you,” you said, the gratitude in your voice genuine, yet playful.

“I’m looking at it right now,” he continued, his voice taking on a breathy quality as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “Pretty,” he murmured, devout.

“What’s pretty about it?” you prompted, curious and engaged now.

“You —” he says. “Want you here with me, so bad.”

“You want me there with you?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?” you ask.

“I’m— I’m in my bed.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Where are you?” he asks then.

“Well, I just woke up,” you replied.

“So, you’re in your bed too,” he surmised.

“Yeah,” you replied, pulling the cover up to your chest. “Hey,” you decided to add. “And guess what?”

“What?” he asks, chewing on his lips. “I’m wearing your hoodie too,” you said, and though he could not see you, you could almost sense his reaction.

"Fuck," he exhaled, the word barely more than a breath. "And, what else?"

“Um—” you start to feel a bit awkward. “Shorts. Black shorts.” Do specifics matter, you start to wonder?

“Bra?”

You glanced down, though you already knew the answer. "No," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it before you could hide behind something safer. You cleared your throat, speaking up, clearer this time. "No."

“Fuck,” he says again. The mental image of you wearing his sweatshirt without any bra was driving him a bit hazy. 

You rushed to break the tension, "Your turn."

"Huh," he responded as if he had lost track of the conversation, of where this had started.

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Well, just sweatpants and a t-shirt,” his voice casual. 

“Take them off.”

He chuckled, the sound soft, surprised. "As my lady pleases."

You heard rustling sounds, and you let your imagination wander to an image of him in his room. You’ve never seen his room, save for some hints in the many pictures he loves to send you, but you haven’t been to his place. Yet. 

Based on what his dorm looks like, he’s such a boy. It doesn’t have a theme, just a mixture of things he’s collected erratically placed in places he could if you get the gist. 

You wonder what color his room is. 

You realize you’ve wandered too far, the tension that first filled the space between you two as he speaks is gone, as you’ve indulged your mind.

"They’re off," he stated, his voice bringing you back, grounding you in the present moment. "Now take yours—wait! Take only your shorts off. I like you in my hoodie."

You smiled at that, and just as you’re about to take it off, your hand lingering at the waistband, ready to comply when—

“Hey, sweetheart,” your grandmother’s voice cut through with the sound of your door hinging open, bringing you to notice that there is a world beyond the two of you.

"Grandma, what—" you stammered, your heart racing as you scrambled, about to cover yourself, though you realized a second later that you didn’t need to. You were still fully clothed, still just talking on the phone. You sighed. "What happened?"

“Oh, nothing, dear but if you’re not too busy… could you help Yuuji with the birds? He hurt his wrist this winter, poor thing, and I think he could use your hand.”

“Of course,” you sighed with a smile, a small and reluctant thing, forcing its way to your lips. “Just let me get dressed, and I’ll be down.”

“Tell that friend of yours you’re always talking to that I said hi,” she added, a warm smile in her voice.

You nodded, almost absently, the phone still pressed to your ear as she left the room, the door closing with a soft click.

“Grandma says hi,” you relayed.

"Tell her your friend says hi back," he responded, his voice carrying an edge now, a note of irritation that was impossible to ignore.

There were too many things left unsaid, too many disappointments lining up on the horizon—birthdays you wouldn’t be there for, a family you hadn’t yet told him about.

You felt the fairness of it, just a bit. There are many things at play right now — you hadn’t told your family about him, you wouldn’t be coming in time for his birthday — too many things disappointing a boy who’s used to having it all. "I’m sorry," you said, the words sincere. "I’ll call you in the evening. Same as yesterday.”

He made a sound that was neither agreement nor refusal, just a noncommittal hum. "Have a nice day," he muttered, and the line went dead, leaving you alone in the silence.

—

It was warm, and windy as you drove back home to see Satoru Gojo. You drove alone, aside from your backseat companions – jars and jars of condiments from Grandma.

His house was even more elaborate than you had first expected – a whopping red and white brick mansion. It was a mansion you thought one would only see in their extravagant imaginations but there it stood, just beyond the long stretch of a well-furnished garden. 

As you pulled up – a man appeared. He was middle-aged, and greying at the temples. His manner was brisk, so formal, as he offered to park your car, and you simply let him. You assumed he was a chauffeur for the estate. 

Standing before the entrance, you feel as though the mansion seemed bigger than when you first laid your eyes on it from afar. Looming. Its sheer size made you a bit dizzy and small as you stared up at it. 

You walked up, your hand reaching to press the small buzzer on the side of the ornate door.

“Oh!” The voice belonged to a woman with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. “You must be here for the young master’s party?”

Young master. Satoru. You nodded, stepping inside.

And then you walked and you walked, and you started to wonder if they should invest in a vehicle for an inside the house. 

Walking through a high hallway, you finally made your way into what seemed to be a living room or just a big room where there were a bunch of people pacing and talking about with drinks and sticks with food in their hands. 

You assumed you finally arrived at the party, as the bright-eyed woman nodded at you as she left you to find your own steps now.

A breeze flew through the room just as you walked in, blowing the curtains in at one end and out like flags as you walked into where the concentration of the room lay.

The only seemingly still object in the room, amidst the whipping of the curtains and the moving guests, was the enormous white couch in the middle. And that’s where you saw him, Satoru, lounging, with a glass perched on the bridge of his nose as he spoke to a boy. The boy you barely glanced at — he was of no consequence just yet. 

You approached, your eyes noticing the lines of his black shirt as it ruffled with the breeze. With each step closer, your courage grew, pushing to make your presence known to him, and the guests that surrounded him. 

A sudden boom echoed through the room, and you turned just in time to see the same bright-eyed woman from earlier closing the long windows with a decisive motion. When you looked back, you noticed Satoru’s gaze had already fixed itself on you.

His brows, you could see, even through the glasses, emerged upward, in surprise.

Without thinking, you reached for his glasses, slipping them off as you spoke. “Hi,” you said. A giggle, a nervous giggle following you.

“You came,” he murmured, almost in a daze. 

“Yeah,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday. What do you make of me?”

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 4

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

This chapter is a bit longer so I hope you all like it. I'll admit did write a lot of this while I was at work lol

Chapter 4

“Sorry you had to wait for so long in our office during the meeting.” Changbin apologizes again as they sit in the waiting area of the doctors office. 

“It’s okay, I didn’t mind.” She smiles at him while she’s filling out the paperwork given to her by the receptionist. 

Chan can’t help but to glance down at it as she writes the answers to each of the medical questions. 

The normal of her date of birth, which he now knows she’s younger than Jeongin by a few months. When she presented which was when she was seventeen, a late presenter, not unheard of but uncommon. Any medical surgeries, she had her tonsils taken out as an infant. 

He feels guilty for looking at her answers for the female section but he reassures himself that it’s because he wants to know if she’ll need anything while she’s with them. Her last menstrual cycle having been the week prior so he won’t have to worry about making sure she has those products. That would have been an embarrassing call to Hannah for help with that. 

When she gets to the omega portion he frowns as she hesitates with the answers. Her last heat cycle… was when she presented? Chan knows that omegas have two heats a year at first starting out, a few years after presenting it becomes three. He thought that maybe he’d have to worry about her having not made it to that third one a year yet with her having presented late, but he wasn’t expecting for her to not have had a heat in six years. 

“Y/n L/n.” An omega nurse calls for the girl before approaching the three. “Dr. Hajoon is running a little behind so she wants me to go ahead and take you to get your blood drawn so that the lab work can be ready by the time she’s ready to see you.” 

“O-okay.” Y/n stands up obviously nervous and Chan and Changbin both stand too. 

“Sorry, there isn’t enough room for both of you to join, but we shouldn’t be too long. I’ll have her back out momentarily.” The nurse explains before starting to lead the way. 

Y/n hesitates but follows the nurse after Chan and Changbin both give her a reassuring nod that she’ll be okay. If it weren’t for the nurse being an omega the two alphas probably wouldn’t have let the girl go by herself. 

“Bin?” Chan speaks up after the omegas are out of sight behind the doors leading to the back. “Did you happen to look at the paperwork she was filling out?” 

Changbin frowns, giving his alpha a confused look. “No? Did you? You know that's an invasion of privacy right?” 

“I know.” Chan sighs, closing his eyes. “I just couldn’t help myself, wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything concerning, ya know?” 

“And is there?” 

Chan pauses for a moment before looking at Changbin. “She wrote down that her last heat was when she had first presented, about six years ago.” 

“What? How is that possible?” Changbin sits forward then looks confused when Chan pulls his phone out. “What are you doing?” 

“Texting Lix.” The older alpha brings up the betas contact as Changbin scoots over to see what is said. 

Channie Alpha♥️ Lixie baby, I need you to do Changbin and I a favor please. 

Lixie Baby🩵 Of course, anything 

Channie Alpha♥️ I need you to go into the room Y/n’s staying in. And look at her nest that you made for her.   

Lixie Baby🩵 Okay? 🤨

What about the nest? 

Channie Alpha♥️ Does it look any different from yesterday?

Lixie Baby🩵 It just looks slept in, why?

Channie Alpha♥️ It doesn’t look like she changed it at all? Everything's how you had placed it?

Lixie Baby🩵 No 🥺 everythings exactly how I had done it 

Channie Alpha♥️ Thank you baby, that’s all I needed

Lixie Baby🩵 Can I ask why you took her to see Dr. Hajoon? 

Channie Alpha♥️ You shouldn’t be stalking our location Lix. Minho just had some concerns he wanted us to get checked out is all. We’ll be home right after, I promise. Love you 

Lixie Baby🩵 Love you too 💕

“What does her not changing how Lix made her nest have anything to do with all of this?” Changbin finally asks after Chan puts his phone away. 

“When Lucas presented Felix had sent Olivia over to help him understand his omega tendencies.” Chan starts to explain. “The main thing they went over was nesting, it comes naturally to an omega but it’s different for everyone. She had said that the way she nests and the way Felix nests is completely different. So if an omega were to make a nest for another omega, the latter would still change it up a bit to make it more suitable for themselves. The only time it doesn’t happen is a communal nest because normally all of the omegas in the pack would build the nest together.”

“So Y/n’s omegas tendencies should have kicked in and she would have changed up the nest a bit to be more comfortable for her, but she didn’t.” Changbin repeats to make sure he’s understanding correctly as he doesn’t have any omega family members and Chan nods in confirmation. “So that and the lack of a heat for the last six years, how is that possible?” 

“The only thing I know that can cause someone to not have a heat is suppressants.” Chan hisses. “But it doesn’t suppress their other omega tendencies. And it’s only until you stop taking the suppressants…” 

“Meaning she never stopped taking them?” Changbin nods but then frowns.” Wait, I thought you guys said she didn’t have anything with her besides a car when you found her?”

“Yeah. She didn’t even have shoes. And I think I would have noticed if she grabbed a pill bottle at all.” Chan thinks back to the day before.

“Is she maybe not an omega?”

Chan gave Changbin an are you kidding me look. “Have you not smelled her? She’s an omega.” Then he thinks about what he overheard Minho and Jeongin say. “Though Min said he felt as though her scent isn’t fully there, which makes sense.” 

“Is it possible to not be a full omega?” Changbin pounders. “Like how Felix acts like one when he’s a beta. Could it be the opposite with her?” 

“I’m not sure.” Chan looks up as he smells Y/n walk back out into the waiting area, her uninjured arm taped from the blood draw. “But we’re gonna need to find out.” 

Y/n gives them as much of a convincing smile as she possibly can but they can tell from her scent that she didn’t have a pleasant experience. 

“You okay Y/nnie?” Changbin scoots away from Chan so she can sit back down between them.

“Yeah.” She nods and sits down. “Just don’t really like hospitals, especially being alone in one.”

“I’m sorry you had to go back there alone.” Chan places his hand on hers. “I promise we’ll be with you when Dr. Hajoon is ready to see you. She knows that we don’t like letting omegas go alone.”

She nods and takes comfort in knowing that they’ll be joining her in the examination room. 

After what felt like an hour but was more like fifteen minutes, a beta doctor with a clipboard of papers walks out and smiles at the three of them.

“Chris, Changbin.” The two stand and hug her before she turns and looks at Y/n. “And this must be the… omega… you told me about, Chris?”

“Yes, this is Y/n.” Chan smiles, placing a hand on the small of her back, all of them having taken notice of her hesitance to say her sub-gender. “Thank you so much for getting us in so quickly.”

“It’s no problem.” She turns back to Y/n once again. “It’s nice to meet you Y/n, I’m Dr. Hajoon. Let’s get you back to the examination room, I have your paperwork as well as the notes my nurse wrote down from getting your height and weight before you had your blood drawn. Are you okay with the alpha’s joining us?”

“Y-yeah.” The omega nods. “I would prefer that they do.”

“I had assumed so.” Hajoon nods and leads the three of them through the doors to the back. 

Once in the room Chan helps Y/n up on the examination table before sitting with Changbin in the seats and Hajoon grabs the stool while looking over the paperwork with a frown. 

“Alright, based on your paperwork I do have a few concerns but that is stuff that can wait until the end when we’re just discussing everything else and going over your blood work.” She starts off and sanitizes her hands before grabbing gloves. “I’m more worried about the wounds Chris told me about, can I take a look?”

Y/n rolls the sleeve up of the shirt she borrowed from Hannah’s closet to show the bruising on her wrist and the bandage on her upper arm. 

“Was it Minho who patched you up?” Hajoon smirks when the omega nods yes. “I figured, he’s the caretaker type.”

Changbin snorts. “Don’t let Min hear you say that.” 

The beta peels the bandage off her arm revealing more bruising and a deep gash. She inspects it, cleaning it a bit causing Y/n to hiss in pain a little. The two alphas shift in their seats wanting to protect the omega but knows the doctor is just doing what she needs. 

“Luckily it isn’t too deep. It looks like Minho did well in cleaning it but I’m seeing some early signs of infection, something he wouldn’t have been able to recognize.” Hajoon explains and rubs a topical ointment before bandaging it back up. “I’m gonna prescribe an ointment and antibiotics to take until it’s healed. As well as a bruise relief cream.” 

“Thank you.” Y/n whispers. 

“Chris had also mentioned bruising on your side and possible broken ribs?” 

“Yeah, that was Minho's main concern.” Chan speaks up again. “He wrapped her torso to help relieve any pain she may be in but we need to know if anything’s broken.” 

“Do you mind taking your shirt off?” The doctor asks and notices the girl's hesitancy. “If you want we can shut the curtain.” 

“It’s okay.” Y/n whispers and lifts up her shirt taking it off. 

Hajoon starts unwrapping her torso and it’s when she hears both Chan and Changbin growl that she knows the bruising is visible for all. She has the omega lay down on her back so she can feel her ribs for any breaks which causes the omega to hiss at some of the more sensitive bruising. 

“I don’t think you have any broken ribs.” The doctor explains. “Does it hurt at all to breathe?”

“No.” Y/n hisses again as the doctor touches another tinder spot. “But the prodding and poking does.” 

“Sorry.” The beta moves away from the table. “You can go ahead and put your shirt back on. But I do have to ask how these injuries happened?”

“I fell down a flight of stairs.” Y/n doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as she shrugs her shirt back okay.

“Hmm… before Chris and the betas found you, where were you living? Did you have a pack?”

“I was still living with my family pack.” This saddens Chan, thinking that her family might have done this to her.

“Another question I just have to ask as a part of my normal spiel. Do you feel safe?”

“Yeah.” The omega nods. “I do now at least.” 

Dr. Hajoon’s smartwatch goes off and she looks at it before turning to the computer in the room. “Your blood work came back so we can discuss the other concerns I have about your weight and lack of a heat.” 

Y/n glances at the two alphas to see their reactions but their expressions are neutral. 

The beta’s looks over the lab results and sighs before giving the omega a sad look.

“Did you know what it was?” Y/n gives a sad nod yes. “Did you get them done willingly?”

“My family forced me.” She mumbles playing with her hands.

“Forced what?” Chan cut’s in, sitting forward in the chair looking pissed.

Hajoon puts her hand up towards Chan as she continues looking at Y/n. “Besides your heats and scent, what else did it affect? And how often did you get them?”

“All of my omega tendencies.” She bows her head. “Every month since after my first heat.”

Chan grits his teeth not liking the sound of this conversation as he doesn’t fully know what's going on.

“Is it okay if I tell your alphas about it? That is if they promise not to lash out.” She eyes the two males until Y/n nods her head yes and waits for Chan and Changbin to also agree and once they do she sighs. 

“Her blood work came back positive for a suppressant injection. It isn’t like normal pill suppressants that can help postpone a heat, or a scent suppressor, it suppresses everything omega about her and even her appetite, why she’s underweight too. Why my nurse and I both were confused by her scent at first, we both smell a beta from her. These injections aren’t illegal but most refuse to practice with it because of the severity. It normally lasts up to thirty to forty days before needing another injection.”

“How do we smell her like an omega then?” Changbin speaks as Chan’s trying to keep calm. 

“The only way for anyone to smell a person's true sub-gender through a suppressant is if they are their fated mate.” Chan and Changbin’s jaws both drop. “You guys wouldn’t know you were fated mates though because of the suppressant, your alpha’s aren’t fully smelling her to tell you like normal. To you guys it seems as though her scent isn’t fully there.”

Chan and Chanbin both look at Y/n in awe now.

“So what do we need to do about the last injection she was given?” Chan leans forward and grabs Y/n’s hand to both help comfort her for what's about to be said and keep him from lashing out.

“Her blood work shows little traces of it, meaning it’s almost out of her system.” Hajoon looks back at the computer. “I would say in a few days her omega tendencies will start to return and she should restart her heat cycle. Though this first one will be a dry heat.”

“Dry heat?”

“A dry heat is when the body is not ready to reproduce or prepare for reproduction. Occurs when the omega is in a bad physical condition, mental state, or environment. When Omegas are in unsafe environments, examples; physical, mental, or emotional abuse, no pack bonds or mate, unfamiliar location, lots of stress or anxiety, which from what I can guess is a lot of what she’s been put through plus the suppressant, it’s bound to happen. It’s usually painful. Alters the body and shuts down all biological functions involved in reproduction and is not healthy but unavoidable this time. Dry heats can last anywhere from two to seven days. You guys will need to do a lot to help her during it. Take her to her nest or den. Do NOT leave her alone. Keep her hydrated, fed, and someone needs to maintain physical contact at all times. If the dry heat worsens, take her to the nearest hospital. Symptoms of it are haziness, cramps, separation anxiety, headaches, fearfulness, high emotions or extremely emotionless, distressed scent. I’ll have it all written down for you guys.”

“And… and what if I don’t have a dry heat, or any heat?” The omega fears.

“If you don’t go through one within a week, come back and we’ll try and figure out what's going on.” She reassures her as she types on the computer. “I’m sending in your prescriptions as well as setting you up with a therapist and psychologist. With what you’ve been through maybe we can get you on medication that can help with your mental health. They’re located in the same office as the two Jisung sees so I’ll see about getting you in at the same time as his so you both can just go together.”

“Thank you again for everything.” Chan stands up still holding the omega’s hand and helps her off the table.

“Anytime Chris, I’m always just a call away if you guys need anything.” She hands Changbin the papers with all the information they need. “Keep me updated.”

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Tag list: @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl @blindspot143 @sinfulfic @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55 @hwangrfrnd @pixie0627 @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog

[leclercss]

Paris, je t'aime (Charles Leclerc), Part 3

Masterlist

plot: it's almost three years since your tumultuous relationships with Lewis and Charles came crashing down. but you find your self in a new city with new beginnings and new ways to fuck up your love life. that's no thanks to a cheeky frenchman who's set you up on a double date with someone oh so familiar.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating, violence and some swearing

authors note: part trois, enjoy. i literally wrote this and accidentally deleted my draft. fml. this chapter is going to focus on Charles' perspective of the break up. it may explain a lot of his feelings, i hope you enjoy

word count: 5.2k

taglist: @toppersjeep @janeholt3, @princess-siba, @nichmeddar, @tremendousandsonorouswords, @cmleitora, @victoriaholland, @amalialeclerc, @queensofshinigamis, @tempo-rary-fix, @starmanv, @happylittlereader, @trouble-sistar, @lightdragonrayne, @persephonemv1, @dreamingofautopia

'I’m so grateful that I got the chance to see you again.

Amour xxx ’

Charles has reread this part of the note at least 20 times already. His emotions have been conflicted every since he woke to the emptiness of your side of the bed this morning. Well, it wasn't really your side, just where you slept last night. Or for however long you were there for before you decided to flee. When he rolled over this morning, expecting his arm to wrap around your soft skin, all he felt was nothingness before his arm fell onto the mattress below him. Confused, he opened his eyes to see that you had gone and all that remained was the faint smell of your perfume and a small note.

He immediately grabbed it and was expecting the worst. Had you regretted seeing him again and took the first opportunity to flee? Because you had tried to leave a couple of times yesterday but only for Charles' resistance and pleas, you would have left. And Charles was unsure if you would ever want to see him again.

Could he blame you though ? I mean, he was a total asshole to you last night. If he was being honest to himself, some part of Charles enjoyed being an asshole towards you yesterday. After everything you had put him through three years ago, you deserved to feel some sort of pain or embarrassment. You had left him for a shitty husband, after all. A man who had cheated on you so many times and only seemed to care for your existence when he felt threatened. Which was what your husband had felt when it came you and Charles because at one point in time, you and Charles had loved each other. The two of you were in deep and when things finally felt like they had a chance for the two of you, you threw it back in Charles' face and decided to move away (more like run away in Charles' eyes) to New York with ... fuck, he even hated the thought of his name after all of this time ... Lewis.

The thought of him made Charles' blood boil to this day. He had only ever come across Lewis twice in person but that smug face remained imprinted in his mind. And at night, as he lay alone, Charles' thoughts often drifted to that dinner at Nusr Et where you were celebrating your birthday with Lewis. Unknowingly, Charles and his friends were also having dinner there that night.

Because fate had a funny way of working, the two of you were occupying two tables beside each other and Charles now found himself just two metres away from your husband and he couldn't hide the horror he was feeling. And neither could you, because you went into some weird silent state of panic.

Confused, Lewis had tried to comfort you but couldn't miss the theatrics that were happening on the tables opposite of him. Lewis just had to take one look at you and he understood that Charles, this stranger on the table beside you, was your lover. To everyone else, you hid it behind some heavy champagne drinking that had now taken over your body, but to Lewis it was all of the confirmation he needed. After months of trying to win you back, he had finally found the man who was occupying half of his wife's heart. Unable to have you to himself any more, Lewis decided that he was going to destroy Charles in a shameful display of arrogance, dick-swinging and lust.

In the moment, it had worked. Charles' was humiliated but he wasn't going to give up on you that easily. Lewis couldn't get away with his behaviour any longer, Charles thought. But then he did because one day you had come over to Charles' flat and your ring was no longer on your finger and to Charles, it meant that you were finally single. The two of you could finally be together and he could finally make love to you knowing that you were free from the restraints of your marriage.

But after you had had sex, Charles started talking about the next stage of your lives together. After all, it only felt natural now that you had broken up with Lewis. But you hadn't, he was moving to New York. And so were you...

Lewis and New York had sealed the fate in yours and Charles relationship. It was over, done. He was angry, traumatised, confused but most of all, he was heart broken.

He tried to hate you and at some point, he was sure that his efforts had paid off. Eventually the hatred had become exhausting, or at least trying to hate you was exhausting. After you had left, Charles felt that everything in London had reminded him of you and so he took the opportunity to flee. He had moved back to Monaco for a while, hoping that being at home somewhat healed him. It didn't. Monaco was more relaxing than London and it gave him more time to think, to think about you. He needed somewhere busy. He'd always wanted to move to New York but now, fuck that place.

One day, he reconnected with a childhood friend, Pierre, who was now living in Paris and thought that Paris would be busy enough to occupy his life and his mind. He never told Pierre why he was so open to move. Just that Monaco was a little quiet for a single man in his mid-twenties. So off to Paris and for Charles it occupied his mind, at least for a while. He kept himself busy with work and girls but none of them healed him deep down. No matter what he did, he always thought of you and he always thought about how you were living your life in New York.

Were you happy? How did you get used to living and working in the States? Did you miss home? Did you have babies yet? Were you still married? How was it so easy for you to leave Charles? Did you just use him to get back at your husband? Did you ever really love him? Did you ever even think about him? Even a little? Did you still love him like he knew he loved you?

He had so many questions to ask and none of them had been answered, until now. The funny thing was, despite it being Charles' truth for the last three years, you had never went to New York. And you were now divorced from Lewis.

Charles’ eyes drift back to the note and his anxiety about you not wanting to see him again after all this time had disappeared. You had said that you were happy to see him. His heart fluttered when he saw that five letter word, “Amour”. It clearly still meant something to you and it still meant something to Charles. You were his only Amour.

Feeling tired, Charles shuts his eyes and he realises that you were right. You both needed some time to clear your heads because this situation was fucked up. And while his body felted exhausted from the events of last night, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

Fate was a funny thing and it had somehow brought you back into each other’s lives. As much as he complained about him, Charles was grateful for Pierre. For months Pierre had been harassing Charles to go on dates but Charles, who was much more into just straight fucking than romance these days, was hesitant. He still wasn’t over you and knew that deep down he’d compare every woman to you, despite the two of you having a fucked up relationship.

However, Pierre wasn’t a man to take no as an answer. He was convinced he was the modern day Cupid after all. If taking each of your girlfriends to a PSG match as your first date made you the god of romance, Charles was fine to let Pierre have that title.

But Pierre was like a dog with a bone, he wasn’t letting the one go. He was going to help Charles, who one night drunkenly confused that the only reason he was single was because one woman broke his heart, move on with his life. And there was no better person for him to get over you with than … you.

Pierre had exhausted many opportunities when it came to setting Charles up on a date. From Kika’s model friends, to setting up a Tinder account on Charles’ behalf, to taking him out to clubs. Nothing did the trick. Charles was hopeless.

But then Pierre, god of romance reborn, knew of the perfect person to set Charles up with.

“Charlie, I promise you’ll love her. She’s just as tragic as you are,” Pierre boasted like it was a good thing to be this bad at love.

“You’re really selling the dream here, Pierre,” Charles grunted, at the time he was too busy being preoccupied by FIFA to take Pierre’s proposition seriously.

“No, I’m serious. She’s moved here about six months ago from abroad. She’s divorced and thirty so what’s more tragic than that?”

Christ, Pierre really knew how to find these girls.

“She’s got the best tits, ask Kika. And… oh…. Wait a minute. She lived in London the same time that you did. Maybe you know her?”

Charles grunted once more. “Pierre, ten million people live in London. There’s no fucking chance I know her”.

“Alright, alright,” Pierre protested. “But I’m serious, bro. She’s fucking awesome, she’s just had a hard time at love.”

Feeling a little guilty, Charles conceded.

“Fine! I’ll go on a date with her,” Charles sighed. “But I’m not going on a blind date. Show me a picture so I can confirm she’s at hot as you say she is”.

With smirk like a Cheshire Cat spread across his face, Pierre tossed his phone to Charles.

“Here you go, lover boy”.

With Charles’ expectations at an all time low, he grabbed Pierre’s phone and looked at the picture on the screen.

Oh.

My.

God.

He wants to rub his eyes so he’s sure not seeing things but Pierre already thinks he’s weird enough as it is. It’s..

“Hot, right?”

Charles can barely get his words out, instead he just offers a nod.

“I… what’s… what’s her name?”

“[Y/N]”.

And as soon as the date was set and he knew that he was finally going to lay eyes on you after all of this time, he thought about how he was going to approach your date.

After quizzing Pierre as much as he could about you without raising too much suspicion, Charles felt like he held all of the cards. He had found out that you were divorced, had been in Paris for six months and were basically a mess when it came to your love life.

He’d tried to find out more about your life in New York that led to your divorce but apparently you didn’t want to talk about it that much. And when Charles asked Kika, who he was sure would spill the beans, she gave him nothing.

“She knows nothing about you so I’m not giving you any more details, okay? I’m already pissed that Pierre showed you her picture. It was supposed to be a blind date”.

Charles would cut his losses. But he had found out the important thing that you were divorced from Lewis. A petty part or him was gleeful. You’d have your tail between your legs now. Breaking Charles’ heart didn’t pay off and he wasn’t going to let you forget it.

And as your date rolled around, Charles put a plan into motion.

Step 1: Look hot as fuck ✅

Step 2: Turn up to the restaurant fifteen minutes later than planned. He wanted you nervous and off your guard. If he was going to control the evening, he needed you on edge ✅

Step 3: Try not to fall in love with you all over again as soon as he sees you …

Skipping straight to Step 4: Act as calm and collected as possible. Lead the conversation and if possible, convince her to leave the restaurant to come back to Charles’ for a “deeper chat” ✅

Step 5: Casually ask her about New York and hope that she regrets ever leaving him.

Well, the first part of Step 5 was executed. Everything after that was an utter shit show. Because you pulled an UNO reverse card on his sorry ass and now he couldn’t think straight.

The last three years of his life were a lie. And he didn’t know how to compute it all.

And he lays there in his bed, eyes still closed, he begins to feel guilty about how he spoke to you. How he taunted you about your divorce with Lewis and how your love life had been so pathetic that Pierre and Kika had to hold some sort of intervention. It’s funny, because they’d done the same to him. And maybe that’s what made him act at you so much. Because despite spending three years trying to hate you, you were in the same position as he was. And maybe that meant he hated himself too?

He didn’t have time to analyse that because clearly you weren’t here to tolerate bullshit any more. Your marriage had clearly fed you enough bullshit that you had reached your capacity and were ready to call out anyone who wasn’t treating you properly.

Feeling vulnerable, wounded and not ready for you to walk out of his life again just as you had come back into it, Charles threw one last Hail Mary to catch your attention, he was going to hit you were it hurt.

“Sorry, baby thought you were into men who treated you like shit”.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more. The slap you had given him or the look in your eyes. Broken, horrified. Charles had done that to you, just like you had done to him.

Maybe you were even now. It was petty for him to try and even keep score but Charles felt some sort of closure. He had made you feel just some of the pain that you had given him. And for what? Was it even worth it? Because, as you caressed his face to heal him, you had told Charles about how your life never went as he had believed or expected. Instead, your life was totally different.

And while he was saddened that you had never reached out to build some sort of amends, he was thankful that you didn’t settle into your job and life in the States and that you and Lewis didn’t in fact stay married and have lots of babies.

No, you grown up and even after all this time, you still cared about him.

Some, not all, of the wounds were beginning to heal and he couldn’t help but look at you like he was in love you with again. Because maybe a part of him still was. He just had to look at you for one second back at the restaurant in that peach dress for you to have his heart beating the same way it did the night that you had first met.

You had spent some time talking before the air in the room began to change. Charles was pretty sure it was him that initiated it but the two of you found yourselves in a soft and gentle kiss which only escalated within a matter of time.

Soon, he had pulled you onto his lap and your hands ran all over his body. Charles mentally patted himself on the back for not letting his appearance go because you were hot and bothered as your fingers traced over his skin. Him too feeling hot and bothered, Charles did his very best to get as much of your body out your dress as possible. He had kindly reminded you on a few occasions that the dress you were wearing was meant to get you laid that night.

And he planned on being the guy who was going to do that for you.

Soon, he was sucking on your nipples and every part of your exposed skin could find.

Fuck, he was getting hard underneath you. No wait, was he just hard now as he lay in bed, thinking about last night? Nope. It was both. He was hard last night and he’s been even harder now.

Because last night he had the chance to fondle with you, slip his fingers into your panties before teasing your clit. Where as now, all he has is his own hand to please himself. It’ll have to do because his dick is almost throbbing at the sound of your moans in his ears.

“Fuck Charles,” you gasped. Your voice sends tingles down his spine just it like it used to.

His eyes still closed, Charles runs his hand up and down his shaft. Shit, he wishes it was you that had their hand wrapped around his dick but his own is doing the job and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from moaning.

“Oh, Charles,” there you go again, moaning in his ear as he slips his fingers into you, your breasts bouncing in his face and latches onto your nipples once more. You’re so sensitive that your squeal has Charles’ cock twitching.

Holy shit, the thought of you is having him close to cumming already. His hand is moving faster against his dick and he gently thrusts up into it and in his memory, he thrusts his fingers up further inside of you. But this time you don’t pull yourself off of him, in his mind and in his fantasy, you begin to ride against his fingers.

Moans pour out of your mouth as you tell him how much you’ve missed him and how you want to cum so badly.

“Cum for me, amour,” he tells you as you moan at the sound of him calling you amour once more.

You’re close, the movements in your hip falter and Charles too feels that the cock in his hand as almost at its peak.

“Please, Charles. Fuck!”

“Charles, I’ve missed this,” you moan. And after one last big thrust, you cum undone on his fingers.

“Fuck!” Charles grown and he soon opens his eyes as he finishes himself off. His cum soon spills onto his lower abdomen.

Shit.

That felt good.

As his finally starts to catch his breath, Charles rests his head back on the pillow. All it took for him to fall for you again was one disastrous blind date. You have him hooked.

Ready to go to the bathroom to wash away his cum and his busy thoughts, Charles hears his phone buzz.

Grabbing it, he smiles around the phone.

‘Pierre: Charlie, I haven’t heard from you. How did it go? Did you…”

Charles chuckles and pauses before he responds.

‘Mate, I owe you. I think I’m in love with her already’.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (ch. 4)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(a/n): so...it's been a month. But in my defense, I wrote a play.

Previous chapters linked here, here, and here.

wc: ~1800

warnings: airports, consumption of food, anxiety

~

Your alarm went off at 1am and you reached blindly across the end table to silence it. The dark hotel room came back into focus and you sighed. The sky outside was dark, just like it was when you finally went to sleep two hours ago. 

A large part of you desperately wanted a shower. Between the exhaustion, time constraints, and lack of everything from personal toiletries to clean clothes, though, you resigned yourself to brushing your teeth and an attempt at finger-brushing your hair. You shoved your phone in your pocket and fumbled your way into the bathroom. 

“Already dressed,” you deadpanned in the mirror, still squinting in the bright bathroom lights, “great.” 

There wasn’t much of your usual morning routine that you could scrape together in the twenty minutes you had. You felt a little stale in clothes that had already seen two airports, two airplanes, various vehicles, and your hotel bed, but you were also running on limited sleep and even more limited options so what was there to do?

The wooden toothbrush and tiny tube of toothpaste — and you meant tiny; the thing looked like it would be more at home in an American Girl doll house than your bathroom sink — you had was hotel provided, and you washed your face with hotel face soap. It was a weird texture, but you decided it was better to feel a little bit cleaner and just deal with it for the minute you had to than feel greasy the entire rest of the day.  

By 1:23am, you were walking out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby. You recognized a family already sitting there from the shuttle last night. Did it count as last night if you’d only gotten to the hotel for two hours of sleep? 

Closer to the door, though, were the people you were looking for. A part of you wondered if the friendship — you hesitated to call it friendship but what else could it be really? — you’d built yesterday was just a fluke. There was a chance the boys didn’t show up for the shuttle you’d all planned to take. Even worse, you worried that they would be there and just ignore you. It had already been a long trip, and a larger part of you than you wanted to acknowledge was craving the security of not being on your own. 

Damian’s eyes were fixed on his phone, eyebrows furrowed. Jon looked half-asleep, leaning into Damian. You lingered awkwardly in the doorway to the lobby until Damian looked up and waved before quickly returning to his phone. Something in your chest settled. You took the seat across from them, failing to hold back a smile. 

“You awake there, Jon?” 

One of Jon’s eyelids cracked open at you before sliding shut once again. 

“No.” 

Damian’s huff of amusement took you a second to register under your own. He tucked his phone into his jeans pocket. 

“Jon’s not awake until the sun is.” An elbow tried to nudge Damian. Jon’s aim was suffering from not having his eyes open though, and he succeeded more in almost falling off of his chair than anything. 

You and Damian exchanged an amused glance. For the first time, you noticed his eyes—long eyelashes and dark brows accentuating green-blue orbs. Your breath caught. Nope, you’re not allowed to like both of them, your brain argued. You ignored it. 

The shuttle ride was as uneventful as it had been the night before. 

“Which line do we go in?” Jon asked, squinting at his boarding pass as the three of you crossed the threshold into the airport. You spared a mournful glance at the bag check counters before following the boys to escalators. It was weird to not have a suitcase with you. 

“TSA-pre.” Damian pointed at a sign denoting the airline’s quicker security status. “Father doesn’t often fly commercial but we have it on his account.” 

You double checked your boarding pass. You hadn’t anticipated the same symbol would be there, but it made your heart sink nonetheless.

“I’ll meet you at the end of security,” You stopped by the entrance to the general line. “Or at the gate?” 

“You don’t have it? The faster one?” Jon wondered.

“No,” you shrugged. “It’s an extra charge. I don't travel enough to make the price worth it.” 

“There’s no crowd in either line.” Damian nodded his head at the vacant security checkpoint. “It is before three in the morning.” 

“Yeah, we’ll go with you.” 

“You sure?” Your hands tightened around your backpack straps.

“It’ll be easier to find you if we all just go together, right?” Jon walked through first, clumsily pulling an ID from his pocket before presenting it to the airline employee. You did the same. Damian followed, and you shoved your ID back where it belonged as he passed through. 

“We have to take our shoes off in this line,” you reminded Damian. Jon had immediately followed your lead, but Damian had yet to take anything out of his bag. “And large things like laptops.” 

Jon’s sneakers joined your shoes on the belt. 

“Nice socks.” 

He looked down, confused, then back up at you. You could see a blush rising on his cheeks. One of his socks had superman logos, the other flash ones. 

“Mine don’t match either,” you offered, lifting your feet one at a time to showcase your own socks. 

“Oh hey, that’s cool,” Jon’s bright smile made the discomfort of socked feet on airport floors worth it. The tile was cold through the thin fabric. 

“Share a bin?” You asked Damian, pulling your laptop out of your bag. You tucked it inside, phone already tucked away with Jon’s in a smaller container. 

“Sure.” Damian’s computer was slick, a dark gray Wayne Tech and wrapped in a black case. Yours looked a little clunkier next to his, but it fit him, or what you knew of him. 

Damian’s socks did match, you realized as he passed through the metal detector after you.  

“Here Dami,” Jon passed over a pair of boots. Damian murmured a thank you, pulling them on untied before grabbing the rest of his belongings.  

“Those are nice,” You said, shoving your laptop back into your bag. Damian finished tying his shoes. 

“It’s a good brand.” 

“Yeah,” you swung your backpack over your shoulder. The weight was comforting where it rested against your back. “They're expensive but worth it.” 

“I’m kind of a sneakers guy.” Jon raised one hand, swinging his backpack on with the other. 

You chuckled, following as Damian started heading towards your terminal. It was still pitch black outside and the airport was almost eerie for its emptiness. The clacking of the wheels on Damian and Jon’s bags echoed in the open space. A go-cart shot by, sirens blaring. You sighed out a breath, heart racing. Right, airports are never quiet. 

When the three of you reached the gate, there was half an hour left to kill. You took a moment to curse the fluctuations in airport security wait times before moving on. Damian headed straight for a set of seats right against the wall. You and Jon followed, dropping your bag on the floor in front of you and draping your jacket over the chair. 

“I think there was a pretzel place open at the beginning of the terminal. Pretzels for breakfast anyone?” 

“Soft pretzels?” inquired Jon, all of the sudden much more awake than he was at the hotel. You figured it was at the prospect of food more than anything else. 

“Yeah those ones. I’m going. Anyone else?” 

Damian shrugged then stood, pulling up the handle of his carry-on to roll it, his jacket, and his bag as one. Jon followed Damian’s lead. His jacket stayed on. 

You picked your stuff up from where you’d just laid it out, jacket zipper dragging against the chair. 

“A group errand then,” you declared. Beside you, Jon snorted out a laugh. 

Between the early hour, you and Jon arguing over which pretzels were better, and Damain’s skepticism at their deliciousness overall, you were pretty sure that the pretzel stand employee was tired of the three of you already. Damian insisted on paying despite not wanting anything (“it’s like six dollars, I’ve got it,” you protested. “If you don’t let him, he’s just going to do it anyway,” Jon explained, “and you did save us from a 600 dollar hotel reservation last night.”), but he didn’t protest when Jon ordered an extra cup of the cinnamon nuggets in addition to the one for you. Jon’s own choice, regular nuggets with a very yellow cheese dip, was left all on its lonesome.

“There’s no way that’s real cheese,” you argued as he opened the dipping container. “You’re basically just eating chemicals.” 

Another pretzel covered nearly entirely in cheese disappeared into Jon’s mouth. He shrugged. You watched him for a moment before locking eyes with Damian. Matching grins spanned your faces.  

“With his taste in foods, he’s lucky he has such a strong digestive system,” Damian volunteered. 

You snorted, sinking down on top of the jacket you’d once again splayed across the chair as you shoved another pretzel nugget in your mouth. When you turned, the cold metal of the armrests bit into your side even through your shirt. 

Jon’s cheese dip lasted about halfway through the cup of pretzels. He looked mournfully into the container. 

“Aww man.” 

You tilted your bag towards him, rattling the nuggets inside. 

“Do you want one?” Jon stood up, shaking his head.

“I might actually just go get another-” Damian grabbed his arm and pulled him down. The seat let out a puff of air. You had to hold back a laugh at the startled expression painting Jon’s face, popping another nugget into your mouth. The cinnamon sugar was rough between your lips.

“You,” Damian said, “are not eating anything else horrible for humans.” 

His phrasing was a little weird, but you understood the sentiment. One container of processed cheese was more than enough for most people on a good day, and it was barely 3am.

“Oh, right.” Jon frowned. 

“They’re good with just salt,” you offered. “If they didn’t have the cinnamon ones, I would have gotten those. But I think there is such a thing as too much processed cheese for breakfast.”

Damian bit into another pretzel nugget. 

“The cinnamon ones are by far superior to the plain ones.” 

“Oh I agree one hundred percent, but if you don’t like them,” you nudged Jon, “the plain ones are okay too.”

Jon shrugged and popped a plain nugget in his mouth, swallowing morosely. 

“They’re dry.” 

You and Damian exchanged a look. 

“What?” Jon justified through your laughter. “They are!”

[translatemunson]

cat and mouse for a month or two or three • ttfd

chapter eight of the tortured firefighters department

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader, brains is recovering, idiots in love, short chapter after a huge hiatus I'M SORRY OK , no proofreading otherwise i’d never post this (lmk if i missed something)

A new routine took place. You spend most days inside your apartment, classes online since they were checking all the buildings on that side of the campus, on medical leave from your job because, on top of the broken ribs, they wanted you to recover from the burnout you got yourself into. That also meant you were taking mandatory therapy sessions, and maybe after a month they could let you work again. It was like being grounded from what kept you fueled in your late twenties.

Their first mistake was giving you way too much free time while bored. You wrote pages upon pages of your thesis in your first week. The moment you hit send and sat to wait for your professor’s notes, you found out you couldn’t reorganize your home because it was considered too much effort for your broken ribs. Your kitchen became the latest victim.

But a real victim to all your boredom was one door down the hall, who probably regretted giving you a copy of his keys — to be used just in case of an emergency.

“What the hell are you doing, Brains?” It was the third time this week that Buck arrived at his home and found out you were there, just casually chilling,

“Reading!” You were upside down on his couch, a romance book in your hands.

“I don’t think this position is good for your ribs. Can you sit like a normal person?”

“No. It’s boring. Also, I’m gonna babysit Chris tomorrow, so I’m hijacking your Xbox.”

“Why aren’t you doing that at your place?” He pointed to your silly reading position.

“Because I needed to tell you about your video game. Are you hungry? There’s some lasagna in your fridge.”

“Did you make it?”

“Yeah. Now shut up, they’re finally confessing their feelings for each other.”

Buck turned the TV on just to get some noises into the silent apartment. You were too busy with your book, he was too afraid of doing something he would have regretted later. Somewhere between his first and second plate of lasagna, you put the book aside and started to pay attention to the news.

“Big rescue, hm?”

“I don’t know why they keep building towers with paper thin structures and too many glass windows with shitty fire alarms. What happened to the good ol’ bricks and stones?” He was eating at the table, probably destroying the food in record time.

“Excellent question. I’ll look it up and give you an answer tomorrow”

“You’re really bored, aren’t you?”

“Oh, what gave it away?”

“It’s definitely not the same book from yesterday, you cooked a lasagna as big as the ones Bobby feeds us, you’re gonna babysit Chris on Eddie’s day off.”

“He needs to run some errands, and Chris hasn’t been feeling good lately, probably just the flu. So I offered my services for the day. What’s wrong with that?” You stared at him. Was he cuter upside down than the other way around?

“Nothing, it’s just… are you ok?”

“Please, don’t pull a therapist on me, I already had my mandatory session today. I swear I’m ok, I’m just bored of doing nothing. No adrenaline, no deadlines.”

“You’re really addicted, hm?”

“What can I say, Buckley, I wasn’t made to stay still.” As soon as the local news was over and football started, you moved back to your book. Buck got up and went for some beers. “I’m just gonna finish this and I’ll see myself out.”

“I’m gonna charge you rent for my couch.” He sat on the floor, right next to your face. Third time in his living room was a charm, right?

“Wasn’t the lasagna enough?”

“I thought that was for my Xbox. Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

You opened your book again, but the sudden proximity with Buck was the only thing you could focus on. The five o’clock shadow, the red birthmark on the left side of his face, the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen… Staying alone with your thoughts for too long was making you think of things you once judged impossible.

It was a split second, but he caught you red handed, staring at him. You smiled and moved your eyes to the pages of your book, not sure where you left off.

One big hand snatched the object from you. You turned to your side to complain and retrieve it, giving Buck the perfect opportunity to bring your lips close and kiss you. It barely turned into a deep kiss before you took some space to process what was happening. Your action made Buck a little confused, blinking his eyes and nervously messing with his own hair.

Your ribcage started hurting, so you moved your body carefully until you were sitting on the floor, face to face with him. Giving him enough time to change his mind, to say he actually didn’t mean it. Because how could he kiss someone like you?

You thought you’d never see a glimpse of fear on the eyes of one of the most fearless men you knew. Buck was too stunned to say anything, his full, pink lips slightly open. Your hand found the curve of his neck, your cold skin over his boiling hot veins.

You leaned in for another one. He pulled you closer carefully. However, it was nearly impossible to avoid the messier, helpless kisses. Evan Buckley was finally taking over your mind, maybe even your whole body.

Both of you had to move back a little, taking quick breaths after such intense kisses. You rested your hands on his shoulders and smiled.

“Did it really take me getting trapped in a burning building for us to have the courage to do this?” You bit your lower lip, trying to avoid him noticing your blushed cheeks.

“I don’t know about you, but I wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

And it caught you by surprise. So Maddie was really telling you the truth.

“Wait, how long?” He avoided eye contact and you laughed. “No, Buck, please. Tell me.”

“Do you remember that shift I got your number with Eddie? So,” he took a deep breath, “I was planning on asking you out that day, but I just… I chickened, ok?”

“And right after that you ate all my cupcakes when I was at Maddie’s. Off to the best start, Buckley.”

“Not my best move, ok?” He laughed. “How many months ago was it?”

“No clue, to be honest.” You pecked his lips again.

Buck’s arms held you close, not willing to let you go. His lips were just inches away.

“Should I remind you of my doctor’s orders?” you whispered.

“You’re never walking into danger on my watch again.” Buck finally let you go, but it was written in his face it wasn’t what he wanted. His touch lingered a little longer, a little too deep. And you were sure you were mirroring his actions.

“I know.” You got his video game console and your book. “See you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, Brains.”

You leaned over, leaving a goodnight kiss and a promise to come back to whatever you just started.

+++

“Ok, do you want some snacks? I,” you checked your storage once again, noticing how you should’ve added “do groceries” to your list. “How are we feeling about popcorn?”

“I love popcorn!” Chris replied, his focus on the TV screen.

“Popcorn it is.” You turned the machine on and measured the serving. You heard knocks on your door. “Just a second!”

Maybe Eddie was back because Chris forgot something in the car? No, he had everything in his backpack. You opened the door, but your eyes stayed on the kid on your couch. “Really, Eddie, don’t worry. I can watch him for as long as you need and… Buck.”

“Hi.” Even if he looked like he just left the shower, his voice sounded like he ran a marathon and stopped at your door.

“Buck!” You both heard Chris from the couch. “Are you joining us?”

“Only if Brains let me.” He smiled, waiting for you to invite him in.

“How could I say ‘no’? Come in, we are playing video games and having popcorn.”

“You can play with me!”

“I’ll be there in a sec, Chris. I just need to talk to Brains first,” he pulled you aside and out of Chris’ view. Not like the kid is paying any attention to you, anyway. “Hey there.”

“Hi. Why do I have a feeling you’re here to babysit me?” You move to your kitchen, rushing to find the popcorn bucket in your cabinets.

“Can you blame me? You have two broken ribs, self diagnosed burnout syndrome,” you mumbled, “ok, your therapist said you have it, and you’re babysitting Chris on a day you’re supposed to wake up after 3.”

“It’s just for a few hours, and he’s not like Jee-Yun,” you pointed out the reality: Chris was just a little bit sick and Eddie didn’t want him to be alone. “So you’re here to see if I have plans for today.”

“Kinda.” He opened the top cabinet and gave you the bucket. “Do you?”

You elbowed him on the torso, playfully.

“Watch your step, I know his reputation.” You pointed to Chris over your shoulder. “But the answer to your question is no.”

Buck smiled, satisfied with himself. “Hey, Chris, orange or apple juice?”

“Apple, please! I’m crushing you!” The kid's voice indicated a promise to end Buck’s character.

“Ok, buddy, if you say so,” he turned to you and whispered, “so it’s a date?”

“Yes, Buckley. Now are you gonna help me with Chris or not?” You served two glasses of apple juice.

“Sure thing, but I might need to run some errands later because,” and he stopped himself. “You’ll see.”

a/n: hi is there anyone here still? i know guys, i was gone, no sign of life, but hey, i'm back (i hope so). IT FINALLY HAPPENED! i had to make this chapter shorter than usual because otherwise it would be too big. so that's it. see ya soon!

[snarky-synesthete]

New Fic! "As the World Falls Down"

So this piece has been several months in the making. I initially wrote the section that would become the first two chapters of this five-chapter fic for the Good Omens Song & Poetry Exchange.

My match-up requested the song "As the World Falls Down" from the movie Labyrinth. Be still, my beating heart! As a gift exchange, it was expected to be a fairly small fic, 1K-3K in length. I was falling in love with the story as I wrote it - I've never done a true AU story before - so I reached out to a mod to ask if I could only share the fic with my giftee instead of posting it publicly...because you see, as I was writing, the Good Omens Fairy Tale Minibang started up. Labyrinth is a fun a fairy tale as a 90s kid could possibly desire, and here was a good excuse for me to keep on playing in that sandbox.

You know how Discord does that thing where like...someone's actual Discord handle is one thing, but their name is personalized for different servers? Yeah. The mod I reached out to? Actually my giftee. The "teehee, I thought I had an idea but I think I need to give it more consideration, sorry for wasting your time, byyyyeeee" back-tracking I had to do...

Anyway. I shared the first act of this story with my giftee (patient, understanding, gracious, only laughed at me a little and then with indulgence) and got to work expanding this fairy tale into a full-blown story.

The first chapter of "As the World Falls Down" was posted yesterday, and I'll be posting a chapter a day until all five chapters are up (including the radiantly lovely art by the incomparable @wizardflowers!)

You can find it here (due to the spicy nature of Chapter 4, this work is locked to AO3 users - if that's you, just copy/paste this into your logged-in browser window): https://archiveofourown.org/works/58923310

Side question: can an AU truly be called an AU if it's a direct sequel to the story? Because my tale picks up after S2 of Good Omens. Canon-compliant AU? No, I think this should be "canon-complicit," because this is probably some sort of fandom crime...

[icechippies]

Unnamed Twomp fic

Ok so first TWOMP fic, I'm posting it here first because it needs a name for Ao3 and I dont have a good name yet. Each chapter will be a reblog of this one by me so keep an eye out, I am going to post the first two tonight.

Tags that it would probably have on Ao3: Angst and hurt/comfort, Argos/Mr Plant, Medical stuff, chainsaw Argos, bad medical decisions -Or something like that at least, idk Ao3 tags at the top of my head.

I wrote a LOT of notes to share with this. I'll uh, I'll just let them do the talking, chapters will be reblogged from this post as I decide I want to. When I post to Ao3 Kudos are appreciated but comments are what really help.

Notes: 

I am sick and haven’t been able to sleep for the past two nights except for a nyquill induced nap yesterday. I want to write but I don’t want to deal with 8+ characters in a scene, solution? Angsty hurt/comfort of everyone’s favorite murder boyfriends. This is my first TWOMP fic so it’s going to be a little iffy on the characterization I think, I’m testing the waters. If I over explain stuff in the notes it’s because I’m practically delirious. I will continue writing this until such time as I am no longer sick, which may be a while

I think Mr. Plant normally has some vines, but they are vestigial (Like how whales still have leg bones or humans have tailbones) and don’t really serve much of a purpose and mostly come from his neck where he turns from plant to humanoid.

A witches’ broom is a growth on a plant that can be caused by fungal, bacterial, or viral infections but can also be the result of random genetic mutation (Fasciation). It causes patches of extremely dense, unregulated growth. Viral witches' brooms often have no cure, the only thing that can really be done is remove the plant to prevent it from spreading, rose rosette virus being one of them. If left untreated, the dense growth of the plant will catch water and bacteria and start to rot, slowly killing the plant. 

Anyway, pretty horrific for a plant. This story basically expands upon that real life disease but reimagining it in a way that could affect a plant-person thing.

No, Argos was absolutely not invited. He made a copy of Mr. Plant’s key because picking the lock got too tiresome after the twenty-somethingth time.

You see, I never watched Happy Tree Friends, and I only saw one episode of DHMIS. I was watching a secret third horrific thing in middle school, Cyriak videos. And oooweee, it shows sometimes.

I think Argos went to the library a lot before getting obsessed with Mr.Plant not in the nerdy computer geek way but with the same vibes as a kid who goes to the library during lunch to distract them from the fact that they don’t have any friends and as such has basically read every book there.

The Argos chainsaw photoshoot lives in my head and the bastard doesn’t even pay rent.

This was started before the void 1 stuff came out and I was so right, wasn’t I? I predicted void 1 mutated things, I predicted Ghost adding Respite to the setlist, just call me the fanfiction prophet.

(other note: I started this like 6 months ago, I have had time to edit since I was sick lol)

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion makes an offer to Tav, later succumbing to his hunger.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 3: Thirst

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexually Explicit Language, Blood, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

He loved her right away. Her smile. Her creativity. Her heart most of all. He told her he used to have dreams about a woman before he met her, one fitting her description. It seemed like fate when they finally met. They both shared the same affinity for music. When he wrote her a love letters in the first few months of their courtship, he knew she would be his. She thought someone finally understood her. 10 years of a life together. 10 years of the dual natured beast that would wound. 10 years of love and honey of the cycle in between. Until she was numb.

— Evenlit (mother of Tavelle), diary entry 523

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Ah, my favorite traveling companion, do you have a moment to, well, chat?” Astarion’s voice was less theatrical—more thoughtful—than usual as he saddled up next to the bard.

The crew had been traveling on foot again since early morning, deciding not to veer from their previous path. Searching for any signs that could point them in the direction of a healer that could excavate the worms inside their brains, hadn't yielded any results so far.

Tav nodded to Gale and Shadowheart, gesturing them to travel ahead, sensing Astarion needed privacy. The wizard shot her a prudent look under the guise of respecting her quarry to speak with the pallid elf alone.

Astarion didn’t strike her as the kind of man that would revisit a situation once he was rejected. No, he didn’t even seem wounded. Presumably, he would continue to carry on, his pretty lips sheen with dialogue prepped for the next casualty. Sure, it seemed suspicious enough, but if he had already moved on from their ordeal in the temple, there was no reason she should continue to dwell on their—misunderstanding.

Still, there was an awkwardness Tav buried behind her faint smile and neutral eyes. The want to restrict the memory of a foretoken graze of his willowy hands.

As Tav finally regarded him, her thoughts still flickering back to their time in the ruins, she met the garnet of his vision with a cautious gasp stuck in her throat as he stepped closer. The sun’s beams creating a halo around the feathery wisps of his curls, presented Tav with the imagery of an angel that had flown down from the heavens to gather her into his arms. Back arched, pecking along the top of her bosom—a holy sacrament that could convert her to him.

Thy will be done.

Her mouth felt dry. “Of course.”

Their boots slowed, equally matching each other’s footsteps in the dusty loam of the earth. Astarion stared ahead of them, his vision fixed on their two companions, likely watching their distance.

“To be quite frank, I read our little predicament wrong yesterday and took advantage of it without due respect to you. I’m sure that seems a bit odd coming from the likes of someone like me—considerate as I am—but I think we got off on the wrong foot." He absentmindedly scratched his neck. "I suppose even a charlatan like myself can get it wrong sometimes."

Tav was skeptical of his accountability that seemed less than straight-laced. But, it did dawn on her that she may have misjudged a few circuits that intersected within his heart. That, yes, while he seemed to live submerged in coquettish self interest, in this moment of letting her walls down just enough to scramble through some of the thickets of his inner mechanisms, he may be showing an ounce of authenticity.

Yet, there is an element to the contrition of her heart that she dare not speak. To utter it with a covetous breath would mean to give it truth. That while she seduced her thoughts of being filled in ways she had never known within the margins of a romantic relationship, that she was terrified to completely expose herself to another.

Astarion was indubitably beautiful, charming, and humorous. But, beyond those surfaces, she sought connection—maybe just enough to avoid more conflicting emotions to sow. In the minutes, hours, weeks she could stand, she knew love could be cutthroat and messy. Its afflictions: hail and brushfire, a constant bickering. She was unsure if she could ever love or be physically intimate in the way of it crossing the universe again.

The risk was so very grave. No matter the man present in her life, her interests must remain just that—interests.

For she, too, spits the saliva of the devil’s lies to guard the silly thing that is her heart.

“It isn’t as if I told you to halt as soon as it happened. I think we were both caught up in the moment and lust can be a powerful drug.” Her tone was so sickeningly gentle and candid with him.

“Is that a confession?” the man teased.

The songstress jokingly rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Hardly! Astarion, I am 91 years old. You are scarcely the first to try and seduce me.” She looked at him earnestly. “I’m sorry I let it go as far as it did; I have no desire to lead you on. I am attracted to you—gods, how couldn’t I be—but I...”

A silent awareness of their near intimate rush within the dank crypt walls hung thick in the air. Of the primal urge that can arise during traumatic events. The need to rake nails down another’s back. Foreheads slick with sweat. The smell of salt and sex in the air. To live inside one another’s flesh.

The impact of surviving: release.

He crossed his arms. “Enlighten me then. What is it that you’re seeking?”

Tav stayed silent. The truth crippled her heart. She didn’t even know if she believed such a concept existed anymore, belonging solely to romantic folklores of lovers supping droughts of poisons in order to meet one another again in the afterlife.

Astarion searched her face. “Something you think I’m incapable of?”

“I think it is something you’re not accustomed to,” she answered flatly.

“Then, it wouldn’t hurt to aid me with a hint. At the very least to prove you correct.”

Silver tongues belonged to silver serpents. And this, may be a game for him. But, self preservation could be the royal quandary of boundaries and she had already revealed enough. The vulnerability was there, ripe for the winnow of another’s cup, but she couldn’t bear it. Not yet.

A quietness slipped between her lips, the storm of her optics solemn. “…we do not know each other adequately yet.”

Astarion held his chin between his fingers, deep in thought. He reminded her of a scholar that endlessly agonized over scripts with his rumpled skin set amidst two silvery brows.

“Hmm. Tav, you’re really overthinking this. What I am offering—and desire, mind you—is a distraction. A short term fling to take us away from all this madness we’ve found ourselves in. But, if you prefer a less invasive course: what about friendship?”

“Annnnd, if you find yourself wanting that distraction, the offer will always be available,” he added swiftly with a quick wink.

The bard couldn’t help but laugh loudly. “You’ll be the first gentleman I’ll call upon in that case then! But, as for a friendship with you…I’d like that. A lot, in fact.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, mouth perfectly molded into that of the trickster. “This whole conversation has been enlightening. In the spirit of ‘friendship’ and since we have gotten those unpleasant decrees out of the way, I believe this requires a bit of a reintroduction." He ceased his steps, placing a hand on his hip, while the other crossed over his chest. "My name is Astarion. I was a magistrate back in Baldur’s Gate. I enjoy a needle and thread, gilded chalices, and whatever other indulgences I can sink my teeth into. And you?”

And there was that darling blush creeping up the tenderness of her neck anew.

With all that hubris, Tav was amazed his head didn’t inflate thrice its size. Still, she played along, not discounting the potential for this being a gateway for better camaraderie.

A huff accompanied a subtle smile. “My name is Tavelle, but Tav is generally preferred by most. I was a traveling bard. I lived in Baldur’s Gate for the past year before the mind flayers came. I enjoy reading, a fine glass of bourbon, and the art of sword-fighting.”

“A bard? My, my. I’m sure the patriars just adored you, darling! To live in the Gate for that amount of time without winding up on the streets with folded hands begging for coin or between the sheets of some foolish braggart that doesn’t deserve your affections, warrants much more credit than I afforded you earlier,” he appraised her wryly.

Tav giggled coyly. She observed the high elf momentarily permitting himself to study the lifting of her own crinkling vision, down to the demure smile she flashed him.

“It seems you’ve misjudged me sir magistrate. A lady never reveals how she’s managed to work the entire city fawning over her! Though, I will say, it surely isn’t because of anything I’ve worked towards. I shudder to think I have any actual real prowess worth speaking about,” Tav bantered back sarcastically.

Bantering was not her typical forte. She had a quirky sense of humor about her, albeit a bit dark at times—she certainly wouldn’t consider herself to be an expert in the art of wit—but Astarion was bringing this side of her to light out of the blue. It was fun. Playful. An escape of sugary and sour amusements reserved for them alone. She couldn’t get enough.

“And where, my dear, has all this surprisingly sharp humor clawed its way out of? You’re typically so quiet of nature. Who knew our songbird had so much to say!” The way his mirth emerged itself when he bared his teeth to her in a dashing simper, caused her heart to skip a beat.

He tilted his head and grinned more broadly, as if there were an inside joke he had immediately recalled. Like he had heard the hiccup of her bloody organ.

“I may be introverted, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy talking to others. Especially if it’s someone as charming as youuuu.” Another melody of a titter, her eyes so exceptionally spirited.

They both laughed.

Stepping closer to him, her fingers twiddled with the thrown plait of dark ash brown over her shoulder. She casted her steely blue gaze downward before raising them to his face, the lower portion of her lip bitten in thought.

“Thank you for speaking with me and trying to understand. Truly.”

Bong! The bell’s toll striked and the hunt began. With teeth real sharp and a charming grin.

Tav noticed his pupils track her teeth wedged into the soft plush of her lip as he swallowed gradually. ”Hmm? Yes, of course. Now as much as I’d enjoy teasing you relentlessly for the rest of the day, we should probably get moving.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

As eventide washed over the land, the party decided on a night of respite before their visit to the Grove. Now aided by the addition of Lae’zel, the githyanki warrior, their dreadful circumstance had become notably strenuous. Two wary tiefling guards from a place called Druid's Grove, had captured her in a cage, frightened of the havoc she may cause. Her claim to have access to an apparatus that could rectify their tadpoles was a chance they could not all agree would be worth investigating, but Tav insisted they listen to the information she volunteered, offering her space within their elusive band.

However, she did not mince words once they were around the comforting light of their nightly fire. The flames casted a glow of saffron and tangelo reflecting onto the group’s complexions, bathing them in balmy heat. Shadowheart and the gith were standing near with arms crossed and irritated voices. Round green eyes narrowed on darker buttery skin. Razor teeth gritted and ready to spit.

“My people possess a cure for this infection. We will interrogate this Zorru at the Grove about where he saw my kin—unless you wish to sacrifice yourself to ghaik?” She was irrefutable in her credence, hellbent on reaching the githyanki crèche she deduced was nearby.

“Tav, she sees your kindness as a weakness. She will exploit it,” Shadowheart warned, pointing a finger at the bard.

Astarion slid past them, finding Tav sitting atop a massive piece of driftwood log by the fire. Her doublet was unbuckled, revealing a thin cream linen shirt underneath, tied lazily near her neckline. Relaxed and humming a whimsical tune, she had been pulling the last of her plait out while she seemed to be ignoring the two women's altercation.

She did not greet Astarion, instead resigning to a serene smile with a faint sprinkling of pink upon her skin as he watched her focus on running her fingers through her tangles. Even when his lissome form sat down beside her, fingers unknotting a snag, she still held the same expression.

Until out of nowhere, her voice caught him off guard, puncturing through the air between them. “Good evening, magistrate.”

Oh, did he ever bask in hearing the use of his former job title as if he still held a position of power. A fantasy of Tav pecking the coolness of his knuckles in reverence. “You’re not a monster, Astarion,” she’d whisper. The sly minx. He twitched in his pants.

The vampire bent down, his breath brisk against the point of her ear, inhaling the scent of natural oils from her hair. He was automatically taken back to their short affair inside the temple as he watched her skin prickle. Part of a plan failed, but not lost.

“Lae’zel is delightful. In a very ‘look at me twice and I’ll dismember you’ kind of way—of course,” he whispered.

Tav dramatically scoffed. Her hand drifted next to his bicep, placing it reservedly on him. She was climbing, climbing, climbing up, spreading her warmth over the sleeve of his jacket. It was seeping through—she was seeping through.

Her lips were a mellow heat and soft hush near his lobe. “Sounds like a challenge, Astarion. You have my support. Don’t let her get away!”

He modestly turned his head at the precise moment she descended from his ear to see her bottom lip swiftly bitten in a carefree simper. The same as she had done during their earlier conversation.

But, if he lifted the frail veil over her face, would he find her lips murmuring in prayer for him? For his cuspids to glide across her soft flesh. Mouth open and wet. On your knees, sweetheart. I will save you.

Then, there was a hunger present. A vivid thought of his teeth, latching onto that same part of her lip. Licking. Sucking. Kneading. His cock half erect. Until he bites into it and…

He cleared his throat, forcing the impure fantasy to subside, begging whatever divine beings that would consent to listen to not let their mind worms connect at that precise moment. If he didn’t gain momentum on the aching thirst he felt, everything would be lost.

Astarion leaned in closer, one of his longer curls unfurling, brushing against the side of her forehead like a feather landing in a dusting of snow. He delivered another punchline within distance of her temple. “You wretch. How could I ever say no?!”

Then, his voice was a purr. A final insert, one that neither the gods nor he can help himself but to taste on his tongue. “Though, quite recently, I’ve found my attention has been fixated on the enjoyment of wordplay with a friend.”

He could feel Tav shift nervously at his side, removing her hand calmly from him, folding it with the other in her lap. She turned her head halfway, peering over towards where Gale had been cooking their evening meals. There was a plume of flush resonating from her neck to her cheeks, contrasting against the ivory tone of her skin that sent a devil’s smirk on his lips.

All was not lost, after all, he thought.

“Gale appears overwhelmed. I should probably offer my help,” she muttered considerably, without acknowledging Astarion further.

Tav stood, placing the length of her wavy locks to hang like a waterfall down her back. She drifted towards the other side of the flames. Astarion watched her stroll towards the wizard, hips swaying like branches in the night’s breeze. Those same hips that were only inches away from him a few moments ago—inviting and wide.

Astarion leisurely rose, walking back to his tent to procure a bottle of a long forgotten red and a dingy goblet. He could overhear Tav and Gale discussing plans to prepare a suitable meal for their entourage with items from the packs they had picked through.

Gale appeared quite accustomed to cooking, skilled in frying meats to that perfect amount of crisp—or at least he had boasted. He passed along an enticing grin with a wiggle of his eyebrows towards Tav when he flipped a piece of sliced sausage midair and it landed right back in its starting position.

Tav beamed, "I see you are a man of many talents. Please never ask me to cook food so acrobatically for you. I promise it will not end well.”

“I fear, after this, I may have unofficially put myself in the position of ‘Camp Cook’ for our group. Food tricks and all. Though, let us resign from asking Lae’zel to help with food prep. I fear she’d insist on using that massive sword of hers on a poor tomato.”

“Not to worry, Gale. We’ll be sure to find you an apron and embroider your new title upon it so that everyone knows what you’re truly here for.” Tav appeared at his side, teasingly patting his arm.

Astarion cocked his brow, casting a sneer towards the two chefs before taking a large sip from an matured cup of wine. He disappeared behind the flap of red linen to change into a set of clothes that were more casual.

Folded neatly on his bedroll was an old ruffled shirt. Beloved and cared for over a long period of time. Multiple tears were visible, but each was stitched up with such precision, one would have thought they were graced with the surgical deftness of a doctor. Removing his intricately detailed coat, he carefully put the shirt over his torso and rolled the length of his sleeves up to his elbows—a particular piece of flair he added over an age.

This shirt was one of the few things that belonged to him in some fashion. When it was handed over to him as a “gift,” Astarion was aware that he would receive no other unless his behavior was considered favorable. For he would never be glorified for his contributions to his “family.” No, his tears were the sapid dessert that he demanded.

"Ungrateful boy. Your sobs will serve as my music tonight. Now bend over and cast your eyes to the hells for want of a contract with a hellion that will never save you from the flay."

Astarion crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself. A chilled sweat trickled down his forehead. Four walls baked in musk and blood: the kennels. His usual practiced breaths became gasping and erratic. He felt light-headed, needing to escape. His head started to scream louder than a harpy’s screech.

Yet, her mellifluous voice was sneaking into his ears, smoking out the curse that haunted him. It swirled around his body, protecting him, tugging him towards the source.

“Astarion. Astarion? Are you okay?!” Tav called out to him in concern.

He ran his fingers through his curls. Steady. Slow. The fabric walls of his tent come back into view.

Then, the roguish rake scratched its way back up his throat. “Ah, my sweet songbird! To think you left your handsome wizard to come sauntering all the way over here to look for me. You must be looking for refinement after all!”

He opened the flap to his tent dramatically like a ringmaster inviting patrons into a circus. Only, when he stepped out to face the bard whose voice granted him redemption, her appearance was perturbed.

Tav appeared sickly, like the blood had been drained from her upper body. A visible worry inscribed into the fine lines by her nose. She stood still and lifted her arm. Then, opened and closed her hand several times as if she wanted to reach out to touch him before deciding to rescind it entirely.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought you were hurt. Your breathing…I thought I heard you in pain.” A tiny bit of breath left her mouth as if she were relieved. “Dinner is ready. I’ll give you time to collect yourself and head back.”

The elf bowed his head in her direction. “I assure you, I am fine. Run along; I’ll be right behind you.”

And then her smile was suddenly the first day of Spring. “You better or I will drag you over there!”

Precious angelic lark. Do not despair. Your wings will serve as the gateway for those that capture you.

Astarion wondered if he had chosen wrong.

No. He was rarely—if ever—wrong about his targets. Tav just presented more of a challenge. Had he not succumbed to the numbness he enacted to conserve what was left of his mental state long ago, guilt may have plagued the bits of humanity he plummeted away from Cazador.

She did possess a certain loveliness to her. Not in the way of grand belles he’d bedded in the past, but one that’s described in poesy passages of endearing semi-guileless women, whose beauty shines through beyond being skin deep. Anyone would be a damned fool to think otherwise. But, an intangible hole existed inside her beating elvish heart that had not yet fully healed. Only, the path to her is strewn with meteors and fragile stars. An unanticipated detail overlooked, one he did not predict as he tried to lure her in the ruins with the aphrodisiacs' of his actions.

He sighed. Had this been one of his usual haunts on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, with less time to devote to his victim, he could easily capture another with memorized lines and rehearsed “fuck me eyes.” All he knew were the instincts of a man that seduced centuries worth of people, using his body to be the prostitute his master commanded.

Where Tav was involved, simply uttering honeyed speeches or licking an oath of exiled pleasures she had never experienced in a stripe along her slit, would not be enough.

But, what of trust?

Ah. Now trust carried power. However, the caveat to such an assured reliance was the privilege of obtaining it. Trust gleaned through lust was manageable. But, trust through measures of safekeeping another’s hope and beliefs came with greater transactions.

If this songbird meant to be Astarion’s silver lining, then he would make her sing.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Their lifeblood waits for you.

“Astarion, I don’t believe I’ve seen you eat a single morsel since you’ve been with us. You must be hungry? Here, there’s plenty to go around.” Gale brought the skillet over, sliding a portion of the food onto the remaining plates as the high elf approached.

You’re hungry.

He peeked over at the food sardonically. “As scrumptious as I’m sure—whatever all that—probably is, I will have to...decline. I have other sources of food stowed away. Regardless, you have my thanks.”

Starving.

Gathered around the campfire, they finished their meals while listening to Lae’zel speak about her crèche, K’liir, in the Tears of Selûne. Astarion couldn’t be less interested. He had no real family to speak of anymore—not that he remembered them—probably perishing many moons ago as it were. And the only place he called home, was the necrotic palace encased in stone towering over the lower city of Baldur’s Gate where dreams of a life go to wither.

”Your path is paved in blood. Your body does not belong to you. It was created to tempt. It is food created for anyone that craves it. Fuck your prick into anything that wants it. Your lips to press to whatever rotted or young flesh that desires it. You will never be anything more.”

Astarion refocused, nursing a goblet of wine as he leaned back against the log he had previously sat on with Tav. He caught the jovial expression on her face as she focused on each of them as they spoke—primarily that obtuse magician. The fucking gall of that wizard. I bet he gloated about his ‘mage hand’ all evening, he seethed.

Blood. You need to feed.

He needed to distract her. To cull her affections and isolate them on this farce of a relationship, ill-conceived by his want to survive.

Her. Your fangs want to be inside her, tearing at her throat. To taste the aurora of her voice as her blood warms you.

“Tav, dearest, why don’t you sing us a song from that arsenal of ballads you keep in that pretty little head of yours?”

The bard perked up, turning towards Astarion, her blue-gray depths wide as a doe. She was one of the moving pieces on the chessboard he satiated himself with.

Take her.

Though his request seemed innocent enough, the slithering leer of his gape seemed to make her feel abashed by the way she regarded him with her stare. This was all part of his cunning gambit of word wrestling they had begun to establish. And she knew what he was doing—of course she had to know. Astarion had the gumption to detect that she was conscious, but still uncertain, if he had only meant to tease her, to see her nonplussed in the moment, or if there laid an alternative motive to the glint of his impish smirk.

Her rosy lips parted slightly, a paltry excuse upon her tongue. “My lute perished in the crash.”

“Come now, it is not your lute that beguiles your audience with its voice. Do not keep us waiting, friend,” he winked, ushering her forward with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

Hunt her.

Tav did not argue. Perhaps to avoid further complications of the night or maybe because she recognized her talents had the ability to bring about a halcyon wave to their troubled comrades.

Though, as the first few notes she gifted to them uncurl like clear bells on silver tinsel decorating the reticence of the camp, her audience was now hers to command.

Taste her.

Tav's voice was ethereal, knitting together a story through the eyes of a traveler discovering fealty to happiness itself. She sang as if she were a holy entity within a chapel alone. The poetry of her words, the flames that would light the candles to the gods.

The winds spun around them, carrying her tune in ripples. Confidently, her eyes passed over to Astarion with a radiant warmth and he was motionless. As she reached a fluttering note, the bluish vein of her white satiny neck—a visible interference—caused an unexpected delirium.

Yes. Her blood will be the sweetest.

She had managed to do the impossible and hypnotize him entirely.

He had to have her. Just a taste.“Magistrate, please bite me.”

She’s yours. She’s yours. She’s yours.

The thrumming of his soul mate mark was a tittering of butterfly wings behind his ear. Astarion touched the sensitive area, crimson view darkened. Tonight. Tonight he would damn himself and be set free.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

”I love you, birdie,” he breathed into the nape of Tav’s neck.

The sunlight had just broken through with the dawn, casting illuminating golden beams onto their naked bodies. They were entangled with one another. Limbs thrown over limbs. Algos, her lover, spooning against her back. Pale and ruddy against his farmer’s tan.

He moved her cool brown locks away from her neck, placing a tender kiss near her hairline.

“Mmm. You spoil me,” she sighed lovingly.

“Not nearly enough.” He grabbed her chin, pulling it towards him.

Tav turned onto her side. She trailed her fingers daintily up his arm, then to the soft skin around orbs of near obsidian that were his eyes. If only she could freeze this moment. Collect it in a bottle and bury it within herself so the details, this exact moment, would never shift.

She scooted closer to him, the weight of her breasts hanging off to the side squishing them together. Her lips so soft, pliant, pressing to his own. They were slightly chapped, but doughy. The dreamiest of exhales left her nostrils.

He leaned in to kiss her back. One peck after the other, along her jaw, her chin. An amorous embrace accompanied by the heat of his breath kindling her neck again.

“Taste me, Algos.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Astarion hovered over Tav as she awoke with his mouth wide open, crisp air caressing her neck. His lips receded past their gums with teeth a pearly sheen in the light of the candle she had lit inside her tent.

“...shit.” He cursed.

Her eyes opened wide in confusion, watching Astarion swiftly backing away from her. She was furious. “What the FUCK are you doing?! Explain. NOW.”

Tav grabbed the rapier she kept at her side while she tranced and brought her wobbly self up to nearly her full height without hitting the tent's ceiling. Her body’s temperature was still cool from resting, leaving her partially disoriented. She was dressed in nothing, except her smalls and a gauzy linen shirt that barely reached past her bottom.

“No, it’s not what it looks like! I swear. I’ve never killed anyone—at least for food. I wasn’t going to hurt you!” He was crouching, his hands up in surrender.

There was a disbelieving jeer she hissed out. “No?! Do not play these games with me, Astarion! I am not an idiot. It looked like you were either going to bite me or assault me. I will run this rapier right through your ribs if you don’t leave immediately!” She pointed it towards him aggressively.

His voice was an octave above a shaking whisper, rounded eyes staring at her shamefully. “Wait, please! I just needed—blood. For food. I’m far weaker than I’d like to acknowledge. It’s pathetic.”

Then, when he altered his weight onto his other hip, the fine lines around his mouth having grown from their stressful interaction, she finally noticed. Astarion's lustrous teeth had sharp fangs, one on each side in place of a human’s usual canines. His pallid color looked even more unnatural than she paid attention to previously. The bluish hue bags of his eyes, a bit darker—presumably from lack of food.

A slave to his sanguine hunger.

Her voice was suddenly breathy. And then, as quietly as she could manage, she fanned out an unsettling laugh. “A vampire. Of all the things…why didn’t you tell me?!”

Astarion opened his mind and bid Tav to connect with his tadpole. She saw it unfolding. He held back some of the pieces that fit into the jigsaw that was him, but then there was something hungry and on edge removing parts of himself he’d never get back. His mind opened further revealing quaking, ruptured memories of tyrannical eyes commanding him to eat the only creature he was allowed: rats. 

Then, the connection dissipated.

“You were forced to eat them or else you would have to starve? By the gods, Astarion,” she heedfully replied, lowering the rapier and propping it against one of the tent walls.

Tav registered she’d wept a few tears when a salty one dipped into the cupid’s bow of her lips. The raw mental images he shared with her were intense. This was not what she had expected from him, regardless of him being a vampire or a mortal. Her heart ached for him and if she knew he would have allowed it, she would have pulled him into a hug, muttering that he was safe into the crown of his hair.

“I—yes. Whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. I hope this explains why I was slow to trust you,” he hesitated awkwardly, adjusting his stance to try and relax his arms at his side. “But, right now, I do trust you. And you can trust me too. I may be out of line in asking you to trust me further, but if I only had just a little blood, I could fight better and my mind would be clear. Please.”

Tav considered his proposal, the desperation in his presently softer accent. If she consented to him feeding from her, she ran the risk of him killing her—either on purpose or by accident if he could not control his hunger. However, she cannot deny this may be one of the first times since they’ve interacted that he was being ethically truthful with her. That he was aware of the risks if he did take her life. There would no longer be the presumption of his security nor the help of removing their worms.

The decision to be made was dangerous; she would not have much time to decide for the sake of herself, Astarion, and their sordid companions.

“You wish to feed from me, correct? But, not my neck. Not yet, anyways. Not until I know you’ll abide by your words in the future. Because you know as well as I do, that you certainly have a way with them,” she unexpectedly jested. “Will my wrist suffice for now?”

Astarion nodded quizzically. “I would only need a taste and not a drop more. If I wind up with a stake in my heart, well, I probably had it coming,” he chuckled. “That being said, your wrist is more than fine. Shall we make ourselves comfortable?”

Tav shook her head to reaffirm her consent and proceeded to sit on top of her bedroll in a cross legged pose, her shirt resting high above her pale thighs. The rosy buds of her nipples had pebbled, poking through the shirt’s fabric. Her areolas, a delightful crepe pink, faintly visible in the light.

Slowly, she rolled up the left sleeve of her shirt, revealing tattoo work inked intricately up the length of her arm. On her forearm, half of a falcon’s bust sat—mastery in keen observation—with iridescent blue and brown feathers. Up further, a white fox glared, clever, yet ready to strike. Each adorned in ornamental elven helmets surrounded by nature’s leaves and flowers only adding to the woman’s earthly beauty.

Astarion bent down to rest on his knees in front of her, the smooth leather of his pants tantalizingly grazing against her shins. She could see him studying her figure, switching to view ink on her arm. Then, he lingered on the shape of her breasts through her shirt, and back up to the flush that was spreading over her cheeks. He held out his arm towards her, his hand facing up.

“Whenever you’re ready.” His voice was soothing, humble even, gently inviting her to sacrifice herself to him.

May your blood be consecrated, the sacrament fulfilled. Waste not, want more. For you give yourself willingly for his power and nourishment. The gods be with you.

She extended her arm, first dropping her index finger into his palm, then tip-toeing the rest of her digits until her hand fully rested on his own. The glacial temperature of his skin flowed through her body entirely like titillating electricity. Tav bit back a moan when his other hand covered hers and moved up to the inside of her wrist, caressing the silky skin.

It had been years since she was touched so intimately by a man. The sensations with each movement of his fingertips rubbing circles into her skin, caused her to swallow down a gasp. Every instinctual nerve inside of her was at war, either to push him away to the far reaches of Faerûn or to offer her blood to the man that somehow made her feel virginal by the swipe of his lithe fingers across her palm.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m nervous and you're cold,” Tav uttered with a shudder.

“Hmm.” Astarion continued massaging, occasionally feeling the throb of her pulse. “Where are you from originally? Your birth place.”

“Wha—the Dalelands,” she managed to answer.

“And which of your parents is a high elf?” he continued.

“My father. My mother is a wood elf. How did you know?

He smiled tenderly. “I could tell by your fair features.”

She tilted her head towards him. Was he trying to distract her? The efforts were working.

He lifted her wrist to his faded pink lips, placing them airily on the stretch of her visible veins. A chilled breath exhaled through his elegant nose. “Why did you move to Baldur’s Gate?

Arrhythmia started overtaking the organ in her chest. She fisted the edge of her shirt in her free hand, sighing heavily. “I needed a change of scenery—to start anew.”

Astarion pecked her wrist. A shallow gravel of his throat vibrated against her skin when he lightly started to suckle on the outline of her vein.

She cried out sweetly. Her chest swelled in tandem with the swift movements of her breathing, but not from the nervousness she thought would plague her stomach with knots. No, it was from the longing ache of skin to skin contact he had unknowingly granted her.

"Shhh. Shh. We wouldn't want to wake anyone now would we?" He lightly bit her finger in warning and then slid his tongue back up to her wrist.

Tav was wet. Considerably so. She felt the petals of her cunt drench in want the longer he prolonged his desires for her blood. It occurred to her that he may be waiting for her to give him the final confirmation for him to bite her, but oh hells, when she noticed his bulge straining in his pants, she conjured up a reverie of her climbing into his lap and grinding herself up and down his length begging for him to take her.

Astarion moaned into her wrist. He had trailed his left hand up to hold her elbow, while the right still held onto her hand, waiting patiently. Her clit was throbbing; she would have given anything to move even the slightest bit to feel pressure placed upon it. Any sort of relief to wash over her to abate the shivers of her flesh, to shake the image of him biting and sucking on her breasts.

Eyes half-lidded, she willed herself to speak. “Astarion?”

Rubbing the point of his fangs in contact with her flesh, his tone was huskier. “Yes, Tavelle?”

Dear Oghma grant mercy on this woman!

It had been the first time he had mentioned the full length of her name and it was as clear as a magical forest revealing a trail to honeyed fruits that she should not partake in. What kind of man could be capable of appearing as both a divine creature and one that could lure her into the shadows?

Burning, burning, burning.

“Bite me.”

The sting of his fangs entering her wrist was like two icy shards stabbing her. Her blood filled his mouth in short spurts and he had trouble containing it all. At the corners of his mouth, two streams of her red essence dribbled down towards his chin.

Astarion gripped onto her arm tighter, involuntarily pulling her closer to him. Greedily, he gulped her down, sometimes stopping to lick at the puncture wounds before wrapping his maw around her wrist once more to swallow her down. He hummed in pleasure the longer he drank, possessed by the taste.

Tav felt lethargic. “ ‘Starion.”

He didn’t hear her. The scarlet of his eyes had grown foggy with a glaze of something voracious and abysmal. Guttural sounds accompanied slurps of her blood as his fangs dug in deeper.

Tav’s head fell forward meekly. She grasped onto his silvery curls with the strength that was slowly being depleted and tugged. “Astarion you must—NO MORE!”

All at once, he released her, falling backwards onto his elbows. He licked his fingers with a pleasing noise, as if he’d just treated himself to an extravagant feast.

“You were—you tasted amazing!” Breathing in quick shudders he added, "I feel…happy. Strong. My mind isn’t clouded.”

Still slumped over, she attempted to placate the vertigo that was causing her head to swim by regulating her breathing. She sounded raspy. “Could you please help me to lay down?”

“Ah! Yes, but of course. It’s the least I could do after that invigorating experience.”

Astarion crawled over to her. Cradling her against his torso, he considerately brought her down to rest on her bedroll. It was flattened, probably uncomfortable, but to Tav and her ailing situation—it felt perfect.

“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning over her, wiping her sweaty bangs from her face.

His scent rolled over her, lulling her to enter a trance. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, perhaps from her adrenaline spiking, but it was pure heaven. Bergamot, rosemary, and smokier warm notes.

“Mmhmm. A bit weak is all.”

She reached up and wiped the drying blood from his chin and lips with her sleeve, providing him with a tired smile. “Astarion? Thank you for trusting me tonight.”

He tensed as she touched him. Jaw tight. A furrowed brow. His eyes moved back and forth, searching hers. Something uncharacteristic briefly showed behind his inspection of her, then fleetingly faded away.

Strange.

Standing upright, Astarion turned to leave her tent. He looked over his shoulder, his voice a serious temper. “Rest well. I still need to hunt to fill myself completely, but this was a gift you know. I won’t forget it. ”

Snuggling into her blankets, she recalled the events of the night. The bizarre appeal of his icy breath. The arousal she felt when he stroked her. The pain mixed with carnal desire as he bit her. The weight of truths they shared. His unforeseen concern for her comfort. A veracity of his soul, bared to her before he left.

And as her lashes laid in long weaves along the edges of her closed eyelids, her last thoughts as she drifted off to enter the dream realm, were about the closeness Astarion unintentionally gave her that she hadn’t felt in years.

[shidousprincess]

PLEASE ON MY KNEES BEGGING FOR NESS ILHSMMMM HE'S MY POOKIE PLEASE ANYTHING FLUFF MAYBE EVEN STEAMMY PLEASE 😭😭😭😭😭

If you do this request tysm, stay safe and healthy ▄█▀█●

Anon requested Ness so I shall deliver (I hope) I might do some steamy if yall want a next chapter I’m sorry it took 3 days I just couldn’t come up with a plot and my period has been kicking my ass so I’ve done nothing but sleep and read others stories but today a idea flew to my brain and so I wrote it 💜 I’m still trying to tweak my work as I go any tips are appreciated

Nessxfem!reader

Hope you all enjoy! Much love my sunflowers stay safe and healthy aswell !!!

Likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

‼️Request are open btw{on my knees begging yall for requests🧎‍♀️}‼️

Photographerxmodel type Au

Words:1k+

Y/n,ness,and Kaiser all childhood best friends ,after high school ended they all went their separate ways but kept in contact until y/n went abroad to study photography and ness and Kaiser went to go apply to be models for and expensive brand

6 years later y/n was setting at a cafe in Shibuya drinking her favorite drink thinking of where she could apply for a photography job.lost in thought she didn't notice her 2 childhood best friends enter the cafe until Kaiser noticed a familiar face that looked like y/n his childhood best friend he walked up to them  "hello might I ask your name? "They were snatched out of thought and they quickly said “Y/n. Kaiser ! I haven’t seen you in years is ness still with you ?” as soon as Ness heard her speak he ran over to see her  not even worrying about his spot in line . "Y/n we've missed you so much!"they both said in unison not having seen each other in 6 years they all decided to catch up on what each other was doing..."so y/n what have you been doing since we haven't seen each other in sooooo long".Ness asked. “Well I have been studying abroad in photography and I finally finished about 2 weeks ago so I decided to come back to Japan to see if I could find a decent photography job and so far I haven't had any hits  what about you two?”... Kaiser spoke up "me and Ness became models for Louis Vuitton and we have been looking for a photographer and looks like we stumbled upon you at the perfect time

You can come by the company tomorrow and apply to be our photographer I'm 100% sure they will accept you" Kaiser says with a smile “

You thought for a few seconds and decided you would.

So you all 3 began to chat some more about how everyone was doing and what has been happening

“I really enjoyed seeing you both and getting to talk and catch up but it's really late and I need to make it back to my apartment so I think I'll leave first” then they both got up with you “we need to go aswell ... goodbye y/n" they both said in unison .. “wait a second y/n “Kaiser said you spun around to see what he needed he ran up to you with a piece of paper with the company's address. “This is the address you need to come to tomorrow” he said then walked back to where Ness was . “Bye guys I had tons of fun today thanks for the job opportunity aswell” . You then turned back around and headed for your apartment.

~The next day ~

You arrived at the address Kaiser gave you and walked in you asked the lady at the front desk if she could take you to where the manager is

She gladly obliged and took you to where she was .. “thank you “you said and bowed then you knocked. “Come in” says the manager. You walked in and took a seat and she soon asked “you must be the girl Kaiser told me about yesterday”.. “ yes I am he must have told you about me wanting to be he and Ness’s photographer?” You questioned. “Yes you are correct and I would love for you to become their photographer” . “So when do I start” . “Next week Monday morning at  9am” .. “ ok will do thank you for the job” then you got up bowed and left.

~5 months later~

Ness’s pov

It's been 5 months since y/n started being our photographer and my crush on her has never left even after high school and I’m not sure if they feel the same here lately Kaiser has been around her a lot more and he takes her out places in his spare time and just leaves me hanging and it kinda pisses me off that he keeps hogging her and today I decided to take y/n on a date ..

for the past 2 months Kaiser has been spending a lot of time with me and he also had taken me out plenty of times. And I've noticed how Ness’s behavior has changed around Kaiser and i. it breaks my heart to see my high school crush sulk.. I haven't been talking to him because I'm always with Kaiser so I decided today I would ask if he would like to go to the park where we could talk and I can confess to him.

An hour later we were done with the photoshoot and Kaiser as always tried to get me to come with him to a restaurant but I declined and he just looked at me dumbfounded as I walked over to Ness .

“Hey Ness?” I tapped on his back to get his attention.

“Hey y/n can I help you with anything?” He asked

I gathered up all the courage I had and asked “would you like to go out to the park with me ?”

Ness stood in shock that you were the first to ask him out on a date to the park .

“It's ok if you don't want to you said in a panicked tone. Ness jumped out of his trance “no no I would love to go out with you” he said with a sweet smile ...

You had noticed over the past 5 months how he would always be staring at you or trying to make conversation with you but Kaiser would always but in and cut him off you had thought if he felt the same way you did....

~At the park~

Neither of you talked the whole way there when you both sat down on the swings Ness broke the foreboding silence “so what did you need y/n ? “You stood up and said..”Ness I have wanted to ask you this ever since the end of high school but didn’t have the courage or confidence .. I love you Ness” ..

Ness froze not believing what he had just heard he came back to his senses when you were crying because you thought he didn't like you back he then jumped up and picked you up and spun you around and brought you into a loving kiss he then broke the kiss after a few minutes to catch y'all's breath” I have always loved you y/n and always will” he then kissed you again you then broke down in happy tears and so did ness “soooo are we a thing now ?”he asked you lightly hit him on the arm “yes of course” you smiled.. Ness smiled and pulled you in for a hug

The end

[a-new-superhero]

Fall From The Stars (Straight Into Your Arms) (One-Shot)

Summary: Maybe it should have been obvious to Jimin, after so many years.

Maybe, after so many years, it sometimes was, if he let himself think about it, let himself believe.

Sometimes, Jungkook would look at him in such a way that Jimin would feel himself falling falling falling. In love, in lust, into the galaxies in his eyes.

Pairing: Jungkook x Jimin

Warnings: Canon compliant, coming out, mentions of homophobia, mild self-loathing

Word Count: 4,322

Masterlist || AO3

Author’s Note: Well, hi there! It's been a while (note to self: when all of your author's notes start that way, you definitely spend more time procrastinating than writing...). I have been trying to work on the first proper chapter of Shattered for months now, but writer's block is actually real, I swear, and it's just not coming easy to me right now.

This, however, came out of nowhere. I wrote it in about two hours yesterday evening, and I'm not even sure if I like it or if it's any good, but I have had A Day and so, I figure, fuck it! Let's actually get some work posted. What's the harm?

So, have some unplanned slightly angsty, awkward Jikook circa 2015ish. Enjoy!

P.S. The title is from the song Stars by Simply Red. The song itself isn't at all relevant to this little one-shot really, but the title fit too well to not use it.

——————————

Maybe it should have been obvious to Jimin, after so many years.

Maybe, after so many years, it sometimes was, if he let himself think about it, let himself believe.

Sometimes, Jungkook would look at him in such a way that Jimin would feel himself falling falling falling.  In love, in lust, into the galaxies in his eyes.  And he'd sometimes think - sometimes wonder - whether Jungkook was perhaps falling too.  It made him feel a little better to believe, just for a moment, that he wasn't falling alone without a parachute, without a hand to hold or the promise of a safe landing, lost lost lost in those starry eyes.  Maybe he and Jungkook were freefalling together.  Maybe they were floating, weightless.  Maybe.

But then he'd watch the easy way that the younger would laugh with Jin, the way he'd wrap a nonchalant arm around Taehyung's shoulders or fall asleep curled up to Hobi on the couch, and he'd remember the hesitance that painted the maknae's face the last time he'd made physical contact with Jimin, just a tentative hand at the top of his arm, and he'd convince himself that it was all in his head, those looks, the notion of the two of them riding an air current, defying gravity, reaching reaching - always reaching, for each other or for a future they couldn't help but hope for.

“He's just a kid,” Yoongi would assure him, on the rare occasion when Jimin would whisper his confusion to him in the deep dark of night, two hushed voices frighteningly loud in the sleepy silence of the dorm.  “He's awkward.  He doesn't know what he's doing yet.  It's how it's supposed to be.”

“But he won't even…”  Jimin would tail off, searching his drowsy, overworked brain for the right way to explain.  “It's like I disgust him.  Like he knows what I am, how I am, what I feel, and he hates it.  Maybe he hates me.”

“How could anyone?” Yoongi would murmur, so nice, so kind when there was no one else awake to witness it.  “Jimin-ah, don't you remember what it was like?  How you'd fumble around your crushes when you were still trying to figure shit out?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But?”

“But I was never friends with them.  I didn't live with them, work with them, spend every second with them.  This is- It's different.”

“Yeah, it's different.”  Yoongi would fidget, all sharp angles and long limbs against Jimin's firm muscles and soft curves.  “He's having to do all of this with everyone watching, with a camera in his face the whole damn time.  Of course he's gonna be self-conscious, second guess himself.  It's not like this is the most accepting industry.”

“I know, but…”

“He's scared, Jimin-ah.  Give him time.”

And he knows.  That’s the thing.  Jimin knows Yoongi’s right.  Jungkook is scared.  They’re all scared: of failure; of success; of being seen; of their secrets being torn from their chests and held bare beneath the spotlight for inspection.  He and Yoongi most of all, he thinks.  They’re the ones with the most to hide, after all, the ones who know who they are and what they want, but couldn’t ever dare admit it for fear of losing it all, everything they’ve been running towards.

Fame is fickle, but the team is a family, and neither one of them could stand to let their family down. 

But Jungkook…

He’s brave, Jimin thinks.  So shy, so afraid with his bitten-red lips and bambi eyes, staring staring, always staring, as if he can’t quite believe he’s there, in the midst of the show, in the centre of the stage, on the covers of the magazines.  But he’s still there, standing in the middle of their line-up, glaring defiantly at the cameras even as his cheeks flush pink at the attention.  He’s still belting out his high notes and hitting every beat as they perform their hearts out, desperate, so desperate to be accepted, to be loved.

He’s brave because he fears but does it anyway, chases his dreams, and so, maybe, if he’s not chasing Jimin, it’s because Jimin isn’t one of them.  Maybe Jimin is just another brother to him.  Maybe everything else, anything else, only exists in Jimin’s imagination.

Maybe.

***

It’s late.  He should really be back at the dorm, Jimin knows, trying to get some rest before another day of schedules - interviews and pre-recordings and practice practice practice.  He should be tucked up in his bunk, catching up on the sleep that his body desperately needs, but his mind refuses to switch off, stuck in a loop of Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook and it’s enough to drive anybody mad.  But Jimin… Jimin is exhausted.  He’s drained physically, emotionally, mentally.  And he’s almost certain that his mind’s refusal to stray from the youngest of their team might actually send him spiralling into insanity if he gives himself over to it, and so he’d dragged himself up and out, and now he’s here: in the gym, skin glistening with sweat under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.

He can see himself in the mirror as he runs, feet pounding against the treadmill, eating up the miles as he wrinkles his nose and tries not to hate the way the bright copper of his hair makes him look paler, the way his tiredness paints dark circles beneath his eyes and makes them droop, the way no amount of hard work and no strict a diet seems to lessen the roundness of his cheeks.  He never used to judge himself so harshly, he knows, but it’s different now.  Everything is different now, with so many eyes watching him, assessing him and finding him wanting, always wanting.  He’s not a boy anymore, not a man either.  He’s an idol and that means he has to be perfect.  There’s so much about himself that he can’t change, but his body, his hair, his features…  They’re fair game, so much that can be done with exercise and dyes and wax and make-up.  He can at least strive for physical perfection even if he so often falls short.

What’s beneath…  He understands by now that there’s no changing that.  God knows he’d wasted enough years trying.  There’s no make-up that can change how a body yearns, how a heart loves; no exercise that can train his gaze to submit to the teasing swish of a short skirt around full thighs rather than the taut flex of muscle under skin; no dyes that can colour him anything other than what he is.  He just has to trust that, if he can work a little harder, if he can get as close to perfect on the outside as possible, that it might be enough of a distraction that nobody will care to look any deeper.  Maybe.

The soft sweep of the automatic doors sliding open at the other end of the room tears Jimin from his cutting inspection of his own reflection, and he snaps his head to the left to see who has intruded on his late-night workout, only to find himself gulping nervously when Jungkook shuffles in.  He’d been sleeping when Jimin left, he was certain of it, but now he’s here in the gym, soft brunette locks pillow-tousled and broad shoulders looking smaller somehow in his oversized tracksuit, though, of course, he’s bigger than Jimin.  Has been for some time.  

“What are you doing up?” Jimin asks - hates that his curiosity sounds so accusatory when he didn’t mean anything by it, except perhaps, ‘Why aren’t you sleeping?’ or ‘Are you okay?’; hates that Jungkook’s mouth curves down into a frown.

“I woke up and you were gone,” is his only explanation, as if that’s enough of a reason to be leaning casually against the weights machine at 2am, watching as Jimin slows the treadmill he’s using to a brisk walking pace.

Jimin says nothing.  The silence between them feels stilted, awkward, and he hates that too; hates so much about himself and this and the whole situation that he’s scared he might scream it out into the void between them if he dares to open his mouth.  So he doesn’t, turning back to the mirror and continuing to march on the spot, letting the whirr of the machine and the steady thump of his pulse drown out the stifled sound of his loathing.  

“Why’d you leave, hyung?”  Jungkook is moving closer, seemingly unwilling to let himself be deterred by Jimin’s determination to ignore him, and Jimin wishes he wouldn’t because when he’s standing right in front of him he can see the creases in his cheek where it had been squashed against his pillow and those damn galaxies in his eyes, stars on stars on endless stars.  He feels winded all of a sudden, as if he can’t draw in a deep enough breath, and he slows the treadmill to a stop, leaning heavily on the handrails as he pants.

Jungkook watches him.  Waits.  He keeps waiting as Jimin leans down and grabs his water bottle, popping the cap and taking a sip, letting the cool liquid soothe the fire that’s burning in his veins.  Finally he shakes his head, raising one hand to wipe away the sweat that’s beading on his brow.  “Couldn’t sleep.”

“But you’re exhausted.  We all are.”

Jimin nods, waits for Jungkook to say something more, to ask him why or if he can help at all because he’s like that, would do anything for his hyungs, but instead it’s Jungkook’s turn to stay silent and he just watches watches watches as Jimin finds himself falling once more.  

“Spot me?” Jimin asks, but it’s not really a question.  It’s a demand or perhaps a plea for help, a way to drag himself out of the starry depths he’s losing himself in and ground him.  The padding of the bench gives a little beneath the press of his spine when he sits down and lays back, but it’s still firm enough, still solid, still real.  He’s not floating.  He’s not falling.  He’s here, and the cool metal of the barbell is bliss beneath his sweaty palms, the weights either end forcing him down down down towards the earth, exerting his muscles and it feels good.  It feels like something other than weightlessness, so he’ll take it, enjoy it while he can.

But perhaps he didn’t think it through all the way because, of course, Jungkook is spotting him, and that means he’s watching Jimin intently, gauging his abilities, his comfort, how much more he can take.  His bottom lip has disappeared between his teeth as he watches - he’s always watching, waiting - and Jimin has to close his eyes because he can’t breathe again and how can he work out when he can’t get enough air into his lungs?  He can’t.  He can’t and now his arms are shaking with the strain, his biceps aching, failing, and he’s sure he’s going to drop the bar, crush his ribs beneath its weight, until he blinks and it’s gone and he’s floating again with nothing to weigh him down.  Or perhaps he’s falling.  He’s not sure he can even tell anymore when Jungkook hovers over him, concern pinching his brow.

“Hyung, are you okay?” he asks, slightly panicked, his voice an octave higher than usual.  “What happened?”

“Must’ve overdone it.”  Jimin can hear the words leaving his mouth but he can’t quite remember forming them.  Jungkook’s hair is falling into his eyes, starlight shining through leaf-laden boughs and dappling Jimin’s skin, and all he can think is pretty pretty, he’s so damn pretty, and Jimin just… He wants to touch.  His arm lifts on its own before his mind catches up with his urges, and his fingertips are almost there, almost close enough to brush against Jungkook’s cheek, trace his scar - pretty, so pretty.  He can feel the warmth emanating from the other boy and he wants wants wants.  

If he thought falling was painful, lonely and endless, then crash landing, Jimin finds, is excruciating.  Jungkook flinches at the close proximity, and just like that he’s plummeting back down to earth and the impact hurts.  It’s jarring.  He yanks his hand back like he’s been burned and maybe he has because his eyes are burning too, his vision blurring and no… No, he can’t cry, won’t cry, not in front of Jungkook, not like this.  He won't cry and he pushes himself up from the bench to hide the telltale puffiness of his lids and reddened face, wiping away the threat of tears as if they were just more beads of perspiration.

There's silence behind him for several long moments, and then movement, footsteps, the brush of fabric and the creak of the bench under new weight.  

“Spot me now, hyung.”

It doesn't make sense.  That's Jimin's first reaction and his second and his third, because Jungkook just watched his arms almost give out, had to save Jimin from weeks of pain and bruising by plucking the barbell from his grasp just as his strength was about to fail him, so why on earth would he trust Jimin to spot him now?  But his fourth reaction is, of course, to do as the other boy asks, because when could he ever say no to Jungkook after all, and he turns and takes up his position at the maknae's head.

He watches, swallowing hard when Jungkook’s hands wrap around the metal where his own had just been, wonders if he can still feel traces of Jimin's body heat beneath his fingers.  Jungkook adjusts his position, shifting on the bench, and then he lifts and Jimin can see the tendons in his neck strain as he bears the weight.  

“Hyung, can I ask you something?”  He's barely done a rep when he starts talking, starry eyes fixed somewhere far above them.  

“Just focus on lifting, Kook-ah,” Jimin tells him, but the younger just grits his teeth, lowering the bar almost to his chest before heaving it towards the ceiling once again.  He used to be such a scrawny kid, Jimin thinks, cute but lanky, like a string bean.  Not anymore.  He's growing up, his body changing, broadening, and it suits him.  It suits him far too well.

“I wanted to ask…” A pause, another rep, and then, “Jin-hyung said I should just ask.  I was talking to him about it but,” - another rep - “well, he couldn't really help me.”

“Help you with what?”  

Jungkook looks more at ease now that he's into the rhythm of his lifts, or perhaps he's just too distracted by the conversation to notice the strain anymore.  Perhaps he's showing off, just a little, after Jimin's pathetic attempt.  “With…  Well, the thing is…”

“Spit it out, Jungkook-ah.”  Jimin forces back a wince at the bite to his tone, but he’s growing agitated, his mind filled once again with Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook when the whole point of coming here was to drive those thoughts away.

“Hyung…”  Jungkook sucks in a deep breath, and Jimin notices a tremble in his hands, so slight he may have missed it had he not been focusing so intently.  “Hyung, do you like boys?”

Jimin's first instinct is to laugh.  He's not entirely sure why - habit, perhaps, or hysteria.  He feels the corners of his mouth twitch, air escaping from his nose in a soft huff of amusement, but then Jungkook's gaze settles on him, seemingly studying him upside down, and Jimin is sure he can see right through him, right down to his heart and soul, so what's the point really?  And, more than that, what's the harm?  He can trust Jungkook, he's sure of it.

“Why'd you ask?” Jimin hedges, buying himself a little time to think - he just needs to think - and Jungkook is still watching him, his joints locked with his arms extended and the weights raised above him.  

“Jin-hyung… He said he thought you might; thought Yoongi-hyung might too.  But he wasn't sure.  And I just wanted to be sure.”

“But why?”  There's that tremor again in Jungkook's hands, and this time Jimin reaches out, takes the barbell from him and sets it back down, anything to distract himself from that look in Jungkook's eyes.  He doesn't know that look, can't read it, and it's setting him on edge.

Jungkook sighs, long and heavy, as if, now that Jimin's taken the weight from him, he's left with the weight of the world bearing down on him instead.  He looks small in that moment, shoulders hunched, and Jimin's reminded of the boy he used to be, so cute and so so lost.  “Because I do,” he says and he's almost whispering but it sounds loud, so loud, in the empty gym.  “I think I do and I just need to know I'm not alone.”

Jimin is silent.  He's not watching this time though, or waiting.  He's reeling.  Because he'd thought and he'd hoped, and he'd wondered if maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see, despite Yoongi thinking so too and agreeing and being absolutely certain.  And he trusted Yoongi’s judgement above all else, he really did, but he hadn't quite let himself trust his hyung this time because if he'd been wrong… If he'd been wrong…

But he wasn't wrong and now Jungkook is looking at Jimin, galaxies swirling with equal parts hope and terror and Jimin's mouth won't work and so all he can do is sink down beside the younger boy on the bench and hope that their arms pressing together provides some level of comfort.

The silence is suffocating.  Jimin wants to break it, wants to reassure Jungkook and confess to him and wrap his larger frame up in his arms and tell him that he's there for him and that it's all going to be okay, but he's worried - that it might be too much all at once and he's not sure he knows how to be anything but too much right now.  So, instead, he clears his throat and asks, “Why me?”

“M’sorry?” Jungkook mumbles, shooting Jimin a sideways glance full of confusion.

“Why are you talking to me?  Why not Yoongi-hyung?”

Jungkook thinks for a moment, then shrugs, shakes his head, sighs again.  “You didn't answer the question,” he points out, a slight challenge to his tone.  “Answer my question first, and then maybe I'll answer yours.”

The gym floor is linoleum, yellowing, with small cracks criss-crossing the expanse and faded patches beside each machine where hundreds of feet have worn it away over the years.  If Jimin squints, he's sure that he can make out words in some of the marks, just like he would make out shapes in the clouds on a summer's day.  His sneaker leaves a black scuff mark behind when he drags it over the aged surface with a high-pitched squeak.  

“Yes,” he says, when the moment has dragged on too long and he realises he has no choice but to be honest, because he wants to hear what Jungkook has to say, needs to hear it like he needs oxygen in his lungs.  “Yes, I like boys.”

“You never told any of us?”

“Didn't come up,” Jimin explains with a shrug, though he knows there have been ample opportunities should he have wanted to take them.  “Yoongi-hyung knows.  Only Yoongi-hyung.  I'm sure some of the others think… I mean, obviously Jin-hyung does.  But I've never actually…  I mean, it's hard, y’know?  You never know how people are gonna react.”

“Idols can't be gay,” Jungkook states, matter of fact despite the fact that Jimin's sure the conflict is tearing him in two.  It certainly had Jimin.  He isn't sure he'd have managed to put the pieces back together, make them somehow fit without Yoongi's wisdom.  Sometimes he forgets that his hyung is only 2 years older than him because he just deals, he copes and he doesn't falter, and Jimin has needed that more than anything else as he's come to terms with himself and tried to reconcile his heart and his dreams.  He hopes that Jin has managed to do that for Jungkook, at least a little, but he's not sure it's possible for anybody who hasn't been through the struggle to really understand.

He looks at Jungkook now, huddled in his too-big sweatshirt, wide eyes fixed on his fingers as he twists them together, and his heart bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

“Your turn,” Jimin says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out a little thick, a little too full to the brim with raw emotion.  He hopes that Jungkook won't notice.

Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't.  Maybe he's too caught up in his own thoughts, his own insecurities, to register it.  His lips are chapped and red, moving wordlessly as if he's running lines inside his head, and Jimin wants to rub the pad of his thumb over the bottom one, soothe the sting that he knows all too well comes from gnawing on it endlessly.  He tucks his hands beneath his thighs in case his urges should take over again, doesn't want to make Jungkook uncomfortable - more uncomfortable.

Jungkook stays silent, his mouth stilling, eyes hazy and unfocused as he continues to gaze down at his hands, and Jimin's about to tell him it doesn't matter, that he doesn't need an answer, even though he does.  He needs needs needs so badly, but he also cares, and he doesn't want to pressure Jungkook when this has already been so hard for him, so intense.  And then the younger boy speaks, his voice so quiet that Jimin has to strain to hear him.

“I- I wanted to talk to you.  I thought about going to Yoongi-hyung, thought he'd be… I don't know… More practical about it.  Better at giving advice maybe?” He pauses, shrugs.  “But then I realised I don't… I don't really care if Yoongi-hyung’s gay.  It doesn't matter to me whether or not he likes boys, or whether he likes girls or both.  I don't… I don't think I need to know.”

A lump has formed in Jimin's throat and he can't swallow it down, can't shift it, can't speak.  He's not sure he wants to speak, feels like he should, but what if this isn't what he thinks it is, what he hopes it might be?  What if he's wrong and he says the wrong thing and it goes wrong wrong wrong?  He couldn't stand it, couldn't…

But Jungkook's still talking, still not looking at Jimin and Jimin just needs to see the stars.

“I wanted to talk to you, hyung.  I realised that… that it bugs me that I don't know who you like.  I don't know why but it does.  Jin-hyung said he thought you were, and it put the idea in my head, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.  I just… I just know that it matters to me if you're gay.  I needed to know.”

“And now you do,” Jimin rasps because he's found his voice, finally, but that lump in his throat is still there.  “Now you know.”

“Now I know.”  Jungkook nods slowly, taking it in, and then he turns to Jimin, meets his gaze and Jimin almost whimpers.  Because he can see the stars now, those galaxies that he finds it so easy to get lost in, and they're on fire, blazing bright, endless and beautiful and burning burning burning. Jimin’s cheeks are burning too, set aflame by the intensity in Jungkook's eyes, and he knows he's falling, a meteor hurtling through space, on course for collision and eruption and heat heat heat.  “I'm not…” Jungkook starts, stops, tries again.  “This is new.  I can't… I'm not ready to-”

“It's okay,” Jimin cuts him off, surprised by how steady he sounds, how sure.  “You don't have to be.  We've got time.”

Jungkook nods again and Jimin swallows hard, finally letting his urges take over again as he frees one of his hands and lets it cover Jungkook's, tangling their fingers together and staring in fascination at how the younger’s fingers seem to dwarf his own.

“I'm scared,” Jungkook whispers.

“You're brave,” Jimin whispers back, and Jungkook squeezes his hand, bringing their palms together.  Warm, Jimin thinks.  Warm warm warm.  Warm hands, warm smile, warm heart.  Everything about this boy is warm, but the fire in his eyes is blazing hot.

***

Maybe it should have been obvious to Jimin, after so many years.

Maybe, after so many years, it sometimes was, if he let himself think about it, let himself believe.

Sometimes, Jungkook would look at him in such a way that Jimin would feel himself falling falling falling.  In love, in lust, into the galaxies in his eyes.  And he'd sometimes think - sometimes wonder - whether Jungkook was perhaps falling too.

Now though, he knows.  Jimin is falling, hard and fast and endless, hurtling through space.  But he isn't afraid.  He is in awe.  Because he’s amongst the stars, so high above the ground and surrounded by so much beauty, raw and timeless and hot hot hot.  And maybe, just maybe, the stars are falling too - into him, around him, for him, constellations collapsing and being born again, starting anew but always beautiful, always brilliant, shooting across a vast black sky and painting pictures against the mundanity.  Jimin thinks, if he squints, he can make out a vision of the future in the patterns they paint, just like he would make out shapes in the clouds on a summer's day.  Two figures shifting and dancing and together together, always together.  Collapsing and being born again, starting anew but always beautiful, always brilliant.

And he thinks, maybe, that's exactly what the future has in store for him, for Jungkook too, the both of them, together.  

It's too early to say, but maybe.

Just maybe.

——————————

Feedback is golden! Don't be shy! And holler at me if you'd like to be added to my tag list 🖤 Thank you so much for reading!

[imaginarylungfish]

AUDHD 👏 GOJO 👏

I’m right there with you so, in true AuDHD style, I’m zooming into your inbox to infodump because I’m ALWAYS desperate to scream about this (shout out to @ellionwrites for patiently and compassionately listening to my unpolished rambles about a lot of this stuff in private)!

I actually have a LOT of thoughts about 236 and how it’s Gojo’s “unmasking”. That chapter is really emotional for me because of how well it articulates my personal experience of navigating the world as an autistic person. This post (and especially its tags) from right after it came out says it in a much more concise way, but Gojo’s upset pout breaks my heart because, to me, that's evidence of “no matter how much you try, people will misunderstand you” and damn… that hits a little close to home 🥲

It’s why his death had such a strong impact on me, especially when it felt like half the internet was ignoring the actual words Gojo said to claim “he never cared about that stuff, he was arrogant from the start and you just misread him". In combination with “it was the best ending for a character like Gojo" — right after we find out how deeply lonely he’s been, never able to truly connect with anyone after Geto left? Well, it was mindblowingly meta and, therefore, pretty painful to read.

I wrote an analysis of Gojo’s character in 236 and, even though I wasn’t viewing him through an autistic lens for that particular post, I think my words under the cut still read that way — that’s how baked into his character I think this stuff is! I genuinely think the two pairs of sorcerers sitting with their backs to each other is a visual representation of the double empathy problem. I'm not sure autistic and allistic people can ever arrive at a place where we fully understand each other, but that doesn’t mean autistic people have to carry all the burden and remain isolated. That’s why it’s meaningful that Gege makes it clear that all the characters care about each other, even if they don’t see eye-to-eye.

Glad to see you shouting about this reading of his character, because I haven’t seen many people talking about it. Some people are very hostile to ND headcanons, especially for characters as popular as Gojo, which is why I haven’t really talked about it much myself. However, I feel like any fellow AuDHDers who read my fic must be side-eying me constantly because I don’t think I’m subtle about how I write Gojo’s character at ALL 🤪

Maybe it’s time to be brave and publicly share my 236 AuDHD!Gojo manifesto for the five of us who are standing in a circle screaming about this! Cheering you on and sending lots of love ♥️

Ahhhhh thank you so much for this infodump!!!! I was on a AuDHD!Gojo rampage last night as my brain worm hit right as I should have been going to sleep. But such are things....

Like idk why it didn't truly hit me until now, but I can't unseen Gojo as AuDHD. (It was probably because I re-watched "Everything's Gonna be Okay" with some AuDHD representation and then I started thinking of other AuDHD characters and immediately thought of Gojo.) I did play with the idea a few months back, but it hit me with full force yesterday.

Idk like I get a little annoyed with people who think I or others like Gojo just because "he's hot" because like okay fine yes (but also I think I just have gender envy but that's a whole other can of worms). But also, no no no that's not it! My love for Gojo is more than that! He speaks to me as a character. He's misunderstood. He's seen as something he isn't. In my eyes, he's neurodivergent (and queer). And Geto was the only other person who ever saw him for who he really was.

Gojo's death was really hard on me. I remember exactly where I was when I read that chapter. And then the airport. Fuck. EmOtIOns. At first, I tried understanding Nanami's words. I really did. But really, I just didn't if I'm honest. Those words were a shock to me. Like yeah okay he's selfish (but like aren't all humans?). He also helps though! Isn't that obvious? And at the end? He wanted to have an equal to go all out with in a fight. Again, why was that bad? He was also helping! What's the issue? He's a fallible human. Like you said in your analysis, he contains multitudes. What's wrong with that?

So, like many others, I thought maybe I misread Gojo. But no. Now I think the missing piece was that Gojo is AuDHD and Nanami didn't quite get that. He didn't understand Gojo's actions. (And ahh god that lil pout. Gojo was just living his life and people saw him but they never ~saw~ him.)

I think the visual of the sorcerers back-to-back is a great metaphor for the double empathy problem. I never saw it that way, but I see it now and like it! And I think you're so right with the fact that the characters still respect and support each other even if they don't understand each other fully. I think that's a theme woven throughout the story.

Blahhh I feel like there is so much textual support for AuDHD Gojo. Like him being blindsided by Geto's defection because he didn't see Geto's decline (and don't get me started about Autistic!Geto with his strict black-and-white thinking), him just blabbing about sweets when he meets up with Megumi before fighting one-finger Sukuna at the beginning, the fact he thought revealing Yuuji to his classmates at the exchange event would be funny (cause hey, I thought it would too until it happened and I saw oh hey, it wasn't), etc. Plus, his blindfold. His overall personality. Like, it's such a heavy mask. Now I see that.

I feel like people either love Gojo or they hate him. (I immediately gobbled up your analysis and 100% agree. And I think people's reactions to his death are pretty telling.)

So, thank you for the yummy AuDHD!Gojo content. Please feel free to send me more/link me to things. I feel like I have a million more things to say but my brain is jumping all over the place and I've already spent 40 minutes this morning on this when I should have been getting ready for work. Hehe, whoops.

Gojo is AuDHD. I will die on this hill. Let's keep staring and screaming at each other about this. Sending you good vibes and love as well 🤍

[auraisereigh]

"Hello to you too, Star"

Chapter 7, Part I

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson reader Blurb: On a free day Star decides to clear her mind. wc: 4.9k ☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. Actually quite peaceful. Star's magic alert. Star's logic? Let me know if i missed something. Uses pronouns: she/her. i use Star as a nickname as y/n sounds weird, and i'm awful with names.

A/N: I loved writing this one so much that i had to divide it into two parts because i wrote so much for this chapter.

Star's masterlist main masterlist

I wake up completely sore and worn out. Seems like I had a whole war while I slept, why not?

It's been a month since the first Assembly meeting and we've fallen in a good routine. We've been having meetings almost daily, we've started rebuilding and we have one person working in the forge now, Mainly making daggers. Better than nothing.

Today was one of those rare days we didn't have a meeting planned. We covered what was needed yesterday. Viscount Tecarus has responded to my letter, though I have yet to read it as it arrived late last night.

If there's one thing that changed the most this month it's the mess in my room, I've left all the paperwork in my dad's office but that still leaves all the empty plates, discarded clothes, notebooks and pretty much anything else you can think of.

Problems for later.

Once I get dressed and tidy up just a little bit, I make my way to dad's office.

Lord. Another meal, another note. Brennan has been leaving me meals and notes all month, not that I've been bothered to check on him, I haven't seen him at all and I wanna keep it that way. It still stings, that I so easily trusted someone just because of a mutual friend.

Naolin. I finished his grave a week ago. It took a while to find the right flowers but with my magic they shouldn't wither.

It's a simple meal, some bread, cheese and ham, a glass of orange juice all neatly placed on the corner of my desk, the note also neatly placed next to it. Those notes get longer the longer he keeps going with this.

"Heard you have a free day. Take some time to rest, you've been busy. Maybe you could read? Naolin used to tell me that you love folklore. And tonight you could go star gazing. Maybe you'll see Naolin."

B.s

I sigh and put the note down. I open the drawer of the desk and take out the bottle of medicine the healers gave me after I got a reaction to some kind of food. I swallow it with the orange juice.

Felix appears in the doorway. He leans against the doorframe and looks at me. He's taken it upon himself to look after me even though I insisted I didn't need that.

I hold up the note and raise a brow. I haven't told anyone about the notes and meals. It always happened when I was too tired. "Something I should know?" My voice still holds that hoarsness that comes with just waking up.

"Brennan has been released out of confinement. He's been questioned a few times and we don't see the harm, so we're giving him the benefit of the doubt." I raise a brow. What questions did they ask him? "Why wasn't I called in for the questioning?" I argue.

"You're too emotionally involved with him." He says calmly. "Oh really? I had every right to. This is my house, his mother killed my fathe-" he cuts me off. "And that's why we didn't come to you for the questioning. Trust me, I did the questioning too. He's harmless. He just wants to stay out of his mother's sight, he doesn't agree with what she's done and for all she knows her son is dead."

"It's her thinking that her son is dead that resulted in my city being burned down." I say back. "An action he did not have control over." He argues back, his voice saying that he will have the last word and that that was that last word.

He sighs deeply as he walks closer and stops next to me. He takes the note and reads it. "He's mourning the same person as you. He's a caring man. Just try to trust him, he's not his mother and you shouldn't judge him for his mother, he doesn't do that with you either. Nobody chooses their parents." He looks at me as if I'm the same. I frown at him but before I can say anything he talks. "You have a day off. Eat, rest, do something you enjoy, maybe get out of this fortress for a while. You've been cooked up in here for more than a month." He says gently before leaving me alone in my dad's office.

☆

I have to admit that meal was good, despite the person who brought it. I had been keeping all of the notes in a envelope that I shoved in the back of drawer. I'm still trying to figure out why I'm doing that.

I took Felix's advice to get out of the house. I glady took my bow with me outside to have some peace of mind. The chances of me actually killing something are pretty much zero but it's the idea that I have it say a certain someone would come looking for me again. I still hadn't figured out who that was but I also haven't told anyone, not even Brennan. But I have heard that voice before, you don't forget such a ruthless voice.

There's enough forest in Aretia for me to avoid the area where Brennan and I spend two weeks together.

Instead I take the route alongside the river that leads to a beautiful lake. There are still a lot of animals out, they dare more now that the woods don't get used as much. Despite all the chances I get I don't shoot or even try to shoot at an animal. There's no point, I've done it enough for a While. Truth is that I only took the bow with me to feel safe.

The walk to the lake is quiet, the kind of quiet I've needed for a while now. Just the sound of the water streaming pass by helps sooth all the emotions I've been feeling for a while now.

By midday I arrive by the lake. It's still as beautiful as the last time I saw it. The water is a deep blue that streams to the river. Here and there are rocks, and at the back of the lake is a giant mountain that creates a waterfall down the mountain. And all of it is pretty much covered up by forest so it gives that hidden, magical feeling. Not many people know this place exists and as there's a mountain most just assume it ends there.

I sit down by one of the larger rocks and lean against it. It's been a month since I've been able to just sit down and relax, to not have to think about anything. Where it's just me and my thoughts.

I have so many memories here, most with Naolin, some with my family. This lake holds so many emotional strings for me. And for once it doesn't feel necessarily bad, it feels.... Freeing. No one is here to watch me, I can just let go.

I watch as my magic swirls over the lake in red veins. Almost like they're part of the water, just in a different color.

I've always been both fascinated and scared of it. No one knows where my magic came from. According to dad it's not inherited from his side of the family. I've spent hours in the library to find something but I came up with nothing. As far as I know it's limitless, almost anything that I can think about is possible with it, it's just a matter of control.

I gaze over the lake, over the red swirls that trail over water and rock.

My mind Wanders to a memory.

☆

Its Almost sunset now. The sun has almost dipped behind the mountain creating a beautiful reflection from the mountain to the lake. I've been here for hours now. Practicing my magic by an old book that my dad had been given by Viscount Tecarus of Cordyn.

I hear a crunch behind me and my head snaps up but I calm down once I see the familiar face with the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen. A smile finds it way up my face as I stand up and run towards him. I jump in his arms and he catches me like it's no big deal. My arms wrap around his neck and he holds me tight.

"Hello to you too, Star." Naolin's familiar voice speaks up. It's been months since I've seen him. Now that he is officially a lieutenant and stationed on an outpost he barely has time to ask for leave.

"I didn't know you would be coming." I whisper. "Surprise." He says softly. He puts me down and his hands go to my cheeks. "I'm gone a few months and you grow up." He jokes which gets a small laugh out of me. He looks over to where I had been sitting. "Ah we're being obsessive again." He states, he eyes the old book.

His hand takes mine as we walk to my sitting spot. We sit down and he takes the book, going through what I've marked.

I stare at him. It's been months and he's here now.

"Anything useful?" He asks as he closes the book. Guess we're not practicing anymore. "Nothing that I didn't know yet." I respond while I stare at him.

His dark brown eyes, I swear they're so dark there almost black but you can see the brown in them. His dark waves of hair, messy from flight.

"You're doing that again." He laughs and I snap out of my haze. My brows furrow and confusion takes over my face. "What?" I ask confused. He laughs and flicks my nose. ow. "That face." He motions to mine with his hand. "That look on your face When I'm just back. Like I'm a ghost that you can suddenly see." He jokes and I can't help but crack a smile. "You can't blame me. I never see you anymore. Might as well be a ghost." I joke back but I know he knows I missed him. The letters I send to him say enough.

His smile goes from the joking one to the caring one. "Come here." He says softly, opening his arm to come closer. I don't hesitate, I've craved his touch for so long. To see my best friend for so long, when I didn't even know if I'd see him. He's on the front lines, for the same he dies.

His arms wrap around me and his head leans on mine. We stay like that for a long time, staring at the lake. Here and there we make a small conversation but I'm just happy that he's here.

☆

Taglist: @honethatty12 @smashee0789 @awkardnerd @randomperson1234sblog @bangtanxberm

[study-with-aura]

Monday, September 9, 2024

I know I have not updated in nearly a week, but it has been very busy around here! I have started volunteering at the mission for seven total hours on Fridays and Saturdays and then yesterday, we have our church Bible Study group that started up again after the morning service and I had my first meeting for the volunteer leadership program that I'm participating in. Everyone is so wonderful, and I think I am going to really enjoy being a part of this team!

School work is picking up as well, so I am spending some time on the weekend doing extra studying. This upcoming weekend will be wonderful though. I won't be volunteering on Saturday or going to dance because our Girl Scout troop is having an outing. It is a two hour or so drive to get where we are going. It's sort of a kick off to the year, even though the new troop year doesn't start until October. The rest of this month, we'll be meeting on Sundays in order to do our planning for the upcoming year, at least us older girls, and to kick off the year with the whole troop and our families.

Next week, I also start volunteering at the library again for two hours a week. It doesn't seem like much, but the hours add up and we do a lot of good work for the community during that time. That will be nine volunteer hours total each week plus two or more extra hours once or twice a month for the volunteer leadership program.

Needless to say, this year is off to an incredible start! I would love to post every day again like I had been doing, but my goal is only twice a week. As long as I stick to that, it will be okay, but I will post as often as I am able to above that as well.

Have an amazing week!

Tasks Completed:

Algebra 2 - Reviewed graphs of linear inequalities + learned to graph systems of linear inequalities + practice

American Literature - Copied vocabulary terms + read about Henry David Thoreau + read chapter 5 "Solitude" from Walden by Thoreau + answered questions + read about rhetorical strategies used by writers + worked on my reflective essay

Spanish 3 - Wrote a 15-sentence dialogue asking for and receiving directions

Bible 2 - Read 1 Kings 6

Early American History - Read about Pennsylvania and Delaware + read excerpts from Penn's "Frame of Government" + looked at a painting 'Penn's Treaty' + answered questions + ungraded quiz (100%)

Earth Science with Lab - Read chapter 7, "The Fossil Record" + read over the questions

Music Appreciation - Learned about the piccolo + learned about the bass clarinet + learned about keyboards, mostly the celeste + copied major necessary terms from the N section of the music dictionary

Khan Academy - Completed US History Unit 2: Lesson 3.6

Duolingo - Studied for approximately 30 minutes (Spanish + French + Chinese) + completed daily quests

Piano - Practiced for three hours in one hour split sessions

Reading - Read pages 119-153 of The Do-Over by Lynn Painter

Chores -  Cleaned my bathroom + cleaned windows in my bedroom and in the study

Activities of the Day:

September Study (John 14:12, Hebrews 6:18, Luke 7:22, 1 Corinthians 12-13, 2 Corinthians 5:14)

Personal Bible Study (1 John 5)

Ballet

Contemporary

Journal/Mindfulness

[nrdmssgs]

How to not motivate your favorite author to write

So recently this happened to a very dear friend of mine. And then this happened. I'm not tagging her deliberately, to not drag her name into any shitshow. I love her dearly and will fight with tooth and claw for this person.

I will be referring to my personal experience not because I want to make this 'a story about precious me', but because I can guarantee, that overall pattern of creative process will go along with these examples, and I don't want to torture others with interviews on their particular creative process examples.

I want to address that anon and talk a bit about how creative processes work. I am not a writer, but I have two art degrees, so I just happen to know a thing or two about creativity and its ways in human brains.

How creative process differs from creative outcome

Imagine a situation: you roam around your favorite network and find this one cool author, that seems to create something especially for you. I like their characters, their storyline, their ways with the language and overall scenery. You and them seems like a match made in heavens. There is only one 'but': you crave more.

You find your perfect fic, you read every chapter and end on a painful cliffhanger, poor you? But what if I tell you, that to complete this chapter, your favorite author had to process a ton of information, their own suggestions, 'what ifs', questions around every single detail, different dialogue and action options? What you see is a perfectly cut ice cube, but it took a freaking iceberg to make it. By the way, the same goes for illustrations. Remember this short comix?

Well, it took a day to create it, and actually drawing it took only 4 hours. Another 8 hours were spent on concept. Here are just 2 pages of my ideas, and I have like 8 pages of this.

And sometimes authors don't even write down their draft thoughts, but it doesn't mean, these thoughts doesn't exist. We are thinking about our stories while going for groceries, driving a car, doing laundry, taking shower and so on.

So if you read something, that is one-page long - it doesn't mean, that your favorite author spent an average 'fill one page with text' time interval to create it. You are reading an outcome, while the author went through the entire creative process!

How creating one thing may help you to create another thing

Sometimes you need to practice, just to get to know a new character/situation.

I had such difficulties, writing Nikto, that I wrote this and this just to bring this marvelous character to the latest part of my ongoing series. Yes, it took me a month to figure out this character, but it was worth it. So please, bear with an author, that makes little attempts, before going back to their magnum opus. Sketches and renders can and will help them evaluate the story, that you`ve fallen in love with in the first place!

Sometimes you need a break.

If you thought, reading some angst was not easy - just know, that writing it was also not easy. Sometimes authors speak on deeply personal topics, sometimes they express their negative emotions through hard and draining scenes and stories.

And before you say 'oh, but the author knew in advance what is yet to happen' - let me remind you, that the author relieves everything, their characters go through.

Creating something completely knew helps author to gain powers, to take a step further, to breathe and calm down.

Sometimes you just feel like shit.

You wake up, revisit, what you wrote yesterday, and you hate it. And you hate yourself for setting the bar so low. And a very right thing to do at this moment is to get yourself distracted by something completely new. Or even to force yourself to not go back to creating for a bit, so that your 'creativity muscles' get some rest.

So please don't be disappointed by your favorite creator for paying attention to other media/fandom/story/character. It may be their way (long and complicated) to go back to that very work, you liked so much.

What doesn't motivate authors

Punching them with 'hey, stop whatever you're doing and go back to that thing, I LIKED'. This will only make your fave creator freeze in a cycle of self-hate, diffidence, art blocks.

Comparison of their works. "Your Ghost fics are top, so stop writing about Gaz and turn into a full time Ghost praiser". Again, this won't motivate your fave to change their writing habits or preferences, this will make them fill guilty every single time they create something against your preferences. That 10-30-50 sketches with Gaz will eventually help them go back and write something for Ghost!

[neopuff]

ALWAYS ON MY MIND

chapter three: a piece of my mind ships: sasha/milla characters: milla, truman, forsythe, 33, sasha, oleander, otto, sherri ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53435410/chapters/135591166

[chap 1] [chap 2]

-

The next morning, Milla made her way to the Grand Head's office for an early morning meeting. She was very comfortable speaking to Truman - he was a friendly man and when he wasn't too terribly busy they got along just fine. However, lately he had been so busy that they really hadn't had a lot of chances to speak. 

Their meeting the previous morning had been the first time Milla had spoken to him in almost two weeks. Occasionally he would pawn her off on Agent Forsythe, but Milla didn't have the same history with her nor the same level of comfort. 

Milla took a seat in the chair she always sat in, brushing dust off the end of her dress. Truman was already looking anxious, ready for his next meeting which was undoubtedly going to involve something to do with finances. From her perspective, it seemed like the Psychonauts were always dealing with financial problems.

“So how did the training go with Agent Nein yesterday?” Truman asked Milla curiously. “I hope he was as helpful with training as he was with your tour last month.”

Milla had a feeling he was going to ask her that, and she had already planned to respond with a follow-up question. “Truman…I’ve noticed that you only seem to ask me this type of question after I spend time with Agent Nein. I've also worked with Agents Forsythe and Oleander and Aaronson, so it makes me wonder…is there something wrong with Agent Nein that I should know about?”

Truman chuckled and scratched the side of his head. Then he stood up, stretched, and cracked his back. “To be perfectly honest Milla, it's because I've heard…complaints about Agent Nein. It's nothing that I've seen personally, just talk around the rumor mill. I figured a fresh face like yours would give me an unbiased perspective on how Agent Nein handles himself around other Psychonauts.”

“Oh, I see.” Milla tilted her head slightly, not surprised to hear that. She'd heard a few rumors about Sasha in just the few weeks she'd been working there. There were many Psychonauts employees that enjoyed gossiping, and though Milla enjoyed it on occasion, it was…a little much sometimes. “Well, Sasha has been nothing but kind and professional with me. He's been extremely helpful and respectful. I really enjoyed our training session yesterday.”

“That's very exciting to hear,” Truman said with a genuine smile. 

“He even allowed me to view one of his memory vaults,” Milla added as a bonus. “He seems like a very private person, so I was surprised by that.”

“Did he now?” Truman glanced at a notebook on his desk and quickly grabbed a pen, wrote something down, then closed the notebook. “Thank you, Milla. I've always liked Sasha so I'm happy to hear that he's getting along with someone.”

She paused a moment before adding another comment. “Is that so unusual? On my first day, Agent Nein introduced me to several people and seemed to have a friendly relationship with all of them.”

“Several people, hm?” Truman tapped his chin with the pencil he picked up earlier. “That’s the first time I’ve heard about Nein socializing. Hopefully with Hollis’ new promotion, I’ll have more time to pay attention!”

Milla smiled, happy that Truman was listening to her. She didn't know Agent Nein very well, but her interactions with him had been very pleasant and she didn’t want him to get in trouble because of some stupid rumors. “Is it really so bad if he’s a bit, um…antisocial?” she asked curiously. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a perfectly capable agent, so what does it matter?”

Truman sighed and glanced at the clock again. “It’s not about his social life. It’s about how well he works with others. Many of our operations involve partnerships or big teams and I’ve heard other agents say he’s not the best team player. He’s been told to work on it, but I was curious if he’d been putting in any noticeable effort.”

She nodded her head, finally understanding. “Like I said, he’s been very professional around me. But it’s possible he behaves differently out in the field, so I can only comment on what I know.”

“Of course!” He opened that notebook again and scribbled something else down. “Now I hate to toss you out, but I have an important meeting with Agent Mentallis in a few minutes and I’d like some time to eat my breakfast before he gets here.”

“Oh!” Milla levitated herself out of the chair and floated a few inches above the floor. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

As she turned around to leave, Truman added one last comment: “Don’t worry too much about Sasha, alright? He’s not going to get in trouble, I’m just looking out for him.”

She turned her head and nodded, continuing towards the tunnel and almost running into Agent Mentallis on her way. He smiled and greeted her casually, and then she levitated back down to the Nerve Center where there were a dozen agents floating around and talking. Three that caught Milla’s eye were Agents Forsythe, 33, and someone she didn’t recognize.

Agent Forsythe noticed Milla immediately. “Agent Vodello! Come over here.”

Milla plopped to the floor, staring at the senior agent and feeling suddenly nervous. She walked over as fast as her legs would take her. “Um…yes?”

“I need your assistance on a mission,” Agent Forsythe said quickly, levitating a sheet of paper into Milla’s hands. “We leave in ten minutes.”

“That’s…fast,” Milla said out loud and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Agent Forsythe raised an eyebrow at her. “I can always find someone else.”

“No, no! I’ll go grab a coffee and meet you outside!” Milla quickly levitated out of the room and rushed towards the Noodle Bowl. The coffee there wasn’t particularly good, but it was enough to get her through the day. And though Milla respected Agent Forsythe, the woman was terribly intimidating. She’d need the extra boost.

It took her less than seven minutes to get her coffee and make her way to the outside of the Motherlobe, where Agent Forsythe and Agent 33 were just starting to make their way into the jet. Milla followed obediently - she had very little information about this mission, but was too eager to pass up an opportunity to work alongside Agent Forsythe.

As the older woman started the jet, Milla sat down not far from Agent 33, whom she’d never really had the pleasure of spending much time with. Agent 33 was known for her secrecy and didn’t socialize much with other agents. But Milla liked to get to know people.

Before she could reach out a hand for their first real greeting, 33 surprised Milla by reaching out first. “Have we met before?”

“Not officially,” Milla answered, shaking her head. She took a moment to think about how she’d introduce herself - her time at the Motherlobe had been interesting, thanks to Sasha’s mispronunciation and her being too nervous to correct him. Most people within the Psychonauts pronounced her name as Sasha had, and though it’d grown on her over the past month…it was still strange. Her nickname, however, sounded very cute with the mispronunciation, and she’d been trying to get more people to use that. It could be difficult to force a nickname, but she figured she was still new enough to try. “Milla. Milla Vodello,” she said finally, grabbing 33’s hand back.

“You can call me 33,” the other woman answered. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but I really don’t like giving out my real name unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“It’s understandable. From what I’ve read, life as a Psychonaut can be dangerous,” Milla responded thoughtfully.

“It certainly can,” Agent Forsythe said, joining the two of them and taking a seat across from them. “You two are briefed on the basic information, right?”

Milla frowned, remembering the piece of paper that was handed to her earlier. She’d glanced at it, but then got so distracted by the idea of coffee that she hadn’t bothered to read the thing in full. It was burning a hole in her pocket and she felt terribly, awfully nervous as she thought about what to say next.

Agent 33 cut in with her own answer. “Small town - I forget the name. Bunch of people claiming to have weird dreams all featuring the same man. There's not a lot of information to go on, so what’s the game plan?”

Forsythe was writing something down in a small notebook. “We’re just information gathering at this point. 33 - I want you down there, acting as a citizen. Get them to trust us so they’ll tell us what’s going on. Vodello - you’ll be with me. We’re asking simple, non-invasive questions. Get them to describe the man, describe what he does in the dream, describe anything strange they’ve noticed while awake. Keep it relatively simple, don’t go overboard. Got it?”

33 gave a thumbs up and Milla nodded slowly, feeling like she was playing catch-up. At least she understood what the assignment was. “How long until we arrive?”

“Shouldn’t be long. Ten more minutes, maybe, then we’ll have to hoof it into town so the people don’t freak out about the jet.” Agent Forsythe sighed and wrote a few more things down in her notebook. “Do either of you have any questions?”

There was one question on Milla’s mind. It was possible that Agent Forsythe had chosen her for this mission simply because she was in the right place at the right time. But it also felt like she’d been specifically chosen for the task, and she didn’t quite understand why. Agent Mentallis giving her an assignment because she’s photogenic was one thing, but she really hoped Agent Forsythe wasn’t only bringing her along because people found her easy to talk to.

She had a lot more to offer the Psychonauts than that, after all. “I do, actually. Um…”

The two other agents stared at her, 33 filing her nails with a file she’d pulled out of thin air. Agent Forsythe raised a curious eyebrow. “Spit it out, then.”

“...why exactly did you ask me to come along? Just because I was walking by?”

Agent Forsythe tilted her head, seemingly surprised by the question. Then she glanced over at Agent 33, who proceeded to get up and walk to the front of the jet, giving them a semblance of privacy. “Not at all. I specifically wanted your insights here, Agent Vodello.”

“My insights?” Milla pouted, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve read your file - I’d consider you a nightmare expert, and this situation could quickly turn ugly if things go the way I expect them to. I’m hoping your experiences with nightmares will help us identify any warning signs or anything that could indicate some kind of nightmare contagion or epidemic.”

Milla felt her mind grow cold for a moment. Of all the responses she expected, that was certainly not one of them. Agent Forsythe knew about her history, at least parts of it, and brought it up so casually in a way that Truman never had. It was shocking, and slightly off-putting…but also weirdly cathartic. Knowing that her traumatic experiences could actually lead to her helping people who needed it was nice. Like the terrible, awful things she went through weren’t completely in vain.

“O-oh,” Milla answered finally. “Well…then I hope you’re right. I’m happy to help.”

Forsythe gave her a little nod, then stood up to join Agent 33 at the helm.

Milla sat there on the bench in the middle of the jet, feeling out-of-place. She’d gone on a handful of large group missions, trained one-on-one with other agents on occasion, and she’d been preparing herself for the two-to-three group missions that Psychonauts were so well-known for. But actually being a part of it was strange. She wondered if Agent Forsythe even realized that this was her first time on a real, covert Psychonauts assignment.

“We’re just about there,” Agent Forsythe announced, taking a seat to manually land the jet. “Are you both ready?”

Milla looked up to find Agent Forsythe and Agent 33 standing there, confident-as-ever - but 33 looked like a completely different person than the last time Milla had seen her. Which was only a few minutes earlier. It was ridiculous how skilled the woman was at disguising herself.

“I’m ready, Agent Forsythe,” Milla finally said.

x

The mission took a lot longer than Milla had expected.

By the time they’d arrived back at the Motherlobe, it was almost one o’clock - and in all her excitement, Milla had forgotten to say anything to Agent Nein before they’d left. After giving her quick goodbyes to Agents Forsythe and 33, she rushed towards the classroom despite being almost two hours late.

The room was empty. He wasn’t there. Milla frowned and almost smacked herself on the head - of course he wasn’t there! Why the hell would he sit around waiting for hours? He was a busy man with things to do.

So her next stop was across the lobby and up to his office. The aquarium distracted her for a moment, but in that same moment, Sasha Nein began making his way towards the lobby and also passed by the aquarium, though he was staring at his watch instead of paying attention to where he was walking. Milla turned around just in time to stop him from bumping into her. She placed her hands against his shoulders to steady him.

His hands moved down almost instinctively, and hovered over her hips for a brief moment before he pulled them back, just as Milla pulled her hands off of him. He seemed confused, but more about her presence than anything else.

“Agent Nein!”

“Agent Vodello,” he said casually, as if she hadn’t stood him up a few hours earlier.

“I-I’m so sorry.” Milla ran her fingers through her hair, feeling embarrassed. “Agent Forsythe asked me to join her on an assignment and I didn’t realize how long it would take. I feel absolutely terrible, I really hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Sasha shrugged, clearly unbothered. “It’s fine. You should always take any opportunity to work with Agent Forsythe. She can teach you a lot - more than I can, certainly.”

He continued on his path towards the lobby and Camilla floated beside him, hands clasped in front of her chest. “I still feel bad for not telling you. Could I at least buy you a coffee to make it up to you?”

Sasha stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her, curious about her response. He honestly didn’t mind that she’d missed their meeting time - he’d taken a half hour or so and just worked on organizing his mind. The classroom was peaceful, away from the hustle and bustle of the lobby or the Nerve Center, and he liked the quiet. She should’ve told him, sure, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

She was so apologetic though, and he almost felt bad that he didn’t care as much as she’d expected him to. He might’ve been a little disappointed more than anything, but he didn’t think there was any reason to inform her of that.

Getting coffee with her - in the Noodle Bowl, publicly, in front of so many other people - even just the concept made him feel nervous. Sasha took a deep breath, though he really just wanted another cigarette, and considered the offer. Her timing was good, since he had, in fact, been on his way to the Noodle Bowl for lunch. But he was worried other people would…notice them. He didn’t really enjoy being noticed, and Camilla always attracted the attention of others.

Sasha went back and forth on how to answer her for what felt like millenia (though was actually less than a second), and finally decided that he didn’t give a shit what other people thought. He enjoyed spending time with her and even if he didn’t - she was making the offer as professional courtesy and it would be rude of him to dismiss it.

“I was actually headed to lunch if you’d like to join me,” Sasha answered, finally, trying to remain cool despite the itch he felt inside his chest.

Camilla smiled brightly and clapped her hands together. “That’d be perfect! I’m buying!” she said enthusiastically, levitating ahead of him.

He followed behind her, awkwardly trying to keep up the same pace while walking. Though he’d never be as naturally talented at it as she was, Sasha knew he needed to spend more time working on his levitation skills. Generally it wasn’t an ability that he put much thought into, but Camilla was giving him a new perspective on it.

It was a little late for lunch, so the Noodle Bowl wasn’t as crowded as usual. Which eased Sasha’s nerves slightly, though he was completely aware of the eyes that locked onto him and Agent Vodello when they entered the room together. It wasn’t everyone, of course, but there were at least two or three people in the room that were paying more attention to them than necessary.

Camilla either didn’t notice them or didn’t care - going through the line, grabbing her rice bowl that contained a ridiculous amount of cilantro, and levitating over to one of the two-person tables by the windows.

He followed her, mostly silent, nodding or giving an affirmative hum when she asked him simple questions about his food or drink preferences. He wasn’t used to eating with someone else.

A moment after he set his tray down, Camilla perked up with a pointer finger in the air. “Oops, forgot to get a drink!”

“I’ll get it for you. What would you like?”

“Just a water please!” she answered with a sweet smile.

Sasha nodded and walked back towards the café line. He knew he could just telekinetically grab two waters, but it always felt strange to use his psychic powers in those types of situations. Not every employee working in the Motherlobe had such abilities, after all. He had no reason to show off or make anyone feel ostracized.

He grabbed the water bottles and turned back around to find Camilla chatting with Agent Forsythe, who’d apparently appeared out of nowhere. Not wanting to interrupt, Sasha headed back slowly (but not too slowly, since he was curious about the conversation).

“You should be hearing from Truman soon with more information.”

“Thank you for telling me, Agent Forsythe! And thank you again for bringing me along.”

Agent Forsythe gave the younger woman a small smile. “I think we worked well together, Milla. I’ll make sure it happens more often.” And with that, she walked away, giving Sasha a brief nod when she noticed him.

Sasha took his seat and handed one water to Camilla, more interested in their conversation than his meal. “Seems like you made a good impression this morning.”

Agent Vodello chuckled in response, a charming blush against her cheeks. “I guess so! I don’t want to jinx anything.”

He took a sip of his water. “You know, she’d probably be happy to train with you in her free time,” he suggested casually.

“Ohh, but I really like your style,” Camilla said with a forkful of food in front of her mouth. She took a moment to eat it before adding, “You’re very easy to train with! I felt like I learned a lot after just one session.”

Sasha’s itching need for a cigarette came back, and he decided not to ignore it this time. He wondered if she realized how much of a compliment that was - his style of training and teaching was frequently dismissed by other Psychonauts. Hearing someone as lively and kind as Camilla Vodello saying she felt like his methods were effective was certainly enough to make him blush. Unable to fight the urge any longer, he quickly grabbed a new cigarette and almost missed the woman in front of him flinch when he lit the end.

Probably related to her issues with pyrokinesis, he surmised. If she had an issue, he was sure she’d say something to him.

“And there it is,” Camilla commented quietly with a smirk on her face.

“I- um…” Sasha cleared his throat and took a nice, long drag. “I also thought yesterday went well. You seem to learn quickly and it’s nice to, ah…be listened to.” He paused for a moment, then added, “A-and thank you.”

She smiled again, thanked him quickly and then took a minute to focus on her food. The food at the Noodle Bowl wasn’t particularly good, but it wasn’t the worst. No one seemed to possess the psychic ability to put together extravagant meals, but discounted and perfectly edible meals were certainly good enough for him. He recalled that there used to be a restaurant or two across the Quarry, but they’d been closed for some time. Not enough customers around to bother keeping any place open.

They chatted while they ate - about Brazil, and about Germany, and about Oleander and Forsythe and Truman - and Sasha was both mortified and embarrassed to learn that an hour had gone by without him noticing. He was about to cut them off and say he needed to get back to work when they were interrupted again.

“Milla!”

They both turned to see Agent Forsythe again, just on the other side of the Noodle Bowl. Sasha noted that she’d called her Milla again, so it wasn’t just his ears playing a trick on him earlier. A nickname from Hollis Forsythe was unexpected, he felt. She’d always been a very formal, professional woman.

“Truman wants to talk to us now, so finish up and I’ll see you and 33 in his office ASAP.”

Camilla gave the woman a thumbs up before turning back to Sasha with a guilty, toothy smile. “I’m so sorry to cut this off so suddenly, but this was fun! We should do it again sometime.”

When he’d run into Camilla outside Agent Mentallis’ lab the day before, Sasha had assumed she’d offered to make plans with him just because she was a polite person following normal social graces. After their lunch, however, he was comfortable accepting the fact that she genuinely wanted to spend time with him again. And not just professionally, as he was more used to, but socially. It was strange, but left a pleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach.

It’d been a long time since he actually made a friend. And he didn’t want to screw it up by assuming too much, but he also wanted to make sure she understood that he enjoyed socializing with her. So he tapped his fingers on the small table between them and responded with, “It’s no problem, I should get back to work anyway. And, uh…yes, we should. Maybe Friday?”

“Friday I promised to eat lunch with Kim, but how about Monday?” she answered quickly, standing up and brushing her dress down.

“That’s fine with me.”

“Perfect!” Camilla smiled again and grabbed her tray. “If there’s time, maybe we can train afterwards, too!”

Sasha grabbed the edge of his sunglasses and adjusted them slightly, still deciding if he wanted to try being casual and cool. He did, he did. It was just difficult to build himself up to it. “I’d like that. I’ll see you around…Milla.”

She responded with a small smirk and a twinkle in her eyes that told Sasha he’d definitely made the right decision in copying Agent Forsythe’s nickname. The smile didn’t leave her face even as she levitated out of the room, ceremoniously dumping her tray with telekinesis to save time. He watched her go and then the room suddenly felt very cold and empty as he turned back to how he was sitting before.

He looked down at his food. It was barely eaten - he’d been so engrossed in their conversation that he’d forgotten the entire reason he came to the lunchroom in the first place, apparently.

There was a light tinge of pink on his cheeks as he quickly ate his (unfortunately, room temperature) food. Camilla - er, Milla, as he would start to think of her - had the potential to be very distracting for him. Sasha hoped their new friendship would soon feel normal for him and he could quickly settle back into his regular routine.

In the following days, Sasha found himself hyper aware of Milla anytime they were both in the lobby. Even if they were on opposite sides or in two distinctly different conversations, his eyes would be drawn to her for at least a moment, and then his thoughts would be stuck on her for an embarrassing amount of time. It was…not unpleasant. But not pleasant, either. He felt like he was breaking some rule he didn’t know about, which didn’t make much sense since they were, technically speaking, friendly with one another. Friends, she might even say.

Friends.

It was Thursday morning and she was on the other side of the lobby again. In an animated conversation with two other Psychonauts, not paying attention to the lanky, green man standing by the mural of the Psychic 6 and trying his best not to stare at her.

Sasha pushed up his sunglasses and glared down at Morry, who’d been ranting to him for the past few minutes about young people and how little respect they had for their elders anymore. Sasha didn’t interact with enough young people to have any opinion on the subject, though he was sure Oleander was just referencing an article he’d read in the newspaper. He was a man who often got angry about things he’d read, whether or not it was true or had any affect on him whatsoever wasn’t important.

As Morry moved onto something else, Sasha’s thoughts wandered back to Milla. She was wearing a dress today that he’d never seen her in before, which made him wonder about how many dresses she owned. They were all so bright and colorful, which he usually didn’t enjoy, but the colors always complimented her.

“Nein, I swear to God, if you tuned out everything I just said, I’ll smack you silly,” Oleander threatened, bringing Sasha’s thoughts back to him.

Sasha responded by crossing his arms over his chest. “Your oatmeal was too sweet and you had to throw it out. You got a birthday card from your uncle, but it’s been four months since your birthday. You’re thinking about getting a new car, but are worried about paying off another loan. Did I miss anything important?”

Morceau glared harder and raised a fist at the man in front of him. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you, you- you incompetent Kraut?”

Sasha rolled his eyes, having been called similar things by his coworker plenty of times over the years. It could’ve been worse. “Well. I certainly don’t think of myself as dumb.”

“I certainly don’t think of myself as dumb!” Morry responded in a mocking tone. “C’mon, Nein. Don’t play coy with me. If you wanna stare at Vodello like a creep, then tell me! I’ll be your wingman!”

Mortified, but refusing to outwardly show it, Sasha responded by tightening his grip on his arms and straightening his back, making him even taller than the height-challenged agent that was so delighted to point out something so embarrassing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious, Morry,” he said sternly. “I don’t want you making her uncomfortable.”

Oleander laughed and then playfully punched Sasha in the arm, though it hurt more than he likely intended. “If anyone was gonna make her uncomfortable, it’d probably be the one staring at her like a watchdog!”

“Morry.”

“What? What?” Morceau glared. “You still can’t take a joke, huh?”

Sasha sighed, trying to stall while he thought of a reasonable explanation for his own behavior. He didn’t really have an actual explanation, if he was being honest, but he needed to come up with something to keep Oleander off his back and prevent the man from saying anything weird to Milla. He didn’t have a lot of friends and he’d be ashamed of himself if he managed to lose this one so quickly.

As he thought about that, he finally took note of who exactly Milla was talking to across the room - it was Agents Forsythe and 33, again. In fact, he frequently saw Milla with one or both of them, which he assumed was related to whatever case they were working on. A case which, for some reason, he’d not been brought into.

It was taking multiple missions and multiple meetings and multiple days - normally Sasha was included on any larger assignments like that, since he’d been with the Psychonauts for so long. But instead, Vodello and 33 were the ones that’d been recruited for it. Which was fine, honestly, but he didn’t really understand why he was being excluded. It caught his attention in that moment, and also struck him as a perfectly good explanation to Morceau.

“Agent Vodello has been meeting with Agents Forsythe and 33 repeatedly this week. Often with Grand Head Zanotto as well,” Sasha explained quietly. “I’m simply curious what’s going on.”

“Sure, sure,” Morry responded - acting like he didn’t believe Sasha, but turning to stare at the three women on the other side of the lobby. He put a hand to his chin as he seemed to acknowledge that Sasha was telling the truth. “It’s probably got somethin’ to do with this nightmare problem.”

“Nightmare problem?”

“Yeah. I don’t know the details, just heard some agents chatting about it earlier.” Morry shrugged. “Some nearby town is getting all nightmare-crazed and no one knows why.”

Sasha gave an affirmative hum as his response, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing over at Milla again. Though this time, his eyes landed on Forsythe - who was staring right back at him. He quickly turned to Morceau and cleared his throat. “I should get back to work. Let me know if you find out any details about this.”

“I’ll ask around, but some of us have camp planning to work on!” Morry answered with a wag of his finger. “We can’t all just sit in our offices, twiddling our thumbs all day!”

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind next time I need you for anything,” Sasha responded with a roll of his eyes, and then he quickly levitated towards his office.

When Monday afternoon rolled around, Sasha had been helping Agent Mentallis set up one of his new Otto-Matic devices in the lobby when he noticed Milla again. She’d had to cancel their lunch for another sudden mission with Agent Forsythe and he ended up spending the late afternoon with his mentor instead. It was certainly not a waste of time, so he didn’t mind, but his thoughts kept drifting to this nightmare-related situation that he wasn’t being apprised of.

Milla noticed him quickly after she drifted into the room, and she shot Sasha a quick wave before following Forsythe and 33 to the Nerve Center. Sasha waved back in a way that he hoped looked relaxed and not awkward like he felt, but based on Agent Mentallis’ reaction, he had a feeling it did not.

“That’s the girl who stood you up for two dates in a row, right?” the older man asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

Sasha sighed and reached into his pocket for a cigarette, as he often did when Agent Mentallis made his little jokes and comments. “Not dates. And she was called for an assignment.”

“Right, of course.” He turned back to his machine, which wasn’t turning on no matter how many times he pressed the power button. “Oleander tells me you’ve been staring at her. I sure hope that’s not true!”

“Wh-? Why in the world would you two-?!” Sasha had to take a drag of his cigarette before he got too frustrated. He didn’t understand gossip. He’d never understand it. Gathering information was important, but talking about office interpersonal relationships was not. “I already explained to him that I’ve been trying to learn more about the missions she and Agent Forsythe keep going on.”

“Oh, yeah. Something to do with a nightmare town, right?” Agent Mentallis asked, still trying to press the power button.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” Sasha levitated around the side of the Otto-Matic, not completely surprised to find the plug laying on the ground next to the outlet. He sighed and telekinetically plugged it in.

“Hey! Would you look at that?” Agent Mentallis shouted as the device finally turned on. “This is gonna revolutionize things for you active agents, I promise you that!”

Sasha smoked his cigarette again, happy that Agent Mentallis was too distracted by his machinery to continue their conversation. He was quite tired of people making assumptions about his intentions with Agent Vodello. He didn’t have any intentions besides attempting to be her friend and he hoped that no one was suggesting otherwise to her.

“And, y’know, Sasha…” the older man added suddenly. “You could always try asking her out first. It’s easier than you’d think!”

“Gott in Himmel,” Sasha groaned. He really thought he’d gotten out of that conversation unscathed. “You are ridiculous, you realize that?”

He laughed in response and smacked the side of his Otto-Matic when the audio briefly stopped working. “An old man like myself has to find ways to entertain himself.”

“I’d stick to the machines if I were you.” Sasha glanced to the side and noticed Agent Forsythe emerge from the Nerve Center alone - she turned and headed towards the new wing, likely to get something from her office. He looked between her and Agent Mentallis, then decided he needed to man up and just ask her directly what was going on. “I’m going to go talk to Agent Forsythe. Do you need anything else from me?”

“You’re not reporting me, are you?” Agent Mentallis asked, feigning shock. “I bet Hollis would be happy to kick me outta here. She says I’m expensive!”

Sasha rolled his eyes. “No, Agent Mentallis. I’m going to ask her about this nightmare situation.” He started to walk towards the other side of the lobby. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye-bye, Nein!” Agent Mentallis responded, attention fully back on his Otto-Matic since the sound cut out again. He grumbled and smacked the side of it. “It was working fine in my lab! He better not’ve damaged it on the way here…”

As he worked on that, a certain yellow-skinned, red-haired agent was absentmindedly trying to read a magazine while sitting on a nearby couch when she decided to give up and just sighed loudly instead. She’d been eavesdropping on the conversation between Agents Mentallis and Nein, and she was so, so curious about what they’d been talking about.

It sounded like Sasha Nein had some kind of little crush on Milla Vodello. And that was a juicy piece of information that she wished she could tell somebody about.

Unfortunately, the last two people she’d attempted to gossip with had both complained and threatened to report her. So she sat there, alone, thinking about how nice it would be to have someone to talk back and forth with. Someone who understood how much fun it was to pay attention.

With another sigh, Sherri leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. She really needed a gossip buddy.

x

He caught up with Agent Forsythe as she was exiting her new office, and Sasha was glad that barely anyone used that hallway yet. Personally, he would’ve preferred to confront her in the confines of a room with a closed door, but he’d have to settle for a slightly public setting instead.

“Agent Forsythe.”

She looked up from the stack of papers in her hands and paused upon seeing him, plopping her feet back onto the ground. “Agent Nein. What’s going on?”

He stood firmly in front of her, holding his ground. It was true that Agent Forsythe could be intimidating, but he'd known her for over half a decade. He had to speak freely with her at some point. “I have something I need to discuss with you.”

Agent Forsythe stayed silent for a few moments, clearly waiting for him to continue. When he didn't start talking again, she responded. “Did you want to go to my office first, or…?”

“No. This is fine.” Sasha mentally berated himself for being so nervous. “It's about these missions you've been going on over the past week.”

“Ohhh, I see.” Agent Forsythe put a hand on her hip and shook her head. “Milla mentioned something about missing a lunch with you, but I need her for this, so you'll just have to wait a few more days ‘til we get this sorted out.”

Sasha took a deep breath, trying to ease the embarrassment of her assumptions. “No, that's not what I-!” He moved a hand to the side of his head, massaging a growing headache. “It's not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“This nightmare situation has continued for over a week past its initial assignment. I've noticed several meetings between you, Vodello, 33, and Grand Head Zanotto, which has led me to believe the situation has only gotten worse.” Sasha adjusted his sunglasses, as he often did when he felt like he'd been talking for too long. “Agent Vodello is a perfectly capable agent, I'm sure, but she's extremely new to this organization. I've been here for years. Why haven’t I been brought onto this assignment?”

Having spoken his peace, Sasha stuffed his hands into his pockets and hoped that he didn't get scolded for speaking out of turn. He wouldn't regret asking even if he did, but the thought of verbal punishment like that made the back of his neck sweaty.

“That's what this is about?” Agent Forsythe glanced at the clock on the wall, then looked back at him. “Agent Vodello is an expert with nightmares - her file is loaded with her history of fighting and containing them. I brought her into this because I thought her experience would make it a simple first mission.”

Sasha felt himself deflate a little. He didn't know that about Milla. He probably wasn't supposed to know that. “...oh.”

“You, on the other hand, need to be available in case something bigger comes up,” she continued. “Yes, the nightmare situation is…problematic. But it's contained within a small town - population less than two thousand. When a larger psychic problem inevitably comes up somewhere else in the world, I want you here and ready to take it on.”

Somehow, Agent Forsythe managed to make Sasha feel like both a fool and an irreplaceable member of their organization in one fell swoop. “I see. That…makes perfect sense.”

“I didn't think I’d need to update you on that,” Forsythe added. “But if you need more work to do, I know Oleander needs a lot of help with his big summer camp project.”

Sasha pushed his sunglasses up and shook his head. “No, I've got plenty. Just…wanted to know what was going on, is all.”

“Well, now you know.” Agent Forsythe levitated up into the air and floated past him. “Keep your eyes peeled, Nein. It's been a slow few weeks, which means psychic problems are just waiting to reveal themselves.”

He watched her float away and sighed again, feeling like a bit of a dope. Not only had he questioned a superior, but he'd inadvertently suggested that Agent Vodello wasn't important enough to be on missions that he wasn't on. What kind of friend did that make him?

And now he also knew that she was some sort of…nightmare expert.

Sasha’s thoughts drifted to little things she'd told him about her life prior to the Psychonauts, and his mind stalled when he started to think about the pain a powerful nightmare could bring to an otherwise healthy mind.

If he'd thought she was distracting before, Sasha knew it was just going to get worse.