#I like my descriptors and it just so happens that I don't want to make plan deaths becuse I need the SYMBOLISIM!!!!

[pineapple-cheese-bread]

Me: *Talking to my Coworker about Fractured Timeline and how I'm excited to write it*

Them: Oh can I read it when you finish writting it?

Me: *Not really thinking about it* Yeah!

a few weeks later

Me: *Staring at the google doc for the double life section as I write the finale few deaths of the game, * He, Maybe I should have thought about my answer a bit more.

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.3k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone will be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone is brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely can't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise is needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lack yourself—otherwise, they won't last a second with Gojo.

It'll be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also don't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else can take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there she goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she can't handle him but because she's your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually care about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she doesn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on, trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else. Burdening her is simply out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'?" and she tilts her head, "You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really have to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she can is her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or are Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth is killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach puts the final nail in the coffin as she reminds you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you need help would be silly because technically it's true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break forever ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It would be better than nothing because if you can't function, Gojo can't be cared for.

So, who better to help bridge that gap for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock ever since you started at the ward, having your back and sticking with you through tough times when staff constantly dips in and out of the facility like a rotating door, unable to handle the job.

Yuko's a real day one, and next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patients in check.

When you really think about it, it'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest." She's too kind and right in more ways than one. "Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend?"

You roll your eyes—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

Not knowing whether to joke back or wave her off, you softly smile at her concern before nodding, vowing to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges, almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks that hog the interstate, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheery, nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers and lull you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of his melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the bubbles and get out when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from the noise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike sweep into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body says nothing is. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out and head straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you're used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you need to. The truth is painfully clear, and it's disrespectful to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, your heart beating into your ears and making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth suddenly becoming dry when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you before attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a train.

Someone as kind as her, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil is still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to help you figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, breaking your shock and drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and the stares are intense. Confusion and judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

Whether the murmurs are real or in your head, the effect is all the same, and you wish you could just completely vanish. Standing like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

But Gojo is brimming with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. Daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face that makes you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, there's something...uncertain lurking behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knows he's done something wrong.

Yet, words escape you, as if anything needs to or even could be said. But soon, fear and guilt turn to anger, threatening to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust because you are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself. Holding back tears because you know what you've done.

Your fists clench, unsure how to deal with it, but there's fire in your eyes because someone needs to pay.

But then you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at what happened the last time you decided to take things into your own hands. All of your actions, even now, are rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

Pushing down the knot growing in your stomach, you turn away to follow the medics, deciding your friend needs you more than you need revenge. Gojo doesn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it means risking your job or life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbers thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained making you nervous. You don't anyone else to get hurt and Gojo is fully exploiting that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm. But it's obviously a losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

Seeing no one else in the room, his eyes are locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it won't be enough. The goddamn military wouldn't be enough. Gojo is...the strongest, after all.

"Stop."

Your cry freezes the room. Everything goes silent.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you silently apologize to Yuko, swallowing a lump instead of looking back.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic. But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes with surprise, amazement even, before smiling.

The submission in your voice sounds better than anything he could ever imagine. A sweet tones that feed his already inflated ego.

Unsure of how to proceed, the guards exchange uneasy glances.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, that much is evident, and restraining him forever is simply not possible.

You know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this is your doing. Your mess to clean up.

So you squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling at the guards to let him go. They hesitate a second, then reluctantly agree, stepping back and leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe, hating to have to look at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. For yourself. And everyone else in the ward.

But Gojo's satisfied grin says it all. He's won this round.

You're ready to get the next over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head clean off if he wanted to.

Still, Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And you didn't need to ask why. The entire ward shoots daggers at you any time someone walks by now.

Your supervisor reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then she patted your back as if to say, "Lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding his half out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering as he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting. Taking a deep breath, you placed them both on your tongues, in disbelief at your reality, but Gojo's focus was elsewhere, not wasting this prime opportunity to rattle you more and taste you, closing his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed, no longer needing the water you had set aside, and a confusing mix of emotions churned as the tingles spread throughout your body.

Making good on his promise, he swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Like he knows what he does to you. And despite just witnessing this man's violence firsthand, you'd give anything to deny that he still has an effect on you. Hating yourself for being more concerned with the way he looked at you and the lingering sensation on your skin than the tranquilizer now coursing through your system.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you, followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo, a stereotypical warning lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers and laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, the keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around and face him, furious. What would be better? Slapping him, kicking him, or knocking his teeth out. Or should you be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water and you let it rain down. None of the above will do you any good, but it'll show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny," it fumes out before you know you're speaking, "You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend." Your rage echos through the vast bathroom.

Gojo's laugh fades, his smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches. You’re fully positive you must be dreaming.

But when he doesn’t make a joke or even crack a smile, you squint at him.

The words are muttered and reluctant, but there they are, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races as you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for, but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue than to waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Fuck, you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that, stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he ever truly means them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns and overshadows your doubts, twisting your stomach into knots with that familiar smile of his.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it is, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind at the moment other than frustration because you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another lame joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." and he winks.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory, a fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now—because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands; the evidence of him not as invincible as he seems is jarring. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. Still, it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers as it fills the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away, and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and you feel sick for even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward and lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water, but the rustling sound of his shirt being pulled overhead and pants falling to the ground warms your cheeks.

His physique certainly isn't lacking, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, shamefully darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. How cute, he thinks, trying to hide away your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you toss in his loofah. "Well...go on. It's ready." But Gojo only grins, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Relishing in the fact that he still manages to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the conflict swirling in your stuttering heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he refuses to stop playing. Everything is always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by the sound of splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. Picking up a handful, he actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away, and his pale eyes flutter and settle on you in a curious way.

His arms flex as he leans over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with that ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him still being so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with suds.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster, and you're still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

Then again, this is what you signed up for...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption some sort of redemption no matter how sick and twisted the person in need is.

With your loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today and keep your morals in mind. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before proceeding to do your job.

Gently washing his back, he sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of raised marks between the foam, and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to his dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won, the evidence of his past before corruption—everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

You've never really noticed because this level of care is another first for you. Usually, Gojo just hops into the shower and takes care of himself while you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably ends up stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs while making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his stomach, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery for this monster so he can handle this himself again.

You ignore his comment and try to get this over with as quickly as possible, feeling humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

God, please make him shut up, begging for relief so you won't scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

It feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" His velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, and down his sides, the rhythm almost hypnotic and making his head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, but you're losing the battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

And fuck, he has to bite his lip at your touch that suddenly feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself, and one that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again, setting a new record as you're hit not once, but twice in a day. The loofah slips from your hand as you instinctively reach up to shield yourself, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream is ready to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand, placing a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." A lone droplet hangs from your eyelash and he swipes it. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, your nerves on fire as you're forced into close proximity with him for the second time today, inches away from his face that gradually softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better too but he never felt threatened in the first place. Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach, and his finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

His eyes flicker to your bottom lip. "You're so good at your job, Nurse," smoothly pulling it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to me, let alone deal with me, and yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel. "You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of this.

Hesitating, you're unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will do against me then, hmm?" Gojo knows he's a prodigy, but still manages to surprise himself sometimes, his eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter, and he can almost feel a prick from the daggers in your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that," he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

His head slightly tilts.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God, I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing, but instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark, wondering what his idea of "fun" is like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, burning hot between your legs instead.

Fuck, you have to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. With a gruff, you lower to your knees, beginning to dry the floor of his messes and hoping to distract yourself from your questionable sanity.

The sounds of rustling fabric fill the chamber as he dries off, and once you figure it's safe, you look up to find a nude Gojo. Dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

A sliver of your midriff peeked out as you stood on your toes to reach it, but what captured Gojo's attention most was the way the sun rays washed over your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of your strands between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your reaction was...odd.

Not only was this the first time anyone cared to do something so simple for Gojo, but it was also the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict. Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then, you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound, so natural and pure without hesitation. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again. "Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?" he sighed.

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward then, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off, and who could blame her?

You were an anomaly, Gojo already showed that he was capable of mercy and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova," she teased, clearing her throat with a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way Gojo stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you couldn't feel more conflicted, scrambling to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall, taking deep breaths and completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

This force that keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, and Yuko flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurker in the shadows watching and anticipating your every move. Have you become predictable? Now you're wondering if you could do something he wouldn't expect.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You're scrolling through your phone on a deep-diving, scouring the web for any info on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

But the man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible, conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They've damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own mind. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax as sleep eludes you and your mind wanders to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to see him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[thezombieprostitute]

Royal Pain

Summary: You talked back to Ransom and now you're getting married to him!

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Bad parents, Fat shaming, Insecure reader. Please let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.

"You've done so well!" you're father beams.

"I... I have?" You'd been expecting a lecture on your bad manners. A reminder that you are supposed to take insults from those of a higher standing with a show of grace.

"Normally I'd consider your actions disgraceful," he admits. "But because of Duke Drysdale's response, and Prince Rogers' rebuke of said response, Dutchess Drysdale has offered us a marriage with her son as an apology!"

Your jaw drops.

"Close your mouth before you draw flies, my dear."

You shake your head to clear your shock. "I'm...to be married. To Duke Drysdale?"

"Yes! And our family will rise in the ranks as a result."

"But he's awful!" you argue. "Ransom publicly humiliated me. He's clearly not going to want this marriage, either."

"Oh nonsense," your father dismisses. "He'll settle into just like you will. Just like your mother and I. Just like his parents. It's how things are done. Now, we've got a week to prepare for the initial courting. Make sure you don't embarrass the family name by sulking about it."

"Yes, father."

"You have got to be shitting me!" Ransom shouts at his mother.

"You made a scene at the King's gala!" Linda objected.

"How was it a scene? It was just banter?!"

"You insulted a woman from a good family and stormed off when she hit back! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was?! The Prince had to pull you aside! At a public setting!"

"And how is forcing a marriage between us going to help anyone?!"

"It's an apology to her family by bringing them up a level in the social standings. They've already agreed to it on her behalf "

"This is bullshit!"

"I thought it's what you wanted! You wouldn't stop talking about her so I figured she was of interest to you. I'd never heard you talk about anyone as much as you did her!"

"She's going to be an embarrassment! Have you seen her?"

"It's that kind of thinking that got you into this!" Linda yells, exasperation in every word. "It's time you learn that actions have consequences."

"Like you've ever had to deal with consequences," Ransom snorts.

"I've had to deal with your consequences for far too long! How do you think you've been able to get away with half the shit you do?"

Ransom crosses his arms and huffs

"This might be the best thing that could ever happen to you," Linda surmised. "You have your first courting in about a week and you will be on your best behavior and you will not embarrass this family again!"

Ransom sneers and storms out.

The restaurant is much more high class than you like. You're already going to be on edge about your weight because Ransom will be there, you don't need others commenting on your eating habits as well. Sure you stood up to Ransom but you'd had exhaustion and a bit of alcohol to help with that. And a certainty that you'd never have to be around him again. So much for that.

Rather than picking you up from your home, Ransom had agreed to meet you at the restaurant. Your father wanted to protest but you countered it would be easier on all parties for Ransom to have some wins. You're an adult, you can drive yourself.

Besides, it might help sell the the relationship as real. Linda Drysdale was one of the few women to not marry for a title. She fought hard for her father, the late Duke Harlan Thrombey, to pass his title to her instead of one of her brothers. So showing up to the date in your own car might spark some rumors about Linda approving of you. Or that Ransom has some serious mommy issues. Either way, you get a small win.

An arm wraps around yours as you approach the front entrance, startling you.

"Oh, did I scare you, sweetheart?" Ransom asked sarcastically. "That's bad for our image."

"And clearly so are bad manners," you rebut, plastering a fake smile on so no one could see your distaste. "Otherwise there's no way the Dutchess would approve of this union."

Ransom huffs, "yeah, she said something about consequences. I don't know. I wasn't really listening."

"You don't listen to others, yet you expect others to listen to you. Such a jackass." You keep your tone and body language playful only for the sake of the public watching you.

"What was that? I wasn't listening," he smirks.

"Oh, don't be afraid to ask for help remembering how to use silverware. I know your manners are rusty."

"I may be rude but I'm not an idiot," he growls through his own fake smile.

"Then how did you end up with me instead of one of those pretty girls hanging on your arm at the gala?" you ask, batting your eyelashes.

His retort is interrupted by the hostess. She smiles politely but you can see the judgement in her eyes. You're not good enough for him. Well, you don't look good enough for him. She does, so she's clearly better than you.

She leads you to a table that will afford you some privacy. Ransom holds the chair out for you, surprising you.

"Oh, thank you," you smile sincerely for the first time all night.

"Have to put on a good show," he grouses. "Can't have anyone doubting my manners."

"Still, thank you, Ransom."

It could just be the lighting, but you swear you see him blush a little. He takes his seat and opts to hide behind the menu. You take that as a sign he's not up for talking and opt to look over the menu for yourself.

You ask him, "just to make sure, will I also be paying for my own dinner?"

His jaw drops, "why the hell would you do that?"

"I'm just double checking," you retort. "Don't want to be embarrassed by accidentally dining and ditching."

"This is supposed to be a date," he growls.

"One I had to drive myself to," you shrug. "Didn't know if we were going halfsies on anything else."

Your argument is cut off by the waiter arriving. After they take your orders you breathe deep and face your "fiance".

"So---" You stop as Ransom rolls his eyes.

"Do we have to do this? Neither of us wants this, so why are we going along with it?"

"For the same reason we do anything we don't want to: our parents," you shrug.

He huffs at that. "Fair enough. If yours are anything like mine, we're stuck together."

"Yup."

An uncomfortable silence falls over you both, the only interruption in the form of your drinks arriving.

When the server steps away you ask, "when did you start hating me?"

"I didn't hate you until I was told I'd have to marry you. Before that I was simply looking for an easy target. You caught my eye "

"So you were checking me out," you smirk.

His jaw tightens, "that's not what happened."

"No, but considering the press, and how everyone knows about our fight, we have to come up with something. Saying I caught your eye is a good start. Just leave out the part where you felt immediate revulsion at the sight of me "

"If we have to have a story we can go the bullshit route of 'pulling your pigtails' because I didn't know how to express my interest," he sighs in annoyance.

"Good call," you nod. "People will eat that up."

For a second Ransom gives you a confused look before reverting back to his usual haughty facial expression. "Yeah, well, it's a pretty common one."

"Still..." you're met with an icy silence. "Alright, slight change in topic?"

"Do you always talk so much?"

"Only when there's a lot to talk about."

"What is there to say?" he whispers angrily. "We're set up to continue the tradition of unhappy marriages. What do we need to discuss that can't be handled by a public relations agent?"

"Just because the marriage is unhappy doesn't mean we have to be miserable," you shoot back, eyes hard. "We can negotiate some things between us regarding the living situation."

Ransom leans forward. To an outside observer it might look like he's getting a closer look at your eyes. But you can see the hate in his glare. "Separate rooms for when you're on your period or when you finally get pregnant. That way I don't have to deal with your hormonal bullshit."

"I can agree to that," you hit back with a smile. "Though I propose we hold off on an heir. That way we don't have to touch each other."

"You'll never get them to agree to that."

"Prince Rogers will soon be engaged, yes?" Ransom nods in confirmation. "Well if his wife gets knocked up right away, we wouldn't want to look like we're competing by having our own so soon, right? And if she doesn't, well we wouldn't want to be rude and draw attention to her fertility issues, would we?"

Ransom raises an eyebrow. "That's not bad. The problem is, I need sex."

"So get a mistress. Or a side piece."

"If I didn't have to keep my image clean, I would," he says through gritted teeth. "One blip of infidelity gets to my mother, I lose everything."

"Then hire someone?" you suggest. "They get paid to keep quiet, right?"

"I've tried that. Linda keeps too close an eye on the finances."

"Well then I'll guess you'll have to invest in lotion," you roll your eyes. He gives you a mean look and you scoff, "I'm not going to sleep with someone who thinks I look hideous."

Ransom rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "I never said that."

"So commenting on my size was just, what? Complimenting my resourcefulness in finding a designer who caters to plus size women?"

"I didn't..." Ransom scowls, biting his lower lip.

"And your lack of surprise at my relationship status? Was that simply congratulating me on avoiding an unhappy marriage for as long as I did?"

"It wasn't..." Ransom shakes his head.

"Because those ladies you were with certainly seemed to take it the same way I did. Maybe you should learn to communicate more clearly."

Ransom nearly slams his hand on the table, his teeth grinding in frustration, but you don't back away. You meet his rage fueled stare with your own. He's not the first person to look down on you, treat you as lesser, simply because of your figure. You won't bow down him just because he's your future husband.

The contest of wills is interrupted by your food being brought out. You smile and politely thank the server. Even Ransom gives a small nod, grateful for the break in tension.

"It seems like something we can agree on is that we each have a room for ourselves," you start. "A room where we can go and not be bothered by the other." Ransom nods, avoiding looking at you. "Do you know anything about our living situation after the wedding?"

"A smaller manor on my family's property," he states between bites. "Hasn't been used in some time so Linda's got crews looking it over for cleaning and upgrades."

"I'm going to guess we don't get a say in how the place looks?" You focus your gaze on your food. If he won't look at you, you won't look at him.

"I'll see about making sure we can add whatever furniture or decorations we want. But walls, flooring, whatever, that'll be all her."

"That's a relief," you nod. "Can we get a tour before the wedding?"

"I'm sure it can be arranged after it's cleaned up."

"Thank you for that," you nod.

Ransom lets out a heavy sigh, and you break your gaze away from your plate just in time to see traces of that same confused expression from earlier.

Tagging: @alicedopey ; @delicatebarness ; @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @irishhappiness ; @kmc1989; @lokislady82 ; @peaches1958 ; @ronearoundblindly; @theinheriteddutchess; @thiquefunlover63

[galaxy-fleur]

went through your blog and i just wanted to say i love how you characterize death island leon so much 🥹💝 he's so sweet and playful but not in an overbearing way, i love that. i know you don't take fic requests but i'd love to see anything more with him hehe 🌺

Thank you very much anon! You gave me just the motivation to finish up a self-indulgent vignette I wanted to get my hands on for a while... I wrote this with Leon somewhere in his forties in mind, but his personality is very much based on his DI era! And thank you to my bestie @thatpyramidthing for giving me the idea in the first place. Scruffy stubble Leon, my beloved.

~ 3k words, gender-neutral reader (no physical/gendered descriptors used, but there is a mention of hair being brushed!). A tad suggestive, some playfighting and tickling involved!

In your line of work, you two rarely had a true lazy day to indulge in. The type of lazy day to just relax and not worry about a single thing in the whole wide world. There was always something that could happen unannounced. Always something to keep in the back of your mind, just in case it might spring up on you when you least expect it. You had to be ready to leap straight to your feet at any time, at any place.

Nevertheless, today was a really pleasant - and really rare - exception to that pesky rule. Lounging around in bed and napping away like two tired work horses turned out to be far more appealing than a day out or even a fancy date night. Plus, Leon made quite the comfy pillow for you to lay on. To put it bluntly, it was a day of pure recharging for you two.

Sort of.

When you woke up from your third nap of the day, you found Leon lying comfortably on his back, his head resting against the pillow tucked under his arm, eyes fluttered closed, his other hand settled snuggly on your waist, holding you to him. You quickly glanced back at the electronic clock resting on the coffee table nearby, yawning as you gently withdrew from his chest to stretch your arms out a bit. Judging by the setting sun out in the window, time was shifting into evening hours now. Leon was quick to let out a deep sigh at your movement, his eyes blinking open to stare up at you with silent protest. Though, it was immediately interrupted by a yawn as a response to your own. He stretched out his arms slightly, much like a sleepy senior family dog would once it was rudely disturbed from its nap.

Sleepy Leon was a cute sight, one that elicited a small smile from you as you hummed: "Mm, it's 6 pm already..."

He blinked off the last of his drowsiness, staring up at the ceiling for a small while before returning your gaze again.

"Already this late, huh? Time flies," he remarked with a slight smirk pulling on his lips. He reached over and gently stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, a loving gesture. One that you reciprocated by leaning into his palm with a quiet, pleased noise vibrating in your throat. His fingers brushed over the apple of your cheek as he laughed under his breath: "...Seems like you didn't mind using me as a pillow, though. I'm all sore because of you now."

You gave him a playful glare for that. Of course he'd tease you about it. You had no idea why you were even surprised.

"Says the guy who was squishing me like his personal plush toy."

That wasn't necessarily true; he was rather gentle with you - he always was - but that didn't negate his clinginess with you. Of course, you'd never complain about that for real. Well, maybe except for the occasional dilemma of him not allowing you to leave his arms to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Your statement simply made his smirk grow, his blue eyes brimming with those small glints of mischief you knew all too well by now.

"Hey, I'm not blaming you here, I am pretty damn comfortable, after all." His announcement was as smug as they come, making you roll your eyes with a small snort. It was clear that he was enjoying this little back and forth with you. He gestured for you to come closer as he patted the bed next to him: "C'mere. Come back here. I'm cold."

His display of shameless clinginess made you grin a little, shaking your head. It was, of course, adorable. You cherished his openness with his feelings for you very much. With Leon, you never had to doubt whether he enjoyed your company or not. He made his love for you blatantly obvious for the entire world to see. Almost annoyingly so at times. "We've been lazing around the entire day though... Shouldn't we maybe move around a bit?"

You moved to lie back next him and settled to his side in spite of what you had just said. Leon was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer, and tucking you into his side, holding you close. He let out a content sigh, his thumb gently stroking your back in small circles.

"Mmm... Nah. No movement needed," he said, nuzzling his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. Although you two smelled the same right now, considering you shared a bath just a few hours prior. Despite his casual tone, there was still a hint of gruff tiredness in his voice: "This is all the exercise us old folks need."

With your own arm reaching up to encircle his middle and your fingers running over the rough texture of the scars that littered his back, you couldn't help but smile against him. You didn't need to see him to know where each and every one those marks was now. You knew him inside and out, just as he did you. As you hummed contentedly, briefly closing your eyes, his warmth and scent filled all your senses once again. If you were to be poetic for a moment, you would say that it was almost like your head was made to be just the perfect size to be tucked away into the crook of his neck, with his chin resting on it. Nevertheless, you kept that little sweet thought to yourself.

"Oh, so now you're fine with being called old? We're in our forties, not sixties. Old man," you teased, playing into the silly banter.

Leon laughed softly.

"Hey, just because I say it doesn't mean you can. Besides, what's the rush? We've both earned a little R&R." He leaned his head down to press a kiss to your temple, staying there for a lingering moment to enjoy the simple intimacy blooming between you two. "Just let me wallow in my old-timer aches and pains, okay?"

You rubbed his back in return, nails lightly scratching along his skin in the way you knew he liked, eliciting a pleasant shiver or two.

"Hm... A long awaited vacation, and you're spending it napping away in bed... Sure you don't regret it?"

Of course, your question was fully rhetorical in nature. These circumstances didn't bother you in any way. Your leg moving to swing comfortably over his hip was just yet another evidence of it.

Though, your remarks did make Leon laugh again, and that was your goal in the first place.

"Vacation, huh...?" He pretended to think for a moment, even though it was apparent that he was only joking. "Mmm... Now let me see... Spend hours on a plane with crappy food, go to some tourist spots filled with people, and then spend another few hours waiting in line for some good grub... Or spend all day in warm bed, no pants, no shirt, no responsibilities for once, just you and me... That's a tough choice, alright."

Your shoulders shook with repressed laughter as you snickered to yourself. Sometimes he was too dramatic for his own good. "You and me both know we can afford to skip all the annoying parts of vacationing. Sure you wouldn't trade this for a day on the beach?"

He shook his head mockingly, as if disappointed with you for even suggesting such a thing. Tightening his grip on you slightly, he kissed the top of your head this time around. Two kisses in a row, he was spoiling you.

"Eh, I think I'll still take option B. Besides... I happen to prefer the scenery here."

His thumb delicately traced little circles over the skin of your waist as he slowly moved his hand down your back, stopping just above the curve of your ass. You simply swatted at his shoulder in jest at that, giving him a knowing look.

"Perv," you snorted, a smile sneaking its way onto your lips despite your attempts at pretending to be annoyed with him.

With a humorous twinkle in his eyes, Leon winced dramatically as though your playful swat had injured him beyond belief. It was hard to be annoyed when he was being this ridiculous.

"Oh, you wound me." He looked at you with played up outrage and clutched his shoulder, seeming to be in genuine pain. Or, he would be, if you hadn't seen him in actual physical pain before. But that didn't really matter right now. "I thought you were supposed to be nice to the elderly. Aching back and everything, you know. And this is the treatment I get? Name-calling?"

This time, the eye-roll you gave him was a genuine one: "...Don't tell you're going to play the 'old man' card on me for the rest of the day now."

With his palm still lingering over your ass, he gave a quiet little laugh. He drew nearer, his face now inches away from yours, his voice transforming into a subtle, flirtatious whisper: "Well... I must admit, this pervy old man isn't completely against being bossed around by that pretty little mouth of yours..."

You rolled away from him to lie on your back, throwing your head back against the pillows as you broke out into a fit of full laughter. He was obviously having way too much fun with this teasing game of his. Though, as he looked at you lying there, laughing at his antics, there was a hint of genuine affection in his eyes. He loved making you laugh, after all. Even if it was at his expense sometimes.

"Wow. You've got no shame at all, huh?" With a knowing grin, you gave him a light, playful smack on the ass. Two could play this game, after all. "You bet I'll make you remember saying that later."

However, you were currently far too lazy to take any serious action. So he'll have to settle with a preview.

"No shame, no filter, baby." Smirking, he reached back down to your thigh, kneading the soft flesh with his fingers. He locked his eyes onto yours, a subtle hint of desire now brewing within his attentive gaze. "...Keep up with the teasing, and you won't be doing much sleeping tonight."

"-Don't threaten me with a good time," you teased right back, sending a small, flirty wink his way. Nevertheless, his lips were quick to press down to yours in a gentle kiss, stiffening your laughter before it could escape you again. It was a kiss you were more than happy to return, smiling into it as your hand came up to rest on his cheek, cradling it.

You felt him smile against your lips in turn, his hand slipping up your thigh to rest it on your hip again. As he leaned closer to kiss you more properly, he gently pushed you further back onto the bed, his body slowly crawling over yours, a low, pleased noise rumbling deep in his throat. Although he withdrew from you after a while, his gaze briefly straying over your face as he took in your expression. His hand brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender and loving.

"You keep being so damn cute, and-"

Leaning back in and speaking in a low, sensual tone, he nuzzled against you almost like a very pampered tomcat would. Though, your nose quickly scrunched up at the feeling of his scruffy stubble on your face, and you let out a small whine of protest, pushing on his chest lightly: "No, you're itchy."

With a gentle giggle, Leon pulled back from you again, reaching up to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

"Aww, come on, I know the ladies love the rough look. Gives me that... rugged older man charm, you know?" He quipped with a smirk, clearly enjoying your annoyed reaction. As he pretended to be hurt, you felt his chest rumble with repressed laughter beneath your palms. "You're going to make me feel self-conscious about my facial hair, you know."

With a sigh, you plopped back on the bed, lifting a finger up to interject.

"First of all, I am not your lady," you announced, before continuing. "And secondly, I have no problem with your facial hair. When it's not rubbing up against my face."

His lower lip protruded in an exaggerated pout as he mock-frowned at you: "I thought you liked me scruffy and unshaven. Or do you only like me when I'm all 'handsome and pretty' with a smooth jaw?"

He leaned in again before you could correct him, pressing his face to your cheek and purposefully rubbing his stubble across your skin. He obviously was well aware that it was itchy and mildly annoying for you, but he couldn't help but find your protests endearing. He thoroughly enjoyed playing around with you like this. You cursed under your breath as the prickly feeling made your nose wrinkle once more.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, c'mon, you're doing it on purpose now!" You complained, shutting your eyes as he rubbed himself on you. "What are you, a cat!?"

Leon chuckled, simply continuing to nuzzle you while his scruff scratched at your poor cheek with no signs of stopping.

"Mmm... maybe I am. A big, cuddly cat. Grrrr." He put some of his body weight on you now, basically smothering you beneath himself with his weight alone as his hand grasped your hip, drawing you in closer. Feeling your squirming under him just made him even more mischievous, it seems. To your own horror, of course. "And maybe you're my new favorite scratching post."

At that, you weren't sure whether to roll your eyes, or groan, or laugh. Maybe all three? Sometimes his silly behavior was frustrating to deal with. However, his goofiness was also a testament to his good mental state, and you would certainly take him being annoying over him being all broody and depressed.

"You did not just seriously growl at me, my God," you groaned, unable to hide the ghost of a smile from your lips despite wanting to sound frustrated. "-Okay, enough!"

He grunted in surprise, as you kicked him hard enough to push him away, causing him to roll off the bed and hit the floor with an unflattering thud. Of course, that wasn't really your intention. But it was funny. After a moment of stunned silence between you, it was his turn to start laughing uncontrollably. The baffled look on your face was just too priceless to be ignored, so he couldn't help it.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that," he finally managed to gasp out between wheezes of laughter. Though, the glare he gave you was anything but angry as he propped himself up on his elbows. "You better run now, because I'm coming for you."

You were all too familiar with that gleam in his eyes. And what it entailed for you. "Don't you dare..."

With a playful menace to his eyes, he lifted himself up from the floor, quirking a brow at you expectedly. He stalked closer to you, his movements purposefully exaggerated: "You think you can just kick me off and get away with it? Wrong, sunshine."

With a growing grin you knew too well, he lunged towards you, his hands reaching out to seize you by the sides with the intention of tickling you mercilessly. You erupted in a series of squeals and high-pitched laughter as you pushed at his chest in vain, squirming under him like a worm trying to bury in its muddy hole for safety. If only you had a hole to burrow into for some sweet escape.

"Nooo! Goddamnit Leon, that wasn't even on purpose-!" You exclaimed through your fits of laughter, trying to tackle him off, hands and feet kicking and pushing at him from all directions. This was clearly not a legitimate hand-to-hand combat performance from you; rather, it resembled awkward child play. Only with two grown-ass adults well in their mid-forties.

Leon just cackled, his laughter blending with yours to create a deafening cacophony that likely made all your neighbors curse you to all the gods above. Wouldn't be the first time this happened, either.

"Doesn't matter if it was on purpose or not, you're getting the punishment you deserve! Now say uncle!" He bent down, his face now hovering near yours as he continued to tickle you nonstop with no indication that he would quit anytime soon. He was clearly enjoying this all too much, all the previous laid back laziness now long forgotten. Your laughter was like music to his ears. "C'mon, surrender! You can't win this one, sweetheart."

"-You're an asshole!" Your insult was obviously lacking any genuine heat behind it. Eventually, the tickle fight devolved into outright playfighting as you rolled around on the bed, messing up the sheets and flinging weak punches and kicks at each other like two kids getting rowdy on a playground.

"Ah, but I'm your favorite assho- Hey!" As you both rolled around the bed in a flurry of limbs and laughter, your lighthearted wrestling turned into a grappling match, stopping Leon in the middle of his gloating. Though, he was able to pin you to the bed at some point, hovering over your body with his arms on either side of your head as you both took a minute to catch your breath, the previous loud noise of laughter replaced by the brief pause of shaky breaths filling the quiet instead.

He straddled you, his look more playful than dominant now, his eyes a mixture of affection and faux victory. As he looked down at you, his eyes exploring your face, he couldn't help but laugh to himself again. Your disheveled state, messy hair, and slight flushness on your cheeks didn't stop him from finding you utterly adorable.

"-Looks like I've got you now, sweetheart. Any last words before I claim my prize?"

As you caught your breath, you looked up at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Despite your frustration, you were happy to see him be so lighthearted for once. Even if it meant putting up with his terrible attitude.

"Just one: you better make me your blueberry pancakes tomorrow for having to deal with your insufferable ass," you huffed. However, your gesture of cupping his cheek was far from furious.

At that, Leon's smirk turned into a real smile. He leaned into your touch, his head tilting slightly to nuzzle against your palm.

"Blueberry pancakes, hm? That's all it takes to buy out your forgiveness?" He drew closer, his eyes fixed on yours as he chuckle softly, the playful atmosphere between you two still very much alive and well. "Alright, deal. You have my word. Blueberry pancakes in the morning, courtesy of yours truly."

As a kind of climactic touch to your previous little match, he moved closer and closer until your mouths inevitably met in a gentle kiss that gradually turned more passionate. He lingered there for a moment, savoring the sensation of your lips against his, before pulling away, his eyes half-lidded.

"Though... In my books, you are better than any pancakes."

[untitledmemes]

Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion Prompts

Part I An assortment of dialogue lines taken from the character Astarion in the game Baldur's Game 3. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others. ”

“ I was hoping for a kind soul. ”

“ Let's try to keep that lovely neck of yours in one piece, hm? ”

“ And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies. ”

“ I'm out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice. ”

“ Is that so? We clearly move in different circles. ”

“ You know, I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea. ”

“ Wait, that's it? 'You're doomed, sorry,' and then off to the next adventure?”

“ My my, you've been busy. ”

“ Curling up in the dirt and resting is... a little novel. ”

“ You sleep. I'll keep watch. ”

“ We're all doing surprisingly well, given the circumstances. ”

“ I am open to suggestion. Knives, poison, strangulation - whatever you'd prefer. ”

“ If the last day taught me anything, it's that the impossible is more likely than you think. ”

“ Quite a sight. The stars, I mean. I could take or leave your chin. ”

“ Good. I don't want you to run off just yet. ”

“ I'm not easily impressed by people, but you're stronger than I gave you credit for. ”

“ You have your charms... more than you think. ”

“ No, no - it's not what it looks like! I swear! ”

“ It's not what you think - I'm not some monster!. ”

“ No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me. ”

“ I need you alive. You need me strong. ”

“ I shall be gentle as a babe. ”

“ Shouldn't take long. So many people need killing. ”

“ This is a gift, you know. I won't forget it. ”

“ Good morning. How do you feel? ”

“ Someone - or something - wants me alive. They've changed the rules. ”

“ As for my other quirks - well, we can figure those out in time. ”

“ I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks. Although there's still time. ”

“ We're bound together, no matter what comes. ”

“ There now, we're all friends again. ”

“ Oh, you're such a sweetheart. ”

“ I'm here in the spirit of openness and honesty, to work together as a team. ”

“ I've never killed anyone! Well, not for food. ”

“ Do you think you could trust me just a little further? ”

“ I only need a taste, I swear. ”

“ Let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we? ”

“ Oh no. Something's terrible happened! ”

“ You're - you're here! Thank goodness, I was worried about you. ”

“ I understand you're upset, but let's not get carried away. ”

“ I can fight with all my weapons - teeth included. ”

[clearlightwired]

i finished almost nowhere by @nostalgebraist!

i think i heard someone at some point describe this as "puzzle box literature" and that is probably the most accurate descriptor. rotating this book in my mind was intensely pleasing. you don't usually encounter sci-fi with fully-explained science that feels like a real thing that exists; not shying away at all from explaining how things actually work is one of the things i enjoy/respect most about what nostalgebraist did in this book, because the explanation was certainly no easy task (and the fact that it came out both understandable to me and in a way that caused me to want to learn more about actual physics is big).

the same things that make AN less approachable are also what make it an intensely rewarding experience imo... it's long and complex and easy to lose track of. but if you like understanding things then it is the perfect challenge. i am very glad it's as long as it is, both because i'm not sure you could fit what needed to be told in any shorter of a book and also because it was so enjoyable to read that i did not want it to end. nothing feels like it is in excess, though everything has the wonderful depth of things that could easily fill three such books, if you really looked into them

the multi-format nature of AN is one of the strong points. it is at times a physics lecture, a play, an annotated manuscript, a console log, etc. and all of these really work for it and are deployed in ways that make the reading experience better

(spoilers/specifics, if you have not read almost nowhere go read it now!!! please it's so good!)

i don't know yet, how i feel about the ending. it's almost simple, compared to the rest of the book, and not really precedented by anything that happens up to that point, though i think it ends up working well. i'll have to let that part sit for a while

i adored the characters in this book. i would be hard pressed to pick a favorite. it might be grant, or grant and azad together; what little information we get about what the mooncrash was like, in both the rebased and original version, has some certain quality to it that tugs at my heart. though watching the divergence of the annes and all the people they become is up there too. and of course the glimpses we get into what it feels like for the vances, knowing they are fictional... seeing into what it was like for hector in the crash with his anime figurines and video games... suffice it to say that all the characters are dimensional and the crashes give a lot of insight into them across situations. this is probably one of my favorite parts

this book is also just really funny. the types of people described on stein's rock and their customs. moon's whole deal. the descriptions of sylvie's halo and what it does. grant's continued role as "guy who sits, confused, while people tell him incomprehensible things". it makes the whole story flow

i have a lot of questions, still, but mostly ones that are at their core "i wish there was even more of this great book": e.g. how and why did sylvie make the transition from "grant's dog" to "sylvie"? (maybe this is answered somewhere and i missed it.) i typed out a long list of questions after that one but am realizing that a lot of them are just that this book is very complex and maybe much would become clear if i reread it in the future -- the prompt to reread chapter 15 towards the end of the book surprised me with how much more understandable it was the second time around, and probably lots of other parts would be similar now that i've seen the story from above.

this is a really great book. i will maybe write more at some point but for now i want to think on it. and then maybe read everything else nostalgebraist has ever written

[gods-favourite-dyke]

Narcissist Graves - Saoirse's Yapfest

Cracks my knuckles. Briefly covered it in the reblog I did from Gomz but I want to talk about it properly. Sidenote, I haven't finished Modern Warfare 2 yet, so there may be things you think would lend themselves to this post that I have missed. Feel free to tell me about them!

Before I start! People who demonise NPD, Cluster B in general, believe in "narc abuse", or use the term narcissist as an insult are not welcome to interact with me.

Now then!

Phillip Graves with Narcissistic Personality Disorder

I'll break this up into symptoms using this same link that I referenced previously as my point of reference, just for continuity. This is a great resource I encourage you to read :) It uses the DSM-5 for the diagnostic criteria, which I'll finally get to now

Having a grandiose sense of self-importance, such as exaggerating achievements and talents, expecting to be recognised as superior even without commensurate achievements. I think a lot of points for this are spread throughout the rest of this post (the first that comes to mind is him referring to Shadow Company as "the pros"), but I think his first appearance lends itself very nicely to a specific example for this. Truly, Graves is just doing what he's paid to do. But he makes it quite clear that he believes the 141 and Los Vaqueros should be grateful to him, like his actions were an act of benevolence, and the way he talks to Shepherd afterward seems to suggest he believes it places him far above them.

Preoccupation with fantasies of success, power, beauty, and idealisation. Honestly, I don't have anything I think is extremely solid for this one. I think the lines I've used throughout this post and Graves' general behaviour can sort of lend themselves to this, but I honestly can't think of anything solid enough to be worth putting here. I suppose you could argue that he already has that success with Shadow Company, and the fact that he tries to cover up what happened with the missiles no matter how many lives it costs sort of highlights that preoccupation, prioritising his reputation - his success, his power - over the lives of people, guilty or innocent.

Belief in being "special" and that they can only be understood by or associated with other high-status people (or institutions). Graves makes it very clear in the tank fight that he believes himself to be far superior to the army; way too good for it. He associates himself with a general, someone with a whole lot of power that can offer Graves more power and a handsome amount of money, considering he and Shadow Company are hired mercenaries. He calls the uniform of a soldier a limitation, a skin that he shed "like a fucking soldier, son", and he snaps back at everything Soap yells at him with such confident and clean justifications and taunts that it's hard to say he doesn't truly believe what he's saying, that he's better than everyone "hiding behind that uniform". When he first appears, he also lumps himself and Shepherd into the same descriptor- "friends in high places", putting himself in league with Shepherd while also making it clear he sees himself as above the 141.

Demanding excessive admiration. Honestly the best I can think of for this is his line about "let the pros finish this". Shadow Company is absolutely far from 'the pros' of the situation, especially when they're standing next to not only the British SAS, but also the "best hand-picked warriors on the planet" to boot.

Sense of entitlement. Again, Graves sees himself as too good for the army. On top of that, he simply decides he can just take Los Vaqueros' base purely because he likes it. He clearly believes he is entitled to it.

Lack of empathy. I think Graves lacks empathy pretty much the entire time he's on-screen. There's the obvious, like all the killings he oversees in Las Almas, but I think just using that is in poor tastes. He also completely lacks empathy for Alejandro who, while a hothead, was very reasonably upset over Graves taking his base and detaining all his men. I think the way he talks to Ghost after Soap escapes his betrayal lends itself to this point too- he completely lacks remorse for what happened, for injuring two of his allies, and if anything he sounds a bit amused while talking to Ghost and is frustrated that he can't catch/detain him.

Envy towards others or belief that others are envious towards them. This one is less obvious, but I think that, yet again, some of his lines in the tank fight can be put down to this. He talks down to Soap in ways that suggest he either thinks Soap is envious of him, or should be. Mostly in the way he calls Soap 'son', 'Johnny', and lines like "Hahahah! That's almost funny comin' from you but then again, I remember my first rodeo too." He puts Soap far below him, presenting himself as the best possible turnout that Soap should either aspire to be or be jealous that he can't attain it too.

Arrogant, haughty behaviours and attitudes. Come on. This is Graves. He is truly nothing if not arrogant, he's so confident in his success that he openly mocks Soap during their final fight. Most notably in my mind is "Knock that honour shit off, Johnny. I'll be sipping tequila, forgetting where I buried your ass in a week. That goes for both of you. Can you say the same?", "There's only two rules here, boys. Walk away or win. Guess which one I choose?" and a lot of other things he says in the tank fight that I've already brought up.

I was very tired when I wrote this, so there may be points I wanted to make that I either missed or didn't finish, but right now I don't think there are. This was very fun to write and I recommend you do the same with your own favourites. Just make sure to do research into stereotypes, representation, etc.! At no point am I trying to say I think Graves is a narcissist because he does bad things. I think Graves is a narcissist and he also just so happens to be a war criminal <3

[vinnyvamppp]

i feel a little pathetic dragging myself here but do you have advice for writing mark smut 😟 i feel a little lost for him and i dunno

I'm surprised, considering your recent post was jaw-dropping, but I'll give the pointers I remind myself of. From the comics to the show, he's someone who feels everything hard, so let that bleed into the smut. Is he hesitant? Overwhelmed? A little too eager? There’s a lot of room to play, and it’s all about emotional push-pull dynamics.

Now, this also depends on the era the character is in. If we were following the show's current timeline, he's emotionally intense, sometimes awkward, and very in his own head—especially in intimate moments (usually beforehand). So when writing smut, don't be afraid to let him overthink, stumble over words, or act with that raw and youthful sincerity. He’s stubborn, but VERY WILLING most times and is a quick learner. He's had his confident moments too, so let those shine, usually through facial expressions or dialogue like, "I thought fighting Viltrumites was hard, but trying not to kiss you right now? Impossible.” He’s charming in a dorky way, overthinking, blushing, then blurting out something too honest. Flirty lines from Mark usually carry a “I can’t believe this is happening” energy with a charmingly corny edge, or even some humor. ... He also canonically uses, "Oh, God." as a form of expression in bed which can be pretty funny. (he likes calling out his partners names too. Source: trust me bro.) ~~~~~~~~~

That being said, if we're deciding to focus on his later arc—which I won't delve too much into for the sake of avoiding spoilers—he’s becoming a compelling mix and leaning into the median of his identity. He's still deeply human, though, and he doesn’t want to dominate; he wants to rebuild. He's also still Viltrumite. When pushed, and when threatened, he’s capable of terrifying things. He no longer flinches at morally gray ideologies, but he mourns every loss in its stride. He loves everything he has, but he's quieter now.

Emotionally, Mark is more closed off from a combination of traumatic experiences, but he's still desperate for connection. He is a character who uses his power to serve his partner rather than subjugate them. He's a character with a lot of strife, so make intimate moments feel heavy—like he's memorizing them because they may not last. Moments of softness or desire should be incredibly charged. Does he cry still? Now, just because he's an emperor doesn’t mean he no longer cries and is suddenly stoic. He does, and depending on the plot of your story, feel free to incorporate it. He's wiser now, more experienced; he knows what drives his partner wild, and I could see him putting his partner's pleasure here before his own. ~~~~~~~~~

During sex sequences, you can always include descriptors of feelings and paint the scene so the reader can visualize what's on paper—or, more importantly, his perception. How does he feel? How does the reader feel physically? What does this compare to? Sensory interpretations (touch, sight, taste, and sound)? What does it mean to him in that moment? Is he trembling from restraint or shaking from how overwhelmed he is? Is his heartbeat too loud in his ears to focus, or is he hypersensitive to every breath they take? Is this the first time he’s felt peace in weeks, or the only moment where he doesn’t have to be a leader or fighter? And go on to complete your usual writing from the reader's perspective as well. It’s truly up to you! (The variants are truly up to interpretation) I hope I'm making sense LMFAO.

This is getting really long (literally why my fics are always 2.5k+ the need to explain is REAL)... so I'll only continue if needed, but hopefully this helped some! I literally just started word vomiting, sorry. Please take this with a grain of salt and make any desired changes!! (I'm sure yours will be great) Now this doesn't include smut dialogue, but can give you a feel for his main attributes as a character. I've caught wind of a few creators reposting it, though I haven't finished the entire analysis myself at the time: https://www.tumblr.com/batsovergotham/782055318627729408/𝗛𝗼𝘄-𝘁𝗼-𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲-𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸-𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘆𝘀𝗼𝗻-a-detailed-guide

[hiskillingjar]

Voyeurism (Lawrence)

if i’ve gotten anything from this round of kinktober, it’s a real appreciation for lawrence. they might have gone up to my second favourite (sorry ren). also read the piano teacher.

day 27: voyeurism first person, from law’s pov.

I usually saw teenagers come into the forest.

The impulse was understandable. It was an easy place to hide from the prying eyes of society, after all, an easy place to get lost in. Covered by the canopy of branches and leaves, where any rustling can be mistaken for the skittish nature of woodland creatures, people could get away with an awful lot.

I usually saw teenagers. Rarely did I ever see adults.

But that's what I see tonight. 

I was just leaving my alcove, my sanctuary of rot, when I saw a couple, a man and a woman (it was rarely anything else, in spite of what popular culture attempted to suggest), stomping through the brush, hand in hand.

Well, hand in wrist was a more approriate descriptor.

I kept still on my own, beaten path, pressing myself against a tree to hide even more, watching as the man dragged the woman deeper.

I don't believe that I witnessed a rape, despite the force of his grip. 

I knew what those tended to look like, thanks to all of the edgy websites I visited as a teenager. I knew what so often preceeded the deaths that I was actually looking for, especially when the victim (nameless on some of the seedier sites, the ‘reputable’ ones tended to list who the person was) was a pretty, young woman surrounded by men. 

Some people say those kinds of videos make you lose your sense of disgust and compassion for other people. And while I'm sure that was the case for many others, I don't think it was the case for me.

If anything, my outright disgust made me recognise those things more clearly when I saw them in real life.

And this wasn't disgusting.

The woman tried to pull from the man's tight grip, her legs trembling from the cold of the evening, but the coy murmurs of "no, come on, not here, let's go back to the care" indicated that she had opposition to fucking out in the open, and not to fucking in general.

"Not in the car," He said, pulling her deeper (close to where I kept my cages, it would be so inconvenient if they stumbled across them). "Your husband could find something there."

"So, I'll clean it," She replied, pulling back entirely. "I don't want to fuck in the forest. It’s not romantic. What if we do it in animal shit, or something?"

I barely held back a scoff, rolling my eyes with a barely audible huff instead.

It was probably quite naive of her to be concerned about dirt and filth (the natural things of this world, more natural than human beings, certainly), as opposed to any dangerous people who might be listening in on their conversation (like me, for example), but that's just what people were like, I found.

So many people prefered to think that they would be smart enough to avoid outright violence, that they would make the right decisions as opposed to anyone else who would be foolish enough to make the wrong ones, than understand the reality of pure, random acts of violence happening to anyone.

They were selfish, in that way.

"Why can't we go to a hotel?" She asked, holding herself tight. It was a cold night, she's right to. 

"I can't afford a hotel this short notice," He murmured with a roll of his eyes, taking a step closer towards her. "And...I don't want to wait to get there, anyway. I want to fuck you now."

"Richard," She looked away, but I could tell that she appreciated his dirty talk, that she didn’t get it at home from her husband anymore, that ‘Richard’ made her feel special, sexy, wanted.

He sank down to his knees in front of her and pushed up her pencil skirt, the material bunching up around her thighs, as he kissed the front of her pantyhose.

If she didn't want to be on the ground, he would be, just for her.

She curled both hands into his hair and he pulled down her tights and panties, revealing a thick bush of pubic hair that he nestled his face against, like he was returning home.

I'm not aroused by any of this, even if my cock is reacting, twitching in my dirty sweatpants.

That was just the nature of being human. Bodily reactions that I couldn't control and didn't care for.

But just because I wasn't aroused, didn't mean that I wasn't interested in what was happening.

Sex was interesting, occasionally even very interesting, though I had next to no interest in doing it myself.

Thinking about sex made me feel hollow, like something had been carved out of me, like someone took a shovel and dug out all my insides. I know there's nothing in there, but I'm still too nervous to open myself up and check. 

But watching it was something else entirely. 

It was almost like watching those old videos, like watching death, gore, car accidents, or surgical procedures. 

Red tongues grazing over wet, pink flesh, sopping holes being penetrated by fingers, tongues, hard cocks, over and over again. Kissing, touching, making love, fucking. 

All so visceral and unclean, and yet, people craved it so much that it could drive them crazy.

Maybe they craved connection, more than anything.

People who didn’t connect tended to go crazy, after all.

She was moaning and gasping, loud enough for anyone else to hear her (if someone else but me was peeping on them), bucking her hips against his face and his probing tongue roughly, like a marionette without any strings to keep her stable. His hand was climbing up her inner thighs, carressing soft flesh, feeling her touch, feeling her.

I idly licked my lips, another pulse of involuntary arousal rushing to my cock, moving a little closer against the tree concealing me from the pair of lovers.

"Richard," She said sharply, looking in my direction (but not seeing me, nobody ever sees me and that's the way I like it.)  "S-Stop it, I can hear something."

"Huh?" He breathed, pulling away from her wet cunt, his face glistening in the low light of the mood above him, and looking my way too. "Come on, it’s nothing. It was probably just a bunny rabbit or something."

It might have been, if I hadn't killed another one tonight.

"This place is creepy," She complained, but didn't stop him from returning to his task, nuzzling against her pubic hair again. "Feels like I'm being watched...mh."

"Don’t be so paranoid. Nobody’s watching you, but me.," He offered with a titter, before pressing his fingers inside of her and smoothing his tongue over her folds. "Mmmhh...but hey, maybe you like being watched. You’re wet enough that it feels that way."

I hoped they liked being watched.

For my sake, and for theirs.

[storkmuffin]

Hiii! I have a question for you. What are your favourite ateez lyrics that you think sound better in korean? I mean either those that don't translate well to english or those that, for some reason, just don't hit the same way in another language. I'm asking this because I'm a native spanish speaker and sometimes I try to translate a song into english to show my friends and it's just not the same, so I suppose the same happens with korean lyrics.

Also, I found some videos in youtube by Learn Korean with GO! Billy Korean in which he analyses the way each member of ateez talks (intonation, speed, filler words...) and I just found the videos so interesting I want to share them!!

OK so your question assumes I've listened to or read the English translations of the songs, and I am sorry to say that I have not.

I assume that all of 멋-흥 (The Real) is vastly incomprehensible to people who are not native Korean speakers or fluent enough in order to distinguish regional dialects and know a LOT of Korean idioms. I really like this song, because it tickles my Korean-English bilingual brain, but the WHOLE THING is untranslatable because it's about using Korean regional dialects.

선도부 (The Leaders) is another one that I am wondering how they translated and how anyone can understand it or get the full flavor of it if they're not actually Korean nationals raised in Korean culture.

Many of the lines I think lose something in the English version, when they make one, and I assume the same happens in subtitles (is that what they have for the songs??). I'll give you examples! From here on out I am assuming you can read 한글.

In Ice on my Teeth as an example, Mingi has a line;

무거워 툭 떨어지는 make it rain

The english version has it as

Drip too hard, make me wanna go reckless.

툭! is phonetic onomatopoeia for the sound something big and heavy makes when it falls on a hard surface (tuk!) so Mingi says in the OG Korean that the Rollie on his wrist and the diamond (ice) around his neck are so heavy that they fall with a thump (and then in the music video the ceiling actually falls down onto the desk he's sitting at). Not captured in the English.

Hongjoong comes in immediately after Mingi's part with a pun:'

어머나 몸에 감기네 에취

에취 is achoo. 어머나 is oh dear. 몸에 감기네 can be a pun - I'm catching a cold in my body but it can also mean Ropes of Diamonds are Wrapping around my Body and the ice is so cold it's making me sneeze, achoo because 감기 (Gamgi - a cold) and 감기다 (gam-gi-da - verb for to wrap) use the same sounds.

None of this happens in the official english version.

Man on Fire has really fun wordplay and sound play and punning that involves the sound ta or tae or tam. There's all these TA and TAE and TAM sounds throughout, right?

태워 다 감당해 오직, I desire./ 너라는 붉은 태양 매일 잃어가지 이성의 초점/ 태양을 탐한 죄악/ ... 너라는 태양을 삼켜 타오르게/ .. 타올라도 (타버린데도) / ... 타오르는 홍채

There's the sun (태양 tae-yang), to burn (the infinitive is 타다 -ta-da) and then variations on the word to burn- 태워 (tae-woh - imperative form so it's burn it), 타오르게 (ta orugae - in order to burn it up), 타올라도 (ta olla do - even if I burn) 타버린데도 (ta boh rin dae do - even if they say I will burn), 타오르는 (currently burning up) and to desire/ covet 탐하다 (tam-hada)).

The you in the song is the Sun, gonna burn the man on fire, but since they're also Ateez, they're going to covet/ lust after/ desire the sun and then also swallow it in order to burn up even faster. The English lyrics around the Korean song about how the man on fire set himself on fire by swallowing the fucking sun and how the beloved is a burning red sun in Korean talks about 'walking into' flames for you. I feel like that's so much milder.

And then there's this line in that same song

'이성으로 닿을때 T 안내고 F 해

which is just such a Hong Joong clever pun, but explaining it in full probably requires SO MUCH explanation. Like the whole T/F thing and how that's become a form of social descriptor in Korea such that 'doing T or F orientation' has now become a verb. T 안내고 is a pun on 티 안내고 - T would be being Thinking rather than Feeling, 티 안내고 which is what it sounds like at first until he says the F 해 means hide-your-reaction, be-placid-on-the-surface which is something Koreans are supposed to all do to be polite.

And one last example - in I'm the One, the Korean 이건 무슨일이야? is translated in the English version as What is Going On Right Now? which is literally correct but doesn't capture the whole sense of like, I don't quite know what's going on but I know enough to disapprove and trust that I'm going to do something to fix it to my liking before I'm done mood of the way San sings the Korean lyric.

EDITED TO ADD: 이성으로 IS ALSO A PUN. 이성 can mean rationality (so it ties in with the MBTI 'T' reference) but 이성으로 닿을때 can also mean, in the most roundabout way, touching as man and woman (이성 is heterosex or other-gender and 닿을때 means touching/ coming into contact). So this is also a pun about, when we touch as man and woman I will give into the feeling without appearing to.

Oh and F 해 could also be F(uck)해 too I guess lol

Does any of this make any sense whatsoever? It's so hard to explain lol. But yes - MUCH IS LOST in the translation. So I hope everyone takes the opportunity to learn Korean. Ours is a really fun and funny language!

The Go Billy Korean videos are really fun. Are they actually helpful to people in attempts to learn Korean?? How do they seem to people who don't speak the language at all beyond knowing how to sing along to song lyrics?

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I need advice for writing a character with oculocutaneous albinism who’s a platonic love interest without descriptions of her coming off as fetishising albinism. Her name is Glass and she’s blind and an investigative journalist and will be a reoccurring character in the series. The MC is gay and he describes her very affectionately in the narrative. When she’s introduced he fondly points out (to the reader) a lot of traits about her including things related to her albinism like “slightly wavy snow white hair in a fashionable bob and striking dark blue eyes that gently danced back and forth. One eye was pointing slightly inwards as she tilted her head and smirked at him.” I got the “dancing eyes” idea from a short film made by someone with albinism and nystagmus. I’m going to try and describe other traits about her more, especially about her personality to counter this.

I also have a question that might be too specific? I’m planning on giving her a little brother with ocular albinism, OA. If someone has a daughter with OCA are they more likely to have a son with OA or are the two kinds of albinism genetically unrelated? I wanted to include him to have more then one blind character in the story. Thanks for your time. :) -Anon Blue.

Hey! We don't currently have mods with Albinism, so I'll try my best. I recommend our #albinism representation tag for resources made by people with it.

If you don't put most of the attention of how she looks to her hair or skin color, I think it should be fine. It's okay to mention it - I mean, that's just how she is, would be kinda weird to fully ignore it - but don't make other characters or the narrator gush over her paleness or eye color every time she comes up. Change it up and praise her fashion sense (like you did with her hairstyle), the shape of her nose, how bushy her eyebrows are, or how her gums show when she's smiling instead. Her appearance shouldn't be reduced to just "girl with albinism" - give her other visual traits.

For other descriptors, I would avoid making her "angelic" or "ethereal" because of her disability. Remember to not make it mystic or magical; there's a whole "Magical Albino" trope out here that you should try to avoid.

You mentioning nystagmus and strabismus is great. Those are often forgotten or ignored in characters with albinism because they're not seen as "pretty". I've seen some people describe their nystagmus as "dancing eyes" before too, I think it's a very cool of conveying it.

In general, a good way to avoid fetishization is to include the "boring/mundane" things. When you show the medical parts of albinism like the esotropia, avoiding the sun, having her use a white cane or a guide animal, or using Braille, the representation will be more informed overall and not just an "aesthetic" - which a lot of characters with albinism unfortunately end up being. There's a big difference between a blind journalist guided by a German shepherd who happens to not have melanin and needs a Big Hat, and an evil sniper with bright red eyes and mysterious powers.

In case that Glass is Black, I'd recommend looking at the #albinism tag at @writingwithcolor - it's always good to make sure your descriptions don't come off as unintentionally colorist if you go into her skin color. Things like describing her as more frail or delicate (when compared to other Black characters) would be in poor taste, so look out for that intersectionality if it applies.

The brother with ocular albinism part; those two types are completely unrelated, and it would be incredibly rare (not impossible) for that to happen as far as I know. For reference, almost all OCA (1-7) and OA (1-2) types are caused by completely different genes. The only exception could be OA1 and OA3; we don't currently know what causes the third one, and there's a theory that it's just a different presentation of the first. But I'm not aware of anything like that for oculocutaneous albinism, so if Glass has OCA1 (as I'm assuming from the description), her brother would have OCA1 as well (as opposed to OCA3 or any other subtype) if anything.

One interesting thing that you could do to have him have OA that I never see in fiction is to have him be adopted. I know multiple families who had a child with a certain disability and decided to adopt a second (or third, or fourth...) one with it. I think it could be very cool and would make sense with him being the younger one. Here is an interview/vlog from a real-life family with six adopted blind kids, if you want an example of that.

Wanting to include multiple blind characters is a great idea - if adoption doesn't work for your story, he could have the same type of albinism as Glass or have a non-genetic cause of blindness, like CVI, Retinopathy of Prematurity, glaucoma, or a whole lot of other things.

A story about a blind investigative journalist sounds awesome. Good luck with your writing.

mod Sasza

[captainthisshipinmyhead]

Secret Desires

Sanemi x Fem!Reader, Giyuu x Fem!Reader (p sure I used she/her pronouns at one point but I don't think I use any descriptors really, so it could be read as GN!Reader, just wanted to tag as fem just in case)

Shinazugawa hates Tomioka, everyone knows this. But nobody knows the real reason behind this animosity-- or that it mostly has to do with you.

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex (no smut), OOC Sanemi tbh, cold/emotionless Giyuu (I put that as a warning bc it pains me. Giyuu is my lil cinnamon bun sweetie I hate making him that way 😔), very little plot outside the romance stuff lol.

WC: 5,182

A/N: I'm not rlly a huge fan of like, music-based fics but I have to admit I thought about the idea for this one when a Panic! At the Disco song came on shuffle the other day. These lines listed below in particular from "She Had the World" inspired this. Enjoy. As always, constructive criticism is much appreciated but please be kind.

“When I look in her eyes, well I just see the sky”

“I don’t love you, I’m just passing the time”

         It was no secret to any of the hashira that Shinazugawa hated Tomioka with a passion. To the few of them that had asked about this animosity outright Shinazugawa had given some lame answers before, like that Tomioka appeared to think of himself as better than the other hashira (true), that Tomioka had defeated him in all their 1v1 training sessions due to some really bullshit happenings that occurred each time and it was annoying (true), and that Tomioka had killed one of Shinazugawa’s pet beetles (not true). Though these were the reasons he gave for having such a hatred for the Water Pillar, they weren’t the real reason why Shinazugawa couldn’t stand the guy. The real reason that he would probably never reveal out loud to anyone else was simple: you.

         You were indeed the reason for the one-sided hatred between the two hashira. You didn’t know this, of course, but Shinazugawa absolutely couldn’t stand the fact that Tomioka had you. Though he never intended on telling you this, Shinazugawa had feelings for you. Deep, deep feelings that he actively had to push down when you talked to him with your bright smile, telling him another one of your stories about the crazy happenings of your day. He was no stranger to envy and not getting things that he wanted in life, so it wasn’t just the fact that Tomioka had you, but that he didn’t care for you as he should.

This was another secret Sanemi held closely-- not because he didn’t want to tell you, but because didn’t know how. He had found out Tomioka’s true feelings because Tomioka had gotten careless after one stressful week with back to back missions and left his personal notebook out in a common dining space. The only person around at the time to find it was Shinazugawa. He normally wouldn’t care about the personal musings of a random person but given whose notebook it was, he couldn’t resist reading a few tidbits. His jaw fell open in rage when he saw the way Tomioka had written about you there—not necessarily as if he didn’t care for you at all, but he was very clear in the fact that he had no romantic feelings toward you whatsoever. He was very clear in his musings that you were his partner simply as a way for Tomioka to relieve stress, seek out affection, and boost his own ego.

When Shinezugawa read this, he was beyond pissed. He was absolutely outraged. How could he? How was it that Tomioka of all people got to have someone as kind as you and he didn’t value you the way that he should? He could’ve killed Tomioka with his bare hands in that moment, but he knew that you were at his estate now, visiting your partner for the evening, and he knew that you hated unnecessary violence and animosity between fellow demon slayers. In the moment, he decided to place the notebook back where he had found it, and go on a walk to calm his anger. He would deal with Tomioka in due time, some way that wouldn’t have you angry at the both of them.

         In the weeks following this discovery, Sanemi could not shake the rage that filled him at the sight of Tomioka. And don’t get him started on how it felt seeing the both of you together. When you approached Sanemi alone, which you often did as you enjoyed talking to the typically prickly Wind Pillar, he forced his emotions down so that he didn’t burst forth with the knowledge he had on your little boyfriend. You absolutely deserved to know, but if he were to be the one to tell you he wanted to do it without anger, only with empathy and understanding. The way that you should be treated. Sanemi valued you deeply, and he never wanted to hurt you. It was his own deep-rooted care for you that made this situation so anguishing. He knew that he could treat you better—so much better. If only he had gotten closer to you first, then maybe....

         He tried not to linger on the maybes. He didn’t want to be your friend with any conditions attached—he never thought of himself as the most emotionally intelligent person, but he at least knew that wasn’t fair. So he let it play out, because although Sanemi didn’t necessarily believe in karma, he did believe that the truth always comes to light.

         As far as your relationship went, you were comfortable in it. While there were things that maybe had you desiring more, you couldn’t say that you weren’t content with Tomioka so that was good enough for you. Really, what more could you ask for? Your boyfriend was strong, handsome, perceptive to your needs, and your intimacy together was consistent. Sure, Tomioka wasn’t the most outspoken about your relationship or on board with PDA—or, when you thought about it, any kind of physical affection-- but you really didn’t have any complaints. I mean, is your relationship really in the trenches if your boyfriend doesn’t show you off? No, that wasn’t necessarily a deal breaker.

         But when you saw other couples together, you felt an ache in your chest. You couldn’t help but compare your relationship to the sugary sweet ones around you. You saw others who held hands on public pathways, fingers intertwined, and imagined what it must feel like to be in love so freely where everyone could see. You saw the way these couples would sneak pecks on each others’ cheeks or foreheads, and the way that they would blush at the acts of affection, and you sighed internally. You heard whispered vows of devotion and love, and couldn’t help but think about how Tomioka never professed his love to you. Not verbally at least. I mean, he had to love you of course, you two had been together for the better part of a year. He just didn’t show it that often. He was just subtle. That’s what you told yourself. You had muttered the three words to him before, but you usually only did it in moments of passion, when you could play it off as being really into the moment if he questioned it. He didn’t, but all you got in response to your proclamations were grunts in your ear or hums that you hoped were agreement. But honestly, not hearing those words from him hurt your feelings. You wanted a deep love; one that your mind never questioned because it was always made so clear to you how much you were valued. You wanted it so badly you dreamed of it, but you weren’t willing to end things with Tomioka just over feeling a little pathetic at not publicly being affectionate with him or hearing three words. Other than those desires of yours, you guys were perfectly fine, really.

         It only took about a month before the guilt and rage began chipping away at Sanemi’s resolve. He had to tell someone, even if it couldn’t be you—and Iguro was the only hashira Sanemi trusted with any tidbits of his personal life, so Iguro it was.

         He had invited the Serpent Hashira over for a training session one afternoon when he was particularly frustrated. Iguro pretty much knew the drill; when Shinazugawa invited him over for one-on-one training it usually meant he needed to rant about something and let off some steam. Since Iguro was more of the quiet type anyway, he didn’t mind keeping quiet and letting Shinazugawa grunt out his frustrations.

Sanemi may have thought that he was keeping his admiration for you a secret, but Iguro was much more perceptive than the Wind Pillar realized. When he finished telling his friend how shitty your relationship really was, he was shocked that his friend called him out instead of getting angry with him.

         “And you didn’t tell her this?” Iguro admonished Sanemi, “You’d keep such a secret from the girl you love?”

         “I...what? Love? I didn’t say anything-“ He cut himself off at the sharp look in Iguro’s eyes as he tried to deny his feelings.

“I can’t tell her, obviously! She would be angry not only at the situation but at me, for knowing now for a month that her relationship is a sham! You can’t just....just drop that on someone! I mean, did I even ask  for your opinion anyway? Geez!”

Iguro’s eyes peered sternly at Shinazugawa over his bandages. “You should have told her as soon as you knew. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been easier than telling her now. Maybe she wouldn’t have been angry then, but she definitely will be now that you’ve known all this time, and you can’t blame her.” Iguro would never admit it, but he had grown fond of you over your time with the Demon Corps, and it was mostly contributed to how highly Shinazugawa, his friend, spoke of you. This whole situation now pissed him off as well.

         Sanemi found that he couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes.

“You think I don’t know that?! Know it all ass....” Sanemi mumbled, deflecting the shame he felt at being called out. “Look, whatever, I’ll tell her soon. I said already I should’ve told her before. God, this sucks.”

Iguro nodded in the affirmative, sheathed his sword and bid goodbye to his friend before heading back to his own estate, trusting that their training session had been helpful. And it turned out that it had been helpful, as it struck Sanemi to be called out so plainly by his typically cold friend, who he had not expected to scold him at their training earlier. I mean, what was that about? Iguro never spoke up when Sanemi ranted—it was like, an unspoken understanding of theirs. But hey, whatever. The longer Shinazugawa got to ponder on the oddity of the earlier conversation, the less he thought about what he was on his way to do.

Sanemi approached the residence of the Flame Pillar, who you were training under as his tsuguko. His steps faltered a bit as he saw that you were already outside and you spotted him quickly, giving him no more time to prepare his words. He forced a smile on his face that he hoped matched yours, and closed the distance between you.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you doing today?” He started out with some niceties, stalling.

“Oh well, I’m pretty good, Sanemi, how about you? I see you’re kind of flushed, if you need to come inside we can. It’s pretty hot out today. Here, let me get you some water as well!” As kind as always, you took him gently by the elbow and began walking him to the engawa nearby. As he was seated, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. Gratefully accepting the water you held out to him, he drank deeply and sighed, knowing that the painful conversation had to begin.

“Y/n, I um... I came here to tell you something. I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I have been a coward, and I’m sorry for that.” He glanced sideways at your face, noticing already how the worry filled your eyes.

“About a month ago, I found some personal writings of Tomioka’s, and, well, they... they mentioned you, and...” He paused to take a deep breath, preparing to rip the metaphorical bandaid off. “He wrote in his notebook that he isn’t in love you”

Sanemi held his breath. It almost seemed in that moment as if the world held its breath too—he could feel a slight breeze but didn’t hear it move through the trees, and even birds that had been chirping had fallen silent. He forced himself to look at you and he immediately wished he hadn’t. Your mouth had fallen open in a delicate “o” shape, and your eyes sparkled with tears that had yet to fall. It appeared that you were trembling, and you couldn’t meet his eyes as they desperately tried to lock onto yours.

After a few moments of prolonged silence, Shinazugawa reached his hand out toward you, not knowing what to say but knowing he could offer you some physical comfort—and you jerked violently away from him.

“Go.” Your voice was low.

“Y- Y/n I’m—”

“I said go Shinazugawa,” you were practically growling at him.

“But wait, I-“

Your head whipped around so quickly he was startled, your expression as fierce as when you faced down a demon. “You knew. You knew for a month and you hid it from me. I thought we were friends, I- I thought that you cared for me!” The anger in your voice is exactly as he had feared.

He was going to lose you because of Tomioka—no, no.... he was going to lose you because of his own stupidity.

Not wanting to anger you further, he slipped down from the engawa and took a couple of steps away before speaking one last sentiment to you: “I am sorry, Y/n. I understand if you don’t wish to talk to me anymore, but my door is open to you if you ever change your mind.” He exited the estate and walked with a heavy heart back to his own mansion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         You were devastated. Your deep fear had been confirmed by your friend, who had known long before you and chosen to deceive you. You had ignored Giyuu’s letters asking to meet for meals, and you had asked Rengoku to turn him away whenever he showed up at the estate’s entrance. You sobbed for a couple of days straight, then you could only lie in silence for the next day or two. Rengoku, the kind hearted man that he is, brought you all your favorite foods at mealtimes to try to entice you to eat, but your appetite was nonexistent despite his efforts. You finally reached a point where your sadness turned again to anger, but this time it was rightfully aimed toward the person who had deceived you longer than anyone—Giyuu. You finally instructed Rengoku to let him in after 5 days straight of the Water Hashira groveling outside. Rengoku, bless him, glared at Tomioka the entire time he marched to your door, though he knew not what was going on between the two of you.

         You had made an effort to clean your appearance up; you didn’t want to be disheveled in front of the man who had ripped your heart to shreds. Tomioka began the conversation, immediately starting to apologize, knowing how you had found out because Shinazugawa and Iguro had already ripped him a new one for it.

“Y/n please, I’m so so sorry. I can’t apologize enough for-“

“How could you?” You cut him off, not wanting to hear his bullshit apologies. If he were really sorry or guilty or whatever he would claim to you, why would he have kept his act up so long? Why pretend to care for you at all? If he wanted sex, it could have just been that. People make arrangements for situations to just enjoy sex all the time, there could have been some sort of understanding between you without the need for this senselessly cruel pain that you were put through.

“Y/n, I... I messed up. I was selfish, and I began a relationship with you knowing that a serious relationship wasn’t what I wanted, and I just.... I just hoped that somewhere along the line I would change my mind. I need you to understand though that it has nothing to do with you, you’re the best person I know, I just... I’m not someone who’s able to date right now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever, it’s just how I am. I should have told you that. I made excuse after excuse not to break things off. I enjoyed your affection and your attention, and I took advantage of it. I’m sorry.”

You listened to his small speech with a quivering lip.  He dated you for almost a year, with you thinking that you two were serious about each other, just because he liked your affection? You were almost more angry now that you’d heard his stupid explanation; it didn’t excuse this sham of a relationship. The silence stretched on as your tear-filled eyes glanced at the ground, at the trees behind him, at the birds in the sky....anywhere but at him, the man you thought you loved. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“You’re right to be angry. I would be too, anyone would be. You deserve better than me wasting your time. I’m so sorry. I know I never told you I loved you, because that felt like a lie, and I know you probably feel used. But y/n, if you ever forgive me, I know I could love you as my friend. I could be a much better friend to you than I ever was a lover. Please, take all the time you need. Even if you don’t forgive me, I’ll be willing to talk more whenever you’re ready.”

         He slowly began to turn around and step toward the estate’s main gate, and you watched him walk with slumped shoulders. At least you knew he truly felt bad about it all—Giyuu was not an actor. He couldn’t lie to save his life—not directly, like how he never said that he loved you. Once you were confident that he was out of earshot, you let out a sob that you hadn’t wanted him to hear, and turned to escape back into your bed for the remainder of the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         After a week of your grieving your future with Giyuu, in which luckily you had not been called on any missions, you finally felt okay enough to get ready and go to a group training session. Upon your arrival, you were approached by Sanemi, whose expression was more worried than you’d ever seen it.

“I came to check on you,” he said, eyes flicking between your own as if searching for a response there. You knew he had come to ask about you multiple times, maybe more times than Giyuu even, but Rengoku took his role as your protector seriously and turned Shinazugawa away even when he threatened violence.

“I wasn’t taking visitors.”

“Okay, yeah, I um—I get that. You needed time. Did you at least get my letters?”

You hadn’t realized he had been sending you letters also—you had instructed your crow not to deliver any messages to you unless they were from the master instructing you to go on a mission. Everything else could wait.

“Oh, my crow may have them stored away for me somewhere, but I didn’t want to read any letters last week either. Sorry.”

“Oh no, no, no need to be sorry,” He rushed to reassure you, placing his strong hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his company; how he effortlessly showed you his sweet side that others didn’t see. Your heart, having felt frozen solid for well over a week at this point, began to thaw out at the genuine warmth you felt from your friend. Overwhelmed with appreciation for him, you drew him into a hug, which he returned after a beat of hesitation.

         The training session went without a hitch as you slid right back into your regimen. Sanemi hardly left your side, and other slayers gave the two of you odd looks at the beginning when you had embraced. You couldn’t blame them—Sanemi was feared by many for his quick temper and how he resorted to violence in many situations that weren’t quickly and easily resolved with words. Though you’d never had to be fearful of him, you were able to see why others were.

         As you were gathering your things to head back to Rengoku’s estate, Sanemi asked if he could accompany you, which you accepted. You enjoyed his companionship too much to say no.

“Y/n, I want to apologize to you. I know you were upset with me for not telling you about Tomioka when I found out, and I should have. We’re... we’re friends, and I care about your feelings. I didn’t tell you because I was scared to hurt you, even though it wasn’t technically me who was doing the uh, hurtful thing? Look, I’m not good with words, so uh, I—” His cheeks blushed scarlet as you peered up at him in the evening sun. A tiny smile formed on your face before you cut him off.

“It’s okay, Sanemi. I know. And I know you probably wanted to tell me. I’m not angry with you really, you told me eventually. You’re a good friend to me. Thank you.”

         You looped your arm through his and continued walking, a comfortable silence between you.

Sanemi was the one to break it. “You deserve better, y/n. I always thought you did, but definitely with all this coming out you deserve better. You deserve someone to love you. I see other couples around, like, kissing and holding hands and stuff and... I don’t know, I just never saw him do any of that for you. The next person should do that and more. You should have someone who isn’t afraid to love you proudly. I know you have a lot of love to give, ‘cause that’s just who you are. You are love. So that’s what you deserve.”

You couldn’t say anything in response—you had never had someone tell you something so heartwrenchingly sweet before. You were coming up to your place, so you stepped on the engawa and turned to face Sanemi before dipping down to place a kiss on his cheek. His blush from before, barely having faded, returned with a vengeance.

“Thank you, Sanemi,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. You hoped you conveyed how much you appreciated him. You smiled, and backed into your home, watching his lips turn up as he also backed toward the path leading to his home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         Over the following months, you got back into your normal routine and felt much more at peace with your heartbreak. You had the support of the rest of the hashira, even if most of them didn’t know details of what happened between you and Tomioka—it wasn’t something that you were inclined to share. Not only would it cause more animosity to be directed toward him (he wasn’t the most popular slayer to begin with...), but it also caused you a bit of embarrassment that you were toyed with for so long. Regardless, you came to understand Tomioka’s reasoning for stringing you along, especially because of his lack of social life outside of you. You felt bad for him, knowing that now he truly had no one to spend time with; but you definitely weren’t ready to be on friendly terms with him anytime soon so you didn’t make efforts to see or speak with him.

         You had grown closer to Sanemi than you were before, which was a feat considering that you were already best friends really, even when you were with Tomioka. You both ate all of your meals together, trained together, often walked each other home, and confided in one another more than ever. Shinazugawa made you very comfortable around him. You were shocked when you realized one afternoon, head thrown back at the sky as you laughed at some clever quip from him, that he had single-handedly returned your smile to you after your heartbreak. You felt a tiny bit of warmth wiggling in your chest.

         Walking once again toward the Flame Hashira’s estate, your arms swayed gently by your sides. With Sanemi to your left, you felt very relaxed after a long day of training and goofing off with him and Iguro. You were looking forward to a nice meal and a hot bath. A sigh slipped from your lips at the pure contentment you felt in this moment.

         Sanemi’s head turned toward you, seeking your eyes.

“Everything alright?”

“Perfect, ‘Snemi,” your tongue was loose in relaxation and a strange version of his nickname slipped out, alongside a giggle at the slip-up.

         His face stretched into a smile, which was rare for anyone besides you to ever see. Walking down the bumpy path leisurely, the backs of your hands kept brushing. The warmth you’d felt in your chest since seeing Sanemi every day turned into a flutter everytime you touched his skin. As his knuckles bumped yours again, you decided to be bold—it was about time you started going for what you wanted, right? You caught his hand in yours and laced your fingers through his calloused ones. Your heart stuttered at the contact, and if you’d asked him how he felt he’d say the same. He squeezed your hand in his and rubbed his thumb in soft circles as you approached your residence.

“Y/n, I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow? With me? Well, duh, but you know...” Sanemi trailed off, his cheeks turning that shade of pink that delighted you so much. He was always so confident in every other situation—in fighting, in conversation with others, in his strengths, and he had been confident in flirting if what you’d seen in past years through your friendship was anything to go off of. His shyness with you was endearing; it told you that he cared what you thought of him. You knew he also had a level of comfort with you that he didn’t possess with anyone else, but you hoped in the near future you could express to him exactly just how much you valued him so that he no longer had reason to be so shy around you anymore.

  “Nemi, we hang out every day. Of course, I would love to see you again tomorrow.”

He kept meeting your eyes but then looking away. “Well yeah, yes, we do, but I kind of want to do something different, if that’s okay. Like if you wanted we could walk to the trees where the cherry blossoms are and I’ll bring a bunch of food and we’ll have, like, a picnic or something.” Your heart had to have swelled to twice its normal size.

         Still holding his hand, you gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I would love to.”

He finally met your gaze for more than half of a second and his still-pink cheeks broke into a grin wider than you think you’d ever seen on him. You didn’t know if you’d ever seen anything cuter. “Okay, then perfect! And, just to be clear, I wanted this to be a date. Like, romantically.”

You laughed again, throwing your arms around his neck and nuzzling into his broad chest. “Yes, Nemi. I want this to be a date too.”

Pulling back, you looked at his face, and you couldn’t help it. You were smitten with your friend. Well, soon to be more-than-friend, right?

“Can I kiss you?”

His face dropped into a look of pure shock, then elation as he breathed out, “Yes, y/n. I would like nothing more.”

So you leaned in, and he did the same, meeting in the middle. Sanemi may look rough around the edges to everyone else—but to you, he was nothing but soft and sweet. His lips were soft, not just in texture but in pressure, as if he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be too rough with you. Your lips moved together as if you’d done this before. Thinking about how you knew now Sanemi’s true feelings for you made you smile into the kiss, and you felt his lips turn upwards too. Both of you were hesitant to part, but you had to pull away when it became difficult to breathe. His lips followed yours, not wanting to break.

Sanemi rested his forehead against yours and your peered up into his eyes. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look so relaxed or blissful. “I should go,” you said after a moment, pulling a sigh from his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sanemi. We’ll have more time together then.”

“Alright. If you must go,” he replied, pressing a sweet kiss to your brow before stepping away, off to his own estate. You watched him go. For the first time in several months, you could see yourself being happy again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         A year later, you still walked everywhere with Sanemi, only now you two never went without your hands clasped tightly together. Your relationship with him had been completely different than the one before that had broken your heart. Sanemi held your hand with pride, he planted kisses on the top of your head and pecked your cheeks even when in the presence of others. When you became overwhelmed with how adorable your partner was and stretched up on your toes for a kiss, he still blushed if you two were in public, but he never turned down an opportunity to kiss his beloved. Not to mention, Sanemi never let a day go by without telling you he loved you. He didn’t really need to tell you in order for you to know—his actions spoke volumes about his true feelings—but each time he told you, you reveled in it and made sure to tell him the same back. And yes, you could say it to him anywhere, anytime without embarrassment or needing to play it off somehow.

His affection was shocking to others. The big, bad Wind Pillar who beat other slayers to a pulp at his trainings blushed when his girlfriend kissed him? He held her hand like his lifeline? His eyes weren’t full of hatred, but adoration? How could this be? Though this behavior was shocking to them when your relationship began, many were able to associate this new temperament to Shinazugawa fairly easily. While still rough in training sessions and prone to losing his temper, since he had been with you others could tell that he made a greater effort to hold his tongue or step away when upset rather than throw senseless punches. You made him want to do better for you, so he was better for you. He was a man of his word.

****

Now, when you walked Sanemi to a Hashira meeting, you placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and looked at the other hashira waiting in the Master’s garden. You waved first at Rengoku, who you’d see later on, then at Tomioka, who still hesitated to return your greetings even though you had released any anger you held toward him months ago. How could you hold anger toward your ex when you were so incredibly happy with Sanemi? Tomioka had taught you what you deserved, and Sanemi had been more than happy to put in work to be that for you. Now you could say with truth that you had no complaints.

[sanderssidesthehouse]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64883719

for @dukexietyweek prompt AU.

I Think You've Got A Wicked Smile

“My stupid brother has a stupid date to the stupid wedding.” Remus stormed into Virgil's room and threw his backpack on the ground. “And?” It had startled Virgil the first few times this had happened, but being friends with Remus meant you got used to it. “That means I need a stupid date to the stupid wedding.” Remus then threw himself backwards onto the unoccupied part of Virgil's bed. Virgil could try to argue that the logic didn’t follow, but once Remus had an idea in his head, it tended to stay there, and he’d rather save the energy. “... Welp, good luck with that.”

“Virgilllllll.” “I'm busy.” “I didn't even tell you what day it is.” “So what day is it?” “This Saturday.” “Yep, I'm all booked up.” “You aren't either. Your one friend who isn't me will be out of town and you don't do anything unless we drag you out.” “Exactly. I have to get in my scheduled nothing time.” “I'm gonna tell your mom.” “Nooooo. She'll make me go,” Virgil whined. “Perfect!” “Ugh, fine, just don't tell her, she'll make it a whole thing… Wait, I don't have anything to wear.” “Just wear clothes. They won't expect much from my date.” “Remus, I can't go to a wedding in ripped jeans and combat boots.” “Says who?” “Says me. Besides, my mom would kill me.” “Hmm… Yeah. You can borrow some of my clothes.” “Remus we are not the same size.” “Ugh, you're making this so difficult. Can I bring your mom instead?” “No.” “Fine, fine. I'll take you shopping or whatever. Mall's still open for a few more hours, right?” “Gram is rolling in her grave, but yes.” “Cool! Let’s go!”

-

“Remus, I can’t wear this!” “Aw c’mon, just show me how it looks,” Remus called back through the door of the stall Virgil was changing in. “I look like a prep.” “You’re the one who wanted to dress up!” “It’s just so… I can’t wear this.” “You’ve said that about the last seven outfits. Just show me. You know me, I’ll tell you if it looks bad.” Virgil huffed. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “I’ll consider myself warned.”

Remus could hear the door unlock and waited patiently as it took a few more seconds for Virgil to open it. When his friend finally presented himself, Remus was shocked, not because it was ugly, but because… It looked really good on him. The purple vest was the perfect shade to bring out his eyes, and the tie was Remus’s favorite shade of green, not to mention it would match Remus’s vest exactly. He’d have to get a purple tie.

“See? I told you it looked bad. I’ll just-” “Bad? Virgil, I don’t think you’ve ever looked hotter.” Virgil squeaked. “Not that I don’t dig your whole emo aesthetic, it really suits you, and the holes in your ripped jeans make me want to grab your thighs, but this… This looks good.”

Remus realized a few moments too late that he might have overdone it if Virgil’s fire engine red face and lack of breathing was anything to go by.

“Um, I just mean, it’s um, you know… You can wear it.”

There was another brief moment before Virgil started laughing so hard he had to lean on the doorframe for support. Remus always thought Virgil was so pretty when he laughed. It brought a light blush that his pale face so desperately needed and the crinkles around his eyes reminded Remus of a flaky pastry. It might be an odd descriptor, but he really did like flaky pastries.

“Ok, ok, I’ll wear it, jeez,” Virgil got out between chuckles. “You’re something else, Rem.” “Oh, ah, haha,” Remus managed. He could feel his face having warmed and his tongue being tied. “Just give me a second, I’ll change back and we can get out of here. You want to go to the arcade?” “Yeah, sure.” “Cool.”

Virgil closed the door.

Remus was so fucked.

-

The school bell rang, signalling it was time to get to home room. Ugh. At least Janus would be there with him.

“Hey, Virge. I heard you got a hot date this weekend.”

Or maybe Janus being there wasn’t such a blessing.

“It’s not a date.” “Of course not,” Janus said in a tone that meant he didn’t believe it and wanted Virgil to know that despite humoring him. “You’re the worst.” “And you love me for it.” Virgil sighed. “Just don’t tell anyone. Remus wants it to be a surprise, and honestly I think it’ll be really funny to see the look on Prince Preppy’s face.” “Who, me? Tell a secret? I would never.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow and Janus hissed out a laugh.

“Alright, alright, but I would never tell your secrets. Have fun on your not date. Try not to let Remus burst a blood vessel restraining himself?” “From what?” “Well he’ll either die or you’ll figure it out soon enough.” “I hate when you know things that I don’t.” “I’m surprised you’re not used to it by now.” “Shut up.” “Great retort. You should join the debate club.” “You should join the shutting up.” “... Virgil…” “Admittedly not my best work.”

Their conversation was cut short by the teacher starting role call. What did Janus know about Remus that he didn’t?

-

For the remainder of the week Remus seemed giddy and Janus took every opportunity to snicker at them and then say it was nothing. Jerk.

Part of him was dreading having to go to a wedding for people he didn't know and part of him thought it might not actually be so bad with Remus by his side. It would be interesting at the very least. Hopefully neither of them got arrested or covered in food or crashed into by a malfunctioning plane. That would suck. Maybe he should check the projected flight paths of flights that would be in the area. Before he could though, his phone chimed.

Duke of the Dumpster: here dw i cleaned the front seat mth: kk

Virgil double, triple, and quadruple checked he had everything then crept down the stairs. Hopefully he could dodge his mom and any questions that might come up with his outfit-

“Virgil? Your friend is here.”

No such luck.

“Oh, where are you going so handsome?! So grown up!” She rushed to him and began fussing with his hair and clothes. “Ugh, Mum!” “No angry make up? He must be special.” “H-he?!” “You cannot hide these things from your mother. She knows all. Your Remus, yes? Oh, look, is he matching out there? So sweet!” “He just needed a date to this stupid wedding is all!” “Virgil! That is no way to speak about someone's special day. You know when I got married to your father-” “I know, I know. Mum, we're gonna be late.” “Oh, you cannot be late. Shoo, now! And get many pictures! I will be having a talk with your Remus when you return.” “Mum, it's probably going to be late-” She fixed him a look. “Right, I'll let him know.” “Now go. Go! Have fun! Be safe! Use pro-” “Ok, bye Mum, love you, see you later, bye!” Virgil squirmed past her and rushed out the door bright red. Remus grinned as he got back into his seat and Virgil slid in the passenger side. “You know I think most people only put blush on their cheeks.” “Shut up and start driving. My mum wants to talk to you when we get back.” Remus's eyes went wide and he swallowed. “This is it. She's finally going to kill me.” “She's not going to kill you… Probably.” “Virgil!” “You still want your body buried under the old tree?” “...” Remus sighed. “Yeah…” “Cool. Let's go so we're not late.” “They're lucky I'm showing up at all.” “If you make me late, you won't have to worry about my mom.” “Reading you loud and clear, captain!”

Remus gave a salute and backed out of the driveway. Virgil just rolled his eyes.

The ride was pretty uneventful. They barely even had their typical banter. A nervous energy poured off of Remus which in turn made Virgil nervous. By the time they got there, Virgil was about ready to run a marathon to get it all out. Honestly he would have done some jumping jacks if there weren't a ton of people there already. And if he wasn't wearing something nice.

“So what do we do now?” “We're meeting out back. The ceremony will be outside then we'll go inside for the reception. I think Ro's already here. Wanna go bug him?” “I thought you'd never ask.”

Remus led Virgil around the side of the building an into a garden area with an open gazebo and lots of chairs lining a pathway. It actually wasn’t as big as Virgil had been expecting with the way Remus had been complaining about it. And since there weren’t that many people, at least comparatively, it was pretty easy to spot Roman in his bright red suit. Target acquired.

“I can’t believe he wore that.” “Right? Like I know he likes red, but isn’t that a little much?” “Please tell me he’s going to ditch the jacket for the reception.” “Highly doubtful.” “At least he didn’t wear the sparkly one he wore to homecoming.” “Roman? Wear the same suit twice? Banish the thought,” Remus feigned indignity. Virgil snickered. “Where’s his date?” “Can’t tell, but he’s a bit shorter so he’s harder to spot. Plus he’s not trying to signal to martians that he’s here and abductable. Here, walk behind me so he doesn’t see you yet. This is gonna be great.” “Aye-aye, captain.”

They made their way to the bush Roman was standing by, coming up from behind so Remus could grab his attention when he wanted it.

“Greetings, dear brother!” “Gah- Remus!” Roman huffed as he whipped around. “You have got to stop doing that! I’m going to have a heart attack one of these times.” “Shame that.” Virgil stepped out from behind Remus. “Virgil?!” Virgil grinned and gave a sarcastic salute. “Sup.” Roman glared at his brother. “Oh, hey! You’re in my chemistry class!” Roman’s date appeared seemingly from nowhere. “Oh, uh, yeah. Patton, right?” “Mhm! Gosh, isn’t this just so fun?! I love how you two match! Is purple your favorite color?” “Uh. Yeah. It's um, a good color.” “I’ll say! It brings out your eyes.” “... Right. Um, you look nice, too?”

Patton was wearing a baby blue suit and brown dress shoes. Apparently no effort was made to match with each other. That made Virgil wonder if he and Remus were doing too much.

“Aw, thanks! I think you’d get along well with my buddy, Logan.” Now that piqued Virgil’s interest. “Logan from debate club?” “Yeah! Do you know him?” “Not personally, but Janus talks about him a lot.” Patton gasped. “You’re friends with Janus?! Logan talks about him all the time, too! Always saying how it’s so infuriating that Janus can find ways to use logic to defend the most ‘ludicrous’ points! It seems like they’re getting along well.” Virgil noted that information for use later. “Yeah, sounds like Jan.” “Oh, let’s go find our seats! Can I sit next to you?” “Sure.”

Virgil was hoping Patton knew not to ramble on while the actual ceremony was happening and briefly wondered if he was a wedding cry-er. Hopefully Roman had that all handled and this wasn’t actually the worst idea he’d had in his life.

As Virgil and Patton were talking out loud, Roman and Remus were having a silent ‘argument’ mostly consisting of Roman throwing a tantrum and Remus egging him on. Remus noticed immediately when their dates started moving on, but waited for Roman to notice which didn’t take too long.

“Why did you bring him of all people? You finally ask him out and your first date is to a wedding that neither of you probably want to be at?” “Who said this is our first date?” “What?! When?” “Actually this isn’t the first date because it’s not a date. Not a real one. He’s just here because I wanted someone to come with me.” “So you’re going to torture yourself all night? That’s a new level of masochism for you.” “And what about Patton? I happened to notice one of you is bright red and the other is soft blue.” “Well… We’re not on a proper date either. He just really likes weddings!” “And you really like him! That’s so cute, I could puke.” Roman groaned. “We should probably go sit with them before they worry about us.” “Yeah, I dunno if we’re even on their minds.” Remus gestured to where their dates sat. “Huh. I guess I should have expected our little ball of sunshine to chase some of doom and gloom’s clouds away.” “He would take offense to that.” “And when has that ever stopped me?”

Remus shrugged and began making his way to the row of chairs, Roman just behind him.

-

“My mom wanted me to get lots of pictures, too.” “Oh, I'll take them for you!” “Oh, you don't have to, really.” “That's ok, I love photography! Plus this will be great for my scrapbook!” “Your scrapbook?” “With pictures of all my friends!”

Virgil wasn't really sure talking with someone for 20 minutes tops made them friends, but he wasn't going to be a jerk and say it. Plus, he might not know him well, but Patton seemed like a cool enough guy. Plus if he was dating Roman and friends with Logan, they'd probably be seeing each other more often. Speaking of which…

“How long have you and Roman been together?” “Oh well, we're not really… He just mentioned the wedding and I said how much I love weddings and he asked me if I wanted to come so I said yes. I like him, but I don't know if he feels the same way about me…” “Look, Roman may be obnoxious and rude and a jerk and bullheaded and not very bright-” “But?” Oh right, he was making a point. “But he's not the type to just lead someone on. If you were here as friends he wouldn't be treating you like a date. So has this felt like a date?” “He kissed my hand when he picked me up?” “Damn. He's down bad.” “That doesn't sound good…” “It means he's super into you.” “Oh! Do you think?” “For sure. Just start flirting with him and if it fries his brain he likes you. He can give, but he can't take it.” “How do you know all this?” “I've been friends with Remus basically since we were born. I've witnessed all of Roman's embarrassing crushes. Including Mrs. Paisley in the fourth grade.” Patton laughed. “That's so cute!” “Oh, shh, here they come.” “Gossiping already?” Remus asked.

Virgil shrugged and shot Patton a wink who then giggled. Roman glared at him on his way past, but Virgil didn’t feel the least bit threatened.

“Oh, I know! We should all take a group picture! Roman, can you take it?” Patton passed his phone. “I suppose.” “Ok, everyone say groupie!” “What?” Virgil choked. “Like a selfie, but we’re a group!” Patton smiled, certainly priding himself on teaching someone something new. “... Right. Maybe we could stick with ‘cheese’?” “But that’s so boring.” “Oh, I know!” Roman exclaimed. “In theater whenever we take a picture we say ‘chartreuse’.” “Why?” Virgil asked with a fair amount of judgement in his voice. “Because it’s fun to say!” Virgil thought for a moment then shrugged. “Got me there.” “Ok, then! 3, 2, 1!” Patton started. “Chartreuse!” “How does it look?” “I think I blinked,” Remus joked. “Well I look great.” Roman examined the picture. Patton glanced at Virgil before taking a deep breath. “You always do.” “Oh, um, well, yes, of course, naturally.” Roman pulled at the collar of his shirt and looked anywhere but Patton as his face began to match his suit. “Um, here's your phone.” Roman tried to hand off the phone without looking at the recipient which resulted in some waving and close calls before Patton was able to grab it.

Before anymore awkwardness could ensue, someone called for everyone to take their seats. The ceremony itself was nice enough. It certainly helped that it was short. Virgil was, however, correct about Patton being a wedding cry-er, and since Roman was trying too hard to be normal and not obvious about his crush, it was Virgil patting Patton’s back. Then again, he thought he saw Roman wipe away a tear or two, so maybe they would have just created a feedback loop and ended up bawling.

After they were dismissed, the wedding party and immediate family started with pictures while everyone else mingled or made their way inside to wait. Roman ushered Patton off somewhere, probably to avoid his brother and his brother’s date, but possibly to make some moves… Nah, Roman might be bold and brash, but he wasn’t nearly as brave when it came to being vulnerable. If anything, Patton would be the one to start things and they'd find Roman as a newly formed puddle of goo somewhere amongst the roses.

The twins’ mom caught up to Remus and Virgil, grinning widely, not unlike her usual expression. Virgil had yet to see her frown even a little bit and it was honestly a little off putting.

“Oh, you brought Virgil! You clean up so nice, sweetheart! And here I was worried he'd bring one of those delinquents.” “Mom!” “Hi, Mrs. Kingsley. Did you change your hair?” “I did! Thank you for noticing! Even my boys didn't say anything…” “It looks good. The cut really suits your face shape and the color brings out your eyes.” “Hey, if I wasn't allowed to bring your mom, you can't flirt with mine,” Remus muttered. “Such a gentleman! Well, I won't bother you two, thank you for coming to celebrate with us!” “Of course, thanks for having me.” “What a charmer. Now where did I leave my husband?” She muttered to herself as she walked away. “Ah, good ol’ Dad. How long do you think he can give Mom the slip?” “5 minutes tops. She’s like a bloodhound.” Remus dramatically gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Hey, that’s my mother you’re talking about.” “And?” Virgil wasn’t sure where this was going, but he knew it was going to be a good time. “And she’s obviously more of a bluetick coonhound.” Virgil snorted. “Oh, my apologies.” “I’ll forgive you this once, but you’re on thin ice.” Remus grinned. “Careful, you know how I am on the ice, you might have to hold me.” Remus flushed. “Well if you insist.”

Virgil tilted his head slightly in confusion, but let Remus link their arms. He’d only been calling back to their ice rink adventure the past winter with Janus and how atrociously he’d done. They’d both had to practically carry him off the ice. Luckily Remus was as extra as his brother and had rented out the whole rink so no one else was there. He couldn’t think of why that might make Remus uncomfortable, and if he was uncomfortable, why he got physically closer. Leave it to Remus to be entirely unpredictable.

Virgil let Remus lead him inside to find their table. It looked like Remus, Virgil, Roman, and Patton would get a small table to themselves. That worked out well enough.

“So how long do you think it will take those two to get together for real?” “If Patton doesn't completely fry Princey's brain, I'd bet by the end of the night. Didn't he always want to meet a prince at a ball?” “When I was like five!” “Hey, I found him.”

Virgil turned to face the disembodied voice so that it might be bodied again.

Roman huffed. “I wasn't lost.” “Where's your date?” “Bathroom. What exactly were you two talking about?” Virgil looked Roman up and down and grinned. “Nothing much.” “You're the worst. Why did you even come?” “Free food.” “Not even going to pretend you came for Remus?” “Not yet he hasn't.” “Remus!” Virgil and Roman scolded in unison.

Virgil shot Roman a ‘this guy’ look which was returned whole heartedly.

“Hey, stop silently communicating about me. Aren’t you two supposed to not like each other?” “Like a prep? Don’t make me laugh.” “Yeah, as if I would ever be friends with an emo nightmare.”

Their beef wasn’t really that serious, but they’d agreed a long time ago they just liked to argue.

“Hey guys, sorry I took a while, there was this butterfly and then a baby needed holding, and you would not believe what Michelle’s boyfriend said to her.” “I don’t know what any of that means,” Remus said with a smile. “Who’s Michelle?” Roman asked. “Man, I could’ve been going on b-plot adventures with Patton instead of hanging out with the twin terrors?” “Well anyway, it’s sorted now. I saw the wedding party making their way here so I think we’ll eat soon.” “My favorite part!” Remus cheered. “My favorite part is the dancing.” “Oof, mine isn’t. I can’t dance,” Virgil said. “Really? I’m a great dancer.” Roman grinned. “Good for you, twinkle toes.” “Ok, rude.” “I’m sure you could do it if you tried!” Patton tried to encourage him. “Oh no, believe me, there would be mass casualties. But if you dance, I’ll be rooting for you.” “Yeah, last time Virgil danced, Janus twisted his ankle and a tsunami hit Japan,” Remus supplied. “Only one of those things was actually related to me.” “You can’t prove Janus twisting his ankle wasn’t because of you.” “I meant- I meant the other one.”

Virgil tried to look to Roman and Patton for support, but Patton was too busy trying and failing not to giggle, and Roman just raised an eyebrow to say ‘You chose his company.’ which honestly was fair.

They made idle chatter until they were able to go up and get food. At some point after they returned to the table, Virgil’s mind began to wander. So far their ‘date’ had actually been pretty good. It wasn’t much different than when they hung out just the two of them outside of dressing up, but nothing else seemed to be expected of them other than being next to each other which they would have been anyway. He knew in some capacity that being someone’s date and going on a date were two different things, but they couldn’t be that different, right? Maybe dating wasn’t as stressful as he’d originally thought.

“Besides, weddings are lame, right Virgil?”

Whoops, someone was talking to him. Remus. What did he ask?

“Weddings are outdated, overly expensive pageantry,” Virgil responded on autopilot. “Ha!” “But this one’s kind of nice.” “Y- What?” “Yeah, I mean your cousin seems nice and it’s a pretty chill event. They seem to really be in love or whatever, I dunno.” “Hmph. Well at my wedding, there are going to be sharks.” “Sharks. Seriously? Talk about expensive.” “Nah, we’ll just get on a fishing boat with a priest. It’ll be cool!” “I am not getting married on a boat.” “Oh, yeah? What’s your great idea then?” “If I had to go through with a wedding, I’d get married under a weeping willow by a river in August as a small gathering of close family and friends.”

Remus was a bit stunned and couldn’t sort out a response, unlike Roman who was snickering and said something that sounded an awful lot like ‘Wow, he’s not like the other girls’. Patton swatted his arm.

“Well I think that sounds wonderful! I hope I’ll be invited!” “Only if your plus one isn’t Roman.” “Wh- Hey! I’ll have you know, I am a fantastic wedding guest!” “Really? Because the only time I’ve seen you at a wedding you spent most of the time antagonizing other guests, so…” Virgil shrugged. “Ok, first of all, the other guests give as good as they get, and second of all, I’d have to be Remus’s best man so I’d be there anyway.”

Right. They were on a date. A fake date. That made everyone present assume they were together. Like people who are dating are. Because they were on a date that just happened to be fake. Virgil felt and promptly ignored a pang of disappointment because he didn’t have time to figure that out.

“Nah, I think Jan’ll be my best man.” “No way! He was my friend first!” “Yeah, well I licked him first!” “First of all, ew, second of all, I doubt that.” “... Pat, do you want to go be anywhere else?” Patton laughed. “Sure. Let’s get some pictures by the flowers!” “Oh darn. I was so hoping to see their reactions when I suggested we pee on him to mark our territory.” “Yeah, I’m also gonna go take some pictures by the flowers-” “No wait!” Virgil laughed. “We should get some pictures though. My mom wanted some, remember?” “Just make sure to get my good side.” “And which side is that?” “My backside!” “Remus!” Virgil swatted him and went to find a place to take pictures.

Soon enough, speeches were spoken, the cake was cut, and the first dances were had. It was honestly really sweet and they all seemed really happy. Virgil wondered what it would be like to dance with someone like that. Would Remus hold him close? Would he twirl him around? Would he tell stupid dirty jokes to try to get Virgil to lose his footing and catch him when he fell? Not that he was thinking about Remus because he wanted to dance with Remus in particular, he just had to substitute someone in, and, well, Remus was just convenient. Obviously.

Besides friends danced together all the time, so it wasn’t even a big deal! Not that Virgil was going to dance with anyone at all because of his two left feet. So that was that about that.

The DJ began to hype the guests up and Roman dragged Patton to the dance floor for the ‘real’ party to begin. As the lights turned down, the purple glow from behind the DJ stand became more apparent, the light gently caressing Remus’s features and reflecting in his eyes. Virgil could vaguely make out a pounding baseline in the background, but everything else just seemed to fade out as time came to a stand still. If Virgil had been capable of thought, he might have been embarrassed for staring, but Remus was staring right back and so any and all cognition was halted.

“Virge?”

Virgil was vaulted back into his body that was then a lot closer to Remus than when he had slipped out of it. Suddenly he was drowning from the volume and the heat. It was too much. Without a word, Remus led him outside into the night. They found a bench to sit on, where Virgil leaned on Remus to ground himself.

“You ok?” “Yeah, sorry. I’m not really sure what happened there,” Virgil tried to laugh. “Don’t worry about it. It was stuffy in there anyway.”

Virgil remained silent in hopes that Remus somehow wouldn’t be able to see through him this time.

“You know, even if Janus wasn’t busy, I would have asked you first.” “Why?”

Remus didn’t speak for a while, but somehow the silence wasn’t tense or uncomfortable. Virgil knew Remus would answer him when he was ready. He always did.

In the meantime, they could hear the music where they were, though it was much quieter. A few songs played as they sat leaning on each other with the scent of flowers heavy in the air. The night was dark but warm and with a gentle breeze. Tree frogs chirped and some birds sang. It really was a nice night. Romantic, some might say, but Virgil wasn’t much for romance. At least he never had been. Then the song changed to something slow and gentle which pretty much sealed it.

Remus stood up and offered a hand. “May I have this dance?” “Remus.” “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” “You know I have two left feet.” “S’alright if you step on my toes. You don’t weigh that much.” “Remus.” “Please?” Remus moved ever closer, whispering into his ear, “I’ll make it up to you.” “Wh- I- Huh?” Virgil was glad for the dimness of the area that would hopefully cover up how red his cheeks were suddenly getting. “Besides,” he leaned back again, “no one will see us out here anyway.” “O-oh. Um, well… I guess…”

Remus’s laugh was softer than Virgil had ever heard it. Well, that wasn’t quite true. They’d stayed up late before, just the two of them, and Virgil had said something stupid, he couldn’t really remember what, but it had been like this that time, too. He let himself be pulled up and forward. Remus put one hand on his hip and held his hand in the other. Virgil lightly placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder.

“Get comfortable. I won’t bite unless you ask me to.” “You’re the worst.” “You wouldn’t want me any other way.” Virgil huffed a laugh. “I guess.”

Remus led Virgil, slowly at first starting with just swaying, then moved to taking steps one at a time. They weren’t even going to the pace of the music, but it didn’t seem to matter to either of them. Virgil found it to be dissimilar to the scenario he’d concocted in his head, but he liked the real one better.

They continued slowly advancing long past when the song had ended and something else had come on. Virgil felt like he was getting the hang of it and it was actually pretty fun. They moved together, predicting each other like they’d been doing this for years. It was easy enough to fall in sync with each other which was less surprising the more Virgil thought about it.

Inevitably, Virgil stumbled into Remus who prevented him from falling further. Remus had moved his arms to catch him, and now both were around his waist holding him close.

“Hey there,” Remus whispered. “Um, hi,” Virgil whispered back.

Remus looked like he wanted to say something, so Virgil waited.

“You're beautiful.”

Virgil absolutely did not squeak, don't believe Remus when he tells you.

“I've wanted to tell you that for a long time.” “You've never hesitated to speak your mind before.” “There hasn't been anything this important to me before.” “Remus… What are you… ?” “You don't know?”

There it was. The thing that Virgil knew he knew but had tricked himself into not knowing for the sake of his sanity. That little fact that scared and excited him. The answer to his question ‘Why?’

“Tell me anyway?” “I really like you, Virgil. I want to take you on real dates and be your real boyfriend.”

Now, Virgil had never had a boyfriend before, never been on a date, never even held hands with someone he was interested in. This made him nervous. What if they had a fight and broke up and it ruined everything and Janus took his side and left Virgil all alone? But what if rejecting him had the same effect? How could he survive without his best friends? He'd have to move to Alaska and become a fisherman and he really sucked at fishing-

“I can hear you overthinking it. Forget about everything else, whatever eventualities you're running. What do you want right now? How do you feel? I'm not going to abandon you for not feeling the same way.”

Virgil sighed, partially in relief. Somehow Remus could always read him like a book.

“Right now… I want to stay here. Like this. With you. I feel- I feel… like I hadn’t even dared to think about it because you’re important to me, Rem. I want you in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you. But…” “But?” “But now I’m thinking about it. And I’m thinking that the things I’m feeling maybe aren’t totally platonic. I just don’t want to say I feel the same and be wrong.” “Then how about this: Virgil, would you allow me to take you on a date? And if you enjoy it, another one after that?” “I- I think I’d like that. A lot.” “Then a date it is. We can worry about the rest later.” “You know I’m not really good at putting off worrying.” “Then I’ll just have to distract you until then.” “And how do you plan on doing that?” “Hmm…” Remus leaned back slightly and looked up to the right, pretending to think. “Well there is one thing that might work?” “What’s that?” “Can I kiss you?”

Virgil’s mind stuttered to a halt and all function ceased. Even his heart felt like it skipped a beat.

“Kiss? Me?” The wheels in his head began turning again, slowly at first, then going a mile a minute. “Well, um, if you want to. You don’t have to obviously, I don’t want to push, and if that’s too fast, or if you never want to-” “Rem?” “- that’s ok, too, I mean, like obviously. And we can totally do anything else-” “Rem.” “- it’s no problem. Hey actually, why don’t we go back in and pretend this never happened-” “Remus!” Remus swallowed. “Um. Yeah?” “Just kiss me already, stupid.” “O-oh. Right! Ok!”

When they got back to Virgil’s house, his mom was waiting for them on the front porch. They got out and Virgil let Remus go first with a poorly concealed grin. Yeah, this was going to be fun for one of them, and that one was not Remus.

-

“Hi, Auntie.” Remus was more than a bit nervous, but to be fair Virgil's mom was the most intimidating 4’10“ woman you'd ever meet. “If you hurt my Virgil, I will use the good pan.” “Yes, ma'am!” “Good boy. Now show me the pictures!”

[mumms-the-word]

Illithid Souls - Part 1

What’s up with mind flayers and souls anyway?

I know this deep dive has been done before like a hundred times, based on all the Reddit threads I’ve read, but I feel like a lot of the "evidence" has been scattered about in a lot of places (reddit, tumblr, other threads, other socials, etc). So I figured...why not gather a lot of it here in one place?

As with all my deep dives, this post is designed to equip you with some lore so you can build your own theories and ideas. I’ll offer theories that I find interesting or feasible, but lore is always a little hazy so I’m bound to be wrong or you’re bound to interpret things differently. Just have fun with the lore!

I’ll start by defining what D&D calls a soul, and then…well it unravels from there. In this part we're going to dive into the lore about souls, the afterlife, and where mind flayers differ, along with a bit of in-game context. In Part 2 we'll look at individual case studies (Tav/Durge, Orpheus, Karlach, and Gale).

Buckle up, folks, cause it's a long one!

As always, I’ll include images and image descriptors/text written out in case the pictures fail or are too small to read!

What is a soul?

The entire game of Baldur's Gate 3 is heavily invested in the idea of souls. Raphael wants to bargain with your soul. Mizora has Wyll's soul bound to a contract. Cazador plans to sacrifice 7007 souls. Vlaakith consumes the souls of her faithful. Karlach wants to collect (and use) soul coins. Every tadpoled follower of the Absolute is called a True Soul. This game is OBSESSED with souls.

But it never actually defines a soul, does it? So what do the official D&D rules say?

Well...they don't. Older editions used to split hairs about the difference between a soul and a spirit, but those older editions also used to say that elves, orcs, and half-orcs didn't have souls, so...we've moved on a bit from those days.

In the game, a book on soul coins defines souls as "the sum of personal and magical essence," which is both helpful and vague. The general player consensus is that a soul is the animating "force" that is made up of memories, personality, intelligence, and (possibly) morality, and that in some cases, such as the spell Speak with Dead, a soul differs from a spirit, which merely "animates" the body but does not actually possess the personality or the thinking capabilities of the deceased (though it may have access to memories).

Speak with Dead [...] Until the spell ends, you can ask the corpse up to five questions. The corpse knows only what it knew in life, including the languages it knew. [...] This spell doesn't return the creature's soul to its body, only its animating spirit. Thus, the corpse can't learn new information, doesn't comprehend anything that has happened since it died, and can't speculate about future events.

So there's a chance that while an entire soul is generally made up of personality, memories, and some element of active thinking/decision making/speculation (intelligence, for lack of a better term), the part of a soul that functions as an "animating spirit" is what houses memory. In other words, animating spirit (memories) + personality + intelligence = soul.

This idea of the animating spirit (memories) being housed within a soul, but also detachable from a soul, is important for later, so remember this in a bit.

Souls also have power, which is why the game is obsessed with everyone fighting over souls. Raphael, Mizora, and Cazador trade in souls in exchange for power. There are insinuations in the game that the gods want to stop the "scourge of soulless illithids" (Mystra's words) because souls are a kind of currency to them (though, trust me, trying to find a recent D&D source that clearly states that particular stance is a damn migraine of an endeavor). But Withers does say that souls imbue gods with power, so the game at least operates with that assumption in mind.

According to Withers…

We all know that Withers, aka Jergal, aka the Final Scribe, aka the former god of death, aka the expert on souls, has plenty to say when you ask him to elaborate on anything:

Well, okay, maybe he doesn't. But he does have a bit more to say about souls and mind flayers. For example, when he first brings up the topic of illithids and souls in Moonrise, this is some of the information he can give the player.

Withers: I shall ask yet again. Do illithids possess souls? Player: These abominations are soulless, surely. Withers: Correct. - Player: I'm not sure. Don't all living things? Withers: No. Nor canst thou count mind flayers among them. - Player: I admit I haven't thought about it. Withers: Thou shalt think about it now, and I shall give the answer. Mind flayers are soulless. Yet the Three amass an illithid army, void of apostolic souls that could imbue them with power.

A couple of things to note here. Jergal, the guy in charge of putting down the names of people who die and keeping track of where their souls go, is pretty clear that he thinks mind flayers don't have souls. But his last statement clarifies two things: one, that he is referring specifically to apostolic souls (more on that in a bit) and that souls imbue gods with power.

Souls give the gods a kind of strength. He brings this up when he criticizes the dumb plot the Dead Three came up with in his post-epilogue scene:

Thou sought to bolster thy strength by taking away the souls of mortals. But souls vanish when their hosts become mind flayers.

So we know that souls are a source of power for deities and gods because they imbue gods with power and strength. But gods only get the power of these souls after a mortal dies with their soul intact. If someone becomes a mind flayer...well, let's just say the natural order of things gets disrupted.

What happens when you die?

You see, normally, when someone dies in Faerûn (assuming they are humanoid), their soul travels to the Fugue Plane where it basically waits around until a deity picks them up or Kelemvor decides they're just going to be part of the Wall of the Faithless for forever. From the Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide (page 20 because I am, as youtuber Swoop says in her docs, a thorough bitch):

The Afterlife Most humans believe the souls of the recently deceased are spirited away to the Fugue Plane, where they wander the great City of Judgment, often unaware they are dead. The servants of the gods come to collect such souls and, if they are worthy, they are taken to their awaited afterlife in the deity's domain. Occasionally, the faithful are sent back to be reborn into the world to finish work that was left undone.

This is where the idea of apostolic souls comes in. Apostolic, in its most basic definition, means "having the characteristics of an apostle," or having the characteristics of someone who dedicates their entire lives to the teaching of a particular religious figure (in our context and reality, this mostly means the apostles of Christ, but in BG3 it would refer to any deity). I think here, the definition gets stretched a little thinner to mean any soul that is capable of devotion to a deity, rather than a soul that is already devoted. Apostolic souls can be Faithful, Faithless, or False (which is how souls are separated in the Fugue Plane).

In other words, an apostolic soul is a humanoid-specific soul that the deities recognize and can use as a source of power by inviting said soul into their domain. Mind flayers do not have apostolic souls. Emphasis on apostolic here, but we'll back to mind flayers in a minute. For now, let's look at the Faithless and False souls.

Souls that are unclaimed by the servants of the gods are judged by Kelemvor, who decides the fate of each one. Some are charged with serving as guides for other lost souls, while others are transformed into squirming larvae and cast into the dust. The truly false and faithless are mortared into the Wall of the Faithless, the great barrier that bounds the City of the Dead, where their souls slowly dissolve and begin to become part of the stuff of the Wall itself.

Depressing.

The distinction between a Faithless and a False soul is a little hazy, but according to the Forgotten Realms wiki, a Faithless soul is someone who never aligned themselves to the worship of a specific deity or who just didn't believe in the existence of the gods at all (think of Astarion, who outright rejects all gods). A False soul, in contrast, is someone who did believe but failed to serve their god or outright betrayed them (a fate that Gale feels he is faced with for being on Mystra's bad side). Allegedly all the Faithless end up becoming part of the Wall, whereas the False could get mitigated sentences, such as becoming guides for other souls.

Of course, there's nothing stopping deities from combing through Faithless or False souls to collect them into their domains. But it could take a while. Clearly, the more souls a god collects into their domains, the more powerful they become, but the gods are also not exactly fighting over the souls of Faithless or False people, because people can end up waiting hundreds of years before Kelemvor is finally like "guess you're part of the wall now." Your only option to get out of that is to sell your soul to a devil, which isn't a much better fate.

From The Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide, page 25, regarding servants of Asmodeus:

To those not so dedicated, priests of Asmodeus offer the prospect of a reprieve in the afterlife. All souls wait on the Fugue Plane for a deity's pleasure, which determines where a soul will spend the rest of eternity. Those who lived their lives most in keeping with a deity's outlook are taken first. Others, who have transgressed in the eyes of their favored god or have not followed any particular ethos, might wait centuries before Kelemvor judges where they go. People who fear such a fate can pray to Asmodeus, his priests say, and in return a devil will grant a waiting soul some comfort.

This makes me infer two things: first, that the gods are kind of picky about which souls they want to join their domain (regardless of what actually happens to that soul in a deity's domain, which is a topic for a different post entirely, because the results may vary) and therefore the gods aren't just going to go with any soul that ends up in the Fugue Plane. Second, that the gods aren't exactly in a hurry to choose among wandering souls, likely because the Material Plane just keeps producing and destroying mortals, resulting in a constant flow of souls.

We see a glimpse of a god's perspective on the influx of souls when Gale confronts Mystra in the Stormshore Tabernacle (in this case, when you play him as an Origin):

Gale: You're one to talk. How many innocents were you prepared to sacrifice if I detonated the orb? Mystra: Such eddies are unexpectional. Souls arrive and depart your plane with every tide, in circumstances just and unjust. The Weave cannot be lost because we are unwilling to cause a ripple. And that is what is at stake.

She then goes on to say "With each day that passes, the elder brain threatens to become a new kind of god, its worshippers a scourge of soulless illithids." This is what's at stake. The loss of souls on the Material Plane.

The Absolute plot threatens that cycle of birth and death, of souls arriving and departing. But how, exactly, is the mind flayer plot a threat?

Well, for one, if everyone with a tadpole turns into an illithid (which doesn't have an apostolic soul, Withers is adamant about this), and then all the illithids kill all the non-illithids...who is making new babies with apostolic souls? And if there are no new fresh souls, eventually the deities will just also die out, since no one will be left to believe in them and thus their powers will diminish and eventually fade. It might take a few hundred years, but it still spells death for everyone involved.

The irony here is that it means the Dead Three gambled and lost even if their plan to ascend a Netherbrain ends with a success, such as when Tav or Durge decides to dominate the world by controlling the Netherbrain. Either the brain is destroyed and they lose, or the Netherbrain successfully completes its Grand Design and they really lose, because the only winner here after a thousand years would be the Netherbrain. Thus we have Withers taunting them in the post-epilogue scene by asking if they really thought their ploy would succeed.

Okay...so we know that mind flayers killing everyone on the planet is a bad idea because it means that apostolic souls stop arriving in the Fugue Plane. But what about mind flayers? If they don't have apostolic souls, do they have ANY soul worth eternal currency?

Remember, the only way to create more mind flayers is to tadpole a humanoid creature. Without humanoids, mind flayers can't reproduce. But when humanoids turn into mind flayers, they allegedly lose their souls. Right?

Withers says souls "vanish" when the body turns into a mind flayer. But this is vague, and thus allows for a few different theories. Perhaps souls move on to the Fugue Plane while the person-turned-mind-flayer continues existing on the Material Plane. Perhaps the soul just becomes obscured and unrecognizable by the gods. Or perhaps the soul really does go poof and is replaced by something else entirely.

So which is it? Well...first of all, let's set the record straight on mind flayer souls.

Do mind flayers have souls?

The short answer is...yes. They just don't have apostolic souls.

According to Volo's Guide to Monsters (page 80 for those looking through their copies at home):

Illithids acknowledge the existence of divine entities, but it is unusual for any but a deviant mind flayer to actively worship such a power. Since they are capable of planar travel, illithids don't view the afterlife and the Outer Planes in the mythic way that most other races do. Illithids don't believe they possess souls whose eternal fate is governed by the gods. Instead, when a mind flayer's brain is returned to the elder brain to be consumed, the creature's intelligence lives on. Only if an illithid's brain isn't retrieved after death would its consciousness be cast into oblivion.

And on page 72:

An elder brain has a perfect recollection of its race's history. Consequently, it views itself as both a refugee and a victim, forced into hiding by barbaric monsters. An elder brain also sees itself as a savior of the mind flayer race and a living memorial that preserves the memories of the mind flayers' prey. By its twisted logic, humanoids whose brains are devoured by the colony are rendered immortal, their memories preserved forever in the elder brain's labyrinthine mind. When a mind flayer grows old, becomes infirm, or is previously injured, the elder brain absorbs it—another form of immortality, as the mind flayer's mind dwells within the hive mind forever after.

So essentially, mind flayers do have a soul, but because they are a) not humanoid but are aberrations from another plane, and b) not faithful to the deities of Faerûn, their souls are not recognized by the gods. The souls might not even journey to the Fugue Plane when they die. Instead, mind flayers give up their consciousness (their memories, especially) to an elder brain to become part of its eternal collective memory.

It's worth noting that Volo's Guide to Monsters puts emphasis on memory and intelligence here, but not necessarily personality. Mind flayers and elder brains do have a kind of personality, because they experience emotions (we'll look at some conversations with the Emperor in Part 2), but their emotional range seems to be a little limited. For example, regarding elder brains:

An elder brain is arrogant, scheming, and power hungry, yet quick to flee or beg for mercy in the face of a powerful foe. It has no conception of joy, sympathy, or charity, but is well acquainted with fear, anger, and curiosity. It is an intellect utterly incapable of empathy or concern for creatures other than itself.

These limited emotions suggest there might be some element of personality here, but it's not exactly the same as a humanoid personality, which would normally be capable of a wider scope of emotional range. We'll talk a lot more about personality and how transforming into a mind flayer alters that part of one's identity (if not their actual soul) more in Part 2, but for now, just know that a mind flayer technically has all the elements usually present in a soul: an animating spirit (memories), intelligence, and personality (emotion).

When mind flayers die, their memories and intelligence are usually consumed by an elder brain, but it's unclear if the personality is too, or if the personality is destroyed. However, if they're not enthralled to an elder brain or if they die and their brain isn't retrieved to give to an elder brain...then their soul is "cast into oblivion."

Being cast into oblivion could mean anything. It could mean that their soul simply wanders around wherever it died, untethered to anything but unable to move on. Or it could mean that their soul simply ceases to exist. No one really knows what happens to it because renegade mind flayers are extremely rare. BG3 has Omeluum and the Emperor, but other than those two, official D&D lore only lists a small handful of other renegades out of millions of mind flayers over time.

So now you're probably thinking, "Well, wait, but is a mind flayer's soul the same soul that a person had before they became a mind flayer?" And the answer to that is complicated.

Let's talk about ceremorphosis

Normally a mind flayer isn't supposed to remember much of its life prior to ceremorphosis. This is partly why mind flayers eat brains, so they can literally absorb the memories of other creatures and make those memories part of the hive mind. But initially, after ceremorphosis, it seems like the the usual animating spirit (memories) of a person gets destroyed or displaced.

The tadpole grows as it devours the humanoid's brain, attaching to the victim's brain stem and becoming its new brain. Over the course of a week, the humanoid body changes form, and a new mind flayer comes into being. The emergent mind flayer often retains a few dim memories from its previous form, but these vague recollections seldom have any bearing on its new life as a brain-eating monster.

So right off the bat, a typical mind flayer loses the memories (perhaps the animating spirit) of the original host, and it's likely that it loses a lot of the initial personality as well (since it seems likely to lose some of the emotional range). Its intelligence is likely altered too, since the tadpole is literally eating brain matter. So this could lead us to believe two things.

First, that ceremorphosis utterly destroys the host's body and the host's soul likely goes to the Fugue Plane because they have basically died. Their brain has been consumed and their body transformed, so in essence they can't be themselves anymore. Instead, a new soul has taken residence inside the mind flayer body, though where this soul comes from is unclear since tadpoles probably don't have souls. The original soul, however, is free to move to the Fugue Plane and beyond.

Or, alternatively, the host's soul is transformed, shedding memories and personality to become a non-apostolic soul that aligns with an elder brain's hive mind somehow. This means that the host's apostolic soul might be destroyed because it's been changed so drastically, but there are some parts of the original soul still left (the lingering memories, for example). This means the host's original soul didn't move on, but is tethered to the mind flayer body and has been changed into something unrecognizable. When the mind flayer dies, the former apostolic-soul-turned-illithid-soul is either consumed by an elder brain or cast into oblivion.

If the first theory is correct, it seems a little odd that the BG3 companions are so concerned about losing their own souls. If it would just be the same as dying, there would still be some desire to avoid the fate of ceremorphosis, but the companions seem incredibly concerned about losing their own autonomy, as if their consciousness will be trapped inside a mind flayer body and their souls forfeit and unable to move on to the Fugue Plane. After all, Withers is in the business of plucking souls out of the Fugue Plane when we inevitably die in the game.

Specifically, Withers can take a body that has been completely turned to ash and resurrect it with True Resurrection, a spell powerful enough to completely restore a body to its former state. However, there is some assumption here that he wouldn't be able to do this with a mind flayer body, thus the push in the game for a cure.

True Resurrection You touch a creature that has been dead for no longer than 200 years and that died for any reason except old age. If the creature's soul is free and willing, the creature is restored to life with all its hit points. This spell closes all wounds, neutralizes any poison, cures all diseases, and lifts any curses affecting the creature when it died. The spell replaces damaged or missing organs and limbs. If the creature was undead, it is restored to its non-undead form. The spell can even provide a new body if the original no longer exists, in which case you must speak the creature's name. The creature then appears in an unoccupied space you choose within 10 feet of you.

In other words, if theory one is correct, and a person simply dies when they become a mind flayer, Withers should technically be able to resurrect them by pulling their soul out of the Fugue Plane and giving them a new body. You'd have a weird mind flayer clone of you running around, but you wouldn't have to worry about ceremorphosis again.

(But then again, we know the game ignores the organ-regrowing properties of True Resurrection for Karlach, too, so the game intentionally limits the capabilities of True Resurrection.)

If theory two is correct, and the lore is extremely unclear about this process if this is the case, then the companions' reactions and dialogues make a bit more sense. They all talk as though turning into a mind flayer means their soul is somehow destroyed. Mind flayers having souls is likely not common knowledge in the universe (certainly no one in the game is arguing that they have souls), so if a person's soul is transformed beyond recognition it could certainly seem like the host's soul got destroyed. Additionally, this would result in a person's consciousness being trapped inside a mind flayer body, so the loss of autonomy would be a terrifying possibility here.

Plus, we know that when a mind flayer dies, the soul they have (whether a brand new soul or an apostolic soul that has been altered) is consumed or thrown into oblivion. So if theory two is correct, there will be no eternal consciousness for you, allegedly (though there's some debate as to how much eternal consciousness you have in the Fugue Plane or the Outer Planes too...)

We don't know which of these theories is correct, and the game sort of slides between these two theories (as we'll see in Part 2). But, and I cannot stress this enough, this lore only applies to normal mind flayers.

BG3 has altered the usual mind flayer tadpoles with Netherese magic such that things get a little wonky. And beyond that, the ultimate tadpole that changes you (or Karlach, or Orpheus) into a mind flayer capable of wielding the Netherstones is a Supreme Tadpole that has been further altered by the Emperor:

The Emperor: I took this one from the nautiloid. I have been nurturing it ever since - priming it for your use. It is not dissimilar to the experience you already had with the previous one. Only this one is much more potent. All you have to do is open your mind to it. Its latent potential will do the rest.

We don't know how the Emperor has been priming this tadpole, but if it came from the nautiloid, then it is imbued with the same Netherese magic as all the other tadpoles. It's not the same as the Astral-touched tadpole (from Act 2), which has been in the Astral Prism for millennia, but it is somehow more powerful, or at least more effective in transforming you into a new kind of mind flayer, one that can think independently of the elder brain.

So now you (or Orpheus, or Karlach) are a new special kind of mind flayer. Does that change anything?

Yes. In fact, it seems to change quite a lot. But this post is already super long, so you'll have to check out Part 2 to see what I mean.

~*~*~

You made it to the end! Gold stars!!!

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

I'll link part 2 soon~

Tagging those who wanted an update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

[muzzlemouths]

Since you're working on a new fic/au, this might be a good time to ask: how do you start creating a new story? Do you start with an outline? Do you open a word doc and go in guns ablaze? What's the process on that I'm very curious

I sat on this ask for a couple days because I've been struggling with figuring out how to answer it, since the actual answer is that I don't have a process. Not one that sticks, anyway.

For DMD, I had a clear, concise idea in mind for how it would start, how it would end, and a few scenes that needed sorted in between. But the "outline" looks something like that one post:

Most of my fics that end in "?" for the final chapter look like this.

In terms of my oneshots and drabbles, I very rarely have any sort of outline in mind. I'll get an idea for a scene that I want to see, and I'll just start typing until it's finished. Anything over 3k words normally has me writing down some notes for direction, at least.

As for DFtR, due to the nature of that story (what with having three alternate routes) it was pretty much required that I write a full outline, otherwise I would undoubtedly lose track of some details.

My newest au, Easy As Pie (formerly Stardust Hotel) also has a full outline, though it is far more simplified than the one for DFtR, and acts more like guidelines for me to follow with only the necessary/important information established, which still leaves me with room for changes where/when necessary.

For example, here's an excerpt from that outline which has the main bullet point (What that scene is "About") and then a brief description of the room underneath that I can use as a descriptor, while writing everything else around it. That is, the dated appearance of the room is the main focus, and everything else that occurs in this scene will be written as a secondary focus.

Occasionally I'll also include brief phrases/conversation just to ensure that said lines make it into the fic, and so I don't lose track of what is meant to be happening in that moment. Those bits normally look pretty silly (at least to me). Here's one of them!

And that's my process! It's kind of a mess, but it works for me, so that's all that matters haha

[sophieinwonderland]

r/systemscringe is Hulking out over my Avengers post!

Does everyone know that?

What comics or movies was this addressed in?

Why does the hatesub act like this word was just made up? Sanism has been a thing since the 60s!

I know it's hard for you all, but please at least TRY to educate yourselves before making fools of yourselves in the future!

This subreddit just cannot stop itself from hurling ableist insults.

Oh, for the love of the triple goddesses!

What is it with certain groups reacting to NEUTRAL descriptors by claiming they're slurs?

This is the ridiculous bad faith "cis is a slur" argument all over again.

"Singlet" is a neutral term for a non-system. It's not a slur. It's not an insult.

You just have a massive raging victim complex.

And I promise you, the fact that you don't have DID is not the reason everyone thinks you're a piece of shit.

They've typically fought Mutants when those Mutants were doing something that could be dangerous to the world. Not just attacking them because they're mutants.

Mutants have even served on several Avengers rosters. And The Avengers have teamed up with mutants far more than they've come to blows with them.

Yes, Steve and Tony have generally stood aside while mutant discrimination was happening. That's an unfortunate side effect of separate groups of writers running different comics. Besides that, Captain America showing up to save the X-Men from their enemies in their stories would be pretty unsatisfying.

But even if Steve is just someone who hasn't done enough for mutants, he's still generally supportive of mutants.

Hulk wasn't abused in the MCU as far as has been revealed. Nor is his plurality considered DID.

This may be confusing it with the Ang Lee movie that did address the abuse.

MCU Hulk, so far as we know, is an endogenic systems made by trying to recreate the super soldier serum in an experiment gone wrong.

"He doesn't live in Marc's head. He just invades it"

Right... That's a Gateway System. A headmate from the outside entering the mind.

And the gods do seem, at least, somewhat "attached" to their avatars. It seems like they can communicate only with their avatars and prospective avatars. How this works isn't perfectly clear. But it at least doesn't seem as if he can just freely roam Earth and appear to different people whenever he wants while bonded to someone. I admit this may be disproven in the future.

Still, my assumption is that he can appear to Layla because he wasn't currently bonded to Marc. Once he's bonded to Marc again, he can't communicate with Layla anymore.

This did come to mind. But being pro-endo isn't just about believing endogenic systems exist. Even if we consider the Winter Soldier an endogenic system... which feels wrong on multiple level... he's a brainwashed tool to them.

They don't even consider him a real person. Just an asset to use.

Given their association with Nazism, I wouldn't expect them to see other systems any better.

Your so-called "defense" is reliant on having no idea what you're talking about, and regularly accusing DIS systems of faking for things that are basic parts of the disorder.

One of the first things you'll see on my page is a debunking of just a small fraction of the lies r/systemscringe has spread about DID in the name of "defending" it.

But we are not talking about DID here. We're talking about plurality. About the experience of being multiple in one body. And this is something that has been well-recorded by actual psychiatrists.

The entry on DID in the World Health Organization's ICD-11 states that you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a disorder.

In Transgender Mental Health, a book published by The American Psychiatric Association, it was specifically acknowledged that you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.

If I wanted, I could go on and on and on, listing paper after paper affirming the existence of non-disordered and endogenic plurality.

But what's the point?

The thing I've learned from sysmeds is that they are chronically incapable of accepting any information that proves them wrong.

And this is the ultimate reason that the Avengers could never be anti-endo. And even most Avengers villains couldn't. Being presented with all of these expert opinions and still doubling down, when you can't even name a single doctor who claims all plurality comes from trauma, requires a certain level of willful ignorance that fictional characters like these are rarely written with.

None of the Avengers would ever be a sysmed.

Because being a sysmed requires you to lack curiosity. It requires you to lack critical thinking. It requires you to be someone who will go along with the crowd and be sucked in by groupthink. To NEVER question the narrative that you're given.

And this type of person... doesn't make for a good protagonist.

In the end, you're pretty clearly not The Avengers. You're just ignorant bigots who hide your bigotry under the guise of helping people. But that is just a front. Inside, you're looking for people to blame for your own suffering, and so you've picked a marginalized community you think you can get away with attacking because it's more socially acceptable. And you will refuse to accept facts that prove you wrong because accepting those facts would mean you're the bad guy.

No, you're definitely nothing like Avengers. But maybe Purifiers?