#Narrator voice she wasn't normal

[missanthropicprinciple]

Literally drifted off like a cat while resting on my heating pad and listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring at top volume. How does a normal person fall asleep to music that was so radical, loud, and tempestuous that it caused a riot?

[sboochi]

My weekly dose of fluff

[adulthooliganism]

thinks regularly abt how my first therapist's recommendation for how to deal with intrusive thoughts was give yourself tinnitus by blasting music in headphones so loud you can't hear the bad thoughts

[firenagy]

I said I could make a whole essay about why this is my favorite line in Slay the Princess and @lobsterlobotomiseslobos challenged me to go ahead and do it so here's that. Posted on discord and was told to share it here as well. This was written for a group of people who had varying levels of experience with this game, so I cover a lot of the basics.

Let's start with the very fundamentals, this is not a line that is said, instead, it is one of the first things you think of after ascending to godhood and making the decision that change is a fundamentally necessary force in the universe. Everything in this sequence is packed with necessary context, and emotions that hit only after you experience all of it, however I'll do my best to summarise it, since even players who finished the game can miss some very important info in this part.

You and Her were once one unchallenged god. The themes of self discovery and self exploration through comparison of the self with the other are crucial to the game, exemplified specially during your very first meeting with the princess. If you explore your options, talking to yourself in the form of the Voice of the Hero and to the Narrator, it's quickly apparent that this world doesn't really exist. Or rather, that the only parts of the world that exist, for all intents and purposes, are you, the path in the woods, the cabin, and the Princess. This includes things like your and her name and background, which upon scrutiny are nonexistent. Crucially, the narrator is also not real. You can talk to him all you want and he can experience some slight manner of growth, but the person whose memories and personalities make up the narrator is long gone, leaving behind an echo in hopes of guiding you to do what he wants. to kill what was once part of you.

The Narrator, or rather, the person who died in order to create the echo you meet in the game, was a normal person, possibly a human hinted by the princess' appearance. This person seems to have lived at a time so far beyond our own it's hard to describe, but is best put as the last remains of civilization living, holding out, as the very last stars in our universe burn out. As he sees it, change only brings upon death and destruction, because his world already had time to grow and prosper, with now being the end of everything. We also get a rare glimpse at the world of the narrator, beyond the faux reality, if we choose to slay Her.

That brings us to the content of the game itself, two nascent gods interacting, fighting, loving, discovering who they are. Their only point of reference for what is "real" being one another. The Shifting Mound uses a line that stuck with me to describe the state of your being,"We are oceans reduced to shallow creeks", as a way to describe what it feels to be forced down into a tiny vessel, memories erased. All of the routes in the game can be described as a journey of self discovery, with the Princess being a being of perception, your thoughts on her influence her mentally and physically. In turn, she influences you back in a far more subtler way, adding more facets to your personality in the form of the Voices.

And that is the setting of our meeting. Two gods who were once one whole being having a conversation. They were forced, over and over again, to figure out who they are. Both having nothing but fragments to go by, small pieces of what they once made up, until finally, She is made whole. The Princess' ascension into the Shifting Mound is a sight to behold, and brings upon your own ascension were you to wish to become a god like her.

In this particular ending, the Long Quiet, the god of unchanging reality, stasis, and nothingness itself decides to leave with Her, the Shifting Mound, the god of life, death, time, and ultimately, change. As you open a rift in the world the Narrator created you two see for the first time object reality. You are both left speechless by how magnificent it all is, something that wasn't made to trick, deceive, or guide you into any role you must fulfil, made with no greater purpose than to just be.

That's the crux of why this line is so important to me, after having lived, fought, loved, died, countless times in a world that was fake, created to pit you one against the other, you finally escape. You are free, and She is with you, as you are once more free to roam the real universe after being trapped in a cage for so long.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 A Heart Matter.

Spencer Reid x Prentiss!reader

Series masterlist | ONE | TWO | THREE |

Summary: A few months after you left, Spencer thinks he sees you walking down the street, and his whole world is turned upside down.

Words: 3,2k.

TW: mentions of crime, trauma, death, pain and violence (normal warnings in the series). so much spoilers for s6 and s7. the events narrated occur after emily's "death". so much angst. read the dates carefully, especially the years, because there are some backward time frames that can confuse you if you don't pay attention!. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm so sorry, that's all I can say now.

Also, I thought about making this a series, but I'm not sure because I've never done one before and I've really only been writing here for about a month??? I'm trying hard.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

July 18th, 2011

The steady ticking of the wall clock echoed in Spencer's head as a reminder that his time in the session was ticking away, robbing him of the chance to express himself without sounding like a complete lunatic.

“I saw her.” He had to repeat it aloud after receiving a puzzled look from his therapist.

The woman pursed her lips. “In a dream? Are you having nightmares again?”

The lump in the agent's throat felt tighter and more suffocating, causing him to shift in his seat to hide it. He wanted to appear sane and focused, however much his next words were anything but.

“No.”

The therapist's intrigued look and the fact that she stopped writing in her notebook to give him her full attention made his hands tremble and his heart pound as he spoke again.

“I mean, I still have the same nightmares...but this, this is different.” Reid tried to explain hesitantly.

Since the day he found you lying in a pool of blood outside your sister's apartment, his mind had been tormented by the image and the guilt it caused him. The nightmares of seeing you again and losing you were a constant every night. Every time he managed to fall asleep, he woke up agitated, feeling again the emptiness of not having you by his side. And that was something his therapist knew better than anyone, because she forced him to write down every nightmare and tell her all of them.

Those bad dreams were supposed to be over, or so he had claimed for the past three weeks.

“How?”

“I wasn't asleep when I saw her.” Spencer finally blurted out in a slightly shaky voice. He had rehearsed the same conversation several times and always ended up feeling like a deranged man seeing ghosts. “I was on the street.”

That sentence instantly changed the tone of the conversation.

“It was after work, I went to buy some food because the case ended earlier than I thought. Her favorite Chinese restaurant is a few blocks from my apartment, we really liked to eat there...I bought some and when I came out, I saw her.” He paused for a minute, trying to mentally return to the moment that was relentlessly replaying in his mind. “She was across the street, buying flowers.”

He had to be quiet for a second, pausing to calm his own breathing. It was ridiculous, but the thought of you buying flowers again made him smile slightly.

You had always loved flowers and now he was supposed to bring them to your grave.

“I ran across the street as soon as I saw her, but I lost sight of her when a bus came across.” He said, struggling to finish his story.

“Spencer, listen to me.” The woman's tone alone let him know that she didn't agree with him at all. “It's normal to think we see someone we lost, it happens to several people. Maybe it was just someone who looked like her, and being near a place the two of you frequented contributed to the confusion.”

That was impossible because he would recognize you anywhere and there was no one else like you.

“You know the truth.”

Of course he knew.

He had been trying to live for six months knowing that you were already dead.

Six months of him trying to deal with your ghost. Six months of him on his knees begging for this to be just another nightmare. Six months of reliving the last time he held you in his arms. Six months of being dead in life.

“Yes, but she looked different.” He explained, receiving a puzzled look that prompted him to provide further clarification. “Her hair was shorter, much shorter. And if I were hallucinating her ghost, I'd see her the same way I saw her the last time, or maybe the time before that. It wouldn't be so different from the way I remember her.”

“You lost two important people on the same day, it's not about logic.”

From her reaction when he concluded his session, it was evident that she considered his perspective to be irrational and clouded by the effects of grief.

And maybe it was.

July 30th, 2011

A few days of missing therapies and locking himself up at work already had consequences.

It was the second time a case had ended earlier than expected and Spencer had to go back to his lonely apartment and find excuses to leave without feeling sorry for himself. It was hard for him to be in his own home without you, surrounded by the photos you always insisted on taking and framing to preserve moments that were now torture. So the best solution was to make unnecessary purchases or lock himself in the nearest library.

Anything was better than being locked in a room with himself, so he decided to read in a room full of strangers who provided the company he so desperately needed.

The bad news was that the library's closing time had come earlier than expected for unknown reasons, and life seemed to force him to face his reality on the busy streets of Virginia, taking every possible alternate route to delay his arrival home. He didn't want to have to open the door knowing that no one would be waiting for him, that you wouldn't be there asleep on the couch after watching a marathon of your favorite movies, or just trying to read one of his books so you could discuss it with him.

His mind was still hazy and his eyes were wandering through the shops of the city when a familiar and unmistakable figure appeared before his eyes, just a few meters away, coming out of one of the shops on the next street.

It was you again. Unmistakably you.

He started running without a second thought, but the streets were so crowded that it was hard for him to move through the mass of people. His heartbeat was out of control and probably everyone could hear him, but he didn't care about looking crazy, he just needed to get a little closer to talk and make sure it was you.

The city's public transportation seemed to be against him, because just as he was about to cross the street, not caring that the light was red, another bus crossed the street and almost ran him over. Just a few inches and the story would have been very different for him. Everyone on the street was whispering, car horns were honking and every now and then someone would ask him if he was okay or look at him like he was a psychiatric patient. But nothing mattered to him, there was only your image in his mind and the possibility of finding out if he was really going crazy or if your ghost was haunting him.

When he managed to cross the street, there was no sign of you, and his therapist's words echoed in his mind as a symbol of temporary insanity brought on by pain. Try as he might to ignore his conscience, there was no way to find you in the sea of people, and he had no choice but to enter the store where he thought he saw you coming out.

“A woman bought something here a few minutes ago, she had a bag slung over her shoulder.” Spencer spoke quickly as soon as he walked in and approached the local salesman. He paused only when the man nodded in confusion at his attitude. “Do you know her name? Where she's from? Does she come here often?”

The man's lips were sealed, he just waved his hand to let him know he would only talk for money. He didn't even flinch when Reid pulled out his badge and repeated that he was FBI. Anyway, the thirty dollars was the master key to get the information and the security camera footage, which was barely visible because of the poor quality.

“I don't know who she is, it's the first time I've seen her. There aren't many customers on my shift, and not everyone buys that many books.” He began to speak under Spencer's curious gaze. “She paid cash and bought a bunch of classics. And she had a limp.”

“Are you sure? Which leg was it?”

There was a short silence, which the salesman used to remind himself, and Spencer's nerves got even more out of control.

“I don't remember which leg it was but I was definitely limping. I noticed that when she climbed the ladder, I had to help her.”

January 11th, 2010

“Can we eat here?” You asked after reading the sign that said the restaurant's elevator was under repair. “There are a few tables.”

Spencer couldn't help but frown and let go of your hand to stand in front of you. His eyes searched for yours. “I thought you wanted to come up, the view is your favorite thing here.”

You two were at your favorite restaurant, a Chinese food paradise with the best view in city, according to your expert opinion. It wasn't the first time the two of you had been there, so you had already more than booked a table, and this one was on the third floor. Your favorite part of going there was seeing the moon.

And of course, Dr. Reid was the kind of guy who always paid attention to the little details. He remembered everything, and could probably tell what you were thinking just by looking into your eyes for a few seconds.

“Let me take you upstairs, please.”

His puppy-dog eyes and a single phrase were enough to get you to let him take you by the arm and lead you up the stairs at a slow pace. By the time you got to the second floor, he offered to carry you like a princess. You had no choice but to accept, especially since it had already taken you more than ten minutes to climb a single floor. The pitying looks from the other diners were starting to make you uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Spencer.” You mumbled as you reached the table and he pulled up a chair for you.

He smiled. He loved how you said his name and wanted to hear it for hours.

After you both sat down and made your requests, you spoke again. “Aren't you going to ask why I can't climb a ladder?”

“I won't ask you anything you don't want to answer.” He said simply.

You felt like you could tell him anything, even your darkest thoughts. Your sister had already talked about it. Either it was the Reid effect, or you were just madly in love with him. Both were quite similar in your view.

“I hurt myself while I was practicing ballet. I made a really bad move.” You spoke up after a few minutes of silence. He frowned when he heard you. He had no idea you played the sport. “I was supposed to have quit, so I didn't tell anyone. Only Emily knew. I didn't treat it until the injury got worse when I went out in the field on a case. That's how I retired from the FBI. My mom freaked out, and my left ankle was screwed up for my whole life.”

Before you turned your attention back to Spencer, you prepared yourself mentally for the sympathy he would undoubtedly show. The curious thing was that in his eyes, there was nothing but interest and gratitude for having allowed him to know more about you. That was what kept you talking.

“There's an operation to try to fix it, but recovery takes quite some time. I'd rather always take the elevator and avoid the stairs as much as possible than have to rely on Emily to take care of me for three whole months. She has work to do and would go crazy having to be my maid.”

“I would.” He said without hesitation. When you looked curious, he elaborated. “I'd take care of you.”

“For three whole months?” You asked, sounding rather incredulous and as if you thought maybe he was just being extra nice.

“For the rest of my life, if you let me.”

September 5th, 2011

“There's no way you could have seen her, Spence.”

JJ's eyes fell on his friend's not-so-shaky ones, and a part of her churned inside, not knowing what else to say to him. It was eleven o'clock at night, the first time in several days that Spencer had shown up at her house to try to find comfort and perhaps understanding.

“I know, I know it shouldn't be possible.” He replied and went back to pacing the room, trying not to make a sound. The last thing he wanted was to wake up his godson or his friend's husband. “But it was so real...maybe I'm crazy.”

“You're not.” She said firmly, getting up from her seat to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

At the time, even he didn't know for sure, and that made him fear that he had lost his mind. He was hungry for a love that he would never have again.

“You just miss her.”

No, missing was nothing compared to his feelings.

“It's more than that, much more. I haven't been able to catch my breath since she left.” He admitted, running his hands through his hair as tears formed. “I miss Emily, too, and I don't see her walking down the street.”

Silence fell over the room because no one had anything to say. There weren't enough words to describe the situation. The only sound that could be heard was the man's sobbing on Jennifer's shoulder, trying to be encouraged with words.

“It's going to be all right, Spence.”

He didn't say it out loud, but he thought he'd never get anything right in his life if all he wanted was you.

March 14th, 2010

The coffee he was carrying kept him warm as he made his way through the chilly FBI offices. Spencer wondered if the air conditioning had broken down when he reached the technical analyst's office and a conversation stopped him in his tracks.

“My take? She looks like she'll be Mrs. Reid one day.” Penelope's voice was heard after several loose sentences that the boy couldn't understand from the other side of the door. He figured they were talking about him and his relationship with you.

“I hadn't thought about Reid being legally part of my family until now.” Emily spoke next, letting out a few chuckles. “I'm going to have mini geniuses for nephews.”

“Stop it, we're just dating.” You spoke with some nervousness, still reeling from the implications. “It's not like we're getting married tomorrow.”

As he leaned against the wall by the door to hear better, Spencer couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about what he was doing. He knew it wasn't right to overhear other people's conversations, especially if they were about him. But he had a feeling he needed to know what you were saying about him when he wasn't around. It wouldn't hurt to just hear a little bit.

“Don't pretend you don't talk about future names for your babies, I heard you two.” Garcia spoke again.

“It was a random conversation.”

“About baby names?” She gave a little smile and raised an eyebrow.

“What I mean is that bringing things forward is not good.” You began to speak, completely ignoring the previous point. You were trying to be the voice of reason in the midst of their ridicule. “But I'd like him to be the one.”

“I think I'll shed a tear or two because you've grown up so fast.” Your sister commented in a teasing tone that hid quite a bit of truth. She gave your hand a quick squeeze and looked at you for a few seconds before speaking again. “What's up with that look on your face?”

You frowned. Spencer's heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. “What look?”

“You know which one I mean—the one you put on when the coffee runs out.”

Reid's hands began to sweat. He felt like a teenager trying to figure out what the girl he liked really thought of him. Did you ever have doubts about your relationship? Did you ever picture yourself with him in the future? Was he really the one for you?

“The scariest thing about love is getting hurt.” You said, trying to initiate the idea. Unfortunately, Penelope beat you to it and spoke up.

“I'm sure he wouldn't hurt you.”

“I know, I don't care about that.” You spoke up again after a few seconds, looking around the room as if lost in thought. “What if I do it? What if I break his heart?”

Oh, that was certainly not something Spencer was expecting to hear.

“How would you break his heart? Not answering his calls for five minutes and seven seconds?” Interjected Emily with a teasing tone to try to lighten the mood and get a smile out of you. “I don't think either of you would consciously hurt the other.”

And right after that, the protagonist of the discussion entered the room, causing the three of you to remain silent and pretend that nothing was going on. You could only smile when your boyfriend came in with a hot coffee for you and you saw the tender looks the two women gave you.

“Thank you.” You said.

“It's nothing.” He replied, pulling you close to surprise you with a hug that brought him close enough to your ear to whisper. “You could never break my heart.”

September 21st, 2011

Ian Doyle was only a couple of meters away.

Spencer's fist throbbed and burned, still stained with the blood of the man who had taken everything from him seven months ago. He knew he had done wrong, that he had promised everyone that he would only talk to the terrorist, and that he had done much more than that. The team had barely been able to get him out of the interrogation room because he was out of control with rage.

He wanted to make him feel a lot of pain and a minimum of what you and Emily probably felt that night.

“You need to calm down.” JJ came out of the meeting room to stop him before he could go in.

“I'm calm.” He replied, still trying to regulate his breathing. He could see his friend raise an eyebrow, and he decided to speak up again to avoid upsetting her. “This is about as calm as I can get right now.”

As soon as he was done speaking, Reid tried to keep going to the room, but the woman was in his way again and stopped him from opening the door.

“You have to be calm for what Hotch has to tell you. I mean it.” Jennifer said, after receiving a confused look. “What you're going to see now...”

“I'll be fine.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything else, he opened the door to the room. Spencer thought he'd find photos of the crime scene that ruined his life, maybe some testimony he didn't know about, or even the killer there. But none of that was true, and it made his heart stop.

“Hi.”

You certainly broke his heart this time.

[junkissed]

late night talking

member — minghao x f reader genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ? word count — 2.1k synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am. warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much

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you're ugly when you're drunk.

“hao?”

your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.

he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.

he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.

“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.

“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words. 

you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.

he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.

“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.

distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not. 

he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times. 

“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.

“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now. 

you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.

you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being. 

you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.

you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.

if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it. 

of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself. 

of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.

the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.

you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.

but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.

“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”

your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.

“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him. 

“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.

“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.

he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”

“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”

“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”

“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.

“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”

“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”

he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”

“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”

“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.

you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.

“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.

he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.

“why are you like this to me?”

but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”

you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”

for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”

“i don't deserve it.”

he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”

“you don't deserve me.”

he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”

“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”

he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”

you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply. 

“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.

your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.

he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest. 

every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.

he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.

you're cute when you're drunk.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁

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[sunvylovebug]

The cold in his heart ❨Part 1/2❩

↬ Warnings: None! …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Female!Reader and third person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬ Author Note: Not as romantic as the Lyca one but I can always do the part two right? Let me know if I should, comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated<3

↬ Summary: Maybe she's what his cold heart needs to warm up.

↬ Word Count: 1,225 words

In the icy Frostheim house the atmosphere always seemed to have a mixture of mystery and coldness, all while the interior was freezing cold. She sometimes wondered how the students could endure the cold temperatures without any complaints, they even seemed comfortable in such a cold environment. It was as if it was natural for them. The captain of the house, Jin Kamurai, was known from the rumors that spread around about him, for his aloof attitude and his imposing and strong presence and yet, few knew that within his heart a battle even colder than the house itself was raging.

She arrived at the Darkwick Academy without knowing what was hiding inside, of course she always thought it was one of the most elite academies in Japan, but that's all. She never imagined she was gonna get involved in all the mess with anomalies, demons and ghoul students. She just wanted to find the cure to her curse, that one that was gonna make her die if she didn't find the cure. Equipped with the ring of the sage, an artifact that apparently could help her enhance the stigmata of the ghoul students, she was ready to do missions with them since She was a powerful ally to the ghouls. Though most were resistant and difficult to deal with, not really accepting the girl, I mean, she wasn't even a ghoul, they thought she wasn't gonna be that useful for missions. But she was determined to be with them, to fight the anomalies together and find the cure to avoid her condemnation.

Although she was not part of any house, her ability had led her to inevitably interact with curious Darkwick students and powerful ghouls as well. Jin Kamurai was one of them, His role as house captain made it difficult for some students to interact normally with him, but she had encountered him on a few occasions.

One particularly cold afternoon, even for Frostheim, she found herself in front of the captain's room with a new mission that seemed a bit complicated. There was a rumor that an unknown anomaly was lurking around the city, there were townspeople who were mysteriously disappearing and Darkwick suspected that it was cause an anomaly.

She knocked on the door five times and after a moment of silence, the Captain's rough voice allowed her to enter.

Jin was lying on the couch, cigarette in hand and a soft melody playing in the background. He didn't bother to look at the girl, his expression was distant and cold as usual. "So? What's the problem now?" he asked, not looking at her.

"I'm here to talk about a mission. Darkwick suspects that an anomaly is behind the disappearance of people. This mission has been assigned to Frostheim". She offered him a form with all the details. He looked at her for a moment. Then he looked at the papers and took them after putting his cigarette in the ashtray.

"And why are you bothering me and not Tohma?" Jin's voice had a bit of annoyance in it as his ice blue eyes scanned the details.

"I was sent directly to you, Captain."

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Always so obedient huh. But what makes you think I'm gonna help you?"

"Cause I wanna think that despite your attitude, you still have a side that cares about what happens in Darkwick." She said with some boldness, Jin raised an eyebrow at her attitude "And because this anomaly could be related to the one that cursed me."

"I don't care about your curse."

"I know that."

Jin sighed annoyed. "The others are coming with us. And if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it my way, understood?"

Y/N felt so relieved because of that, he didn't say no after all. "Understood."

The mission to end the anomaly was long, exhausting and full of tension, at least for her. Fortunately, the ghouls of Frostheim and Y/N made a good team. During the confrontations with the anomalies, Jin proved himself to be a capable leader. She could tell how he seemed to have a more understanding side when they were under the pressure of anomalies attacking them. Of course he was still demanding and dominant, but his attitude changed slightly as he got used to her presence and her situation.

Over the course of the missions, Jin also began to show interest in her beyond the call of duty. Although he tried to maintain his facade of coldness and distance, small gestures of care became evident before her eyes. He offered her some protection in moments of danger, and his glances sometimes revealed a concern he didn't show often.

[ • • • ]

She entered Jin's room after he allowed her in. "What do you want?" He asked with his usual rough and sharp voice.

"I came to give you the documents you asked for. Tohma is quite busy to come himself and since he was around here he asked me to bring them to you." She replied, ignoring his sharp tone. As she approached, her eyes noticed a vinyl record on an old record player, it looked expensive and luxurious, of course it was, it belonged to Jin after all. It was in the corner of the room, bringing the room a nice detail and good music. Soon the first notes of "The Blue Danube" filled the air, a soft smile appeared on her lips.

Jin frowned, but his eyes followed the movement of her eyes, the music seemed to soften his expression, and surprisingly, he let the ice on his exterior melt, if only for a moment.

"Do you like that music?" He asked, the interest was barely perceptible.

"I do like it. This one always makes me want to go to a Frostheim ball." She replied, sitting in one of the chairs in front of him. "But it also reminds me of simpler times. Why do you listen to it so much?"

His ice blue eyes met hers, and in a moment of vulnerability, he spoke of his past and his feelings towards his family, especially his father. "My father used to listen to this music. It also reminds me of simpler times, when everything seemed easier, better." He confessed, his voice softer than usual.

"We all have something that reminds us of our past." She said, trying to offer some comfort. "Maybe it will help you find a way to improve your current situation?"

Jin smiled in disbelief, a mocking smile. "My current situation?"

"You know what I mean, Jin"

"I... I know that"

[ • • • ]

A deeper bond began to form between the two. The mission to confront the anomalies became a shared struggle, and although the threat persisted, there were moments of calm and a genuine connection. Jin began to open up more, revealing his fears and aspirations, and she found in him an unexpected ally and invaluable support in her search for the cure of her curse.

Over time, Jin began to show himself outside of his chambers, and although he still maintained his rough character, he was no longer so distant. The cold of Frostheim was still noticeable, the aura of mystery and coldness was still present, but in Frostheim, but inside his heart he felt the warmth of an unexpected bond, reminding him that not everything in life had to be so cold and distant.

Part Two

[mumms-the-word]

Illithid Souls - Part 3

The Case Studies: Karlach and Gale

Welcome to the third and final part of this wild deep dive rabbit hole monstrosity that is the three-part series about illithid souls and whether mind flayers, or specifically you as a mind flayer, have a soul.

If you read Part 1 and Part 2, then you know that yes, illithids have souls, they're just different souls that the gods don't recognize as souls because they're non-apostolic, or incapable of divine worship (as opposed to being apostolic like most humanoid souls). You now also know that you turning into a mind flayer is a bit of a special case because of the Netherese magic in the tadpoles, and this might be why you retain more of your soul than normal mind flayers would.

Also, a quick reminder of the two theories we're working with here: Theory 1 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer they essentially just die and their (apostolic) soul moves on to the Fugue Plane and the mind flayer body just gets a new illithid soul from somewhere. Theory 2 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer their soul is transformed and altered into an illithid soul, which remains tethered to the mind flayer body. BG3 seems to operate more on the Theory 2 side of things, but as we'll see with Karlach and Gale, it's more complicated than you think.

So let's deep dive, shall we?

The Case of Karlach

I'm going to be candid here and say that the mind flayer ending for Karlach makes me really sad, even knowing that there's a very high chance that her soul is mostly intact and she is mostly still Karlach. But there's no denying she's at least a little different, though the game tries to comfort us otherwise after she transforms.

Narrator: *She is transformed. Her body is no longer hers, but her eyes, her heart - she is still Karlach, for now. Only - there's a hunger in her eyes that wasn't there before.*

That "for now" is rather ominous, isn't it? But we have enough evidence from Tav/Durge/other Origins and Orpheus to suggest that the likelihood of her retaining her memories and her personality is very high. In fact, when you talk to her during the epilogue, she does seem mostly the same, though her language has mellowed out to a more formal tone and she speaks less colloquially (and swears less and less).

If you talk to her immediately after she transforms, she marvels that she's still "herself" but also "more," which again reinforces that we all get to be special mind flayers who don't completely lose our souls. But I think there are some interesting lines in this dialogue:

Karlach: This is wild. I'm myself but... but more. Player: I don't like the sound of that. Karlach: Don't worry, soldier. It's still your old pal under all this purple. But suddenly 'I' am different than I ever knew. And my engine, it's... it's... silent. No heat. No gears. Still there, but no longer threatening to explode. Soldier... Player: I guess turning into an illithid has its perks. Karlach: Here I thought I was making a sacrifice. Thank the gods I'm a noble fuck! Shit. I'm gonna be all right. I get to be alive. I get to stay. As a hideous monster, sure. But one that can feel. Think. Live. But I'm still myself. And I know what our mission is. I'm glad I get to the do the honours.

Karlach reiterates over and over that she's still herself, but you can literally hear the change in her voice. Where normally her tone and volume would be boisterous, loud, and energetic, she's now calm and mellow, even when she's swearing. Her tone here is more one of wonder. It isn't just the internal and external fires that have calmed down, her overall demeanor seems "cooler" too.

Also, in her romance ending just before the epilogue, where you're both in the Elfsong Tavern room, you can mention that she does seem a little altered.

Player: I still love you, Karlach. I still want to be with you. Karlach: I love you too. Before, that love was an irrepressible inferno. Now it is a calm, cool object of beauty. Player: I can see you're still yourself, but there's something else in there too. An illithid calm. Karlach: Maybe you're right. I feel less... changeable. Less afraid. I feel ready for whatever is to come.

It doesn't tell us much, but it does reinforce that when we or any of our companions turn into a mind flayer, we likely retain a lot of our former personality, but in a much more calm, even-keeled kind of way. Again going back to the idea that our soul is still there, still mostly the same, but has been made a bit more illithid.

What is more interesting for Karlach, specifically, is her discussion of her diet as a mind flayer. Remember what souls are allegedly made up of? Intelligence, personality, and what else?

Memories.

Karlach: For example, my favourite food used to be mutton chops. Do you know what it is now? Brains, soldier. Brains. Player: Comes with the illithid territory, I suppose. Karlach: True. But I've found ways to maintain my values while respecting that which I am - that which made it possible for me to live. I've made arrangements with a healer in the city. When a patient is beyond saving, but still able to speak for themselves, they're offered a choice. They can go as nature intends to take them. Or, when they're ready - when their goodbyes have been said, their affairs settled, and all that awaits them is pain - I relieve them. When I consume their brains, I am nourished by much more than the physical nutrition. Their memories - from birth to death - become part of me. I've lived hundreds of childhoods, first loves, marriages, feuds and friendships. I remember them all. And in this way, we all live on. Together.

There's so much to unpack here. One, she still remembers her values, even six months later, but is trying to negotiate her former humanoid values (and personality, I imagine) with her needs as a mind flayer. That seems very Karlach, through and through.

But then, when she consumes these dying patients' brains, she absorbs and retains their memories. I imagine their souls still go on to the Fugue Plane, because I highly doubt that mind flayers also consume souls when they eat brains, but it still leaves me with questions. Karlach isn't part of a hivemind, which normally circulates memories between each other, but she's becoming a similar kind of receptacle for memories, and only she is the one that contains them, rather than an entire hivemind.

I have to wonder how much something like constantly consuming and remembering memories that are not your own affects you as a person/creature. Does that eventually lead to a loss of self, as you begin to "live" multiple different lives? Or does it all count as mere knowledge?

In some ways this would put her in competition with any elder brains still out there, but she's also not collecting knowledge for the sake of knowledge. She's collecting memories and living them out in her mind, which is a certain kind of tragedy. She's literally living vicariously through these people because her mind flayer body is too scary to go out and about in, and she's making up for a decade of life she didn't get to live. She's alive, but she's not...living if that makes sense. And again...how long before all these memories start to change who she is?

(An aside. I really don’t think her eating brains and collecting memories keeps someone’s soul from moving on. If you use the spell Speak with Dead, you don’t call back an entire soul, but the corpse still has access to its memories. I think in this case, even though memories make up part of a soul, Karlach consuming brains and collecting memories is more like her downloading a copy of the memories for herself. The dead person likely still takes their own memories with them to the Fugue Plane, where they will be judged by Kelemvor or collected by their favorite deity. She’s just copy/pasting data, not transferring everything from one hard drive to another, if that analogy makes sense.)

This arrangement where Karlach consumes the brains of dying patients is expanded or clarified a bit if you're romancing her during the epilogue, and also includes a reference to souls as well.

Karlach: I can’t wait to say hello, but to be honest, I’m keen to visit the doctor before it gets too late. He said there’s a potential in his infirmary. A very old woman recently diagnosed with a wasting sickness. She seemed interested in what I have to offer. I’ll want to have a good long talk with her before we make an arrangement. Though if I’m being very selfish, I hope she’ll say yes. I’m absolutely famished - and think of all those memories. Player: Glad to hear. I was worried you were getting hungry. Karlach: I don’t hide it well, do I? Some things don’t change, even when everything else does. It’s funny. I’m hungry in my body, but in my soul too. That woman has lived a long life - births, deaths, love, misfortune. And if she agrees, I’ll be able to give her a dignified end, and remember it all in her honour.

Or if you go with a different option:

Player: I'm still not sure how I feel about this arrangement. Are you sure it's ethical to feed on the dying? Karlach: I'm sure of very little these days. But at least this way, I can live. And those who offer themselves to me can live on too. Births, first loves, marriages, losses - I remember them all and always will. Each memory I've consumed is of value.

It's just so interesting to me. One, her remark that she's eager to say hello but slightly more interested in chatting to a doctor about her next meal suggests that some elements of becoming a mind flayer are much harder to ignore. I imagine if she's hungry, she feels less like Karlach. (And I have thoughts, for another post, about whether she becomes "too fixated" on living when she's a mind flayer, given the cost of what it means to stay alive as a mind flayer.)

But she also says she's hungry in her soul. Her soul seems deeply interested in these memories, and I wonder if that's because memories are (or could be) part of souls themselves. Maybe the remark isn't really that deep, but she specifically connects the hunger of her soul to all the memories a long-lived woman will have. It's almost as if these memories nurture her soul, but it's unclear whether that is because it's somehow healing to see and "experience" life in ways she can't now that she's a mind flayer, or if it's because the memories have some kind of tangible effect on her soul/souls in general.

I suppose we won't know for sure. What we do know from Karlach's case, however, is that a great deal of the original soul (personality, memories, etc) seems to stick around even six months later, though there are noticeable changes in personality, such as an overall calm demeanor. There are also hints that consuming brains could lead to further changes down the road, but there's nothing really concrete. Just hints.

In the end, Karlach is still Karlach, and her soul still has plenty of elements of the original Karlach, even six months later. This is a good sign, but we can't completely ignore that her new body/mind as a mind flayer will necessarily mean some things have permanently changed. Whether you judge those changes as good or bad is up to you.

With that said, let's move on to the final and most mind-boggling case.

The Case of Gale

If you play a companion as an Origin run, the mind flayer decision typically works out the same way as Tav...unless you're playing as Gale. Gale gets some extra options at the end of the game.

This is mostly because Gale has perhaps the most apostolic soul that hangs in the balance, second only to Shadowheart, and her soul pendulum swings between Selûne and Shar. Gale, however, seems to be walking on a knife's edge trying to retain or earn back entry into Elysium, Mystra's domain in the Outer Planes. He's allegedly already been there, though not as a dead soul, so he knows what's at stake if his soul suddenly becomes non-apostolic or disappears.

In other words, Gale has a formerly Faithful apostolic soul, but he spends much of the game probably worried his soul will be judged as False when he dies (since he lost Mystra's favor) until Mystra offers her brand of forgiveness, which is essentially "if you sacrifice your own life, I'll let you into Elyisum again." It's a guarantee that he ends up in the afterlife he wants to be in. That's what Mystra's forgiveness really boils down to.

Now, this is a man who does not want to sacrifice his soul, and also (Netherese orb aside) does not want to die if his soul is going to be judged as False by Kelemvor rather than welcomed into Elysium as a Faithful soul. We know that Gale finds the Fugue Plane exceedingly depressing, so I can't imagine he has any desire to wander around it for any stretch of time, even if Mystra does eventually deign to invite him into Elysium. I'm sure the thought of becoming part of the Wall of the Faithless might as well be hell to him.

Gale: It’s a relief to be back in beautiful Faerûn. The dreariness of the Fugue Plane oppresses one’s soul so very quickly.

[mumm's note: yes my man died in service of a Tactician battle against Grym, but he got better]

It's a little surprising to see how adamantly Gale would prefer to choose the Netherese orb over letting himself or anyone he cares for become illithid. Look at some of what he says when he tries to offer the orb as an option for the final battle:

Gale: An easy proposition for the Emperor to make - 'become a mind flayer' - it has no soul to sacrifice. If it did - perhaps it would understand the weight of what it's asking of us. And why we might seek an alternative.

I couldn't get this next dialogue to trigger in my game, but in the same conversation as above you might potentially get the option to remind him about Mystra's offer to cure his orb condition, and even then he reminds you of the stakes that come with becoming a mind flayer.

Player: Mystra will cure you if we bring her the Crown of Karsus. You don't need to do this. Gale: To cure me of the orb, yes. But what of the guilt of allowing one of my friends to sacrifice their very soul and become illithid?

Now keep in mind, up to this point no one has shown any evidence that turning into a mind flayer won't actually mean the total destruction of one's soul. Up until now, the only evidence anyone has of an original soul remaining intact inside a mind flayer body is the Emperor (we have no frame of reference for who Omeluum was before he was a mind flayer), and most of the companions do not trust the Emperor one bit. So Gale genuinely thinks that becoming a mind flayer means your soul is either destroyed or changed so much that it's no longer you.

I mean, think about it. He's half expecting you to take the tadpole the Emperor offers and literally cease to exist. He's expecting to fight alongside a mind flayer who has, at best, your name and a few scraps of your memory, and at worst, no shred of you at all. Because again, up until this point in the game, none of them realize that they could become a special mind flayer who does actually retain most (if not all) of their soul, including their personality and memories.

Gale literally thinks that blowing up and going to the Fugue Plane is better than you or any companion becoming a mind flayer.

But that's in a companion run. Obviously, if you play him as an Origin, you can have him turn into a mind flayer as a different kind of ultimate sacrifice. The decision plays out the same as a Tav/Durge run or any other Origin run. But after the game ends, Gale gets unique dialogue if he (1) sacrifices himself or (2) does not sacrifice himself and goes to meet Mystra with the Crown in hand.

Any run of his sacrifice (aka, using the orb, regardless of whether or not he is illithid) results in Withers finding him in the Fugue Plane for a brief conversation. This conversation isn't much different if Gale is a mind flayer when he uses the orb, since all it does is add an extra option to their conversation that references being illithid ("One illithid for the whole of Faerûn seems like a fair trade to me," which replaces the option "One wizard for the whole of Faerûn...etc").

(An aside, I don't have an Origin Gale run so I can't test this, but I think if he ends his life on the docks as a mind flayer, the way Tav/Durge can with a knife got the stomach, then he just gets the usual Tav/Durge conversation with Withers about how his form has "something of the spirit" about him. See Part 2 if you're curious about that conversation.)

What this conversation with Withers reveals is how much control Mystra seems to have over his soul, especially if/when he's a mind flayer. If Gale decides to sacrifice himself using the Netherese Orb, Withers remarks about how surprising it is that Mystra hasn’t picked him up yet.

Withers: Who flickers there ‘twixt the shadows? Gale, who didst surrender his very self for the salvation of Faerûn. I feared I might not find thee here - that Mystra would have already plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate. But she may wait a while yet.

It’s a little unclear if Withers uses “plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate” to mean Gale gets to go to Elysium or something else, and it’s equally unclear whether Mystra waiting is a sign of displeasure or a sign that she is interested in sending Gale back to the Material Plane. She is capable of doing that, after all, and has frequently resurrected her Chosens, like Elminster, if it suits her.

But I highlight this conversation to show that you can get it as a mind flayer, and (if you are a mind flayer during this scene) that Mystra waiting isn't because he's a mind flayer and she can't find his soul. She waits for a minute regardless of whether he's illithid or not. But Withers is certain Mystra will be able to find Gale's soul, because he was able to find Gale's soul and recognize it as Gale.

So, not to harp on this again and again, but it's proof that turning into a mind flayer didn't destroy Gale's soul. It's still Gale's soul, even in the Fugue Plane, even if he's mind-flayer-shaped, and that soul is still capable of journeying to Elysium, should Mystra bother to find it wandering the Fugue Plane (or wherever he is).

But things are a little different if Gale decides to become a mind flayer and then goes to visit Mystra with the Crown of Karsus in hand. Keep in mind, Origin!Gale always has the option to face off against Mystra after the defeat of the Netherbrain, and this face-off is where he decides to hand over the Crown, become the god of ambition, or straight up try to fight Mystra.

However! If Gale is a mind flayer, he gets a secret fourth option.

If Gale goes to meet Mystra as an illithid with the Crown of Karsus and then gives up the Crown to her, Mystra offers to take Gale to Elysium with her. More than that, she offers to literally restore his humanity and cure him of illithidness.

Sort of.

Mystra: So, Gale of Waterdeep, you have become the inheritor of Karsus’ powers at last. What do you intend to do with them? Gale: I came to surrender them. The Crown, the Karsite Weave - take it all. Mystra: This offering cost you greatly. There is no hope in life as an illithid, devoid of soul and conscience. It is within my power to restore your soul, and your humanity, if you are willing to leave the mortal realms behind. Return with me, to Elysium.

No one else is offering this kind of deal to an Origin-turned-mind-flayer. Selûne and Shar don’t care if Shadowheart turns illithid, and Withers isn’t exactly offering to restore souls and humanity (or…mortalness?) to everyone else. This is a signifier of the sheer amount of power Mystra has, yes, but this also hints at some other things.

One, despite evidence of the contrary, Mystra is adamant that Gale-as-illithid is or would be “devoid of soul and conscience,” even though we know that that likely isn’t true (just see Karlach, Tav/Durge, etc). Perhaps Mystra is unaware that Gale is a Special Mind Flayer (seems unlikely), or perhaps she’s simply trying to convince Gale to come with her. After all, what she’s offering is still a kind of reward.

Then again, maybe Gale and/or Mystra fear the long-term effects of illithidness. Maybe over time he would become less and less like Gale, perhaps due to consuming memories, or other factors that come with being a mind flayer. Still, though, saying that his life would be "devoid of soul and conscience" seems like a massive stretch on Mystra's part.

But anyway, the reward for him turning into a mind flayer and giving her the Crown is a restoration of his humanity...but only in death.

Mystra: Return with me, to Elysium. Devnote: respectful - Gale sacrificed his humanity to achieve what she asked. If he’s willing to die on the mortal planes, she will restore his soul and body but in the heavens.

Now before I get to what happens if Gale agrees to this reward, I want to point out that Mystra herself sort of acknowledges that Gale isn't exactly devoid of soul and conscience if he refuses her offer. Here are some of the ways Gale can turn her down, with her answer to each option being the same:

Gale: [Option 1] Thank you, but no. I have someone waiting for me. Gale: [Option 2] Perhaps one day, but for now there is more I need to accomplish. Gale: [Option 3] Being an illithid has its advantages. I'm content as I am. Mystra: Then you are free to go with both my thanks and my promise - henceforth, your prayers will always be answered.

The whole idea of an apostolic soul is that it means the person is capable of worshipping a divine being, and this worship ncludes prayers. She might have said that him being illithid would mean he would be devoid of soul and conscience, but in nearly the same breath she promises to answer all his prayers. So she recognizes something of a soul within him. So why say he would be devoid of soul?

Of course, things get weird if Gale accepts her offer to be restored and go to Elyisum. If Gale agrees, then she fulfills her promise and even restores his place as one of her Chosen.

Gale: I crave nothing more. Take me to Elysium. Mystra: So be it. Gale of Waterdeep, Chosen of Mystra. Cinematic Tag: Mystra transforms Mindflayer Gale back to his human form (hollow) and grabs Gale’s hand. They return to Elysium.

This is wild to me. You see, originally when I started this project I thought I was going to be writing posts about how interesting it is that when you become a mind flayer, your soul is probably hanging out in the Fugue Plane or something, and eventually I’d suggest that Mystra is able to restore Gale’s soul to him because it’s already gone to her domain or she knows how to find it because he used to be so faithful to her. But none of that works now.

Because now I’m convinced that the Netherese tadpole changes everyone into a Special Mind Flayer whose soul is still present in their mind flayer bodies, just altered or transformed. So what’s up with this stuff from Mystra? She recognizes Gale as Gale even when he's a mind flayer and promises to answer his prayers, so clearly there's some kind of apostolic soul thing going on here. So why does she offer to "restore his soul," and also, why only in death?

She does say that she will restore Gale’s humanity, so now I assume that somehow her powers allow her to un-alter Gale’s soul so that it isn’t so illithid anymore. My idea is that she’s essentially restoring his soul to its former state and not, as we might otherwise infer, literally giving him his soul back, as if it were separate from his body. Gale’s soul is still in his mind flayer body, if all the rest of the evidence holds any water, so Mystra must have merely changed it back to the way it was.

quick picture break, this is from Northalix's video, linked below

Which makes me wonder, can a completely original, apostolic-type soul exist in an illithid body? Or does the body dictate that the soul must be somewhat illithid in order to be compatible?

Because the thing is, this deal comes with an ultimatum. She’s not going to let him go back to the mortal realms after she’s restored his soul. She probably could—she’s probably capable of doing that, if only by giving him a completely new body (she's done that before with Elminster). But she doesn’t. The cure comes with a cost. He only gets to be human again if he agrees to die completely and join her in Elysium. There is no undoing the illithid sacrifice, which seems more like a game limitation than a Mystra limitation (although we can certainly brainstorm reasons why Mystra would be so petty as to basically say "I can make you human again but only if you die completely.")

I want to point out that Mystra doesn't offer to let Gale come back to Elysium as a dead guy if he's not a mind flayer. Like, we don't get the sparkly ascension scene if he blows up with the Netherese orb, we get the Withers visit in the Fugue Plane. This Elysium offer is an illithid-only option. If he's not a mind flayer and he returns the Crown, she cures him of the Netherese Orb and sends him back. There's no option to join her in Elysium. Why is this an illithid-only option?

Also, just...I need you to watch the scene.

There's a lot that bothers me about this. One, the gestures she makes are the exact gestures God!Gale makes when he ascends Tav/Durge if they romanced him and agreed to become a god with him. Do with that what you will. But two...it just gives me the ick. This is a different kind of ascension for Gale. It's a restoration of his place in Elysium, but it ultimately means his premature death. If this is the route you take as him...it's hardly better than him sacrificing himself using the Netherese Orb without becoming a mind flayer. Only this time, we get to see the scene where he goes to Elysium, I guess.

It also massively complicates the whole idea that everyone gets to be a special mind flayer with a mostly-intact, mostly-apostolic soul. If the soul didn't change, why does Mystra need to "restore" it? And if it did change, why is Mystra the only one capable of un-changing it back to its original form (is it because he’s her Chosen and is/was so faithful)?And if such a thing is possible, why offer it and then say "but you're dead now"?

It seems as though her "fixing" Gale's soul was really just her...I don't know, separating it from his physical mind flayer body so the illithid anatomy wouldn't mess with it as much, and then dusting off his soul, which is now bodyless, and taking it with her to Elysium. I'm not saying that's what she did, but that's the weird vibes I get from this interaction. Like, there seems to be some kind of implication that you can't have a fully humanoid, apostolic soul housed within an illithid body. The soul has to be altered somehow to work with the illithid body.

So why not just give him a new body, Mystra??? Fix is soul and give him a new body! You’re absolutely capable of that!

I have so many questions.

Of course, keep in mind that Gale can reject her, obviously, and return to the mortal realms as a mind flayer. She does acknowledge that he has at least something of a soul that can pray to her so...I mean, there's that.

Anyways, what have we learned?

The Summary

With Karlach, we see that being a mind flayer does necessarily change parts of a person's personality (which, again, is part of their soul). Usually this results in a person seeming calmer, more mellow, less emotional than they normally would have been, but it does seem that for Tav/Durge, the companions, and Orpheus that turning into a mind flayer doesn't completely destroy their soul. It just seems to alter it a bit. In my opinion, the soul just becomes a tiny bit more illithid. Karlach’s case does leave us with questions about how “good” consuming and retaining so many memories might be in the long run, but as of six months post-ceremorphosis, she seems fine.

From Gale, we learn that apparently it's possible to restore or un-alter a partly-illithid soul so that it goes back to normal, but this power is extremely rare and likely relegated to the gods alone (or a particularly powerful Wish spell). We're also reminded that keeping recognizable parts of one's soul, like the personality and memories, is a huge surprise, because that's not how normal mind flayers work. We know this from Orpheus, but Gale just kinda reinforced it.

I guess we also learned that Mystra is a massive—but I should keep this civil. We all know what Mystra is.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that she's unwilling to accept Gale into her domain while he is still a mind flayer, even though his soul obviously would fit the bill based on what a soul is/does for the gods. He has a viable apostolic soul, it’s just mind-flayer-shaped!I'm sure Mystra thinks she's being magnanimous by offering him eternity as a human in Elysium, but I think it ultimately just shows how shallow she can be. Gale only gets to come back if he’s not mind flayer shaped.

And I think, deep down, Gale has always suspected that would be the case.

And on that familiar note, my friends, thank you for joining me on this excessively long deep dive into mind flayer souls and things we can learn from the game and the lore.

~*~*~

If you made it to the end, congrats! More gold stars for you!

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

If you read through all three parts and also made it to the end of this one, you are the real MVP and I wish I had stickers or achievements to give you so you can be like "I survived another three-part deep dive from mumm." But I don't even have a lousy T-Shirt to offer you.

You can have this random picture instead though :> it's my Tav Dani looking very unimpressed by the Emperor's offer of sexy times (sorry not sorry Empy, she's got a man and his name is Gale and she prefers him and all her friends to be tentacle-free)

Enjoy the lore and remember that it's all up to you to decide what you want to keep or reject! I'm just showing you what's out there!

Tags for those who wanted an update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

[allmyhomieshatelawns]

Hiiiiii everyone I’ve become obsessed w Trolls, and by extension, several of the AUs here. In particular, @djmurphy ‘s Hypno Pop AU has had me in its clutches. I couldn’t stop myself so I wrote a lil somethin’ in between working on my Feral!Branch AU.

Bit of a warning, it’s def unreliable narrator, and yes, it’s supposed to be kinda creepy. I hope y’all like, please do not copy or post to another site. Lmk what y’all think!

"Hee, hee, hee, hee, heh, heh, eheh…" It wouldn't stop, no matter what I tried, nothing would make it stop. My face hurt, my entire body hurt if I was being honest. It was getting harder to do that. My voice wasn't my own, instead spewing false, toxic positivity that made me want to scream. It was hard to be honest even inside my own head when the compulsions wouldn't leave me alone either.

Keep Smiling. The compulsions hurt, but it hurt worse to try and resist. Like my nerves were being burnt. The compulsions made it easier to go about my day-to-day. I always knew what I was supposed to be doing, and how to be a good troll like everybody else. It was comforting to have a safety net.

Keep Singing. This one was harder to obey, but somehow even more painful to try and ignore. Whether I obeyed or not, it felt like liquid fire in my veins. I watched it happen over and over and over again. Every time I opened my mouth to sing, I saw her push me out of the way instead. It was painful fighting to go grey. My vocal cords always felt shredded, and they had lost a lot of their angelic body, sounding raspy, damaged.

Go To King Peppy. My numb feet carried me to the King's pod that he shared with his youngest daughter. I wasn't supposed to talk about Viva either, which was wrong. Poppy should know about her older sister, even if she never got to meet her. I knew a little about my parents, even if they had been taken before my egg hatched. At least I knew my parents existed. I wonder what my brothers are up to…

Part of me yearned to have them home still, that same part I was scared was getting dependent on the string. I would feel my feet quickening as the power of the string would begin to fade, heading to King Peppy's door, knowing I wouldn't skip. It was horrifying to think part of myself actually liked being like this. I still remembered resisting, or trying to, hating every moment of this prison. I remembered trying to scream, trying to get anyone to help me and I couldn't make myself do anything. Oh after the first close calls King Peppy had made sure to put in the compulsions to 'never alarm anyone'. Now people didn't panic when they saw me, and it was all thanks to King Peppy!

I reached King Peppy's office, knocking politely and entering the room as he bid me. King Peppy helped me when no one else could. He was the only one able to help me get rid of my greyness, the only one willing to do what it took to make me normal. I owed him everything. My smile was blindingly painful.

"Ah, Branch, perfect timing as always." King Peppy smiled broadly, opening his arms for a hug.

I leapt into his arms, the contact feeling like licking flames.

King Peppy held me for a moment, before setting me back down. He reached into his hair, pulling out a nearly-empty lyre, with one glittering pink string on it.

My heartbeat quickened seeing it, eyes tunneling to focus on the horribly beautiful string. It glowed with its own light, drawing me in and re-thickening the haze over everything I saw. I felt my shoulders begin to relax as the haze crept further, like a wild animal with its eyes hooded.

A few plucks of the string, and I felt my mind wash away in a comfortable haze. All of the anxiety and negativity bleeding away to the innermost recesses of myself. It was such a relief to not have to deal with all of those pesky emotions! Now I could just be happy and sing and dance and have fun like everyone else!

I smiled, my face comfortably numb from the fresh effects of the string. "Thank you, King Peppy! I feel much better now!" I chirped, hardly able to see him at all through the haze.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Branch! Now, I've still got some work to finish up, why don't you run along and find someone to play with until you're called for dinner?" King Peppy chuckled as he suggested it, placing the sacred string back in its spot, safely in his hair.

The village was still bustling even at this hour, people skipping about and holding hands and singing and dancing. It was amazing.

My whole body felt like it was floating, like I was only connected to it by a tiny string. I waved and smiled at everyone who greeted me, even if I couldn't tell who had spoken to me. It unnerved me not being able to see more than a couple of troll-lengths away at best. No shadows to see a hand reaching down for–

"Hey, Branch! There you are! I was just looking for you!" Princess Poppy's cheerful voice broke in before a compulsion could correct my thought.

My head whipped around to her voice, my smile still painful, but a little more genuine. Princess Poppy was a sweet girl, even if she was annoying. She was perfect and would make an excellent queen one day.

"Princess! What can I do for you today?" I asked, kneeling down in front of her. She wasn't that much shorter than me, but I would take any excuse to get off of them. I had to stay fresh for more dancing, after all!

She beamed at me, somehow making it look effortless and completely sincere.

"One of the performers for my party tonight had to backout last minute. Would you be able to fill in? I don't need a full set or anything, just a couple of songs." Her voice was pleading, eyes big and pouty. She should know by now I can't say no to her.

"Of course, what's the theme for the party?" My grinning kept up, my lips not allowed to turn down in her presence.

"Thank you so much Branch you have no idea how much this means to me!" Poppy rushed out in one breath, leaping at me and hugging me tightly. I responded automatically, not having to think about hugging back. That was the nice thing about being a puppet in your own body at least.

[zcorners120]

I love love love your writing, maybe a request about the reader working in finance or business or smthing and just not feeling as beautiful as some of the other models/wags at an event, with Charles comforting her.

thank you so much mwaaaah <3 yesssssssss! i must say i like the concept of a wag being into a job sector like that, i love businessss

charles leclerc x fem!reader

synopsis; req above MASTERLIST

warnings; swearing

Leadership as a woman can be a difficult thing to own and portray without coming across as emotional, a bitch, being too 'Work orientated'. Working at a multi billion dollar business as the head of sales overlooking all of Europe was a hefty title.

Your father, former F1 reporter and journalist ensured you worked your way to success, even when surrounded by F1 drivers worth millions. Becoming an avid fan and sharing the passion with your father, you attended regularly, as a little girl and as the woman you come to be.

How you came about to be the girlfriend of the Charles Leclerc, or should I, (the narrator in your head) rephrase; How Charles Leclerc came about to be the boyfriend of Y/N L/N, featured in Forbes magazine as one of the most successful business women in our modern day, is another story.

Paddock appearances were becoming a more normal occasion for you, you had no excuse to stray away from making WAG friends at this point.

A tap on the shoulder, you turned your head to be met with one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen.

"Hi! You're Y/N right? I'm Lily, Alex's girlfriend!" Her angelic voice spoke, pearly whites shining without a flaw.

Having to slightly swallow due to your embarrassingly dry throat, "Yeah! It's so great to meet you, I was worried I wouldn't be able to find anyone to hang out with."

"Oh my gosh of course, I was so nervous in my first couple appearances but you're a pro already." She spoke, before being called over by a reporter.

"I'll see you later!"

Standing cowardly in your spot, fingers twiddling, you had to snap back into reality. Lily was a wonderful girl, there wasn't a need to be jealous. Girls don't get into competition with one another, especially one sided competition and jealousy.

You felt horrible about it, but couldn't help feel it when you're stood in straight leg jeans, black long sleeved top with a grey hoodie on your arm. It was slightly crushing, looking around to see photographers going wild over the supermodels and genetically blessed WAGs all over the paddock.

But it wasn't a matter of them being at fault here, because they didn't choose how they look, but a matter of yourself. It was self destructing and realising this quality in yourself made you feel isolated.

Verge of a panic attack, you rush to Charles' driver's room praying he wasn't there to see you in this state. Smoothly moving past people and not drawing too much attention to yourself you burst the door open.

"Hey amour, you okay?" Even his voice comforted, and the warm smile that you made you melt.

"Nothing, all good." Putting on a meek smile.

"No, please tell me. Something's off." The tone suddenly serious, desperation twinkling in his eyes.

"It's just that.. It sounds pathetic."

He pulls that look.

"I was looking around the paddock and every girl was just so beautiful, supermodels, journalists, influencers."

"Ba-"

Cutting him off, "I just felt so out of place, their type of thing being gala dinners and extravagant brand trips, mine being sitting in meetings and offices."

"Baby. You have nothing, and I mean literally nothing to be insecure about. Look at yourself, you're need to appreciate yourself like how I'm appreciating you. You are beautiful, sent from Heaven if I may. You're kind, funny, supporting, confident, and you don't take shit from anyone. You are my person, my missing piece."

Cheeks blushing furiously at the praise, pulling him in for a hug. You knew you had nothing to worry about now.

"Look at who's being pathetic and mushy now." He laughs, pulling you in for a kiss.

WRITERS PSAAA; i got so into this lmao, it reminded me of the women empowerment vibe from the new Barbie movie, how we're never against each other, but here to encourage one another.

By these means, it comes across as like hating influencers, models and journalists in this but it's not like that haha, just picked some of the more common roles for women to have in the F1 world.

LOVE U ALL, LOVE URSELVES <3

[northlt03]

There are five parts to this story. Five people. Like the points of a star. Five stories. Four families. Five very, very traumatized kids. Though they weren't just kids at the end of it, that's how they started.

Regulus doesn't know when it all went wrong. When everything went to the dogs. Maybe it was when he begged Kreacher to leave without him. Maybe it was when he stepped into the cave with a fake locket in hand. Maybe it was when the Dark lord asked for Kreacher specifically. Maybe it was when he got the mark burned on his arm, more of a brand than a tattoo. Maybe it was when James Potter left and all the light seemed to leave his world. Maybe it was when his brother left their home. Maybe it was before that, when they were just kids. Maybe his tragedy was written far before he was born.

Whatever the reason. He was the first to die. Certainly not the last.

So he should be the narrator. It's something poetic, he thinks. The dead watching over the living. He was the first to go and like idiots, his friends followed.

The first time Regulus Black met Evan and Pandora Rosier, he was four. Sirius was five and disruptive already. He could never sit still. Evan and Pandora could.

And though four year old Regulus held his brother in the highest regard, he also wished for peace and quiet sometimes. He was also a rule following little shit. So if his mother said he had to get to know the children of other pureblood families, that is what he intended to do.

Regulus was fascinated by Evan and Pandora the first time he met them. There was just some other-worldly quality to them. As if they hadn't been meant to live on Earth at all.

And though they shared the same features with the rest of their family- meticulously styles blond hair and blue eyes, they didn't look like they quite belonged there either.

Evan Rosier had always been an enigma, someone entirely impossible to miss even if one was trying. And believe him, at first, Regulus tried. If Pandora was the rose, Evan was the bush. Guarded, prickly, but once he opened up, there was no telling when he would shut up.

Regulus grew fond of his annoying rants about any and every topic.

They never did talk about their parents. that was a forbidden topic. What happened in a family stayed in a family. No matter how close the Rosiers and the Blacks were, no matter if they were actually related.

Evan saw the marks on Regulus' pale skin. Regulus saw Evan flinch when his father raised his voice. Pandora saw Regulus shrink into the corner. Regulus saw her dissociate when it all got too much.

Pandora Rosier, named after a tragedy. She had told him the myth behind her name the first time they met. It felt jarring having a four year old casually say something so tragic without blinking. Regulus grew to like her queer habits, her strange stories and her ways.

Like Regulus, their paths were set in stone. Evan would grow and have to take over from his father. He would be betrothed and marry whichever pureblood his parents chose for him.

Regulus found cracks in his acts sometimes. His father did too. Little flinches, little frowns and scowls. He never spoke up, never said anything, but made it abundantly clear he never wanted any of that.

Pandora would have to marry some pureblood as well. The best suitor their parents could find, anyone that could strengthen their ties and keep their blood pure. She had suggested getting married to Regulus once as a joke and the three of them laughed all afternoon long.

Regulus knew he wasn't normal by the time he was seven or eight. When his eyes lingered on the boys his age at the balls. He would sail though the room with Pandora in his arms, trying his best not to step on her toes as they danced. But his eyes would seek out others. Even Evan at a point (they laughed about it later when they got older).

Regulus had known about the Dark Lord far before he stepped foot into Hogwarts. The wizard was like a dark shadow over him and his family. But merely a shadow, or so Regulus thought when he was younger. A boogey man in the shadows parents told children about to scare them into obedience.

As such, before he was eleven, Regulus had only known one type of people. The ones like his family. Pureblood, racist, rich assholes his brother despised so much.

It had been made abundantly clear to him that he wasn't his brother and he should never even try to be. After the disappointment of him getting sorted into Gryffindor, his parents had started to give up him.

Which still left Regulus in their clutches.

Regulus met Barty Crouch Jr in the line to get sorted. With their names so close in alphabetical order, they ended up right after one another.

But there was something that transcended their meeting. Something inevitable. Like two stars hurtling toward each other across the universe, finally exploding in a fiery supernova.

Barty Crouch jr was insane. That is the first impression Regulus remembered having of him. Even though he was a pureblood, Regulus had been told by his parents he was of the lesser kind. His father, a muggleborn sympathizer, which made him of the same category as the muggles. Filthy and disgusting.

Regulus tried to limit their interaction. But it was impossible to ignore Barty. Not because he had something profound to say or because he was magnetic. But simply because he talked a lot.

It was sometimes like he stole all the light in the room he walked into and put it over himself until there was nothing else to see but him. Until people had no choice but to look at him.

Regulus despised that about him at first. He and Evan gossiped under their covers about him in their first year after they had all been sorted together.

Just because they were all in one dorm did not necessarily mean they would have to be friends. So Regulus and Evan stuck together, with Pandora who would walk over from her Ravenclaw table over to their Slytherin one occasionally.

Barty tried to force his way into their little group, but they were pretty tight knit. Evan took his hatred for Barty Crouch jr as seriously as his father's for muggles.

Until one day when a girl sitting next to them laughed.

Regulus had first thought of Dorcas Meadowes as someone unimportant solely because she wasn't one of them, not from a pureblood family and not rich and certainly not a blood purist.

Sometimes, he thought he wouldn't be who he was if it wasn't for Dorcas Meadowes. She was witty and charming, quick to bite back and poke fun. She never took their insults to heart, going so far as to insult them back.

Pandora befriended her first. Then Evan who got dragged into it by his sister and then eventually, yes, even Regulus.

Barty Crouch jr was the first boy Regulus ever kissed. He promptly turned around and walked out of their dorm the moment they separated, his heart beating so fast in his chest he had thought it would fall out.

He hated Barty, like Evan did. Hated him because he did things like that, wrapped Regulus around his finger with pretty words and batting his eyelashes and then kissed him. He hated Barty because he pulled Regulus deeper and deeper into a hell Regulus knew he couldn't escape.

It was second year when Regulus first saw Barty with a bruise on his jaw that he wasn't bragging about. He was quiet, which was uncharted territory for Barty. And so, despite all his common sense telling him not to, Regulus became friends with Barty.

Dorcas never bought into the whole blood supremacy, her parents weren't like theirs. Regulus was so jealous of her, though he'd never admit that aloud. Dorcas didn't have to pledge her allegiance to the dark lord, never had to suffer through dinner with families like his, never had the fear that perforated every single inch of Regulus.

Regulus and Evan had to join. They had no other choice. It was allegiance or death. It caused the first rift between them and the girls. Barty, Regulus still thinks, just joined to defy his father. Or it might have something to do with the longing glances he shared with Evan, their silent beds at night, almost as if spells had been cast to keep eavesdroppers away, their clandestine meetings, their disshelved looks as they emerged from rooms alone.

In any case, knowing their story doesn't change the ending. Regulus still lost the love of his life. He still went against the dark lord. He still died. All for nothing.

The last time he saw Evan Rosier, he had a feeling his best friend knew. Evan kept the conversation going, bringing random topics as if desperate to keep Regulus talking to him, as if that could delay the inevitable, as if he could steal time to keep his best friend a little longer.

Regulus lingered in his doorway a moment longer than needed.

The last time he saw Pandora, he sobbed in her arms. He clung like she was the only constant in his life. He sobbed in her arms like she was who Sirius was supposed to be for him.

And she held him without complaint. She sobbed with him, begging him not to go.

Regulus did not linger in her doorway.

If there was anyone who could have convinced him not to do what he was planning to, it was her.

The last time he saw Dorcas, they had a fight. Regulus wanted to shake her by her shoulders. I'm going to die. He wanted to yell at her. I'm going to die, please don't let these be my last words to you. Please don't remember me like this.

Coward, she called him.

The word replayed in his head all the way to the cave.

I'm trying to be brave. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell James.

The last time he saw Barty, they got drunk. Just two kids, laughing and giggling among themselves. Regulus was tempted to tell him what he was going to do. He didn't.

He'd find out from the papers like the others.

Barty, eyes half lidded, that troublemaker smile on his face that Regulus had hated at first, sat back and pulled out a box from his pocket.

I'm going to ask him to marry me. He said. I don't care if the preacher doesn't marry us, I'll carve his heart out for Evan. I'll carve my own out for him.

Barty was just the sort of deranged who actually would.

Regulus lingered in his doorway, staring at a passed out Barty. He walked back in, kissed his hair, closed the ring box in his hand and put it back in his pocket before he left.

Barty didn't ask Evan to marry him. Not after Regulus never came back to them. Not after they both kept waiting for their star.

Dorcas wailed like Regulus had never heard her. She clutched her chest, her lover holding her like she could protect her from the evils of the world. And Dorcas collapsed in her arms.

And Regulus knew they were all broken far before that day.

Pandora didn't cry. She didn't laugh from that day on either.

Evan died next. A battle that too. Just the sort of dramatics Barty loved. Regulus watched it all play out.

Barty was too headstrong, too obsessed with going against his father, even if it meant being on opposite sides of the wand.

He was angry, so angry. He didn't know how Regulus died, or what he died doing. Maybe he thought Regulus died because of the other side. Whatever the reason, he took his anger out on others, on anyone not Death Eaters.

He was grinning one moment, using the Cruciatus curse on some ministry employee. He was laughing, oh gods, what had they come to?

He looked away, searching for the love of his life. Evan was halfway across the room, locked in a duel with Alastor Moody. Evan was a strong wizard, Barty knew, so he laughed when Evan blasted the guy's face, blowing nearly a chunk of his face off.

Moody had lost and eye, Barty was so proud of his lover, and Evan laughed as he looked at Barty.

Evan had a ring in his pocket now. Barty's was in a box full of Regulus' things. Maybe in another life, Evan could have asked him only for Barty to pull his ring out. They'd cry and laugh as they slid their rings on.

Instead, in the split second it took for Evan to look at Barty, in love, distracted, Moody sent a killing curse. It hit him straight in the chest. Evan was dead before the grin was wiped off Barty's face.

Dorcas died next. She never did talk to Barty ever again. Not when he came sobbing on her doorstep, on his knees. He lost everything. And so had she.

Marlene had just been killed the week before. Barty pleaded and begged, told her it was Peter Pettigrew who killed her. Dorcas did not believe him.

The Dark lord himself had to kill her.

And then there were two.

Pandora died soon after. Regulus was glad she at least got to have a husband, someone she loved. Her parents were dead, her brother also gone, and her best friends. All dead. She had a daughter, a small bundle of joy with hair so blond it was almost white and with the same curiosity in her eyes Pandora always had.

It was good. Until one day it wasn't.

And Barty was left alone, to wander for years. The only one left.

He didn't join them in the after life. But the Dementor kiss isn't what stole his soul. He had died far before his mortal body did.

He died when Regulus did. He died when Evan did. He died when Dorcas did. And he died when Pandora did. So when it was his time to leave. There was nothing left in him.

[amazingmsme]

No Harm, No Foul

AN: this got longer that I was expecting tbh, but I just couldn’t help myself! This one was so fun & playful to write, all the voices & the narrator are so silly, I love them so much! This game has such a grip on me, & there’s literally no fluffy fics for all that angst!

This is set during the prisoner arc, but that’s not really relevant, just provides a setting & some context. This is formatted a lil different from my other fics, as it’s written in second person to match the game’s style but to be clear, I still don’t write reader inserts & because of all the voices, I’m adding a color chart to help you know which voice is speaking, even if it’s not specified

Hero- red

Skeptic- blue

Smitten- pink

Contrarian- green

Broken- purple

& the Narrator’s lines are just naturally written in the descriptions. The princess responds normally

Hope this helps! Without further ado, here’s day 20!

You're on a path in the woods, and at the end of that path, is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a princess. You're here to slay her.

Except you didn't slay her. You both tried to escape, you had been so close, but this world refused to let you be together for too long.

You've lost count of how many times you've done this song and dance. Endless, it would seem. And now, thanks to your own poor decisions, you yourself are left in the basement, side by side with the embodiment of evil.

"Embodiment of evil? She hasn't so much as said a word in days," the voice of the Hero interrupted, before the voice of the Skeptic interrupted him.

"I'm pretty sure it's been longer."

They were your only company, seeing as the princess was so intent on ignoring you. You're not quite sure how much more time has passed, but you stroke a patch of moss on a nearby stone that wasn't there before.

"Watch it." It was the first words she'd spoken in what felt like forever. Her voice was deep and raspy from lack of use. She cleared her throat, sitting up as straight and dignified as ever.

"Sorry, I just hadn't noticed that before," you explained, pulling your hand back. She hummed as she noticed the small patch of color in the dull room.

"How nice," she said, scooting closer to pet the soft plant. You adverted your gaze as she got closer, unsure of where her boundaries still stood. You fiddled with the heavy lock around your neck, the thick metal digging into the tender skin.

She noticed your discomfort, staring with a blank expression as you tried to pull it away from your throat. Her eyes trailed from your chains to her own.

"It's not the most comfortable, is it?" she asked, startling you a bit.

"Um, no, it's not. But then again, I don't think they make chains with comfort in mind," you spoke in a deadpan tone. She barked out a sarcastic laugh, but there was enough sincerity there to make your... heart flutter? Are you really making me say this?

"She thinks we're funny! We made our darling precious angel laugh! And what a beautiful sound it was!" the voice of the Smitten rambled on in a lovesick tangent. But he made sure to shut up as soon as the princess opened her mouth.

"I didn't know you were funny," she sounded genuinely surprised, and honestly, so am I. That wasn't even a proper joke.

"Hey, are you saying we're not funny?" the Hero immediately went on the defensive.

That's exactly what I'm saying.

"The princess thinks we're funny," the Skeptic chimed in.

You just happen to share the same morbid sense of humor. She's laughing more at the situation than anything else.

You huff and the voices in your head grow quiet once more. Time drags on; the moss spreads, and cracks slowly crumble away the stone and brick. The princess occasionally breaks the silence with a rare comment or question. Sometimes, if you're lucky, she might even carry on a conversation.

It seemed now was one of those times.

"Y'know, you're molting again, and all these loose feathers really got me thinking. You wouldn't happen to be ticklish would you?"

"What? You don't just ask someone that right out of the blue! No build up, no hints, no nothing!" the Hero began to panic as she continued speaking. Oh, so she wasn't even done yet.

"It would be kinda ironic, wouldn't it?" she continued with a smirk. She cocked her head to look at you expectantly. She cocked a brow when she didn't receive an answer. "Well?"

"Yeah, it would," you agreed, hoping it would be enough to suffice. But you are dealing with a cruel, calculating, and manipulative person, so of course that answer doesn't sate her appetite.

"Aw, a little shy, are we? After all this time?" she asked, her voice just a touch softer.

"Pretty sure anyone gets shy at that question," the Skeptic snapped defensively.

"Okay, you got me. Maybe a little. There, happy now?"

No, no! What are you doing? You just told her your greatest weakness!

"Hey, that is not our greatest weakness!" the Hero argued, sounding genuinely flustered.

Well it is now. Enjoy.

"Relax, he can't just do that," the Skeptic was quick to reassure him.

It took all but a second for this conversation to happen in your head. The princess is now smiling at you, scanning you up and down with a hungry gaze.

"Only a little? You wouldn't mind if  I tested that, would you?" she asked, her tone even, almost uninterested. But you could see the mischief dancing in her eyes. Finally, you're seeing her true, sadistic side shine through.

"Sadistic? Our darling simply wants to play! Haven't you ever heard of flirting before?" the Smitten chimed in. And okay, rude.

But I assure you, she's not flirting, it has to be some kind of power play. As soon as you let your guard down, she will kill you.

"Is... is boredom just a foreign concept to you?" the Hero asked. "If she wanted to kill us, I'm sure she'd have done it by now."

That's just what she wants you to think.

Her chains clanked together softly as she inched closer. You tensed, but hesitated to move away. That would make it too obvious, and her predatory instincts would surely kick in.

"I didn't hear a no," she hummed, shifting so she sat facing you.

"Shit, did we forget to answer her?" the Hero questioned, panic lacing his voice.

"So, where do you think we should start?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. She cocked her brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. It was the first time you'd seen her look even vaguely happy since you were locked down here.

"U-um..." you stuttered, struggling to think of a suitable answer.

"She can't expect us to choose! That's not fair!" the Hero complained.

"She's just trying to be considerate of our preferences," the Smitten justified.

"What? We don't have preferences! Not... not about this at least..."

"Dealers choice?" you answered lamely, the voices in your head offering no help in your decision. You froze when you heard her chuckle beside you, your feathers ruffled.

"Why do you look so tense? Relax, will you?" she prodded your side, hoping to get a reaction. You flinched away at the touch, the corners of your beaked mouth twitching upward in a short lived grin. "Aw, is that a smile?" she teased, poking the same spot, wiggling her finger a little and earning a stifled snicker.

Are you really just gonna let this happen? You're not gonna put up any kind of fight, whatsoever?

"I'm pretty sure she'll make us regret it if we even try to fight back. At least right now, she seems... playful."

"Maybe we should fight back and see what happens. Let her really go to town on lover boy, see how much he likes her then," the Contrarian spoke up for the first time in quite a while.

"I'd still love every second of it! Whatever makes our princess happy," the Smitten was unwavering in his adoration as always.

"No! Have you forgotten we all have to endure what she dishes out? I'd rather not piss her off," the Hero reasonably pointed out.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you felt long nails scratch under your chin, burying beneath the downy feathers. You let out a squawk of surprise, immediately scrunching your shoulders. Giggles bubble up your throat and you clamp a hand over your mouth, desperate to contain the embarrassing sounds.

"Excuse you, our laugh is rugged and handsome!" the Smitten proudly proclaimed.

"I can't reach your feet, mind helping me out?" she asked so nonchalantly it gave you whiplash. You instinctively curled your talons, tucking your legs closer to your chest.

"W-what did she just say?"

"Pft, yeah, like we're just gonna put our feet in her lap," the Skeptic scoffed.

"That's a great idea! She can barely reach us in those chains," the Smitten noticed, deciding to rectify this mistake by turning to face her, stretching your legs out.

"No, I just said we weren't gonna do that!"

"I don't know, maybe we should. She's gonna tickle us anyways," the Broken noted.

"Thanks," the princess smirked as she grabbed your ankle, scooting even closer. She picked up one of your feathers off the stone floor, twirling it for you to see. Your leg jerked back reflexively at the sight. She chuckled as she traced up and down your foot, paying close attention to your reactions. She grabbed your talons and pulled them back, stretching out your feet as she sawed the feather between your toes.

You leaned against the wall, burying your face in your hands with a loud squawk of laughter. You tried to kick and squirm away, but she held onto your ankle, keeping you sufficiently trapped as soft giggles poured out of you. Your talons curled and twitched with each fluttery stroke, much to her amusement. She grabbed your other foot, wasting no time before giving it the same treatment.

"Wow, you're more ticklish than I thought. Now tell me, is it worse knowing that I'm using your own feathers?" she asked curiously, deciding to attack both feet simultaneously. You shrieked and arched your back, nodding instead of giving a verbal answer. You already had too much going on inside your head to reply.

"What? She can't be serious! Of course it makes it worse! She knows that!" the Hero protested, sounding flustered beyond belief and on the verge of giggles himself.

"She can't possibly know that, she's just trying to get a rise out of us," the Skeptic argued.

"Well it's working," the Hero whined.

"Hm, I wonder where else you're ticklish," she mused aloud, scanning your body up and down. She reached out, giving both knees an experimental squeeze.

Chains rattle as you jerk away with a loud laugh, surprising even you. Her shock quickly morphed to sadistic glee.

"Uh oh, looks like I found a bad spot," she taunted, dragging you back by the ankles. You sat there, completely frozen as she crawled towards you until it was too late and she latched onto your knees.

If you ask me, I'd say everywhere's a bad spot.

"That was uncalled for!"

"No one asked you!"

"Is it a crime to be sensitive?”

You wished they would all just shut up.

Between the chain on the wall and the princess in front of you, there was nowhere for you to go, and nothing for you to do except cackle and writhe on the ground.

But if you were being honest, it- wasn't the worst way to spend your time? You can't be serious! Please tell me you're joking.

"Well... at least now something's actually happening," the Hero sheepishly admitted.

"True. An eternity of silence is more torturous than whatever she can dish out," the Skeptic agreed.

"I can't even remember the last time we laughed. It's... kinda nice, if I'm being honest."

Okay, you know what? Fine. You win. You let her tickle you for however long she wants, which just so happens to feel like an eternity. She manages to find your most ticklish spots with ease, and even a few you weren't aware of. All the while, you continue to flail around uselessly and make the most humiliating noises you've ever heard. She loves to mock those sounds, pointing out the way you ruffle your feathers when flustered, or how you try to hide your face instead of fend her off.

Maybe she knows you like this? Probably, I mean, you're making it pretty obvious, aren't you?

"Okay, we get it!"

So I hope you enjoy this demise of your own making, because it won't be stopping anytime soon it would seem.

But like I said. You probably like that.

And she knows it.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

one of kaeya's favorite past times is finding you in the library where you had most likely holed yourself away between shelves lined with books. he'd find you sitting on the floor surrounded by books you had opened, read the first chapter of or maybe the summary before placing it in piles of 'interesting' and 'not interested'. he'd always stroll up and come as close as your barricade of books could allow him before placing his palms on his hips and looking down at you. it was always his boots invading your vision or his shadow that caught your attention and made you look at him. he'd always have the same grin on his face- one of amusement and endearment at seeing you in the middle of a literary mess. if lisa were to see you among so many strewn-out books she may just make you rearrange all the shelves- but you're always careful.

'what treasures have you found today?'

he'd always ask you and he'd bend to sit leisurely on the floor in front of you as you scooch the books between you both away so he can shuffle closer to you. you'd show off the books you think you might read and explain the general gist of them before trying to narrow your decisions. at some point kaeya became crucial in these times since he had taken up the habit of reading them with you. or rather, he had asked you to read to him once before and now he gets offended if you read without him there to listen to it.

you didn't know if he liked reading but was too lazy to pick up his own book. or maybe he didn't have the time to read himself. or maybe he enjoyed the thrill of a compelling tale. or if just maybe he liked the sound of your voice. and he didn't plan to justify you with a straight answer- as usual. he especially liked when both him and klee were present for a reading session- but those times were mostly reserved for children's books short enough to occupy klee's attention span and satisfy kaeya's need to hear your voice.

kaeya would help you place back the books you decided to pass on and would accompany you to check out the one or two you would be taking with you. the pleased look on your face as you left the library with him and your new reading material always made a soft smile curl on his lips. if you were happy- he was too, or that's what the feeling swirling in his chest always told him.

you would always also stay the night at his place when you read to him. he'd invite you over, have dinner, and maybe a drink or two before moving to his room and sitting on his bed. he'd lean on your shoulder as you read, reading along with you silently as you spoke and if he was feeling extra sassy, he'd correct you on a word you mispronounced or laugh at your tone when voicing characters.

'it's for better immersion!'

'yeah, okay. that doesn't mean it's not hilarious.'

'well fine, i'll just speak normally. enjoy your boring, normal narrator.'

'that wouldn't be any fun now would it?'

he'd always fall asleep first. the weight on your shoulder would increase and slump until he's almost sliding down your chest. you'd always catch his head and properly lay him down, but you weren't going anywhere either. kaeya would always have a hold of your arm, or his legs clutched around your own, or clinging around your waist after you lay him down.

you'd bookmark your page, feeling guilty if you read along more without him before shutting off the nearby lamp you used for light and becoming engulfed in darkness as you tried to get comfortable in his bed with him.

kaeya always slept better with your bedtime stories and warmth to keep everything that plagues his mind away from him. in the morning, as thanks, he'd always get you breakfast or a coffee.

'thanks.' he'd tell you

'for what?'

'for everything.'

he wont ever elaborate, but just having you close helps him in many more ways than you know. it wasn't just about reading to him, but keeping him company and keeping him grounded. plus, the nightmares never found him since he would fall asleep to the sound of a wonderful tale told by your voice.

he also always remembers to tell you to return the books on time. he doesn't want lisa to hunt you down- his arm still hurts from the last time he returned a book late.

a/n: not proofread soz lol- have a blurb

[miscellaneoussmp]

Holy shit, a proper fanfic? It's more likely than you think. I'm normal about hgduo, I'm so normal about hgduo and that's why I wrote this. Anyways, here's Cellbit throughout the years (cw/tw: blood/violence/death mentioned/referenced throughout, general Cellbit fuckery, highly repetitive narration):

Cellbit is just thirteen. Well, in actuality, he doesn't know his name, and his age is just as obscure when he meets Badboyhalo. The demon teaches him all sorts of things like how to not waste food, words to use instead of swears, and a fun game. 'Fetch' Bad calls it. Cellbit thinks the demon is lying to him sometimes. He laughs every time Bad yells at him for swearing, but he tries not to most of the time. It's not his fault that he didn't see that arrow, or maybe it is? Bad teaches him to be aware of his surroundings.

Cellbit is sixteen, well in actuality he still doesn't know his name instead Bad calls him a flurry of assorted nicknames ('Little one' the demon seems to settle on when he thinks Cellbit is sleeping. In reality, he doesn't sleep). He doesn't know how long it's been when he loses sight of Bad. He thinks he must be feeling empty. Alone, maybe? He doesn't know. He walks off the battlefield with an iron knife in hand and the taste of iron in his mouth.

Cellbit is just nineteen. Well, in actuality, people call him Cell, and he finally knows how old he is as the courts seemed hellbend on proving his age when he sits across from a psychologist. They seem nervous, maybe it's the mutliple armed guards? Who knows, certainly not him. They ask him a very simple question: Why? Cell answers truthfully for once, "A demon told me not to waste food, so I don't." He shrugs like it's the most mundane thing in the world, and to him, it is.

Cellbit is twenty-six when the cargo ship he snuck on runs aground. He tries his best to ignore the looks from nervous brown eyes and pissed off green eyes. He introduces himself with his full name in front of the people who live on this island. One of those people is Bad. It feels nice to know that his oldest friend now knows his name. Cellbit meets his son for the first time, and he thinks the world of the little one.

Cellbit is twenty-six when he thinks he's fallen in love. Cellbit is twenty-six when he makes the worst decision in his entire life. Cellbit is twenty-six when he wakes up with a white streak in his hair. Cellbit is twenty-six when he gets engaged. Cellbit is twenty-six when he gets married.

Cellbit is twenty-six when his son goes missing along with the rest of the children on the island. Cellbit is twenty-six when he pushes himself headfirst into looking for any clue possible. Cellbit is twenty-six when he meets his sister. Bagi is twenty-six when she finds her brother. Why did she get to be happy? Why did she not find him sooner? She wasn't. She tried, and she was so close. Cellbit is twenty-six when he gives up his knife to Bad. He'll get better use out of it. Cellbit is twenty-six when he picks up a different blade. His mouth is filled with the taste of iron again. He wants his son back. He wants the children back. Rage consumes his very soul. Bagi is twenty-six when she realizes her brother is the murderer. 'Is he proud?' The question goes unanswered. Cellbit is twenty-six when he feels thirteen again. "Do you like it?" He asks, his voice far too soft. "You've gone soft." He hisses to his oldest friend. Cellbit is twenty-six when he confesses murder to his husband.

Cellbit is twenty-six when he enters hell for the second time in his life. Under the red sky feels like home. He feels alive. This time, Bad is his enemy. Cellbit is twenty-six when his son dies. Cellbit is twenty-six when he takes a final ten seconds to say goodbye. Cellbit is twenty-six when he hunts people down for fun with Baghera. Cellbit is twenty-six when he's sure the demon is lying to him. He feels empty again. Cellbit is still only twenty-six when he and Baghera are rescued by their children. A fresh start. Cellbit still feels empty.

Cellbit turns twenty-seven, and he celebrates. He celebrates with his son, his niece, and his oldest friend. They celebrate with fighting mobs.

Cellbit is just twenty-seven when his oldest friend, Bad, forgets his name. Cellbit is just twenty-seven when his mentor, Bad, forgets to write a letter. Cellbit is just twenty-seven when the question he asked long ago is answered. 'I'm proud of you, you know that, right?' Cellbit doesn't even know. Cellbit has just turned twenty-seven when the person who knows him the best, Bad, dies. Cellbit doesn't even know.

[turtleblogatlast]

Damn, I just imagined what the sequel would be like:

After Dum Dum's morning medical check-up, Donnie headed to his laboratory. Upon entering, he went directly to his chair in front of the large digital screen of his computer, turning behind him to check that there were no intruders in the area. of his work. When he confirmed one hundred percent that there was no one, he turned his gaze back to the screen, grabbing the mouse and directing it to the recordings of the communicators, specifically Leo's. From his battle shell she took out some popcorn and a canned soft drink, settled into his chair, to finally listen to the recording.

"Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim: Hot Soup and Alien Worms - Episode 18: The Ambush of the Alien Worms"

Leo's voice on the communicator began to narrate and Donnie just listened.

…

The recording was at minute 18, the chapters normally lasted between twenty-one to twenty-three minutes, so it wasn't long before the plot ended in this episode. The narrative directed Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim being surrounded by the enemy, with no line of escape. Donatello leaned forward in his chair as if this way he could hear better, even though he was wearing his headphones.

"- Well, Jim… it was a pleasure fighting by your side.

-The pleasure was all mine.

The alien worms pounced of them.

Will this be the end of Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim? Don't miss it in the next episode Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim: Hot Soup and Alien Worms - Episode 19: A Promise to the Stars"

The recording ended there, Donnie was left with his heart in his mouth because of the suspense of that ending, although he said to himself that episode 7 was even worse. He wanted to know what happened next, reviewing the recordings, there was only one left, thinking it was the final chapter, he clicked. The only thing he heard was creaking and grunting, loud banging sounds and metallic clashes. Was he using realistic sounds for the battle scenes? That is new.

"What, you finally realized that your life is insignificant, that you can no longer fight for it?"

The Kraang, it was the voice of the Kraang.

"Heh, in your dreams mutant mucus"

The next thing you heard was a slimy sound and Leo's voice screaming.

"At least your blood manages to combine those horrible marks you have"

If what he heard was horrible to Donnie (he didn't even know why he was still listening), the next thing was the worst sound he could have heard in his entire life.

Leo's crying, desperate, scared… alone, alone with that monster.

He couldn't take it anymore, his hand moved on its own, advancing the recording, only to hear Mikey's voice shouting for Leo's name.

"Hey guys, took you long enough"

It was the moment they had rescued him.

-End of recording-

Donnie removed the headphones and his gaze stayed on the screen for a long moment, thinking. Thinking about what he had just heard, analyzing the previous recordings with the last one, realizing that all those recordings of Leo narrating were much deeper than he believed. Before, I thought this fanfiction was nonsense and out of curiosity I grabbed it as entertainment, but for Leo it was something else, it was the only way in which Leo could be united with the world he had left, telling stories, it was his entertainment. He was his own sanity, he was his only company, listening to himself on a recording, like a narrator's voice in an action series, listening to his happy voice to replace the moments where he was crying or screaming.

This was the only thing Leo had left in that prison.

If he hadn't listened to that last recording, he might have tried to figure out how he was doing the next episode, perhaps with the rat fever in its stage 6, but now that doesn't matter anymore. He got up from his chair and left the laboratory, heading to the medical room, only to find Leo alone on the stretcher, watching how he trembled in his dreams, nightmares that surely took him back to that horrible place. He stayed next to him, caressing his shell so that he knew that he was no longer alone, and that he would never again need recordings and stories for company, now he was home with his family and Donnie was going to make sure of that.

----

Hey, I hope you don't mind this idea that occurred to me and is not my language, sorry if there was any mistake.

If you don't like me, I understand.

[ cw: torture implied / trauma / ]

❤️ I don’t mind at all, I love this! It adds such a sad but true note to my silly post, and I think you conveyed the nuance of the situation really well! Because yeah, although it’s funny to think about Leo making up crossover fanfiction of all things during his time in the Prison Dimension, it doesn’t change what he went through there, it just makes it more bearable for him.

Great writing, thank you!!❤️❤️

[octoberautumnbox]

With the usual dynamic between Yena and Yuri, I think Yena would eventually find a way to convince Yuri to loosen up.

"Come on~ He's still your boyfriend after this. I can help you take the heat off. Didn't you complain he's too horny all the time?"

"Ugh... I'll think about it."

"Yuri, I know you're gonna love it... Stop pretending that you HATE this. You know perfectly what these lips can do Yuri 😉"

"Just... Go easy on him ok?"

Narrator voice: Yena absolutely destroyed and drained him

Yuri wasn't worried about Yena tiring him out, not at all. If anything, Yuri wanted him to have a good time. It's just, Yena is so good, and Yuri knows this personally.

On the other hand, Yuri also knows her boyfriend is head-over-heels for her. If nothing else, the ring she puts on when they're out of the public eye is proof of it. He'd spill blood for her if she wanted, or move mountains for the best possible dump Instagram post she can get.

It's probably nothing, right? Just a little bit of jealousy. She loves him, after all. It's normal to want someone as perfect for you all to yourself, even if your best friend in the whole wide world is asking for just one night with him. And, though she loves cumming her brains out onto his cock, it can get a bit much sometimes. It's not his fault that Yuri is just that gorgeous to turn him on at the slightest bit of provocation.

But this is Yena. Yena, who has lips to die for no matter where on Yuri's body she put them on. Yena, who had head game that once upon a time drove Yuri crazy. Yena, who Yuri can't deny is still someone she thinks about from time to time when she and her boyfriend have sex.

Yena, who still confuses Yuri even after all this time.

"Just go easy on him, okay?" Yuri said.

But deep inside, she pleaded to her boyfriend, "Just don't let her steal you away from me. Don't forget about me."

And to Yena, "Don't replace me. Don't move on too quickly."

a/n: idk okay I didn't mean for this to turn out this way sometimes I just be writing whatever