#I am writing this from the afterlife

[dribs-and-drabbles]

#BADBUDDYREWATCH

Ep 5

You know how Pran asked if Pat was Pran's boyfriend in ep 2 as a joke despite actually wanting that...well, after Pran's heart gets broken by learning that Pat likes Ink and any hope for him and Pat to be together has been shattered, Pran somehow is able to take it to the next level and ask Pat if he's Pran's wife. I mean, go big or go home right? What's that saying that there's always an element of truth in a joke. Pran is so brave. (This also applies to the "Who on earth told you this was cute?")

I love that there's so much of that condensed milk stuff in that sandwich that it flies out when Pat picks it up and drips over himself and the worktop.

Also...@telomeke-bbs pointed out that when Pran's making his own breakfast at the beginning of ep 2 he only makes a sandwich but here there's also eggs, sausages, and salad...which might mean he made all that for Pat.

Oh and then Pat seeing Pran eating the sausage might be why he made Pran sausages when he cooked breakfast in bed in ep 8...because he thought that's what Pran liked/ate.

Pat's "I hope you're not as cruel as to make me wait outside" has always interested me because you can hear the teasing/whining tone and also because he uses the polite form of 'pronouns' of P'Pran and P'Pat instead of the informal/rude 'guu/meung' which they mainly use (not sure what it means when P' is being used for both people but brushing over that...)...BUT I think Pat ends with a 'ja' instead of the polite 'krap', which according to @absolutebl is "used with very close friends/family and by the queer community". I think Pat uses it here because they've been joking about the 'wife' status...but I wouldn't be surprised if this had an effect on Pran even before the pleading 'na'.

LAKYIM my beloved!

If you haven't read @telomeke-bbs analysis of this first scene you should - there's a fantastic bit about how a water splash is a substitute for saying 'asshole'. Love it!

"If I see any stain on them, I'll barge into your room and yell at you" -> Pat must have had a huge dilemma with this...I mean, does he clean the dishes well to impress Pran and get his praise? Or does he do them poorly in the hope that Pran will barge into his room and scold him? I mean...that's a difficult choice!

(omg I've only just got to the credits and I've written all this already...sorry it's going to be a long one...I mean, I guess it's to be expected since it's ep 5...)

Oh the embarrassment! We've all been there Pran.

I've never really understood the "Don't butt in next time" line... Anyone got any thoughts?

Ooof Cloaked Emotions by Lama House...another piece of music that stabs me in the heart...and the title fitting the scene -> Pran hiding his feelings at seeing Ink and Pat together.

Pat eating properly because of Pran 😭

Because of the order of filming, it looks like Pat gets a haircut before his date with Ink.

😂 I can't with the horse sound effect 🤣

The mental gymnastics Pa must have done without realising to justify why she should tag along to the date that she told Pat to go on with Ink.

"I don't have to tell you I love you. I fed you pancake". AFTER INK ASKED PA TO FEED HER THE PANCAKE AND THEN INK FEEDS PA THE PANCAKE.

I'm irrationally disturbed by the continuity error with the hands on the guitar.

But that gets erased because the choreography of Pat turning his head away unblinking when Pran looks at him on that bit of music (6:06 in part 2) is DIVINE.

Also, I love Pran's hair and I know it must just be because the instrument shop scenes were filmed early on and therefore Nanon's hair was shorter/tidier (like Ohm's) but still, I love that they both look so good during Pat's Oh moment.

When I first watched this I didn't need Pa's repeated voiceover of the four signs because I got it just from Pat's expression...but now I don't mind it.

But also back to the music again because the way they edited the recap of the four signs (actually the whole instrument shop scene) with Pat and Pran's head turns, their actions, or the camera angle/frame changes hitting either the piano chords or the 'silent' suspensions in the music is actual choreography and adds to why this scene is SO GOOD. They are dancing to the music...and the irony of them being in shop surrounded by instruments...

I've just noticed that during the bread-eating scene, the pink and purple of the condensed milk tube is amplified by the painting on the wall behind, the sticky tape and post-it notes behind, and the selection of pens in front...

This has already been pointed out, but the lyrics of the song Pat suggests they sing in the flashback, Never by 25 hours, basically reflects Pat's loneliness when Pran went away. brb crying.

When We Were Younger instrumental over the flashback scene 💖

That flashback is Pat wondering if Pran liked him, no? I mean, I know Pat is realising his feelings for Pran and remembering back to high school is part of that...but that particular memory is Pran telling Pat he wants to write something that reflects the idea of 'born to be together' and two people growing up together falling in love as well as them writing the 'are we friends or are we something more?' song...so Pat must be wondering how Pran felt and still feels now.

Pat's freshy day outfit!

I must have known this already but can't remember if I've written about it before when I've talked about this shirt, but the word 'pineapple' is written in both red and blue on Pat's shirt.

Oh the hurt in Pran's eyes when Pat says the song is lousy.

'silly' ... 😭

PRAN THE WARRIOOOOOOR!

And we're back to Cloaked Emotions. This time Pran is forcing Pat to stay quiet.

You know how the production team created the condensed milk tube...well I wonder if they put a rose on it because that's the usual flower people give as gifts to those they like...and Pat bought it as a gift for Pran...effectively buying him a rose. But maybe this has already been pointed out.

"IT WAS DEPRESSINGLY LONELY FOR ME" 😭😭😭

Pat's tear...😭 Then Pran's tear...😭 (and mine of course)

Oh god, the way they both move towards each other...

THE MUSIC when their lips touched...

It's the way we all thought the ep, the show, had reach its peak at that short first kiss because the music hit a crescendo and BECAUSE THEY HAD KISSED already in ep 5...but then not 10 seconds after their lips had parted the show absolutely DECIMATED us with that epic second kiss. Pran pulling Pat in, the hand on the neck, Pat's first hand gripping the back of Pran's head, the gasped inhales as they shifted their heads, Pat's second hand joining his first, the increase in speed, Pran's second hand also going to Pat's neck, the symmetry of it, the MUSIC, the way Pat hunched into his shoulders to devour Pran's mouth, and the slow pull away as the music tailed off...

Pat's smile and breath of relief

Pran's devastation

The rain

Pat's tear-filled eyes

Baseball mom

The prolonged black screen at the end as the music ended...

The way I was never the same again.

This ep has such special memories for me, not only because of the show and what it did to me but because of where I was when I watched it. I've since sold and moved from the apartment I was living in at the time and I treasure the memory of settling into my sofa with a blanket over my legs, a warm cup of tea and something sweet to eat, the light slowly dimming to black outside even though it was only 15:30 (it was end of november and I lived in Sweden), and then the euphoria when I realised this silly little Thai romcom bl was doing something different. Ep 5 part 4 not only changed me in many ways but it changed the way we watch bls now. We have higher expectations - a bar has been raised - and I'm seeing where shows are reaching for it. Last December, I watched the GMMTV Live for the first time because I caught some people talking about it on tumblr (I didn't know anything about it before even though I'd been watching Thai bl for a year). Now, I'm ridiculously excited about seeing it this year, to see what we may be in store for next year. Hopefully they will build on Bad Buddy, Vice Versa, The Eclipse, and others. And I know there are other production companies and I'm also excited to see what they do too...and for all the gl coming out... But back to Bad Buddy ep 5 and it was this ep that finally brought me to make this blog because I needed a way to process what I was watching - and to scream about it with others. I had never analysed a piece of media in this way before this show and I've since continued with many others. This is who I am now. This is part of what I mean by Bad Buddy changing me. And I'm thankful for it, and for Aof, Nanon, and Ohm, and for all the people who I've interacted with on here about it. There is something exceedingly special about this show and I wish I could adequately express it to the whole world but I also want to keep it for me, and for us, to treasure always.

[maximumdante]

We are all Jure Maček's girlies from now on.

[rhoorl]

I'm squinting, are these *gasp* grey sweatpants on Pedro?!

[ladyorlandodream]

[pppppiamo]

Title: South for Spring

Author: Piamo

Length: 5.5k words

Synopsis: A boy discovers a dying crow. When life and death are merely stops along the long road of existence, can love take wing? (Xianxia-inspired, danmei-inspired. CW: death.)

Before Emptiness and under Finality, everything in the world appeared minute and transitory. "Qi Siyu, it's you."

South for Spring

One day when Qi Siyu (祁思煜) was little, he happened upon a dying crow.

He lived in a big city. The houses in his neighborhood were all painted the same grey-green, each one containing a plot of grass in front that, in the summer, yellowed under the blistering sun. As it was Saturday, he was spending the afternoon at a small yogurt shop down the street from his house. Since he was still only in elementary school, he had no money. Nevertheless, the old woman working there would give him a handful of mochi and tell him stories about her grandson, Gu Yuan (顾鸢), while he half-listened, kicking his legs.

At the time, Qi Siyu did not know that Gu Yuan had passed away from illness many years ago. Out of repetition, Qi Siyu only gathered that the boy in her stories was a year older than him, liked taking pictures, was good-looking, and that the old woman bought him a new pair of shoes every time he came to visit her.

Qi Siyu was an only child who grew up in a strict environment. His parents were neither rich nor poor, but certainly it couldn’t be said that they doted on him. Rather, they seemed to have forgotten about his existence entirely. His current pair of shoes even had a little hole worn through the tip, which he often poked his big toe through wearing a disgruntled expression. Thus, he thought Gu Yuan sounded like a spoiled brat and immediately didn’t like him.

What kind of eight-year-old has a digital camera anyway!

On the day Qi Siyu stumbled upon the dying crow on his way home, the old woman had said something extremely peculiar to him before he left.

“Xiao-Yu, do you believe in ghosts?”

Qi Siyu’s eyes had tripled in size at the mention of something so eerie. The plastic spoon which he’d been gnawing on was still hanging out of his mouth, and he debated whether to shake his head or nod. He settled on a shrug, pretending an aloof expression in the hopes that she would change the subject.

The old woman’s back was facing him. When she turned around, rather than holding a handful of mochi as usual, she carried a cardboard cup filled to the brim with cream-colored yogurt and strawberry slices. From an outsider’s perspective, the dessert seemed to have been tenderly crafted, but Qi Siyu was more guarded than the average child—having been pricked by the subject of ghosts, he didn’t miss the cool glint in her eye. She handed the treat over to the young boy, along with a stack of napkins a few centimeters thick. “Good behavior is rewarded by heaven,” she said, patting him on the hand.

Silently, Qi Siyu took the yogurt outside. He threw it in the trash and ran home.

Out of the corner of his eye, the houses flew by like a river. By the time Qi Siyu reached his front doorstep, he was out of breath. His mind was filled with images of hungry ghosts, mouths puckered and sucking at the air as if through a straw. When Qi Siyu heard a dry croak emanate from the potted shrub to his left, he grabbed the door’s handle with both hands. The sun was so hot that the brass metal scalded his skin, but he continued to tug and push, his heart pounding.

The door was locked. As it turned out, the house was empty, too.

As his heart began to freeze over, Qi Siyu took a step back, the realization slowly draining the color from his face. His father was at the office working overtime; his mother was at his aunt’s house currently engaged in gossip. As for Qi Siyu’s whereabouts, they couldn’t have cared less. He might as well have been a succulent placed on a shelf, left to fend for itself in the heat. 

Another croak resounded, causing Qi Siyu to nearly jump out of his skin. 

His reflexes simply got the better of him. One leg kicked out as if tapped by a tiny hammer and slammed directly into the potted shrub. Subsequently, a tangled black mess of feathers tumbled out into the sun.

Qi Siyu held his breath. He squinted at the crow that seemed barely even half-alive.

Its teal-blue eyes stared vacantly at him. Upon closer inspection, Qi Siyu saw that a piece of tan twine had somehow wrapped itself around its body, causing the pitiful creature to look like a roasted chicken for sale at a market—albeit an unappetizing one. Beak open, it panted. 

Notably, the old woman’s words jostled around in Qi Siyu’s head. At this age, the word “karma” meant nothing to him. Whether there were six gates of reincarnation or fifty, he wouldn’t have been able to guess. He gripped the corners of his shirt with sweaty hands, feeling hateful towards that old woman and her peerless Gu Yuan. If heaven rewarded good behavior, it might be said that he was fearless of heaven for lack of grasping its immensity.

“It’s feral,” his father had said once, pointing to a disheveled cat that showed up on their doorstep in a rainstorm. “Don’t go near. It’ll bite.”

While Qi Siyu peered into the crow’s open beak in search of teeth, the suffering bird’s eyelids began to droop. Rasping, it tipped over, legs tilting towards the sky. At that moment, without thinking, Qi Siyu suddenly stooped over, casting a shadow forward that swallowed the bird up in a cool embrace. As gently as possible, he unwound the twine. Once or twice, he was thwarted by a severe knot, though eventually he persevered. 

When the crow was finally freed, Qi Siyu sat down and wiped the glistening sweat off his forehead. He then poked his big toe out of the hole in his shoe and touched the tip of the closest tail feather. 

With that, the crow exploded into the sky, its wings flapping clumsily. The ungrateful creature didn’t even spare him a backwards glance. 

══════════════════

Looking back at this event many years in the future, Qi Siyu could only inexplicably feel that his run-in with the crow had been a matter of destiny. A week later, the crow was fully out of sight and out of mind—that is, until it showed up one morning scrabbling on his bedroom windowsill, a gold chain dangling from its beak. This was only the first of a series of “gifts” that would follow Qi Siyu far into adulthood, sometimes as often as every other week. 

As he aged, his wariness of animals gradually shed like a second skin, but he never quite outgrew his wariness of other humans. 

A person cannot stay young forever. In the end, Qi Siyu could not follow his parents into old age—he remained an indistinct figure in the periphery of their vision, and just a few weeks before his thirtieth birthday, he departed the Earth. 

According to legend, the Platform of the Underworld would be composed of a series of vast white fields. Only a small detail had been left out. The primordial artificer had cleaved a fissure down the middle with a knife, naming the resulting river “Emptiness” and the stars reflected therein “Finality.” When Qi Siyu first arrived at the Platform, he felt this information swirling inside him, indistinct as smoke. A warm breeze ruffled the wide, plain-woven sleeves hanging down to his wrists, the skin of which appeared a little transparent. 

So, I’m dead? he thought, tucking his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t have to look at them. 

Surveying the white fields, one didn’t have much to look at. Qi Siyu took stock of his life. Overall, though he couldn’t complain, the events of his thirty years were brief enough to catalogue on a single napkin. In his memory, he could recall only two or three moments of true import, which lay embedded in his heart like grains of sand.

Before Emptiness and under Finality, everything in the world appeared minute and transitory.

Here, time had ground to a standstill, but elsewhere the seasons still came and went, the planet turned, the tides rose and retreated beneath the moon. Qi Siyu felt a twinge of unplaceable wistfulness. 

He was neither cold, nor in pain. Instead, it was an all-encompassing thirst and the lull of the nearby river that eventually stirred him from his reverie. Within a few steps, he came to a spot where the white blades of tall grass terminated at a sandy bank, dark as night, and got down onto his knees. The river was passing by very slowly; in a daze, Qi Siyu sank his fingers into his reflection. Although he perceived the cold bite of water, his body seemed incapable of shivering. He cupped his palms together to drink.

The river, which sprang sourcelessly from the horizon, would in turn wash away every last memory of his previous life, like a slate being wiped clean. 

The soul, which arose sourcelessly from the ether, would in turn return to the elements, becoming true to itself to the utmost.

Thinking this, an imperceptible smile crept onto Qi Siyu’s face. In all his life, he never smiled that often. Even when he did, it was like he was holding an immense weight in his heart, his curved lashes lowering as if to obscure a wateriness. Truthfully, in an effort to not disturb the mood, he was only holding back a laugh. Eschatologically speaking, the afterlife seemed a bit too nebulous— 

“Caw!”

Just as Qi Siyu’s lips were about to touch the river water, a familiar sound caused him to jerk upright. 

Winging overhead like a distant halo was a black crow.

══════════════════

Perhaps it was owing to his recent separation from worldly affairs, but Qi Siyu was not all that surprised to find, upon turning around, a lantern had appeared out of thin air, hovering just a few meters away. Its black flame twisted behind a paper curtain, painted with the word “impermanence.” Once again, inexplicably, he understood that this particular tool would only manifest at the behest of an Underworld retainer. The flame contained inside could dispel the anxieties of the departed and cleanse evil. 

Qi Siyu stared through the lantern blankly. While alive, he was customarily a disagreeable person who liked to come to his own conclusions and railed against the ideas of others. Only now, his eagerness to fight had dried up, leaving him hollow. 

The crow floated toward the ground and transformed into a person. 

He was no longer alone, but Qi Siyu registered nothing. Only when a pair of fingers gently pressed the space between his eyes did the feeling of lightness in his body begin to disperse, and the face before him came into clarity—teal-blue eyes partially obscured by dusky hair and a faint smile that seemed familiar, as if from a dream. Qi Siyu blinked back the mistiness that had gathered in his eyes.

“After all this time,” the man chuckled, “you really kept something so trifling?”

By instinct, Qi Siyu touched the gold chain hanging around his neck, tucked beneath the folds of his robe. At the Platform, even his treasured memories had barely remained intact, but this little artifact, which in reality had been misplaced long ago, had somehow become reunited with him.

It took only a simple touch of recognition for the gold chain to stir. Suddenly, a thought leapt into Qi Siyu’s head unbidden: Gu Yuan, it’s you. 

It quickly became clear that speaking in one’s head in the Underworld lacked the same privacy found on Earth. The man cocked his head, eyes glittering. “I didn’t expect to be recognized. After passing away, I was recruited to the ghost realm, but at that time I was very young. It took me twenty years just to refine my primeval soul. In the end, I was too impatient to visit my laolao. It was inevitable that a crow spirit devoured me on my first trip back to the human realm. 

“Some time after that, I gained enough consciousness to appropriate the crow’s body as my own, but even then, I found myself acting in strange ways. Crows are naturally disposed to gratitude. When you saved me that summer, I kept coming back to you with so many trinkets. In my state, I thought I was making you a rich man.” Gu Yuan sighed, his smile fading slightly. “Unfortunately, spending so much time in the vicinity of an Underworld escort… It’s probably owing to me that you incurred an untimely death.”

Qi Siyu’s eyes lingered over the lantern’s black flame before trailing along Gu Yuan’s flowing, damask silk robes, coming to rest on his face. Were it not for the man’s smile, that pale visage and those eyes darkened by shadows might have conspired to make him look like a true dyed-in-the-wool ghost. Looking at him now, it was clear the specter of death clung to him like a chilling aura. 

But resentment and regret were reserved for the living. Qi Siyu could only think, It’s no one’s fault, least of all yours. 

Gu Yuan’s face remained unchanged, his thoughts a mystery. The old woman had described that very same disarming smile to Qi Siyu many years ago. Embarrassingly, now of all times, Qi Siyu could not deny that the man before him was, by human standards, incredibly handsome. Besides that, the lantern’s black flame was probably performing its duty, coaxing the agitation away from his heart and leaving him uncharacteristically soft. 

Reading his mind, Gu Yuan waved his hand. The paper lantern flamed out, dissolving into ash. In its place, a jade pendant dropped into his open palm. He held it outstretched to Qi Siyu.

“This karmic pendant will ensure you a safe journey home. My last gift to you.”

══════════════════

The moon-white jade pendant appeared in the shape of a three-legged crow. It glowed faintly in the twilight. As for the years of primeval refinement Gu Yuan had carefully invested, upon transporting Qi Siyu back to Earth, they would be transmuted into an extension of Qi Siyu’s own lifespan, granting him an additional twenty years. 

A low-level Underworld escort might struggle for a century to cut a single blade of grass growing on the Platform. To endeavor to rewrite a person’s karma was surely a thousand times the effort—yet Gu Yuan only continued to smile, brows lifted, seemingly unfazed. 

Qi Siyu regarded this “parting gift” with a complicated expression before ultimately flicking a sleeve at Gu Yuan.

“No one can call back yesterday,” Qi Siyu said. “In any case, won’t I just end up here again in twenty more years? Imagine what additional unfinished business I’ll rack up if you give me the chance. I’ll be rolling in my grave until the end of time.” 

Gu Yuan replied, “Actually, in twenty years you can accomplish quite a lot. You were a professor, weren’t you? Maybe think about burning some paper money for me after class, hm?” Having said so, he reached forward to append the karmic pendant to Qi Siyu’s sash. 

Qi Siyu in response batted him away with a transparent hand. 

Thus, one human and one immortal pushed these twenty-some-odd years back and forth between them like the last piece of shrimp on a dinner plate. Both Emptiness and Finality, the silent river and stars, were entertained for the first time in a millennium. 

In a land that never saw daylight, dawn never came. Only a warm breeze threaded through the white fields and traced ripple after ripple along the river, following an unfathomable pattern. As Qi Siyu admonished Gu Yuan—first for imprudence, then for fickleness, and finally for full-blown impishness—they walked side by side. Their conversation became increasingly mundane. At one point, Gu Yuan even inquired about Qi Siyu’s egg toast recipe, which he recalled during his time as a crow as having been fed pieces of through the kitchen window. 

Each time Gu Yuan was sure that Qi Siyu had lowered his guard and discreetly approached to slip the karmic pendant into his pocket, Qi Siyu summarily dodged. For a bookish misanthrope, his primeval soul was surprisingly nimble. 

The year Gu Yuan passed, before his health seriously declined, he played around a lot with a digital camera. He especially liked to photograph people and would fearlessly ask strangers to model for him. Now that he was an Underworld escort, his personal possessions were of a different nature. Despite this, he couldn’t shake his tendency to see others through the eye of an inexperienced photographer. With Qi Siyu walking beside him like this, noticing that the man’s lips were perpetually pursed, he flew a few steps forward, turned around, and framed the image between his thumbs and forefingers. 

“What are you doing?” Qi Siyu asked. 

Expectedly, Qi Siyu’s dissatisfied expression was only magnified by this limited view. Gu Yuan said nothing and just laughed mischievously to himself. 

To the south and invisible to Qi Siyu, lantern-lit ferries floated restfully upon the sea of grass. Beyond that was the Affectless City, currently only a string of golden lights lying on the horizon. Gu Yuan had almost forgotten his original intentions in coming here. He slowed his steps to a halt and gazed at Qi Siyu’s back, running his thumb along the grooves of the pendant. It was a part of him, yet was cold to the touch. 

A low, mournful howl echoed over the fields. 

As if to answer the call, one of the ferries, accelerated by an unearthly gust of wind, began making its approach. “Qi Siyu, I have to go,” Gu Yuan finally said. 

Qi Siyu turned to face him. The light behind his eyes had dimmed, and his contours seemed to tremble like the edge of a flame. Gu Yuan realized that walking just that short distance together had nearly exhausted the man’s spiritual essence. If they continued on like this, Qi Siyu would soon expend himself entirely and fail to reenter the cycle of reincarnation. 

Gu Yuan suddenly felt like twenty years was not enough after all. 

“When I was young,” he rambled, “my laolao used to tell me stories about a boy who died before I was born. She told me that he had a frustrating temperament and complained so loudly in his heart about every little thing that in his following lifetime, he was cursed to wear holes through his shoes. Every time I thought about him, it made me worried.”

“You had a closet full of shoes. It seems your head is full of them, too,” Qi Siyu said, not failing to jab him. 

“The Dao is heartless.” And so are you, Gu Yuan wanted to add with a laugh. 

Only in the presence of the black Wuchang flame did Qi Siyu at last become more agreeable, his hackles lying flat. After the karmic pendant was finally accepted into Qi Siyu’s hands, Gu Yuan boarded the ferry and bid the man farewell. 

All around him, the grass parted like waves. Gu Yuan watched Qi Siyu’s figure until it was swallowed up by the distance; thereafter, he stayed on the deck, not taking his eyes off the horizon. 

Meanwhile, his heart felt like a stone sinking lower and lower, until eventually he lost sight of it in the depths of a fathomless lake.  

══════════════════

In the blink of an eye, half a century passed. 

Gu Yuan had just returned from a lengthy mission and had ascended in rank from a minor ghost to a full-fledged Underworld officer. The Clear Equinox Festival was in full swing, and within the Affectless City, the narrow streets were filled with vendors selling precious ornaments to fit the occasion. Various spirits, having cultivated their way up from the natural world, came bearing pockets of spiritual stones to purchase rare relics with.

Gu Yuan’s living arrangements were lavish enough; even the gold patterning of his robes was considered by others to be a bit too flashy. Unfortunately, having spent so much time as a crow on Earth, his primeval soul was corrupted, and as a result, he had an insatiable greed for shiny objects. If gems were fake, he could tell from several li away, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still buy them.

In short, he was a favored customer within the Affectless City’s shopping district. 

By the time the firebird asterism had reached its zenith in the sky, his arms were tired from holding so much junk. Gu Yuan the shopping addict was about to hail a carriage when something caught his eye at a nearby jewelry stand. After staring for a moment, he stepped forward, eyes widening.

Hanging from a wooden post was a jade pendant in the shape of a three-legged crow.

If a tool had been hewn from a person’s own spiritual essence, then it would be easily identifiable by its original creator. For that reason, it took only one glance from Gu Yuan to determine that this was the same karmic pendant he’d given to Qi Siyu at the Platform. 

It was designed to crumble away upon fulfilling its duty. So why was it here now?

According to the jewelry stand’s owner, the ferryman who’d sold it to her found it on the northernmost shore of the Underworld Platform. Naturally, owing to its superior craftsmanship, the pendant was being sold for a hefty sum. Gu Yuan had to run back home to fetch his savings in order to purchase it. 

However, to his disappointment, rather than feeling icy to the touch, the karmic pendant was as lifeless as a piece of ordinary stone. 

Whether through its one-time use or by years of dormancy, it appeared the immortal tool’s internal energy source had long since dried up. In his hands, it was nothing more than a luxurious paperweight. 

Gu Yuan’s eyes clouded over with a distant memory. For fifty years, he hadn’t set foot once in the human realm. While he was traversing the Unquiet Pass as a ghost, he had even resorted to consuming resentment from those half-finished devils he met along his path. Having nearly forgotten the meaning of the word "warmth," he realized that the same insidious weightlessness that had overcome Qi Siyu on the Platform had already numbed him from the inside out.

As for Qi Siyu, the man was gone.

And Gu Yuan? That man was probably as good as gone, too. 

These thoughts left him in a sullen mood. He wasn’t used to being introspective, so Gu Yuan’s emotions naturally caused his spiritual energy to overflow. As a result, the golden birds embroidered on his robes began to imitate life, flapping their wings in vexation. A total of thirty people crowded around to gawk at the sight, which only made him feel worse. After just managing to slink away, Gu Yuan sighed and went to stow the karmic pendant into his sleeve. 

As if merely wanting to tease an old friend, the “paperweight” suddenly stirred under his fingertips, emitting a band of white light one cun in length that pointed due north. 

This was a compass charm. Gu Yuan’s heavy heart began to race. 

That day, a hundred people at the Clear Equinox Market claimed to have seen a crow spirit clumsily flying off, clinging to a piece of jade that was probably half its own weight. 

══════════════════

Gu Yuan flew for eight days, avoiding sleep and pausing only to drink.

He followed the compass’s white light to the very edge of the Underworld. Beyond, the stars stretched indefinitely. The first time Gu Yuan had tried to exit the ghost realm on his own, he had nearly expired his essence exerting himself crossing this void; this time, having learned the method of “inaction,” he intuitively rode the sky’s veins, rising higher and growing paradoxically heavier with each wingbeat. 

Upon first laying eyes on the human realm, he found that nothing had significantly changed. The compass charm led him to a neighborhood where the houses were all painted the same grey-green. 

He alighted in a tree, at eye-level with a small second-floor apartment. Thereafter, the karmic pendant in his claws flashed brightly and crumbled into dust. 

Ultimately, though Gu Yuan was a young immortal who had in total lived the length of a generous human lifespan, his time on Earth had been limited. As a result, he possessed a childlike heart that was predisposed to impatience. When he caught sight of movement inside the apartment, Gu Yuan didn’t even have the presence of mind to preen the few unsightly feathers sticking up on his head. Unaware of the influence of his bird-brain, he took to the air and glided in for a closer look.

Thus, with a doleful smack, he flew directly into the glass sliding door. 

Lying on his back under the hot sun, the dazed Gu Yuan could only think, Was I struck by a lightning tribulation just now? 

Since he was in significant pain, he didn’t move for a full minute. Following an unfamiliar sound, a shadow suddenly enveloped his entire body, and he felt a pair of human hands moving him into the shade. When Gu Yuan finally came to and righted himself a few minutes later, he found a dish of water and a shred of egg toast on the patio beside him. 

He shamelessly gobbled up the toast before noticing that the sliding door was open a hair. Since he wasn’t shy, he decided to pay his rescuer a visit. 

The first time Gu Yuan had sought shelter inside a human dwelling in his new crow body, he’d been chased out with a rolled-up newspaper. Now that he was an Underworld officer with a reputation to uphold, if such a thing were to happen again and the Adjudicator got word, he might seriously face a demotion. 

Undeterred, Gu Yuan wriggled his way inside. He performed a few awkward hops on the hardwood floor before winging up to perch on the back of a wooden chair. He swiveled his neck around, taking in the messy living room, before the sound of footsteps made his pupils shrink. 

Coming face to face with a staring person, a smile entered his heart.

Qi Siyu, it’s you. 

══════════════════

Of course, on the surface, this person didn’t look like the Qi Siyu who Gu Yuan had met at the Underworld Platform fifty years ago. Having been reincarnated, this man had an entirely different face. He appeared to be thirty years old, but his hair was short, his eyes more well-rested. Rather than telegraphing a prickly nature, even in the face of a strange animal entering his house, his lips were relaxed in a wry smile.  

The exterior was unimportant. Gu Yuan’s immortal eyes could see through any living being to its spiritual core—but Qi Siyu’s primeval soul had been scrubbed clean by the Empty River. 

He recognized him, but wasn’t recognized in return. 

“You ate the toast? Did you come in here just to beg for more food?” Qi Siyu asked the crow, folding his arms. 

Gu Yuan puffed up. He emitted a displeased croak at this misunderstanding.

It was the height of summer, but Qi Siyu was still wearing a long-sleeved shirt and socks. Perhaps it was because his air conditioning unit was so efficient that he needed to keep warm indoors. Struck by an idea, Gu Yuan fluttered down to the floor and began ceaselessly pecking at Qi Siyu’s toes until the man exasperatedly backed into the sofa. To thwart the bird, he went to tuck his feet under his thighs. 

Gu Yuan did not miss that the underside of his socks had two large holes. 

A slow wavelength of calm entered Gu Yuan’s heart. Reassured, he flapped his wings twice, landing on Qi Siyu’s shoulder, and nibbled at his ear. 

If anyone had been around to view such a sight, they would have remarked that Qi Siyu must have hand-fed the bird from a young age since it was so tame. For that matter, had the Adjudicator witnessed this unseemly behavior, they would have punished Gu Yuan with three hundred years of paper-sorting duty. 

Coming and going between the human realm and the ghost realm was not especially taxing. In the years that followed, Gu Yuan’s crow form fattened up from eating so much egg toast that all the earthly crows he met on his way shot him envious looks. He always returned to Qi Siyu’s side with a gift. In the hands of a cultivator, some of those souvenirs from the Underworld might even be considered dangerous, but in Qi Siyu’s hands they were nothing more than trash. 

Meanwhile, Qi Siyu could only admire that, no matter how many wrinkles he developed, no matter how many grey hairs sprouted on his head, this crow with teal-blue eyes always looked as fresh as a photograph. 

Qi Siyu never married. After he retired from his work as a public servant, he kept only a few people as close friends. Like the holes in his socks and shoes, his introverted nature from his past life had carried over. Nonetheless, he was happy. The big crow that came to visit him without fail would sit beside him and listen to him talk nonsense, which truly was the best gift he ever received. 

One morning, it wasn’t a crow that came to visit him, but a man dressed in exquisite black and gold robes. 

Qi Siyu had grown accustomed to waking up with a terrible back pain, but on this occasion, his body felt as light as a feather. He found he didn’t even need to reach for his glasses on the nightstand to see well. He lay in bed and only wiggled his toes.

The robed man had invited himself in. Qi Siyu never locked his front door, so this was unsurprising. Moreover, he felt comfortable in this person’s presence. He only wished he had gotten the chance to clean up a bit before hosting.

When the man smiled, an incredibly familiar feeling rose up in Qi Siyu’s heart.

“You brought me so much junk all these years,” Qi Siyu said. “I would bet my life on the fact that more than half of it you stole outright. Aren’t you worried heaven will punish bad behavior?”

“If you feel like punishing me, by all means,” the man said cheekily.

Qi Siyu had a thought, but swallowed it down out of embarrassment. However, the man seemed to have the ability to read minds, because he suddenly took a few steps forward and crouched at Qi Siyu’s bedside. Before Qi Siyu could protest, their lips were touching lightly, the effect like a dragonfly skimming water.  

The only thing that brought Gu Yuan back to Earth was a finger flicking his forehead.

“How does it feel kissing a man three times your age?” Qi Siyu growled.

“How does it feel being kissed by a bird?” Gu Yuan dug back at him.

Neither one could hold back a laugh. 

By now, the room and its contents had been replaced by a sea of white grass extending endlessly in all directions. Qi Siyu, apparently standing, felt better than ever. Since he was still somewhat bashful, he took the opportunity to bolt, running directionlessly until even his newly youthful body was left panting. Thinking he’d left that dashing fellow in the dust, he turned around, only to find that the man was still standing at his side, brows quirked.

Teleporting like a real honest-to-god ghost! 

“If I tell you my name, you’ll have to remember it next time,” the man said, tenderly brushing the dark hair out of Qi Siyu’s eyes.

Qi Siyu said, “It’s Gu Yuan, of course. Tell laolao I said hi.”

Gu Yuan hadn’t gotten the chance to see his laolao in many years. Hearing about her suddenly, he paused his hand, a handful of memories flooding back into his heart. He looked down at his cloth shoes, then looked up into Qi Siyu’s eyes and nodded. 

The river trickled by their feet silently, and the stars were equally hushed. Emptiness and Finality were in no hurry, but every person knows when their time is up. 

“I suppose,” Qi Siyu said with a sigh, “this is where we say goodbye.”

“Listen, I never got the chance to live like a real human. Everything you do in life from now on, good or bad, you’ll have to tell me about it,” Gu Yuan replied. He was presently fussing with the folds in Qi Siyu’s robe, but in actuality, it was he who wanted attention. 

Unsure of how to placate him, Qi Siyu just patted the side of Gu Yuan’s face. 

Gu Yuan: “...”

Looking up at the stars, even an immortal could feel small. In the end, it was all only coming and going, nothing terribly serious. 

For a thousand years and more, Gu Yuan would return to the Platform. Some days he had to wait longer than others, but every time, standing beside Qi Siyu with their fingers interlaced, Gu Yuan would re-record the meaning of the word “warmth,” revitalizing all the channels in his heart.

“What do old friends say when they part ways?” Gu Yuan finally asked.

Qi Siyu smiled, his lashes lowering. “See you again soon.”

End.

[starwritesficsandstuff]

Is it okay If I ask if you're still writing the adventure time Tiffany fanfiction

(chapters I mean)

It's always okay to ask for updates on a fic's status, and yes! I am still working on it. I slowed down quite a bit because of a number of factors (mostly work and school), but I'm still chipping away at it. The rough draft is four chapters away from being finished, and soon I will be proofing the next chapter (so hopefully there won't be any spelling/grammar issues this time lol) and doing last minute edits and then it will be posted.

I really like the Tiffany fic and my ideas for it. It will be finished sometime this year.

[caramiaaddio]

Oh boy here I go crying again

[bunji-enthusiast]

Therefore I Am

Note || warmup piece to get used to writing for Catnap :>

Sypnosis || surprisingly enough, your hunter of a giant cat listens to reason. He’s very cuddly too.

“Listen– Catnap please.” 

Your voice came out wobbly, inching away from him slowly so as to not provoke the giant cat. Catnap was just standing there (menacingly), what was he doing?

What was his purpose in doing this, to intimidate you?

You think not, you weren’t just about to lay and roll over, waiting for him to kill you on the spot. Yet he still remained closer to you, his elongated mouth closely hanging above your head. Is he even thinking right now?

In your life you couldn’t be more confused than you ever were then right now, cause Catnap continued to remain where he was.

Maybe you could reason with the stranger, reason with him to not work under the Prototype. You could buy yourself time if you rambled on long enough, “We can all work together, we can stop this madness! We could actually go outside.” Suddenly, he tilted his head as if he was waiting forever for this opportunity–to want to go outside too–Catnap wasn’t far off from himself.

“Yo-you wanna go outside, yeah?” You motion, hand trembling slightly right alongside your head. His hand furled around your body, as if it was meant to act as a protective fortress. Catnap then folded his legs and laid down, nuzzling up next to your body and holding you close.

Odd, this was really odd. 

Why would he just go to sleep now? Out of energy maybe, but this was sudden. You just felt relief that you didn’t die at Catnap’s jaws. You absolutely didn’t feel like dying today, or tonight for that matter.

Ah, maybe some sleep will help. Catnap was sleeping, so perhaps you could run the risk of going to sleep as well and hopefully not wake up in the afterlife. You laid down and nuzzled up against Catnap’s head, feeling the fluffy fur laid out perfectly on his head. 

Momentarily you caught a whiff of lavender coming off of Catnap, causing you to feel a little more sleepy–causing you to finally fall asleep with the giant purple cat, no matter how scary he may look.

Maybe for now, there can be a truce.

[raginglesbian2006]

Alastor with Overlord! reader

A/N: obviously my brain has to conjure up these headcanons whilst I am literally writing a fic with an angel! reader...oh well

Made pt:2!

First of all, POWER COUPLE

You two did not meet when you were alive but that didn't stop the both of you from meeting in the afterlife

Literally, a match made in hell

The both of you met while beating the shit out of Vox and his cronies

Alastor claims it was love at first sight

You beg to differ (you fell in love almost immediately as him)

Since you weren't alive around the same time as him, he insisted on introducing you to jazz and you loved it.

You learned to cook some good old jambalaya for him despite failing a dozen times initially. He appreciates it a lot.

The other overlords find the pair of you fearsome but cute. They know it best to stay out of your way (except Vox for some reason)

You are the only one allowed to touch Alastor and vice versa

The two of you enjoy dancing with each other, whether it be in your private quarters or out on the street (who would dare judge the two most powerful overlords anyway?)

Vox lowkey wants to fuck both of you and everyone knows it

Both of you enjoy quiet and peaceful hours with each other, that is, when you're not bludgeoning some poor sinner's brains out together

Alastor says he'd have fallen for you if you two met when you were alive. You reciprocate the sentiment

You do not indulge in his cannibalistic habits but hey, who are you to judge?

All in all, ya'll are happy, murdering and in love

[past-the-comfortzone]

Little things I'm catching on a rewatch:

From "who would wanna use their last days not fucking and fighting?"

To

"Last day of the afterlife and you're not off snorting a line off some hunk's abs?"

"Eh. You fucked one cannibal pool boy, you've fucked them all."

"I guess you have changed."

"Hey, Charlie said live tonight however we wanted, so pour me a fresh one! And lets get to living!"

(I am sobbing, you hear me? SOBBING)

(Also if you listen very closely to this scene while they talk at the bar you can hear a slowed down version of Loser, Baby in the background) (Once again: SOBBING)

"I can sense they're planning to kill me. But when?! How?!"

(Bro thats's so meta. They didn't need to do him dirty like that.)

"Don't worry mom, I'll make u proud."

"Only...seven...years. Off doing something important, I'm sure! But this kingdom was really something she cared about"

Welp. She's relaxing is heaven.

(Really love how Lucifer was built up to be this awful person, and Lilith a very loving person, but so far it seems to be the other way around.)

Funny things I missed the first time around:

THE TEXT.

"Bad. It makes us look bad!"

"Funny, I was going for hilarious."

Vaggie doesn't know what she's saying. Alastor was right. The text had me dying fr.

Never noticed Alastor had a little tux get-up for a few seconds I feel so robbed. Also in the commercial, he has his back to the camera and I just LOVE the possibilities as to WHY.

Did Vaggie force him to participate?

Did he still want to be included bc he's a little egotistical attention seeker?

Did he do it it bc he knew Vox would see it and it would fuck with him?

I need to know because like why are you even there little red demon man if you're gonna be barely out of frame and looking away??

Either vox had two mugs made except one with extra text OR (and my personal headcanon) he rushed to write "FUCK ALASTOR" on his mug just before Stayed Gone.

[feyascorner]

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it. 

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back.  Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot. 

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.” 

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

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[kurosstuff]

Lute x fallen angel! Reader: Fallen

Short fic- tell me what you think! Hope you all enjoy it-!

Summary" lute SHOULD hate you. But. How can she?

HEAVY SPOILERS MENTIONED LIKE AKL OVER(in this like one?) IDK PLEASE. ALL HAZBIN FICS I WRITE ARENT SPOILER FREE UNLESS I STATE THAT IT IS. YOUVE BEEN WARNED

Warning(s): blood/fights, love at first sight, maybe ooc lute? Idk yoy tell me I never wrote her, heartbreak, also from my knowledge? Wing movements(from birds please correct me on the info if I do it wrong I do not own birds) in denial, Adam and his vulgur language

Ngl I love lute-

Lute a cruel sadistic woman. Odd place for a woman in heaven. But given her status as the leader of the executioners. The one who leads the battles against those vile sinners. Who trains the angels picked to fight herself. The woman second in command to Adam himself.

It's a fitting role.

Never in a million years(and she HAS been around for that long. Or so she lost track of such a useless thing) would she? A ruthless exterminator encounter this thing other fully pure angels speak of.

Love

Why would she? Lute is a fighter. A warrior. The one who Adam HIMSELF entrusts his life too. Why would she fall for anyone? She doesn't even know if she CAN feel such a thing.

But as always- Life(or afterlife?) Is full of surprises. She was well aware of a new angel coming in. Recently passed in some horrific accident she doesn't care for the details just knows- need to pick them apart see if their ruthless enough to fight. But the second she went into the room her eyes widden- an odd feeling in her chest as If her heart- her cold heart was heating up.

"Hello~ are you uh Lute?" You asked shyly- which given the situation even the most outgoing would be just as shy. She blinked, glad for the mask to hide the flushed expression - the confusion on it.

Clearing her throat, she nods slowly, ensuring you saw "I am. Welcome to Heaven, " she greeted uncharacteristically polite- gentle. If you were to be mistaken, she ignored the odd look Adam gave her, looking at the name tag, even your name is pretty- she blinked.

What?

She did NOT just think that. She did NOT Find you pretty. Gorgeous. She does NOT notice how your eyes sparkle how friendly your smile is as you both talked. She most certainly doesn't notice how your wings are the single most gorgeous pair she's ever seen. How white it is- signaling how pure you are. How the gold etched into it- putting to shame her grey and black wings- smiling soft behind her mask. How how she wishes to touch the- she stops she will NOT think that

-

It became as clear as day to her and anyone else. Lute? Is inlove. And not just anyone. The new angel- the kind soul who? Adam states follows her around like a lost puppy or in Adam's kind words "Hey look. It's lutes bitch!" Oh how she wishes to punch him everytime- hit that smug look off. But she won't. Not yet.

A common tradition in heaven- like the birds in the human realm(maybe a odd similarity she presumed. She doesn't care for the human realm after all) finding a mate, a lover with the most gorgeous wings. It was no surprise you gained such attention

Much to her displeasure.

Grumbling watching as how you yet again were surrounded by angels around you- and ad always rejecting them before that smile she oh so adored. Yet would never state aloud was sent her way- making her scowl darkly(but on the inside? She was warm) quickly making your way to her she noticed how you fidgeted. How red you were "out with it. What is it?" She grumbled out no matter how warm and soft she was on the inside? Her words on the outside could never match. No matter how she wished it

White cleared her vision making her back up scrunching her nose before finally realizing what it was- a feather. Not just any old feather. Your feather "i.. i want you to have it.. I know the meaning bur when I was preening my wings u couldn't help it.. I want you to have my feather" they whispered watching as she gently took the feather.

Silently accepting them courting her with a soft smile. Maybe she can make it a necklace?

-

As great as it was up there. There were rules. Easy to forget. Easy to break. But rules nonetheless. Once Adam instructed her to strip a betrayers wings, Lute sighed. Grumbling loudly going to the room. Ignoring the odd almost somber pitiful look Adam gave her. Hiding the feather in her shirt tucked safe near her heart, she hummed, stepping inside fixing her helmet before freezing

"No-"

Her heart dropped paling more then she was already at the bloodied sight

"NO WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!"

She roared storming to your bloodied frame she couldn't help but break her never-ending composure for the first time, kneeling to your side "do you HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS?" She snarled ripping her mask off showing her teary face. Knowing her counter was now a sinner. Her angel was a traitor. A million emotions went through her head glaring down at you with every emotion but the one she should feel.

It wasn't hate.

She ignored her feelings, swallowing it down she ignored the reasoning of what you did. Of what you SAID. putting her mask on, she steeled herself. She was an executioner. A peacemaker. She takes care of the issue. So she pushed you down with her foot grabbing your once gorgeous wings now bloodied gold- in her one hand grabbing her spear she sliced. Ignoring how she was covered in your blood. The deafening screams of pain. Of agony. How you begged for her. She took a sigh taking her mask off giving you the chance to se her one last time. Without the mask. How she stared cold at you.

Before the ground opened up, "lute. Before I go- please I lo-" she cut you off, kicking you in. Closing her eyes as the ground closed. For the first time ever. She fell to her knees, holding the now broken wings sobbing out for a sinner. How was she not a sinner to for showing the regret. Showing the selfishness in this?

~~

It wasn't long before she saw you again. Traveling down with Adam to meet with Charlie and her girlfriend- to Lute it was a vile relationship. Not because of the sex- no- because of the liar Vaggie is. How that bitch betrayed her kind and then fell for the ruler of hells daughter. She could almost laugh.

Blinking, ignoring the yelling match of Adam and Charlie. Looking out the window, she froze mouth wide open- even though the demons back was turned. No wings but a tail and horns. She knew that laugh. She knew that smell. No matter how different you looked. Eyes soft watching you turn. Even as a demon. You truly are a beautiful creature. She softened her gaze behind her mask before looking away in disgust. Not with you.

But herself.

Lute a angel? Finds a demon attractive. Sure it's you but. Your a demon. A angel and demon together is vile. Disgusting in all sense of the worse.

But even now. She can't help but still long for you. Long for the almost relationship. Frowning, she looked back at Adam, who watched her with a frown. She knew they'd have a talk. Sighing, she followed after him with a deep sigh

She truly wished this outcome was different. How she longs to see you once more. Touching the feather on her chest she sighs

The only way she would be with you. Is if she was fallen as well. What a cruel irony.

[yandere-romanticaa]

It's 8 PM. I am listening to Frank Sinatra. And Jing Yuan makes me emotional therefore, I need to write some shit down. When will I ever write for any other HSR character that's not him???

Jing Yuan, a long living species, who falls for a regular human. A short living species.

He is a man who is able to play the waiting game, he is that kind of person who can and is willing to analyze every single possible move his enemy, or ally, can and is willing to make. Centuries of long and hard battles have desensitized him to certain brutality. Now, he is not some beast who is not capable of compassion but when you've lost so much, it's only natural for your heart to harden.

That is why the realization that he cannot play the waiting game with you dawns on him.

You may stand by his side now but where will you be in the next 10 years? The next 50 years? A century means nothing to him. It will all go away in the blink of an eye, forgotten and unnecessary.

His heart sinks at the thought of you not being with him. The way in which you coo after him, it gives him a reason to actually enter his office and leave it with a smile on his face. Who will be there for that cheeky little Cloud Knight of his when he's feeling pouty? Who will be there to smack Jing Yuan back to his senses as he takes yet another unnecessary nap?

One day, you will grow old and he will stay the same as he is. He will hold you in his arms and weep as he watches the life leave your eyes for good. Jing Yuan will be forced to watch the final piece of his heart be ripped away from him, stolen by cruel destiny. He could already taste the blood in his mouth as he bites back a scream of pain.

Curse the Abundance. Curse the entire Universe for taking you away from him. Curse your silly mortality, curse the fact that you were so perfect to begin with.

That is precisely why right now, he must have you. He takes you away and locks you in some private estate, where you can be safe. The thought of making you a long living species is tempting but he is not sure if he's willing to play that card.

You scream sometimes. You weep and cry to please let you go, that you love him but that this is not alright. And Jing Yuan can do nothing but to kiss your forehead and mumble sweet nothings in your ear.

He may perhaps even marry you in secret. If he does, his wedding ring would never come off his finger, not even after your passing. This sparks so many rumors on the Lofu but Jing Yuan does not acknowledge them. He is the only one who needs to know the true meaning of the ring.

Jing Yuan is not ready for your death. He may try to prepare but really, who is ever ready for something so painful?

He sits quietly next to you, the sheets beneath you all silk and perfection. The room reeks of medicine and flowers but it is missing the bright sound of your laughter. You are gone. Jing Yuan bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks of funeral arrangements.

But it's so hard to concentrate if his vision is filled with black spots.

Jing Yuan stands up, his feet shaky, his soul shattered. His heart is either dead or dying because you took it with you, wherever you may be. The General can feel the walls around him tightening, the air in his lungs knocked out as the floor is suddenly covered in golden leaves.

Ah, they look pretty. You would have liked those indeed. Jing Yuan reaches towards them, a long, ink black talon gently picks it off the marble floor as his long white hair covers his face.

Odd, he thinks to himself. His hands never looked so black before.

A nearby caw of a raven breaks him out of his trance as Jing Yuan looks to his left, where a massive mirror hangs. He is greeted with something that should horrify him, something that should make him weep but he has no tears left to shed.

The Mara is taking over him. It is too late to fix him.

Maybe, just maybe, the General of the Lofu does not want to be fixed. Perhaps he can be slain in battle and be reunited with you in the afterlife. Would you be happy to see him? Would you hold him in your arms, play with his hair and sing him songs in the quiet evening?

Perhaps you wouldn't show him such kindness. After all, he has hurt you in so many ways. He does not deserve your love. But he can't help but to reach out for it.

A final tear cascades down his pale cheek as Jing Yuan smiles at his reflection. A maid opens the door behind him and lets out a loud scream, her eyes shaking in fear as she witnesses the General transforming into the same kind monster he swore he would keep in check. Jing Yuan sighs as he feels his heart beat, for the final time.

He was coming to see you. He was going to see you again. He was ready to grovel and beg as much as necessary, if it meant that you would be by his side. Yes, that truly was a pleasant thought. You and him, together as the sun sets. He can still see the faint glimmer of the golden ring on his finger, his eternal promise to you. It shines like a lonely star in a massive galaxy, with no way to protect itself.

However, not even stars can live forever.

And just like that, the world goes dark.

[benisasoftboi]

I am so happy with the conclusion of BBC Ghosts.

There were so many things I loved about the final series that I can't even keep it all straight in my brain, I'll have to rewatch it all (and the Christmas special, of course! Must remember it's the not the true end yet!)

But something I can immediately say I loved was what they didn't do. See, that line in the trailer that turned out to be from episode 5 - about there being a pattern to when they move on - worried me. One of the best things about the show, to me, is how there truly is not any reason at all to why the ghosts are there, or when they go. It's something the creators have said over and over, and that the show has always backed up; we saw so many times that, unlike in most ghost media, addressing unfinished business or achieving emotional resolution changes absolutely nothing. Pat hit some sort of emotional resolution three times. And Julian realised the importance of family, and Robin saved someone’s life, and Thomas discovered the truth of his death, and so on and so on. Finding closure isn't the end, and equally, the end isn't predicated by a climatic conclusion. It just happens. And the same is true for why people become ghosts. It just happens. And you exist, and fill your days, and then you’re gone. And no one knows why.

It's kind of the most agnostic television show I've ever seen.

I love that. Every other afterlife show I've ever seen has some kind of reward and punishment system. Or at least says that there's a reason for things, some kind of higher power at play, not necessarily a god but something like it. Even the American adaptation felt the need to bring Hell into it, which is why I need to specify that I'm only talking about the British version here. And I feel like a lot of fans wanted there to be reasons too, or felt like there simply had to be, that it wasn't even a question. I get why - it's not just because it's the standard for ghost narratives. It's really uncomfortable to think about the randomness of life and death. But Mary didn't go because of anything that happened before that day, and Cap was never going to go because he came out, and one day, when they've all gone, there won't have been a reason for it.

Because the real point of BBC Ghosts is that there is no point. You’ve just got to make it through the days, surrounded by people that irritate you, trapped in a confusing world where you’re mostly powerless. And it sucks, and you're angry, and sad, and bored as hell. And you also find happiness in the mundane chaos, and you get really good at chess, and watch the ants in the garden, and write bad poetry, and read terrible romance novels, and gamble money you don't have, and go camping, and play games, and learn French, and watch reality TV, and have sex with a decapitated Tudor nobleman’s body, and dance to old music, and look at the stars, and find that you actually really love all those annoying people after all, and that’s the point.

[sixteenseveredhands]

The Petelia Tablet, Greek, c.300-200 BCE: this totenpass (a "passport for the dead") was meant to be buried in a human grave; it bears an inscription that tells the dead person exactly where to go and what to say after crossing into the Greek Underworld

Made from a sheet of gold foil, this tablet measures just 4.5cm (a little over 1.5 inches) in length, and although it was found inside a pendant case in Petelia, Italy, it's believed to have originated in ancient Greece. It was meant to aid the dead in their journey through the Underworld -- providing them with specific instructions, conferring special privileges, and granting them access to the most coveted realms within the afterlife.

The Petelia tablet, displayed with the pendant case in which it was discovered

The tablet itself dates back to about 300-200 BCE, while the pendant case/chain that accompanies it was likely made about 400 years later, during the Roman era. It's believed that the tablet was originally buried with the dead, and that an unknown individual later removed it from the burial site and stuffed it into the pendant case. Unfortunately, in order to make it fit, they simply rolled it up and then snipped off the tip of the tablet. The final lines of the inscription were destroyed in the process.

The inverse side of the Petelia tablet

These textual amulets/lamellae are often referred to as totenpässe ("passports for the dead"). They were used as roadmaps to help guide the dead through the Underworld, but they also served as indicators of the elite/divine status of certain individuals, ultimately providing them with the means to obtain an elevated position in the afterlife.

The Petelia tablet is incised with an inscription in ancient Greek, and the translated inscription reads:

You will find a spring on your left in Hades’ halls, and by it the cypress with its luminous sheen.

Do not go near this spring or drink its water. You will find another, cold water flowing from Memory’s lake; its guardians stand before it.

Say: "I am a child of Earth and starry Heaven, but descended from Heaven; you yourselves know this. I am parched with thirst and dying: quickly, give me the cool water flowing from Memory’s lake."

And they will give you water from the sacred spring, and then you will join the heroes at their rites.

This is [the ... of memory]: [on the point of death] ... write this ... the darkness folding [you] within it.

The final section was damaged when the tablet was shoved into the pendant case; sadly, that part of the inscription does not appear on any of the other totenpässe that are known to exist, so the meaning of those lines remains a mystery (no pun intended).

Lamellae that are inscribed with this motif are very rare. They're known as "Orphic lamellae" or simply "Orphic tablets." As the name suggests, these inscriptions are traditionally attributed to an Orphic-Bacchic mystery cult.

The inscriptions vary, but they generally contain similar references to a cypress tree, one spring that must be avoided, another spring known as the "Lake of Memory," the sensation of thirst, and a conversation with a guardian (or another entity within the Underworld, such as the goddess Persephone) in which the dead must present themselves as initiates or divine individuals in order to be granted permission to drink from the Lake of Memory. They are thereby able to obtain privileges that are reserved only for the elite.

Though the specifics of this reward are often vague, it may have been viewed as a way to gain access to the Elysian Fields (the ancient Greek version of paradise) or as a way to participate in sacred rites; some totenpässe suggest that it may have allowed the soul to break free from the eternal cycle of reincarnation. Regardless, the overall objective was likely the same: to obtain a special status and acquire privileges that were inaccessible to most of the souls in the Underworld.

Sources & More Info:

Altlas Obscura: The Ancient Greeks Created Golden Passports to Paradise

The Museum of Cycladic Art: The Bacchic-Orphic Underworld

Bryn Mawr College: Festivals in the Afterlife: a new reading of the Petelia tablet

The Getty Museum: Underworld (imagining the afterlife)

The British Museum: Petelia tablet (with pendant case; chain)

[hopelessdazai]

✿ 》 Will you talk to me again?

╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; I don't expect this to do well because its not smut but it'd be nice !! reblogs appreciated, support your creators :)

╰⧼ ☀️ features.. ⧽ ; @saelique angst collab!! dazai x gn!reader, WC ; 784

╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; angst, reader isn't alive, letter from dazai. he's trying very hard to keep himself stable but it's not working™.

To my dearest ______ .

It's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you don't mind me writing to you like this, it's simply been too long. I'm sure you're still angry at me, so seeing you physically isn't my best interest right now! haha, I'm sorry. you know I'm just joking around, don't you? I'd love to see you in person. I'm sure you would've punched my arm if you heard me out loud right now, wouldn't you? I'm glad I'm spared of the bruises.

what does someone put in a letter? that's what I was asking myself before I even began writing. I decided that the best way to do something like this was to just write whatever I feel true as pen touches paper. I hope it makes sense to you, at the least. if I'm pouring my heart out on some paper only for it to be misunderstood, it feels like a waste, no?

though, i'd be lying if i said it wouldn't be rather cute to see you try to fathom what I mean. did you know you scrunch your nose like a bunny sometimes when you're reading? I'm sure you're doing that now too. you'll get wrinkles very at this rate ..

but anyway, I managed to prank kunikida the other day! you remember that hair dye trick I'd told you about? I managed to break into his apartment and swap out his shampoo, at last! he came into work the next day with black hair, it was hilarious, you should've been here! he was so angry with me. beat me black and blue!

oh, _____. I got a new heated blanket for our bed, you know? it took a while to save up for it, and I had to cut out some other necessities, sure. but it makes everything so much better! I hate cold beds, I'm sure you know that better then anyone. haha, back before we moved in together when I'd break into your apartment and crawl into bed with you. I'm sorry for the amount of locks I broke, but your place was so cozy!

... you know, it's been really hard without you here. I miss you so painfully, and I don't mean to call into the void without even an echo, but its killing me to pretend I'm fine about any of this. I'm not fine with this, how am I supposed to be? I wish it was just a bad dream.

I don't want to have to write letters to you anymore, ______. I don't want to have to buy heated blankets to try and stop my arms from aching for your warmth. I don't want you to be angry with me, I'm sorry I didn't apologise to you before you were gone. I shouldn't have been so stupid.

i had so many words on my mind that I was too afraid to say. maybe if I faced myself and told you 'I love you' it would've stopped you leaving.

have you met odasaku yet? has he told you any stories of his time? I wish I could hear your voice again. I wish you could answer my questions. even to hear you scoff at my stupidity again would heal me. I'm sorry I was annoying, I just wanted your attention. it stings knowing I'll never get it again.

I can't keep repeating to myself that you're not gone. I can't keep buying your perfume and pretending that you're in the next room over. your pillow doesn't smell like you anymore.

I wish I could apologise properly. I wish I could've stopped you from leaving the house that night. I wish I could kill myself to join you and yet I know we won't cross paths again in the afterlife. you were always too good for me, ______. i was nothing compared to you.

i picked up a homeless dog yesterday. you'd always wanted a puppy, I'm sorry I never let you bring one home. I named it after you. im trying to get used to them, I promise. if I couldn't save you, I'll save your name.

I'm sorry. if I continue writing, my throat will hurt more. its strange, isn't it? crying makes your throat sore. I forgot what it was like for a while, I remember laying in your arms wondering if I'd ever have a reason to cry again. now I can't seem to help myself.

keep your wings clean for me, white looks good on you. its a shame you couldn't wear the wedding attire i wished to see you in one day. you would've looked amazing.

I'll write again, missing you is the greatest honor.

sincerely, your osamu.