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luxaofhesperides · 6 months

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Danny accidentally appearing out of Duke's shadow. And doing it purposely every time after that. ; requested by @kyrianclawraith! (deviated from your original prompt a bit, sorry! the ghostlights brainworms got away from me)

Traveling through shadows has become second nature for Duke after using them so extensively over the years. He even uses them as a civilian, hopping between shadows when he’s running late to class so he doesn’t have to stress out over traffic.

Not even Batman’s scoldings can stop him from making it on time to his classes. Risks need to be taken for the sake of his education!

The shadows are comforting. They hide him from sight, get him to where he needs to go, and gives him the alone time he needs when he’s been around people for too long and desperately needs some quiet to recharge. Duke would say that he’s well versed in the shadows at this point, no longer stumbling out into the light.

Even with all his practice and confidence, he still can’t prepare himself for tripping over someone in the shadows while he’s trying to escape some of The Riddler’s goons.

They both go tumbling out of the shadows, landing in a corner hidden by storage shelves. The poor tripping hazard of a person is under him, groaning lightly as he reaches up to press a hand to the back of his head, where he hit the concrete floor.

“Oh, shit,” Duke whispers, “I’m so sorry. What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“I was hiding,” the guy hisses back at him. “I wanted to get out of the rain and dozed off and when I woke up, guns were being shot! I was up in the rafters, so excuse me for thinking no one would find me up there!”

Another gunshot rings out, alarmingly close to where they are.

Duke curses under his breath, then picks up the guy and hauls him over his shoulder. “Time to go!” And then he’s disappearing into the shadows again, following the line of them outside the warehouse and down the street.

As soon as they’re safely away from the goons, Duke steps out of the shadows and carefully sets the civilian back onto his feet.

“So sorry about that,” he says, “But I need to get back and deal with them. Stay safe!”

He’s gone before the civilian can say anything else, and though it’s embarrassing that he tripped over someone while shadow hopping, at least it ended relatively well. It’s not like it’ll happen again.

Duke, sweet, naive Duke, doesn’t think much of the civilian again. He’s a busy guy with a busy life! Lots of things to do! Lots of embarrassing moments to keep secret from the other Bats! No one has mentioned it at all, so he thinks he’s safe from being teased about it.

That is, up until he’s training with Dick and a hand pops up out of his shadow.

“Um,” Dick says, backflipping away from Duke’s punch. He lowers his escrima sticks and squints at the space behind Duke. “Are you… trying something new with your powers?”

“...No? I’m not using my powers right now.”

Dick looks more and more alarmed. He won’t look away from the space behind Duke, and it’s making him nervous. He doesn't want to look, but he knows he has to.

Steeling himself, Duke takes a deep breath, then turns slightly to see what’s behind him.

Nothing.

His gaze goes down, and he sees a pale hand sticking out of his shadow, moving back and forth. It then comes out some more, up to the elbow, and the hand pats the ground Duke’s shadow lays on, a stiff mat perfect for sparring.

Behind him, Dick turns on his escrima sticks, the electricity crackling through the air.

The hand disappears for a moment.

Then two hands appear and grab the ground, hauling up a body from Duke’s shadow.

Duke is very well versed in shadows. He travels through them almost daily. He thinks he would know if there was some strange netherworld hidden in the shadows where other beings could pop out of shadows like portals. This is alarming, to say the least.

“Don’t move, Duke,” Dick warns, creeping closer, ready to attack.

A head pops out of his shadow. Whatever it is glows and their white hair moves softly as if underwater. They’re facing away from him, so he can’t see their face, but he can see the black, skin-tight suit their wearing as they float up from his shadow, no longer needing their hands to pull themself out.

“Huh,” they say, looking up at the ceiling.

Dick grabs Duke’s arm and pulls him back, shielding him with his body. “Who are you?” he demands, voice cold.

The creature/person startles and whips around to stare at them with wide green eyes. His gaze darts down to the electrified escrima sticks, then back up again, visibly nervous.

“Um, hi! Sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be here. Wherever this is.”

“How did you get here?”

“I was practicing a new portalling method. I found a ghost to teach me how to move through shadows, since my usual portals are very bright and noticeable. Not great when you’re trying to be stealthy! I did not mean to end up here.”

Duke stares at him. “You came out of my shadow.”

“Sorry,” the guy repeats. Then he squints at Duke. “Hey, didn’t you save me the other day? From the warehouse?”

It’s been a while since Duke’s saved anyone from a warehouse. Criminals and goons have moved on to condemned apartment complexes and the back rooms of bars. The only person he’s saved is the tripping hazard…

“Man, what is up with you and getting caught in my shadows?”

“This is your fault!” the guy insists. “I associate shadows too strongly with you! That’s why I’m here! Probably. I don’t actually know how this works.”

“You don’t know how it works but you did it anyways.”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.” The guy floats down to the ground and offers Duke a hand. “I’m Phantom, by the way! Figured I should introduce myself because this will happen again.”

Duke considers introducing himself as the Signal, but Danny is looking directly at his bare face, so it’s lost cause. Talk about an unexpected security breach. “Duke. You looked a little different when we first met.”

“Yeah, that was my human form. This is my ghost form.” A watch on his wrist, some clunky looking thing that looks like it came from the early 2000s, beeps and Phantom frowns at it. “Shoot, I need to go. I’ll see you later!” And he dives right back into Duke’s shadow, disappearing.

Duke blinks at the empty space where Phantom used to be, still reeling from the shock of it. He’s so busy processing the last few minutes that he doesn’t hear the escrima sticks turn off until Dick is dropping a heavy arm around his shoulders, holding him in place. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s not happy; it’s a warning that he’s at his limit and is barely hanging on to niceties.

“So,” he says as Duke cringes, “Looks like we need to have a talk about the things you’ve been hiding from us, Duke.”

He can’t do anything but resign himself to his fate.

After that conversation, he’s instructed to let them know when Phantom pops up. Which is fine until he realizes that Phantom really did mean it when he said that it’ll happen again.

Phantom pops up constantly. Most of the time, Duke is lucky enough to be at home, or in the Manor, or in the Batcave away from the public where no one will freak out about a glowing boy popping out of his shadow. Sometimes, he’s in the middle of the street as a civilian and has to sprint away, ducking into the first empty alley he can find in order to climb up onto the rooftop where no one will see him.

It’s stressful and confusing and he wishes he could be more upset about it, but Phantom is fun. He’s funny and charming and tells the craziest stories about ghost fights that Duke can’t help but hang onto every word.

He dutifully updates his Phantom Log, noting each time he’s portaled through Duke’s shadow, any information he’s revealed, and an injury count after Duke noticed a concerning pattern of Phantom often showing up after he’s been in a fight.

Duke begins to get a feel for when Phantom is about to show up. A shiver runs down his spine and his awareness of the shadows around him grows. Sometimes, he could swear he could feel something tear apart in his shadow. He feels it then, a tear that stitches itself up almost instantly, a ripple in the shadow, before that familiar hand pops up again and Duke grabs hold of it to haul Phantom out into his bedroom.

He is, once again injured. There’s a large gash running down the length of his other arm, bleeding a toxic, glowing green.

“Dude,” Duke says, unable to keep the judgment out of his voice.

“You should see the other guy,” Phantom snorts. “I slammed him through five streets, then ripped his limbs off.

“Dude…”

“Just to be clear, they weren’t his real limbs. He has a robot suit he uses like a body because he’s like a tiny little bean.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how to take that. Anyways, have you still not figured out how to open portals that aren’t connected to my shadow?”

Phantom shrugs. “Nope. And I’m not really trying to figure it out. I like hanging out with you. Plus, it’s nice to see a friendly face after a fight.”

“Can’t you like, go home and have your family take care of you first.”

“Uh, better not,” Phantom laughs nervously. “They’d probably kill me for real if they saw me like this.”

Duke quietly notes to himself to add that statement to the Alarming Things Phantom Says list.

“Does it… bother you? Me always coming to you?” There’s a smallness to his voice, a fragility that makes Duke want to beat himself up for making Phantom feel like that.

“No! No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you from anyone else.”

Phantom brightens. “Oh! Well, no need to worry about that. No one’s worried, back home. They know I disappear sometimes.”

…Another concerning thing. Duke is considering bribing Phantom into staying in Gotham forever, living in his shadow, just so he can take care of him. Just to be sure Phantom’s safe. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, eyes flickering down to Phantom’s bleeding wound.

Phantom futilely tries to hide the wound with a hand. The green blood leaks out from between his fingers, and he applies more pressure to the wound with a faint wince. “Nope! All good here. I’ll heal in no time, honest.”

“Then, do you want to just hang out? I really don’t know why you’d chose to keep coming to me.”

“You’re good company, dude. Very chill. Very fun. And you’re a hero! That’s so cool. Why wouldn’t I keep coming back?”

Duke shrugs, not sure how to put his insecurities into words. He’s already starting to get the Bat-specific inability to communicate emotions, which is definitely a problem. He’ll need to spend time with other people to be normal again.

As if sensing that Duke’s mood is falling, Phantom launches into another tale, complaining about people who bother him, teachers who are terrible at teaching, having snark-fights with the embodiment of Time itself, and so on. He always has the craziest stories, and he tells them so casually that Duke has to second guess himself, wondering if he’s overreacting when he’s shocked by what Phantom tells him.

He starts telling his own stories as well, mostly fun civilian interactions he’s had since they last spoke, villain fights, the ever changing theories on the ‘Who is Batman Sleeping With Now?’ shared document all the other Bats have. By the time an hour passes, Phantom’s arm is fully healed and he’s flying in lazy circles above Duke.

His watch beeps again in the middle of him recounting the insane drama happening at his school. Phantom sighs and sinks back to the floor, hovering just above Duke’s shadow.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he says, voice warm.

Duke shrugs. “You’re good company. I like when you visit.”

A slow, soft smile spreads across Phantom’s cheeks, making him glow even brighter. “Sweet talker,” he accuses fondly, then flies in for a quick, tight hug. He pulls back before Duke can reciprocate, and salutes him with a cheeky, “See you soon!” and is gone, flying into Duke’s shadow before he can respond.

Shaking his head fondly, Duke falls back against his bed.

Despite how unconventional their friendship is, he is glad Phantom keeps coming back. He hopes he’ll get to see Phantom’s human form again.

…And get more used to the horror movie scene that is Phantom clawing his way out of his shadow. No matter how many times he sees it, the sight still makes him jump.

Not that he’s ever going to admit that.

If Phantom thinks he’s cool, he’s going to do whatever he can to keep that impression from changing. It’s only reasonable, really.

(“Shut up, Dick,” he says later when he recounts this encounter with Phantom. Dick just keeps laughing, endlessly amused that Duke got ‘jumpscared into a crush’ as he phrased it. That’s definitely not what happened.

Next time, he’s definitely convincing Phantom to scare Dick with him.

Revenge will be his.) . . .

[send me ghostlights prompts! one day left before they close on 11/17]

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dp x dc fanfic #prompt fill #my writing #100% after danny gets a hang of traveling thru shadow portals more hes going to help duke in fights #meaning duke is going to throw a ball of shadows like a pokeball and dannys going to pop out of it to deliver a spectacular flying tackle #theyre the dream team (trouble makers) :)#thanks for the prompt!!

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glorysbox · 7 months

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bihan x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 1.1k

warnings: explicitly 18+, bihan is mean, slight mention of power imbalance, slightly possessive bihan, coming inside, brief breeding mention at the end

Your Grandmaster is stressed.

It’s evident in the way his hips snap into your own, his cock buried in the warmth of your sex. Evident in the way he has little regard for your feelings or your own pleasure—clearly displayed in the cruel way he fucks into you and the punishingly cold grip that he has on your body. It stings—the icy feeling of his fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips.

“You belong under me,” his voice is low and even, nearly drowned out by the obscenely wet sounds that have you clenching tightly around him. “Be glad that you have this opportunity.”

You don’t respond. It’s not like you can, anyway—your face is buried into the mat of the floor, lips bitten as you desperately try to prevent any moans that Bi-han forces out of you. Your wetness pools around the base of his cock, sticky strings breaking with each pull out of you and reforming with each brutal push inside of you. It dribbles down, down your thighs, staining the mat under the both of you. Messy enough to be clinging to his balls and painting his thighs. Had you not been turned away from him—face down and ass up—you’d be able to notice the way he’s struggling to hold back the noises that threaten to escape his throat. You’d be able to see the way he bites his lip; see the way that his eyebrows are so tightly drawn together and see the way his cheeks are painted a rosy shade of pink. There’s a reason why he only fucks you from behind.

You are glad, though. It’s beyond you why Bi-han has taken such a liking to specifically you—despite being Lin Kuei, you perform significantly worse than your peers and struggle to keep up with the intensive training that you’re all forced to endure every day. It’s clear that he only keeps you around for one reason. Stress relief.

There’s a part of him that secretly relishes in the way you’re so much weaker than he is.

Bi-han doesn’t ever touch you. Doesn’t truly ever lay claim to your body through possessive touches as much as you secretly would like—but you don’t complain. You never complain. The fact that your Grandmaster comes to you of all people to relieve his stress is enough—and you do your best to help him. You really do. It’s not shown on his face, evident in his words or displayed in his actions, but Bi-han does truly enjoy how easily you bend to his will. He finds himself reveling in how easily controlled you are—and you don’t mind. You never do. It’s okay for him to use you… he is your Grandmaster, after all.

Cold fingers snake their way up your body, resting on your back—dipping in the center to push you further towards the ground. You shudder. Bi-han, for once, decides to not be (so) rough with you. This time, he won’t bury your face into the mat and grip your hair and force you to take the brutal pace of his cock until you’re cumming all over him. He’s in a good mood today.

Bi-han takes advantage of the way he’s forced you to arch under him, his cock drilling into you faster and a tad bit harder than before—the loud noises of your arousal probably audible to anyone who’d walk by the room. You can’t help but whine at this. It’s unintentional. Something that you can’t hold back… usually, you’re better at keeping yourself quiet. Bi-han likes it when you’re quiet. That’s what you thought, at least.

“Who’s your Grandmaster?” Bi-han’s hand grips your hair, pulling you back and forcing your neck to crane. He’s not feeling so benevolent anymore. His pace increases, his cock pumping inside of you harshly enough to the point where you can’t help but moan. He makes an effort to tilt his hips ever so slightly—the blunt tip of his cock rubbing alongside the spots he knows makes you cream around him. For someone that claims to only care for his own pleasure… he knows your body very, very well. Your walls flutter and clench around his cock, hands clawing at the mat below you as his grip in your hair tightens. His tone is gravelly—low—and you find a strong feeling of need throbbing in your lower body at the sound of his voice. “Say it. Don’t disappoint me.”

You could never dream of it.

“B—Bi-han…” Your voice comes out as a long, drawn out whine. You’re usually more mindful of your volume—but the feeling of him pressing into you like this, so relentlessly—you can’t help it. Hands gripping the mat to steady yourself, there’s nothing to stop the sounds that you make from escaping. You try to bite your lip—but he just presses deeper into you. Making you whine more. Your body trembles under him—legs shaking—as he draws back to plunge further into you especially roughly.

Bi-han is starting to find that he doesn’t mind listening to the sound of you moaning under him like this.

“You belong to me,” he reiterates, his hand moving from your hair towards the junction of your legs. Cool fingertips make their way towards the bud in between your legs—two of his fingers rubbing your clit in soft circles, a stark contrast to the punishing pace that he’s set for you. “No other man can have you like this. Say it.”

“Y—yours,” your words come out in babbles, barely intelligible as you struggle—squirming and writhing under him as he toys with your clit and drills inside of you. “Yours—I’m—”

The feeling is too much. His cold fingers ghosting along your clit—the other hand gripping your hips harshly enough to leave bruises. It doesn’t take a long time for your squirming to become borderline uncontrollable; matching the way your walls flutter and tighten around him like a vice and matching the way your cream and arousal stain his cock. Bi-han fucks you through it. He always does—more focused on finishing himself than having any regard for you—his hips stuttering at the feeling of you creaming around him and his grip on your hip tightening even more.

He stuffs his cock inside of you, burying himself to the hilt—leaving no space between the both of you. You can feel his seed leaking inside of you—it’s warm, and hot, and unfamiliar.

“You’ll give me a son.” He tells you, voice akin to a demand as his grip on your hips keeps you in place.

Who are you to deny your Grandmaster?

#there arent enough mk fics i intend to deliver.#syzoth next #mk #mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk bihan #bihan smut #bi han x reader #bi han smut #mk1 #mk1 smut #mortal kombat 1 smut #nsydfw #writing

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stiltonbasket · 3 months

Note

If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan.

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun.

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem.

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong.

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier.

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu.

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand.

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son.

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead.

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem.

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils.

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it.

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying.

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing.

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth.

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle.

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there.

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within.

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two.

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty.

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy.

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight.

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave.

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward.

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin.

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes.

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him.

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded.

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve.

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand.

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him.

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled.

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

#svsss #bingyuan #binggeyuan #the scum villain's self saving system #my fic #i live to serve and i have delivered #this is my first foray into multichapter svsss fic so please reblog if you liked it/would like to see more!#shen yuan's name is still shen yuan btw #we will unravel the backstory behind the name he's using Later #as well as some other.....backstory #;)

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swaps55 · 6 months

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Cover art by the utterly phenomenal @legionofpotatoes!

Mezzo

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Death was the only way

Chapter 1: Stars | Read on Ao3

At first, you think you can survive this. Your ship is in pieces, your momentum catapulting you away from the wreck, the planet you call Alchera watching serenely as your life burns. You tell yourself, you’ve faced worse. The first time you fought death was the first breath you took, into lungs that weren’t ready, in a body too small and fragile to survive on its own. You struggled for days in a vessel adrift between our stars, an insignificant speck of heat in our cold universe, determined to burn as bright as a sun. When your mother finally held you for the first time, she showed you to us and asked if we were what you were in such a hurry to see for yourself. You have always been ours. You were ours when your father sang you to sleep while we gleamed through the shutters. You were ours when you rose for the first time on unsteady legs because you wanted to see us. You were ours when you felt our power come to life under your skin and understood that we are part of you in ways you’d never imagined. How many times did you palm the glow of dark matter in your hand and imagine you were one of us? But no matter how bright you burn now, it won’t be enough to save you. There is fear, now, but you swallow it back. The second time you fought death it wasn’t your life you were fighting for. You begged, pleaded, to march into the unknown and rescue a father who didn’t come home, and when no one listened, you turned to us in the dark and begged to take his place. That was when you learned we could be cruel. We felt your pain, we heard your anger, we wi ditnessed your tears and did nothing. And you forgave us. We wonder if you will forgive us now.

Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

#mass effect #mshenko #alchera #n7 day #my fic #mass effect art #opus!art #commander shepard #whooo boy let's see if this initial pov experiment pays off #please freak out over the artwork #i have been chewing drywall over it for months now #it's perfect #i gave legionofpotatoes such vague vibes and holy crow did he deliver something amazing #i will never be over this art

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cowboysorceror · 1 year

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a sneak preview from chapter seven of "straight on 'til morning" by @mamawasatesttube 💖 happy valentine's day! ID in alt text.

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itsrydagain · 4 months

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merry crimis

#bart allen #cassie sandsmark #conner kent #kon el #tim drake #yj98 #core four #rydsart #i disappeared for 2 months bc of work then came back with something stupid 😓#this all started with me wanting to draw cassie and kon as santa and mrs claus;;;;;;#ik they saw santa die but imagine that this is their costumes for delivering presents #ala that one funny yj fic where they have to deliver presents bc santa is still dead #and this is just them taking photos post christmas delivery

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keyotosprompts · 2 months

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you see me like a ufo (that's like never)

angsty assorted relationship prompts (platonic and romantic)

⇴ person a and person b have two different dynamics. person a needs constant attention while person b can go weeks without talking to someone.

⇴ ^^ "we–i can't do this anymore. sometimes, i really need you, and you're just not there."

⇴ person a tries their hardest to reach out to person b, but person b barely ever responds. person a leaves person b for other people, and person b is deeply hurt.

⇴ ^^ "you replaced me! do you have any idea how that feels?" "i never replaced you. you meant the world to me! but that was never reciprocated! the phone works both ways."

⇴ person b desperately wants to see person a again, but their relationship has long tarnished and person b thinks that person a probably doesn't want to see them ever again

⇴ person a and person b have stopped talking for a long time, but some of person b's belongings are still at person a's house.

⇴ "it didn't work out between us." "are you sure that's all?"

⇴ "i'm tired. i'm tired of this relationship and i'm tired of being the one who is continuously trying. i give up."

⇴ person a caves and lets person b back into their life, knowing exactly what happened last time.

⇴ person b desperately wants to get closer to person a, except person a only gives out minuscule details about themselves. this makes it much more frustrating when the two of them argue.

⇴ ^^ "how are you going to ask me to understand you when i don't even know you?!" "what."

⇴ person a not being good with people, and person b expects a lot out of them and the relationship. person a is easily overwhelmed but too nervous to express this with b, until it finally comes up one day.

⇴ person a is too attached while person b cuts off people too easily. person b cuts off person a randomly, and person a is left wondering what they did wrong.

⇴ "what did i ever do to you? why did you leave?"

⇴ "we don't work together. there's not a single universe where we would make it as a couple, and i think that you need to accept that."

⇴ "i want you back." "you need self-control."

⇴ person a always comes back to person b when they have no one left. person b feels bad for person a, and always welcomes them back in. person b knows there's no chance for anything to happen between them.

⇴ "i have to go, i can't stay." "i know." "then why did you ask." "just... i wanted to see you one last time."

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saewokhrisz · 2 years

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alliances

#the file name for this is actualy a fic title of this two which is way too long for me to type out #but iykyk #anyways happy spooky month i hope to deliver more halloween art if i have the time :9 #Overwatch #overwatch 2 #art #fanart #moicy #moira o'deorain #mercy #angela ziegler #moira x mercy #Illustration #my art

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spamgyu · 1 month

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Tuesday // Jihoon drabble

PARING: Jihoon x Reader GENRE: Angst IN RESPONSE TO THIS REQUEST: i need jihoon to break my heart bc he doesn't know how to balance his career and a relationship 😭 it would so gut wrenching bc he's being quite cold about it, but when he gets back to his studio the flood gates open 😭😭😭 *UNEDITED - Apologies for the grammar and spelling errors // tweaked the request a bit heh.

You knew dating him wasn't going to be easy – but God, you didn't think it would be this painful.

When you met Jihoon, it was almost as if everything fell into place. From the moment you two had your first conversation, you knew he would be someone that would make a great impact in your life – and you the same with his.

It wasn't long before the friendship had turned into love – a partnership. He had always valued your understanding of his life in the spotlight – his career had always come first and you knew that. Even before you had agreed to be his girlfriend.

But years have come and gone, and there was no signs of things slowing down.

You were human, and it's normal to yearn for a life the rest of your friends had – a married life, a family, life outside of the city.

A boyfriend who would be there to support you through all your milestones.

You had been there for all his, standing at the sidelines as you watched him and his band of brothers accept the recognitions they worked tirelessly for.

But not for yours; because before you, there was them.

His fans.

His company.

His group.

They say that the same reason you fell for someone will ultimately be the reason why the relationship would fall apart. You two used to scoff at that idea. It may have been true for others, but definitely not you two.

At least, not during the first five years of your relationship.

It wasn't long before you realized that the two of you were put in each other's lives not to be together forever, but to be a lesson.

A lesson that love won't ever be enough; because if it was, you wouldn't be standing in the middle of his living room with tears streaming down your face as his remained unwavering. Almost as if his heart isn't breaking just as much as yours.

You two were no longer on the same page. All while you were ready to move on to the next chapter of your life with him, he was ready to wrap his book up – ready to end it.

"I know other idols are able to hide it," Jihoon's voice was cold, eyes dark with not a single glimmer of life behind it. As if he had rehearsed these same lines before. "But I can't, Y/n. I'm not ready to be whatever image you have of us in your head."

"So what? This is it?" Your voice cracked. You no longer cared to wipe your tears – it was far better they blurred your vision than seeing the man you love, end your relationship on a random Tuesday afternoon.

"I'm not changing my stance and I know you aren't, either. I know you want a ring, I know you want kids and– That's just not where I am and I don't think I will be for a long while."

You didn't know what was more painful; the fact that he was right or the fact that, in the back of your head, you wished it wasn't true.

The tears began to fall faster as the realization began to set in.

This was the end.

You knew him better than you knew yourself, he wasn't going to change his mind. Nothing could.

He was everything you have ever known for the past five years and it was all coming to a crashing halt.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time."

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

He thought he was handling it well.

Jihoon had kept himself together for four months – all thanks to their jam packed schedule which rarely allowed him any time to be alone with his thoughts, let alone time for sleep.

He prided himself for being able to handle the break up without a single tear being shed; breaking the news to the twelve boys that same day during practice as if it was just any news.

As if it was the most casual conversation.

All while they stood in shock, unable to grasp the sudden end to what seemed to be a picture perfect relationship, he continued their four hour long practice unfazed – brushing off their looks of concern and questions of how he was doing.

But just like the break up, the grief came crashing on him like a semi-truck going at full speed on a random Tuesday.

Jihoon had gone into the studio with Soonyoung with plans to work on their upcoming comeback. He had always looked into his past work for inspiration, playing snippets of the demos he had recorded for previous comebacks to allow the creative juices to flow.

It was going so well, the two of them laughing at how ridiculous the original version of their hit singles sounded.

And then he got to that one song.

The song that was originally meant to be a ballad – the heart-aching song that was meant to be assembled with strings and a piano.

He sat frozen as his voice echoed softly through the speakers. At the time, he had composed the song with no one in mind – simply taking inspiration from his other member's breakups.

Now, he could relate to every single one of the words.

"You okay?" Soonyoung eyed him from the seat next to his.

Jihoon hadn't realized it, but tears began to fall from his eyes – his chest heaving up and down as he tried to contain his emotions. In his head, he thought his composure remained calm; but he was falling apart with each line.

"No." He swallowed, unable to shake his thoughts away. That moment in his living room began to replay in his head – the sight of you in tears, the sound of your broken voice, the pure defeat in your eyes... the moment you walked out without sparing a second glanse.

Soonyoung quickly reached over to the mouse, hitting pause on the music; knowing that it had been the catalyst to the sudden break down of his best friend. "D–do you need time alone? Water?"

Jihoon shook his head. The silence had become much worse than when the music was playing – this time he could hear your voice, the sweet sweet voice he missed so much.

It wasn't until now that he realized how much he missed hearing your laughter, your words of encouragement, your ramblings over the phone – he missed you.

In the past few months, his life had become far too busy that he hadn't realized that there was a gaping hole in his chest in the shape of you. He had been able to fill it with his members, his fans, and his work – but it was all temporary.

A quick patch.

There was no replacing you. No one else's hand fit perfectly in his, no one knew what he was thinking before he could voice it, no one came close to understanding him the way you did – and now it was too late.

You took his cold response to the break up as a sign from whatever was above that this was what was meant to be – blocking his number, his social media accounts, and leaving without a trace. Almost as if you never existed to one another.

You were nothing but a stranger to him and it pained him to know that there was no getting you back.

"I fucked up." He choked out a sob.

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@thegirlwhoimagined @forcheol @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @f4iryjjosh @akeminy @yonabutnotyuna @tacosandbitch @aaniag @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter @xbaekcult @alwaysalmostthere @ashkuuuu @morkswatermelonnnn @isabellah29 @lottogyu @bubbly-moon @lllucere @bo-fairykim @pluviophile-xxx @daegutowns @niktwazny303 @fragmentof-indifference @leah-rose03 @haolistic @eclliipsed @joshuahongnumbers @gyuguys @yaaaridk @christinewithluv @yoonzinoooo @livelikejinki @watercolureyes @whoa-jo @primoisellerose @wonwoobestboyy @rakshithanotrao @mingcouper @kkrriissttiinn05 @aksweet7

(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)

#i was itching for a quick painful angst and .... this request just delivered MWAHAHAHAH #anyways hopefully this left a tiny pang in u guys chest hehehehehehehehehe #lee jihoon x you #lee jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #woozi x you #woozi x y/n #woozi drabble #svt fic #woozi angst #lee jihoon angst #lee jihoon fic

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tkthrilla-writes · 6 months

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What was in that drink?

An Alastor x reader fic. Slight warning of possessiveness might be needed but only for that one scene

His smile was as strained as it could ever be as he watched and felt his darling host get ready. Checking themselves out in the full-length mirror in the corridor, making sure that the nice and neat clothes that they have not worn in a very long time. Patting down the sides that looked like they are creasing, making sure that they are presentable for the night.

“You know my dear,” Alastor’s shadow parted from his host and appeared in the mirror as if he was an extension of the human, “you could just stay here with me,” he tried to act sly by getting in his host’s face, as if trying to seduce them into staying with them.

“Oh come on Al, it’s my turn to be switched out tonight, and we barely go out as is,” the human now started to fixate on their hair, trying to make sure that it was properly parted and styled. “Besides, you know this is a work thing that I can’t exactly get out of,” they started, “and didn’t you say you had business at the hotel and that is why I got today to be switched out.”

Since he was an almighty demon with almighty powers and abnormalities, his smile became more strained, literally stretching ear to ear while his brows gave away the scowl that he would convey had he been there in person. But alas he was bound to the shadows. And he couldn’t show his darling host his blatant disagreement without saying anything so she could spend more time with him.

“Ok, I am done,” she said, this brought him down to Earth and brought him back to reality, “and I am heading off,” she ended with a brilliant smile on her face, clearly looking forward to the evening.

“Now now my dearest,” he motioned as she started to walk to the door, only stopping by the kitchen counter to wear the nice shoes that are practically new despite owning them for a good year or so, before making a grab for the keys and moving closer to the door, “why not have a ball here with me instead of those retched and filthy people you work with.” He tried to gesture as best as he could through his parted shadow, but all he looked like was a wispy black smog that was tightly bound together to make his outer shape.

“Hey come on, it’s not like I am going to be gone that long anyways, beside you got stuff at the hotel you said you needed to do aaaaand,” she prolonged it as if it was going to be the next main and great point, “you get to have a break from me and have time to yourself! I know how much you hate being cooped up for so long.” Ending with a gentle smile that shocked Alastor, making him take his hand back at very slight shock and rendering him speechless. “Anyways, I’m off! Good luck at the hotel and see you later!” she smiled, and that was that, she was out the door, only a single light on for his sake otherwise the apartment would’ve been completely dark.

“I don’t want a break from you,” if he were human, he could’ve sworn he sounded heartbroken, but instead they came out as plain words with a lot of emotion trying to be hidden as the main meaning behind them. A good number of beats had passed with him standing by the door like a lost puppy waiting for his owner to return before he realised a good hour had passed. It was time for him to head back down to greet and terrorise the citizens of Hell.

But first… a quick side stop to a certain bar wouldn’t hurt one bit.

So dispersing back into the shadows, he started to travel half way across the city just to go to this one specific bar where his darling host is. Surely enough, there she was, Alastor could see her from the under the streetlight across the bar. She was laughing, looking like she was having a good time. Slimy Dave on the other hand looked like he was trying to pull some moves on her, but blissfully ignorant she just kept on talking with Channel. She looked so adorable, while she still put a lot of effort in dressing up, she was still decent compared to her female coworkers who tried their hardest to wear revealing clothes.

“Someone is looking to be sinful tonight?” Alastor thought to himself watching everyone interact with you. “Should be sinful with me instead,” he continued, thinking of all the people they could be out killing together. All the fun and chaos they could bring together.

All these thoughts started to leave a sour taste in his mouth the long he watched you laugh and interact with colleagues. Having enough, and in a very bad mood, he slammed his microphone on the ground, and in a split second he was now staring at the walls of his room at the hotel. He sneered at them as if they had done something wrong to him. The smile he held being gracefully fake, as he had enough on being in his room, and barged out the door. Making his way down the stairs were everybody was and greeting them with a boisterous “Hello Everyone!”

The three hours later the work was done, denizens of hell coming and going, the princess of Hell skipping around all happy at her success, the moth following close behind her. Meanwhile the cat stood behind the bar, as was his post to clean the glasses and make the drinks, all while being hovered by the flirtatious spider. Alastor spent a good second staring at them before deciding to fuck it, and walk over to them. She is out at the moment so he will be too.

“Your largest drink of your heaviest, my good Husker!” he demanded, pulling out a chair to seat himself on.

“Since when ya sit with us antlers! Not that I’m complaining ofcourse,” Angel said flirtatiously, arms and hands spread out as he leaned onto Alastor’s side.

“Do not be ridiculous,” Alastor replied, using the head of his microphone to push Angel’s face away, “I am merely here to enjoy a drink.”

“Kid does have a point,” Husker glared while pouring the radio demon his drink and sliding it right into the demon’s hand, “You don’t normally drink here. What’s wrong with you?”

“Well you see, it certainly has been a long week,” Alastor exclaimed, beating about the bush because why would he do the healthy thing and open up as to why he is upset. Only person he would do that to is not around and out on their own.

Self-absorbed into his rant, he failed to realise Angel’s bored expression leaning into Husker and ask the classic question, “What ya give ‘im?”

Husker just leaned while cleaning his next glass, “Water with 2 shots of absinthe,” Angeldust had to visibly stop himself from spit-taking his drink all over Husker before an evil grin spread across his face, one that he didn’t bother to hide as he watched Alastor take sip after sip between rants. “Give ‘im a couple more minutes, he’ll start singing like a canary,” Husker continued eyeing the poor demon that is has now fallen victim to his bartending skills.

Surely enough, the winged cat was right, Alastor had started to sway and slur at his words, as he finally arrived in ranting on about his week that has gotten him upset, “And then she said yes!”

“No!” Angel and Husker yelled out in sync, now invested in the drama that is between Alastor’s host and Alastor himself.

“Yes!” Alastor swayed, shifting his weight onto the bar, “can you actually believe that she said yes to going out with that blasted Dave and those filthy people she works with!”

“This ‘Dave’ sure sounds like a sleazeball!” Angel jumped in absolutely loving the drama of Alastor’s life.

“The sleaziest!” Alastor yelled lifting his microphone up in the air so hard he threw himself off his seat, and scrambled to grab the bar to catch himself before he fell to the ground, “he cannot see one living being with legs without trying to seducing it!” Hands now outstretched, face planted down on the bar, heaving heavily from getting even more heated up and angry than he already was.

“Why would she go out with them?! She should’ve stayed with me,” he straightened himself out, now standing, hands still down on the bar, but his eyes started to turn into radio dials turning, his head started to twitch, static started to play in the background, “SHE LEAVING ME!” he yelled out, his hands clutched so quickly he scratch the bar, leaving behind claw marks, and now static filled the air.

“You know Al,” the static now cut, his eyes now back to normal and looking at Charlie who had overheard and walked in on the conversation, “maybe you should talk to her about this and how you feel about it,” she said now starting to stutter and feel nervous under the attention Alastor was giving her with his intensive gaze.

“Yeah,” Angel jumped in starting to light a cigarette, “don’t get your panties in a twist, the gal is allowed to have her own night on the town. Can’t she?” he side-eyed Alastor, depending on his answer he would have been judging, but thankfully he did agree.

“Yes she may, she is her own human being-“

“Then what is the problem!” Vaggie jumped in getting fed of his temper tantrum.

“The problem is-!” he was about to finally admit it, but he got interrupted by his microphone literally ringing like a regular phone. “Hello?” he turned around, speaking into the microphone to answer, acting fully sober despite the little sway that was very evident to everyone at the bar.

“Hey Al, how are you doing?” the star of the show replied back for everyone to hear. Angel sucked in and started to choke on his cigarette, Husker spit out his drink, and Charlie just to shake Vaggie out of sheer excitement, “Is that what she sounds like?” she exclaimed, so full of excitement that you could see the hearts in her eyes.

Alastor turned away even more as everybody started to crowd on his to try to hear what the two were going to say, “Quick hectic as per the usual my dear, although some rascals do not know how to mind their own business,” he nearly snarled, trying to give everyone a threatening look to leave him alone but obviously it went ignored.

“You think you’ll be home soon? Got some tea to spill,” she trailed off.

“And what other mess did you get yourself into you little fox,” Alastor spoke deeper into the microphone, walking away from the piling sinners and princess who trailed behind him, somehow Nifty had joined in on their fun on trying to overhear his conversation. Brilliant.

“Not me, more like Donna… with Dave,” Angel choked on air and started to laugh as soon as he heard that, “sounds like it’s going to be double D up in the office tomorrow…” Angel started to wheeze at the innuendo.

“Where are you?” Alastor started to sound desperate, trying to leave, the prying eyes of the hotel.

“I’m at home-“

“Goodnight everyone!” Alastor turned to announced, arms outstretched in the air, proceeded to slam his microphone to the ground, and in a burst of light he was back in the apartment watching his dear human pour a glass of water.

“Hey Al,” she said smiling ear to ear.

“Hello darling, you’re home early,” he commented shifting his shadowed weight to stand next to her by the counter.

“Yeah everyone started to get drunk and I figured since we have work tomorrow I might as well leave early, everyone is still at the bar probably getting wasted,” she explained, drinking her water and started to make her way to the bathroom to get cleaned up for bed. “By the way,” she started, ripping off her clothes and putting them in the laundry basket, “who or what was that on your end of the line?”

Alastor let out radio glitch sound effect at the sudden question, “I do not know what you are talking about my dear,” he lied.

“Mhm sure,” the human figured out quickly that it was a lie and probably one of the people he talked about that help run the hotel, “now come on and jump in, got some tea you might like me to spill and an early night calling!” she stretched her arms, popping her stiff joints as she walked down the corridor.

Eager for everything to return back to normal and for him to accompany his host to rest in bed, he eagerly fused back into her body. However, something immediately felt off for the both of them. She immediately rushed back to the bathroom and threw herself to the toilet, luckily it was open, and whatever was in her stomach was now being wretched up into the toilet.

“The fuck is happening?! That was a $15 fat ass burger!” she heaved and proceeded to vomit a second time.

“Maybe it was all the drinking you have been doing,” Alastor replied in a passive aggressive manner, mostly because he also was feeling its effects and definitely the thought of her getting drunk and drinking with those lowly being she worked with being absolutely irritating.

“That’s bull! I’ve been,” she paused the heave before continuing, “been chugging water the whole night!” she then coughed up. “Hell no this was you,” she accused after finally calming down.

“And why would accuse me of doing this to us?!” Alastor got agitated.

“Well we know what affects you affects me so spill it! What did you drink?” she heaved even more, both of them feeling a wave of nausea coming over.

“…I will need to ask Husker tomorrow…” Alastor said blankly.

“AAAAaaaaaaalllll,” she groaned, “guess we are going into work with a hangover,” she sighed, the both of them now feeling absolutely exhausted.

#alastor x reader #alastor #radio demon #x reader #charlie #vaggie #angel dust #husker #nifty #helluva boss #hazbin hotel #demon possession trope #not enough of these #demon #seriously let me have my alastor x reader venom like possession fics #up to me to deliver #host au

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taizi · 2 months

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gently in the cold dark earth

scum villain's self saving system word count: 2k canon divergent / no system au; sy transmigrates into an empty npc role; gray lotus binghe loves his shixiong more than life and he's ready to make it everyone's problem

title borrowed from work song by hozier

read on ao3

The first thing Luo Binghe does when he escapes the Abyss is return to Cang Qiong Mountain.

With Xin Mo secured to his back, the way could be instant if he so chose—the journey of a thousand miles reduced to a single step—but he unsheathes the elegant jian at his hip instead.

Yong Liang sings sweetly for him, the snow white blade still shining and untainted even after years of helping Luo Binghe carve his way through hell. It has never once failed him, soulbound to the one person still on this earth who has never failed him.

“Take it,” his shixiong insisted, low and urgent. The Abyss was behind them, an even deadlier threat was ahead, and Without A Cure clogging his meridians made Luo Binghe the best choice to wield the only unshattered spirit sword they had between them. “Binghe, take it.”

He pressed until Luo Binghe’s grip curled tight around the hilt, not hesitating to put his soul in Luo Binghe’s hands even with the rosy glow of an unsealed demon mark shining on his face.

Luo Binghe flies at a pace best described as dangerously reckless, hardly smelling the fragrant spring air or feeling the sun on his face. His robes are a disgrace, his hair a tangled, matted mess, and it occurs to him that he could stop somewhere and clean himself up, make himself presentable, but it’s a brief, fleeting thought.

Shen Yuan would be furious to find out that Luo Binghe wasted even a single second returning to his side.

——

He passes through the ancient wards effortlessly, feeling them fall away from him like water. It’s a simple thing to tamp down on his demonic qi, to disguise the parts of him that those so-called righteous cultivators would scorn. He ghosts through the familiar grounds as eagerly as a starving animal bolting down a fresh game trail, but one by one, all of their familiar haunts come up empty, without even a lingering trace of Shen Yuan’s spiritual energy left behind.

The head disciple’s room is dusted and undisturbed, as if its occupant might walk through the door at any moment, but the lack of clutter and the empty book shelf makes it very clear to Luo Binghe what the truth must be.

If Shen Yuan returned to the peak after the Conference, he didn’t stay.

All at once, images crowd the front of his mind—his shixiong grieving, pulling away, turning his back on those responsible for his heartache.

Yue Qingyuan, always only a step behind wherever his precious Xiu Ya sword went, promised that no one wanted to hurt them. They only wanted to help.

He looked so solemn and righteous that Shen Yuan reluctantly allowed himself to be convinced. Luo Binghe, who had gone to the man for help after a bloody whipping when he was a child, only to be given a walnut cake and turned away at the door, knew better.

He wasn’t surprised when Shen Yuan was wrenched away from him, and shizun sent him staggering off the cliff with a spiritual dagger buried to the hilt in his chest, all of it happening within a matter of seconds—but it still hurt.

Shen Yuan’s scream followed him all the way down.

I’m alive, Luo Binghe thinks, with no one there to tell it to. I came back to you. Let me come back to you.

——

Including time spent in the abyss, it’s three years before they meet again.

Luo Binghe’s revenge is his second priority at best, but he is nothing if not efficient and knows how to kill two birds with the same stone. Huan Hua affords him ample resources and opportunities to scour the world for his missing shixiong while playing the role of earnest and diligent new disciple. He snatches up each mission that comes along as though eager to prove his worth to the sect that so graciously took him in, but he takes every excuse to wander, to search, to make conversation with vendors and innkeepers and passing strangers.

Have you seen my heart? It lives outside of me in the form of a beautiful young man and tends to wander. Very contrary, likes to fuss over people, could argue the stripes off a lushu just for fun. You’d know it if you met it. You’d never forget.

The days blur together, meaningless and gray, but he doesn’t stop looking. Shen Yuan still exists somewhere in this world, because otherwise Luo Binghe wouldn’t. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.

And then, finally—an afternoon in Jinlan City, when Luo Binghe arrives in a throng of incompetent gold-clad Huan Hua disciples, to investigate a plague of all things—

He’s there.

In dark, neutral colors and plain clothes, a traveling cloak with its hood resting down around his shoulders, as if his beauty could possibly be lessened by cheap, shapeless fabrics rather than effortlessly enhanced. His hair falls from its half-tail in glorious waves—he never did have the patience for anything elaborate, only wearing braids when one of his sticky shidimei cajoled and convinced him. Traveling alone, who could he possibly have to roll his eyes at and complain about and sit patiently still for?

A pale green ribbon is all that decorates his hair. Luo Binghe recognizes it instantly.

“You should spend your allowance on yourself, Binghe,” Shen Yuan scolded him, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

“But I did,” Luo Binghe protested, widening his eyes and clasping his hands earnestly, the way he knew worked best. “I wanted it! And now that I have it, I want to give it to you.”

Shen Yuan was too clever by half to be truly fooled by the innocent act, but he always folded like paper anyway. He spoiled all of his shidimei but Luo Binghe most of all. Anyone on Qing Jing Peak would be hard-pressed to think of a single example of Shen Yuan telling Luo Binghe ‘no.’

Sure enough, after a second spent visibly wrestling with himself, he blurted, “Oh, fine! Hand it over.”

He wore it every day since. He’s wearing it now. The wind catches the ends of it, sending it streaming behind him like the tails of a paradise flycatcher. Lovely.

For a brief moment, Luo Binghe is frozen where he stands, finally faced with the very thing that he’s been missing for years, that he’s been living a miserable half-life without.

And then he remembers himself and lurches forward. His voice is a tangle in his throat but he manages to choke out, “Shixiong!”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have jolted Shen Yuan into more perfect stillness. He stops mid-step, every inch of him as good as carved from precious jade. He doesn’t turn his head, and the sliver of his face visible from where Luo Binghe stands is very pale.

Luo Binghe wonders suddenly if this has happened to him before—if Shen Yuan has heard a voice on the road or in the market that was almost familiar, that was almost the one he was hoping for, only to be disappointed when he turned to follow it and found a stranger.

Luo Binghe shortens the distance between them with a few anxious steps and tries again.

“Shixiong.”

The older boy whirls around abruptly, as if to get it over with. He’s bracing himself, but Luo Binghe barely has a second to absorb Shen Yuan’s painful-looking anticipation before it bleeds out of his face in favor of something else entirely.

He looks like the earth has fallen out from beneath his feet, like he hardly dares to believe his eyes. Zheng Yang gleams golden at Shen Yuan’s hip, reforged and whole again.

“Binghe?”

“It’s me,” Luo Binghe says softly.

There’s a tableau he’s afraid to break, as if they’re in a delicate dreamscape and a move too sudden or loud might dissolve it. He wants to say I’ve missed you the way lungs miss air, immediately and needfully, I haven’t breathed at all since we’ve been apart. He wants to say you’re my light in the dark, I can only stand in front of you now because I love you too much to ever truly leave you.

Instead, he tells his dearest friend, “This one made you wait. But your Binghe is here.”

Shen Yuan sprints the rest of the way to meet him, almost before he’s even finished talking, and they collide in a solid embrace that knocks the air from them both.

His arms wind around Luo Binghe’s waist like steel bands, fingers digging into the back of his robes, precious face pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Luo Binghe doesn’t hesitate to gather him up close, holding him as tightly and securely as he knows how, burying his nose in his shixiong’s hair and breathing in the familiar, beloved smell of him.

Shen Yuan is a few inches shorter than he remembers. All the better to tuck him beneath Luo Binghe’s chin, to cover and surround him so completely that not even the heavens above can get a decent eyeful.

He wants to grab and bite and pin Shen Yuan beneath him and never let go. His jaw aches with wanting it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Luo Binghe says, eyes wet. “I went home first.” Unsaid goes the obvious but you weren’t there.

“How could I stay?” Shen Yuan bites out, managing to sound all at once strangled and bewildered and—charmingly—offended. He shakes his head without lifting it, an aggressive nuzzle against Binghe’s shoulder. “After what they did to you, I’d rather die than represent their stupid sect another minute.”

“Step away from it, Shen Yuan,” shizun said coldly. “I’ll put that beast back where it belongs.”

“No,” shixiong said in a voice that was smaller than usual, one that shook. He was frightened, clearly overwhelmed, but he didn’t budge from where he was plastered in front of Luo Binghe like a breathing shield.

“Now.”

“No, shizun.”

“Shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, offering his hand. “Come here. It will be alright.”

Shen Yuan said, “No. You can’t hurt Binghe. He’s not bad just because of who his parents are. He’s as good as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. He’s hardworking and loyal and a sweetheart to anybody who gives him half a chance. He’s so good.”

Liu Qingge was behind the sect leader, sword drawn. Shen Qingqiu was quickly losing what little patience he had, face twisted into a sneer, dark eyes stabbing hatefully at Luo Binghe from over his head disciple’s shoulder. There were more figures rapidly drawing closer, the other peak lords following the flare of Yue Qingyuan’s qi. The standoff was becoming more and more untenable, and Shen Yuan was too smart not to see that, shrinking back against Luo Binghe as much as he could without crowding him closer to the edge.

“You can’t hurt him,” he said again, the closest Luo Binghe had ever heard him come to tears, “he’s my shidi.”

Luo Binghe is unsurprised by his shixiong’s loyalty, because it’s already been proven to him over and over. It’s unremarkable at this point, which is an absolutely remarkable thing in itself. It makes him feel warm with gratitude and affection and ownership.

Shen Yuan is clever and quick on his feet and always three steps ahead, more knowledgeable about flora and fauna than anyone else Binghe has ever known combined, and probably a force to be reckoned with as a rogue cultivator, where the only rules of conduct he has to adhere to are his own.

But Luo Binghe hates to think of him on the road alone, without the little martial siblings who follow him like ducklings, without his Binghe there to make sure he remembers to eat all his meals and comb out his hair before bed. He’s a creature of comfort, made for airy rooms with too many cushions and an abundance of sweets and books to read.

Luo Binghe has fantasized more than once about building a home for Shen Yuan to lounge prettily in. It was, in fact, his favorite flavor of daydream since he was about thirteen.

If Shen Yuan wants to rogue cultivate, then that’s what they’ll do. But Luo Binghe thinks, if he constructs a palace that’s as comfortable as it is grand, and fills it with trashy romance novels and obscure beasts and his own hand-made meals, he can convince his friend to live in it with him.

Shen Yuan needs to be taken care of. Luo Binghe needs to be the one taking care of him. They’re together now and they’ll never be apart again and those needs can both be met.

That possessive, proprietary feeling coils dark and deep inside him, undulating lazily like a serpent who’s fed enough for days, reminding him over and over what he already knows:

Mine.

#scum villian self saving system #svsss #bingyuan #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen yuan #my writing #svsss fic #sy transmigrates into a blank role in a world where his favorite character exists #and he's supposed to - what ? NOT fulfill his personal fantasy of being lbh's best friend ?? ok 🙄#naturally binghe has been obsessed since the moment this pretty boy first smiled at him #bingbing i love you you deserve a good shixiong / future wife and i'm here to deliver #ALSO sy's sword name is (yǒng) meaning perpetual ; eternal ; forever #and 亮 (liàng) meaning bright ; clear ; to show ; to shine #in my mind's eye zheng yang is golden so yong liang's silvery white is the perfect compliment #YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO THE SUN & MOON SHIP DYNAMIC 🫵#heaven and hell were words to me

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foli-vora · 3 months

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hi—

so i’ll be saying farewell to foli this year. as much as i’m proud and so in love with what i’ve created here, she’s starting to give me major stress headaches and i simply can’t deal. this started out fun and sweet, but it has increasingly created bigger and bigger issues for me and it’s no longer a space i find comfort and peace in, so i think it’s time for me to move on.

i thought about deleting this blog, or slowly morphing away from what i’ve been doing here, but it didn’t feel right. i know it’s just a blog, but it still means something to me.

should you still wish to visit/follow little ol’ me, i’ll now be living over here. i’ll still be the normal unhinged foli that loves talking filth, just now under a different name with a shiny new corner of the internet/main blog.

this blog will stay up so you can still read my organised pile of trash that i know some of you enjoy, and i’ll probably still continue to write because i do love it, but it won’t be promised or often, and it’ll mostly be ao3 focused in other fandoms, and not so much surrounding the pedro fandom anymore.

i will be wrapping everything up here, so don’t worry about any unfinished series’—i wouldn’t do that to you lmao. thank you for the good times here, angels. i appreciate each and every one of you. hope to see you over on the new side. ily 💖

#a long time coming i think #my brain just doesn’t have what it used to #and i’m sorry for disappointing you for so long #i know i promised so much and delivered so little #the love was there #the mentality wasn’t i guess?#it’s lonely and isolating being a fic writer now #but things change and it’s okay #it was good while it lasted

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merakiui · 5 months

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thinking about writing a fanfic with self-aware twst, but the characters are aware they're in a fanfic. orz it may sound silly, but i think it would be fun to write something where [insert yan!twst character here] just interrupts the plot and addresses the reader specifically with something like: "you're probably not even inserting your real name, right, (name)?"

perhaps it's too meta, but it's so interesting to me?? i haven't the faintest clue how i'd go about writing a fic like that with an intriguing plot that progressively gets more horrifying as it goes on, and it'd likely be more of an experimental fic than anything. but omg it would be so fun to write.

hmmm,,, maybe i could use epistolary format, whether in the form of letters (to the reader) or diary entries. something where the character realizes they're in a fanfic and can only do so much, so they write their own little notes to the reader. or it's placed between the words or certain words are in another color (like red or blue) and it spells a message if you take all of the words and put them together. :O

so essentially you'd be reading a completely normal yan!twst fanfic, but when you put the words together it's the twst character addressing you and not the (name) you're meant to project onto.

AAAAA T_T i'm sorry for senseless ramblings. this is what happens when i think too much about the meta nature of a yan!rook fic i have planned.

#meraki mumbles #now who will be my lab rat for this experiment.........#octavinelle is put on the bench this time because i need to try something new #OH OH :O a yan!jamil fic but it's kalim who's giving you the message throughout the story hmmmmmmmmm #utilizing kalim's sunshine personality to deliver the most unsettling secret message ever...#methinks there is potential >:)

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tripleyeeet · 7 months

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DELIVERANCE, DELIVER ME (13)

SUMMARY: You and the party finally discover what Ketheric (and company) are up to.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,770

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, so much angst (I'm sorry), canon typical violence, (sort of) major character death.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'd like to apologize for posting this chapter and then taking two weeks off. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

It’s an uphill battle for a while. As the minutes turn to hours and the hours quickly become what ends up being a day and a half of solid movement, you finally find yourself deep within the belly of the Illithid colony.

Gripping tightly onto the blade that resides in your hand, you can feel the membrane floor beneath your tired feet squelch as you creep further in, threatening to trip you with the way it gives each time you step to follow Wyll.

Directly in front of you, you watch as he instructs both Lae’zel and Gale to keep a close watch from behind while the rest of you continue exploring. “We have to be getting close by now,” he grumbles. Then, he motions you and Karlach to move ahead, making you sigh.

You’re a bit scared to admit it but you’re almost too exhausted to continue. After countless battles won against various foes, you’re at the point of barely being able to see straight. Against the dimness of your surroundings, your eyes feel heavier with each passing step, threatening to close as you walk through the tissued door ahead, hearing Karlach hum.

“It’s all clear,” she says, lowering her axe. As she does, you drop your knife and raise a hand to rub your eye, emitting a low yawn just as some devourers rush across your half-obscured vision, shifting your attention to watch a grouping of them scuffle around your feet.

“You know what? They’re honestly kind of cute, don’t you think?”

You blink at Karlach who’s ogling at one of the stragglers, lowering her body slightly downwards to give the brain a good pet before it squeaks in response and dashes away.

“You think a brain with legs is cute?”

Now at your side, Shadowheart scowls at the same creature, shaking her head while the rest of the group merely looks around, surveying the area further.

Unsurprisingly, it looks like every other section you’ve found yourselves in. Covered head to two in bodily innards, thick strands of membrane hang from the walls, dangling wetly above your heads, making you cringe as the group continues to speak.

“I mean, yeah, look at their little feet! You can’t tell me that’s not the most adorable thing you’ve seen all day!”

“I very well can.”

Next to Shadowheart, Gale smiles at Karlach. “They’re rather interesting specimens… in their own way. A bit easy on the eyes but I supposed I can understand the appeal.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes then, causing Lae’zel to snort before telling everyone to focus. “We mustn’t allow any distractions,” she says. "We must focus on Ketheric Thorm and his inevitable death.”

“Possible inevitable death,” Astarion corrects with a smirk.

At that point, Wyll gives him a questionable look, prompting the rest of the group to follow his gaze, watching Astarion respond with a shrug.

“What? He might be useful.”

This time you snort, shaking your head as the group of you come up to another fleshy door, watching it tear open at your arrival to reveal another similar-looking room.

Upon entering, it becomes clear then that there's a long road ahead of you. Another lengthy journey of walking and fighting and whatever else it is you manage to do through the exhaustive stupors you’ve been experiencing. Almost immediately, just the thought alone makes you want to flop onto the ground, regardless of how disgusting it is. To curl up in a ball and have a good cry, realizing just how stressed you are.

Having been in constant fight or flight, you can feel the mask of bravery you often wear begin to slip. The closer you get to where you know you’ll meet your hardest fight thus far, the less poised you become. You can tell Astarion notices this by the time you’ve found Mizora. As she and Wyll exchange a few choice words with one another, you can feel him watching you fade. Staring far too intently at the way you shove your gloved knuckles into the base of your eyes, emitting a quiet groan in response.

It’s obvious then that he’s worried. His face shifts anxiously each time you so much as close your eyes after that, watching with caution as you drift alongside everyone else, your mind not all there.

By the time you make it to the platform that’ll inevitably lead you to Ketheric, you feel his hand on your arm, loosely gripping the leather of your armour until you turn to face him, blinking through the haze.

“You’re exhausted,” he points out. And even though it’s obvious you still shake your head in response, offering a tired smile as you continue to blink.

“I’m fine.”

He looks at you angrily before turning to the others who are already busily coming up with a plan, chaotically bouncing off one another until Astarion clears his throat and motions toward you.

“She can’t fight,” he says simply. “Not unless we rest.”

You open your mouth in annoyance only to close it over a yawn that pushes through, prompting Astarion’s face to transition into a smug expression as he huffs.

“We don’t have time to rest,” Lae’zel says, causing both Wyll and Shadowheart to awkwardly glance at one another, realizing she’s right.

It’s only a matter of time before things get worse. Considering how long you’ve spent wandering the halls of the colony, you know Ketheric’s already well onto the road of recovering from your last encounter.

Thanks to his endless amounts of resources, he’s probably already up and ready to maim every single one of you without so much as batting an eye, and because of this, you merely shake your head and brush Astarion away, telling him you’re fine. That you just need a little water —maybe a health potion or two and you’ll be good as new.

You can tell by the hurt expression that takes over his face that he doesn’t believe you. That your poorly produced lie has fallen on deaf ears, further spurring the confusion in his eyes as he watches you pull a flask out of your pack and begin to drink. Swallowing hard, you avoid his gaze then, moving to focus it on the area below.

Illuminating in a pale green light, the area calls to you —commanding you to descend as your tadpole violently wiggles behind your eye.

Groaning through it, you raise a hand to your temple and tightly shut your eyes, hearing Astarion swear under his breath before the feeling quickly surpasses, leaving you fearful as you glance around the party, realizing they felt it too.

“We must continue now before it’s too late,” Lae’zel says then. Through clenched teeth she clicks her tongue and moves towards the apparatus, turning to face the rest of the group once she’s directly in front of it. “Do you need healing?”

You almost shake your head, but before you can Astarion’s already grabbing your wrist and setting a potion into your open hand, glaring with narrowed eyes. “Take it,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle. “And don’t argue —the last thing I want is to have you dying in my arms.”

He mutters it low enough so that only you can hear, making you roll your eyes through a hidden grin, obeying his command.

“Fine. But only because I love you.”

Unlike him, your words are loud enough for the rest of the team to hear, prompting Astarion to clear his throat and turn away when Karlach loudly gasps in response, causing a quick moment of uproar before Shadowheart shuts it down.

Glancing playfully at Astarion as you continue to sip the potion, you can tell he’s thankful for the subject change. Considering all the feelings between you are still a bit fresh, it’s obvious he’s nervous —cautious in the revealing of your private partnership.

It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. In fact, you completely understand his reservations, knowing the severity of everything happening. With Ketheric and the Absolute and all the other issues that seem to cross your path each time you so much as blink, it’s probably best you keep your feelings a bit closer to your chest. To keep him safe in the confines of your yearning chest.

Because of this, instead of teasing him like you’re tempted to do, you merely mouth out a silent sorry, love before brushing past to join Lae’zel on the platform, watching him hide a grin of his own as he and the others follow behind.

Once you’re all on and accounted for, Lae’zel then triggers the apparatus to begin its descent, causing your frame to roughly shift and stumble back, catching Astarion’s arm in the process.

“Falling all over again, are we?”

You give him a narrow-eyed look and peel your hand away, forcing back a smile of your own just as Wyll begins to formulate a plan. One that involves a lot of careful preparation, prompting everyone to listen as he discusses who should get up close versus attack from afar.

“Gale and Astarion, keep your distance,” he begins, motioning to both of them. “Flank from the sides or above —whatever you like. Just keep yourselves hidden until I say otherwise.”

Both of them nod in agreement as Wyll continues to speak, telling Lae’zel and Karlach to rush into the thick of things while the rest of you sit somewhere in the middle so that you can jump back and forth if need be.

Overall, it’s a simple formation. One that you’ve used countless times over the last few weeks, making it easy to follow. And because of this, there’s an immediate wave of optimism that surrounds your senses once you step off the platform and move into Ketheric’s domain, sneaking through the membrane that shields you from his gaze.

Once there, all of you crowd towards the ground to watch him pace across an entirely different platform. Slightly above, you can hear him sigh and groan, his footsteps echoing until they’re suddenly stagnant and an unfamiliar voice begins to speak.

“You said it was under control.”

The voice is calm —low and calculated. Narrowing your eyes, you slide around the structure that hides you, taking a few hurried steps towards another so that you can see the voice’s face, noticing there are others.

Two men and a woman join Ketheric in discussion. Beneath the woman, one of the others sits crouched and helpless, eyes desperately shutting as she sits on his back, playing with the knife in her hands. Beside her, the other man talks to Ketheric as if he’s above him, speaking of their failed plan —of you and the rest of your party and how Ketheric’s new plan was to lead you down here.

Upon hearing this, you glance at Wyll who’s clenching his jaw and moving forward, prompting Karlach to pull him right back with a shake of her head. At that point, you remember then that the man practically folded into the ground is unfortunately his father, Ulder. A man he hasn’t seen for quite some time thanks to Mizora and his inevitable banishment. Realizing this, you frown but look back over, watching Ketheric’s fist fly into the air just as the woman’s blade stops at his neck, prompting everyone to stand down despite the tension.

After that, you can hear a fit of laughter push through the woman’s voice. As she repeats the word again almost manically, pulling her knife away from Ketheric’s throat, she then talks of Baldur’s Grave. How Ketheric must lead some sort of murder march to it.

It’s a strange sentence. The kind that has you narrowing your eyes, trying your best to focus on the conversation further in order to understand her words as they continue their back and forth, speaking of a weapon before informing Ketheric of their dwindling patience.

“Orin and I can wait for you no longer,” the dark-haired man says. “The plan proceeds —we’re going to the city, and we expect you to follow— army and weapon in tow.”

None of you are entirely sure what he means. At least, not until he’s moving towards the edge of the platform, raising his hand to reveal a gleaming stone as he calls the edict of Bane. At which point, you share a worried look with Astarion. Both of your throats swallowing hard as the woman then calls for the lash of Bhaal, triggering an eruption beneath you.

Gripping onto the structure that resides in front of you, you feel the ground begin to shake. At first, it’s rough, tossing you around a bit but quickly it settles once the presence of a tentacle rips through the water, crashing just a few feet away.

As it happens, your breath catches in your throat. Failing to exit, it sits tight against your vocal cords like an enemy's hand, threatening to suffocate you as a large brain begins to ascend amongst the waves, pulsating disgustingly.

Cringing at the sight, you take note of Ketheric as he joins the duo, calling forth the testament of Myrkul, triggering a different voice inside your head.

It’s the same voice you’ve been hearing throughout your journey. The voice that initially saved you through the wreckage. The one that’s been entering your dreams unannounced and feeding your information. As your tadpole twitches enthusiastically, you can hear it loud and clear, informing you that the creature that continues to rise through the air is in fact an elder brain. A creature so powerful and cruel that, upon discovery, you visibly shudder at the thought of what it’s capable of.

Well, this obviously wasn’t what I expected.

Without hesitation, Astarion’s voice clears away the rest of your thoughts, pulling you back to look at him jerk his head towards the enemy, noticing the woman grip Ulder’s head, granting the elder brain’s tentacle enough access to shove a tadpole in his eye.

As it happens, you cringe at the sight, remembering your own experience as the two men continue to discuss the details of their shared plot. About how Ketheric’s meant to attack the city so that the other man, the supposed hero, can save it.

It’s a simple plot. One that you know will be convincing enough considering the state everyone’s in. Based solely on your experiences throughout your travels, it’s obvious that everyone can feel it coming. The shift they’ve been weaving behind closed doors.

Wherever you’ve found yourselves the tensions have felt higher than they need to be. Difficult to navigate thanks to the wariness of the Absolute and its ever-growing presence. Normally, people refuse to trust you on instinct but lately, they’ve been borderline hostile, attacking you without much reason —forcing you to fight when all you want is peace.

It’s why, by the end of the discussion after everyone but Ketheric seemingly disappears into thin air, the breath you were previously holding stumbles out like a gasp. Forcing you further down towards the ground, you run a hand down your face as it happens, realizing then just how big this has become. How, despite knowing that the Absolute was already dangerous, the last thing you expected was a shared plot between the harbingers of death and chaos itself.

Suddenly breathing hard, you discard the act of hiding to rush over to Wyll, placing a hand on his shoulder for support, watching him scowl at Ketheric who finally clues into your presence.

“There you are.”

Like all the other times you’ve spoken to him, you notice the eerie amount of calm that radiates through his voice. As if he already knows how this will end. Annoyingly, it manages to send a shiver down your spine as he begins to clue you in on everything you’ve missed. About his God and their deal —about Gortash and Orin and their shared plot to grow and take over the Absolute all in exchange for his daughter’s life.

In the moment, it’s a lot to take in. The idea that these Gods have essentially been working together. But quickly you snap out of the shock, forcing yourself to listen to his threats —to hear him talk of how he’ll kill you and then raise you as his undead servants.

As soon as he finishes there’s a moment of silence before Lae’zel attempts to take the first swing. With her longsword, she leaps and strikes the edge of Ketheric’s abdomen, angrily scraping away the armour with a hearty scream that triggers the rest of you to move. Seemingly all at once, you all then scatter into position, watching Gale and Astarion begin to strike the undead soldiers that rise from the earth on opposite ends while you and Shadowheart move towards the middle, using magic to do the same.

“It’s no use, True Soul,” Ketheric taunts then, dodging Karlach’s swinging axe with a snort before he swings his sword right back, catching her in the arm.

As she cries out in pain, Wyll slices through an undead’s skull before turning his attention to the injured tiefling, immediately rushing to her aid.

After that, all of you fall into the same rhythm. When one of you is struck there’s an instant urgency that takes place, causing whoever’s closest to help the other before you relocate and reset.

Because of this, it takes a while to weaken Ketheric’s defences. To strike him down hard enough so that his power begins to dwindle. So much so that by the time you’ve regained your focus after helping Wyll up a second time, you finally notice the reason you were sent to the mausoleum in the first place.

Struggling against conjured shackles, Aylin, the woman you met deep within Shar’s domain —the one who attempted to help the first time you fought Ketheric— now stands, calling your attention, screaming for you to release her so that she can help.

Without even thinking you nod your head and rush to her aid, narrowly avoiding an arrow that whizzes by your face along the way. Panting through the exhaustion, you move as quickly as possible, forcing your body to climb up a ladder of flesh, ignoring the ooze that slips through your fingers.

Once upright, you continue moving towards her, watching her struggle against the bonds through gritted teeth, begging you to help.

Drawing your sword you begin to hack at the magic upon her request, groaning with each strike until you can see it cracking under the pressure. Breaking down bit by bit until—

You see the blade before you feel it. The way it angles down from your left shoulder into the air in front of you. Narrowing your eyes, it takes a moment, but not long after you notice the blood, you finally feel the shooting pain of your injury. How it spreads like wildfire throughout your torso, threatening to stop your lungs.

Shakily, you crane your neck to see the undead soldier loom carelessly above you. Somehow its hand is still locked tightly on the handle of the blade as you begin your descent to the ground, gasping for air just as Aylin breaks free and immediately kills it, saying something you don’t quite hear as it happens.

Despite not being able to make out her exact words you can tell they’re angry. Loud and irritated as she motions toward your body, making you groan. Making you realize that despite wanting more than anything to live, your eyes are slowly closing.

After that all you do is feel and hear, struggling to process.

Because without your eyesight, it’s as if everything else has been sorely amplified. Within your chest, the only thing you can feel is the blooming of your blood coating you in a heavy ache. The way it warms your skin beneath the already-heated leather of your clothes. As you lay there covered in it, you feel it bubble up your throat, obstructing every lick of air that fights towards the surface, causing you to gag. To fearfully reach for your throat as your ears begin to ring, reminding you it’s time.

You can’t fight it anymore.

As much as you want to, the injury is too severe to remedy with the lack of resources you and your party have. Despite wanting to live, even when you feel those familiar hands pull you into a tight embrace, clutching your face with those cooling hands, you know that you're done. That your time here has finished and there’s nothing more you can do about it except hope that it meant something.

Feeling your body shake against the one that holds you, you hear a garbled sound of despair. A sob so visceral it only serves to further rip right through your chest, causing a whimper to sound through the stream of blood that coats your lips.

I thought I fucking told you not to die!

The moment you hear Astarion’s voice inside your head you’re already sobbing. Between each gasp, the pain of his presence immediately pulls you from your last few moments of peace. Forcing you to realize that you’ve let him down. That like all the others in his life, you’ve abandoned him.

Why can’t you listen?

You can hear the anger in his voice as he begs you to stay. To fight for survival —to fight for him. To stay so that he doesn’t have to be alone again as he reaches for your hand, taking it tightly in his own.

You try your best to hold it back. Faintly, your fingers twitch but ultimately fail to hold any weight; much like your mind that refuses to let you speak back to him. To tell him that he’s going to be fine. That the others will help him. That you won’t just be fine but that you’ll be okay too.

Now crying with you, you hear him yell through the ringing again. A piercing sound of syllables that echo in your skull as you attempt to open your eyes.

Like the soldier from before, he’s looming above you, only covered in tears and blood, pressing his lips together to hold back the quivering mess he’s become when Shadowheart finally makes it to his side, saying something about you. About letting you go but Astarion refuses to oblige, tightening the hold he has on your frame until Shadowheart’s fully yelling his face and tugging at his clothes, forcing him to let go just as your eyes begin to shut again, feeling her hands turn you to your side to rip the knife from your flesh.

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