#'Far' never dips below Decisive

[musanocturnis]

Far till Rhuidean, stridernas son Far till Rhuidean, upptågsmakare Far till Rhuidean, spelare FAR

[mayghosts]

Little Gold Top: (5) Kate Martin x Reader

Summary: late night dorm confrontations and impulsive decisions

(Previous) (TOC)

Warnings: sad confrontation, wtf, not proof read!

AN: guys i officially have a fanfic author life, like shits crazy!!

Practice was rough. Kate knew it was rough by the way the coaches were whispering on her way out of the gym and how Caitlin looked at her in the locker room. Kate was supposed to be the captain, the glue that holds the team together. With everything going on lately she couldn’t help but feel that she was loosing her skills. Not to mention, an incredibly talented teammate.

She couldn't decide if it was worth it to double text you. Flipping her phone over again, she was met with her unanswered text. Her attempt to fix whatever the fuck was wrong. Is anything even wrong? Flopping into her bed she stared out the window, watching the sun dip below the trees. The idea that at the end of the year she would be graduating, you two would probably never even live in the same city again. She couldn’t help but feel a bit existential.

Quickly this existentialism turned to fear. Wrapped in her comferter headphones pumping Frank Ocean she couldn't help but think about how different you were. Not in a pick me way, but in an emotional way. Kate was always a bit of a hopeless romantic. Plenty of times she's seen a girl in the hallway and planned their futures together. But when she thought about you, she saw everything. You were everything.

As the street lamps outside the dorm flicked on she felt the pit in her stomache return. You were so close, probably only two minutes away; but you've always been so far. Sure the two of you had been physically close, and physically you two knew eachother like a married couple. Emotionally, Kate had no fucking clue who you were. And it killed her. It would probably only take her three minutes to get to your appartement. A two minute run down the street, up two floors, about fourty steps off the elevator to the left, room 203. Kate could see it in all her head. She would knock and you would open the door with a big smile. You would pull her inside and you would watch UP! on the couch and you would tell her about your day. She would listen and love every second of it. The way your hair falls on your shoulders, the way the light from the tv refletcs off your face, the way you light up as you tell her about the dog you saw on your way to class. She would even love the chocolate on your face from the icecream you would eat and your really long monologues about subjects she dosen't really understand, all because she loves you. She really really loves you, and she is so fucking scared.

Kate could feel the panic building in her chest as she swung her feet over the side of her bed. Pulling her shoes on she slipped out of her suite into the kitchen and out into the hallway. Where she was going she wasn't sure, just somewhere, wherever her feet took her. Into the elevator, down two floors. Running through the chilly night air she could feel the tears biting at her cheeks. Into the lobby, scan the emergency key card shes kept since freshman year, into the elevator, up two floors, fourty steps to the left.

Your Pov

You hadn't slept yet. You were deffinately tired, exhausted actually, but whenever you closed your eyes you just saw the missed shots and then Kates face. Neither of these were the right mateiral to lull you to sleep. Sitting on your couch, you let the tears flow. nothing seemed to be going right so far. Fuck Kate for not being able to keep it in her pants. You don't think you've ever been so upset with someone before. You don't think you've ever had someone like Kate before. Techincally, you don't even have her.

The pounding at your door startled you from your haze. You contemplated just opening the door without looking and letting the serial killer in. Maybe he would watch UP! with you, or put you out of whatever meta hell this is. You walked towards the door, stopping to grab a knife in the kitchen. Just incase.

Looking out the peep hole you were met with none other than Kate Martin. You glanced at the clock on the stove. 2:05, late enough to pretend to be asleep. As she started banging again you heard stirring from the room down the hall. dammit shes gonna wake Gabbie up. You unlocked the chain and lock and flung the door open. Stepping outside and shutting the door behind yourself. Kate seemed shocked to see you, funny seeing that she was the one breaking your door down.

"Okay, what the actual fuck-" "I love you." You snapped your head back to look at her in the eyes. For once, everything was silent. You gently dropped the kitchen knife as you reached out to grab her shoulder "Kate what are you talking about?" She shrugged away from your touch, "please I just... I need to... I-" You could feel your heart tear a bit everytime she failed to find the words. You left your hand out like a statue and watched as the tears streamed down her face "God I don't know, I'm scared I've fucked us up. We can't be done yet we have so much left I-" She palmed at her damp cheeks, attempting to dry the tears. Her hair was frazzled, still in the ponytail from practice. It was far too cold for the PJ shorts she was wearing and you couldn't help but wonder if she was cold. "-and I'm sorry it's so late I was just thinking that we have never watched UP! together, and I don't even know your middle name and I have been such a shitty friend!" "Kate, its so late can we-" "No! because I need you to listen. What kind of friend fucks the girl she loves in the back of a toyota? What the fuck happened to us?" "Kate!" You didn't often raise your voice, so it caught her off gaurd. You were most actually speechless.

You felt the emotions of three years of unrequited love pressing behind your eyes. Pulling her by her arm, you dragged her inside. She followed you like a lost puppy. Locking the door behind you pulled her to the couch and threw her a blanket. "Just sit there, and don't say a fucking word." She looked over at you with big eyes, and you pretended not to watch her as she sat awkwardly on your couch. You turned the kettle on, staring at it waiting for the water to boil. Maybe you could just incinerate yourself in the oven? You peaked over your shoulder to see her passed out on the couch, curled up with her head on the arm rest. You poured yourself a cup of tea, turned off the kettle and gently padded over to the couch. Turning off the lights you found your way to a spot on the opposite end of the couch.

Through the darkness you could see the curve of her shoulders, her blonde hair falling over the fuzz of the blanket. Truly a sight you could never get sick of. She really was the prettiest girl you knew, probably the prettiest girl ever. Everything seemed so complicated, these past years with Kate seemed so simple in the moment. Now it just felt like a big mess. How do you even fix this? What even are we fixing? Maybe that was a tomorrow problem. For now you were just happy to have her here.

[kissnbleed]

Dear writter who hold everyone's life please can I submit a request

Can you write a fic about Alicent where she kinda wants the reader all for herself, with some guilt since the reader is kinda younger.

I beg you, can you please 🙏 write something like this, Alicent deserve far more fics and needs to be saved from the men

a/n ofc you can! thank you for the req. I haven't written in a bit so I'm sort of rusty.

summary handmaiden!fem reader x semi canon hotd!alicent

warnings implied age gap (reader is in their twenties or so), oral a!receiving and fingering a!recieving. barely implied dom and sub dyanmics. 18+ mdni

Alicent did not have much in her life that truly belonged to her. She can not recall much of anything that she can say with certainty is for her, and her alone– purely, with no harshness to it, no underlying current of pain or tugging and pulling of her being. Nothing she had was hers, nor was it kind. I did not expect one.

Her children were not hers, not really. They had not been hers in a long time, not since they grew up in this court, since all of the pain impressed upon her had dripped down to them. Her husband had not been hers, though Alicent was unsure she wanted him to be. Rhaenyra was not hers, her religion, the sept, her chambers, her belongings. All of it was tainted, touched by the filth of this court. By the filth of her past, of her decisions. Nothing was clean, nothing was hers. 

Nothing, except for you.

In the late nights, when her staff was long asleep. When her night guards turned a cheek for a few heavy bags of coins, you existed. An angel of your own making, dipping into the darkness Alicent so believed herself to be. She was tainting you as she had all things, and yet you let her.

Her sweet handmaiden, her beloved girl. Below the flicking heat of the lights in her chamber, on top of her woven sheets and stitched blankets. There, you were hers. There, when the crickets sang outside, and her cheeks flushed from the breeze the windows brought in, something finally belonged only to her. Your touch, your soft voice, always dripping honey that Alicent so eagerly lapped up. 

“Your grace,” you often said– a small sigh of a tone, when her long fingers would swipe across your shoulders, when her guilty hands would dip below the sleeve of your dress, or lead you to sit on her bed. You were too good for this, for her. Alicent truly believed this, it hung low in her gut every time your feet found the ground of her chambers, each time you snuck to her– sought out the heat of her touch and words. And yet, she welcomed you each time. 

You had only begun working for Alicent under a year ago, with bright eyes that often refused to meet Alicent’s gaze. She couldn't blame you back then, she was sure the stories around the castle of her were no good. She surely deserves that as well. But still, even years younger than Alicent– much younger than her previous handmaidens, you had been kind to her. She doubted you had many jobs before this, she doubted you were even that many years over twenty name days, if she had to guess, and yet you held more grace than any woman her age.

Eventually, you had come out of your shell, asking soft questions about anything other than what the other girls may want, about the life of a queen. Often you asked, “Your grace, was your day well?” while your fingers worked through her wet curls during a bath. Or, while you worked the long strings of a dress you would ask more, “My queen, have you seen the sky today? It is beautiful.”

Alicent is unsure when the shift had begun when the shame that coated her throat had grown even thicker as she watched you smile at the other staff, and when she began calling upon you later and later into the day... With less and less other beings around. Alicent is not sure she wants to remember, if she does not– she will never need to add another rock to her heavy stomach. She likes it as it is, hazy and warm to remember. Somewhere along the lines, your touches had lingered, and her voice had grown gentler and more open with you. As the time under Alicent’s watchful eye continued, your ownheart had found itself beating quicker and quicker with every meeting, your stomach tightening with every gracious touch she offered you.

On a particular night, while the sun dipped below the clouds and covered all of Alicent’s bedchambers in the soft red color, you noticed how gorgeously it matched her auburn-colored locks. “Your hair is beautiful, Your Grace,” you had whispered, always using the title. A rough brush tugged at the strands, working through the knots and tangled, watching as the tight coils bounced back into place as they released from the bristles. “What was that, sweetling?” Alicent had asked, the very first time the pet name had fallen from her lips. Your breath had been so loud as it caught in your throat Alicent had heard it clearly, her heart squeezing in a way she had not felt in years. “Your hair is very lovely, my queen..” your voice had been so quiet then, barely above a whisper– your lips parting only the slightest bit to speak.

Alicent had kissed you that night, with her pouty lips and her nervous hands, hands that shook when they found your waist, when they pulled you in. Her soft lips, that tasted of the most addictive tea and sugar, had breathed apologies into your mouth for the very first time that night. You did not see the need for an apology then. 

You still did not now, all those sunrises and falls later, as your routine had fallen into place. You would leave your small, crowded quarters when the other fell asleep, in your simple white work dress, hair unperfected, and shoes loosely tied. You knew the turns to take and the tunnels to keep to that would avoid much of any notice. Which way would bring you to the Queen, your Queen, faster.

By now, Alicent nearly could promise when your visits would happen when your hand would tap nervously at the door like it always did. By now she could expect the low tug to her stomach it always brought, despite the guilt-heavy limbs that trembled when she opened the doors. She shouldn't, she told herself before every time she answered, and till every time– she did.

Every time, she would swallow heavily under her seven-star necklace, every time she greeted you how she does when the time is only for the two of you, when you are hers. 

“Hello, sweet girl.”

Every time, you answer. 

“Hello your grace– may I come in?”

She led you to her bed each time, she let your hands grasp needily at her waist, let your breaths mingle as your spit slick lips whined against hers, kisses open mouthed and heady, quick and searching. Each time it felt like the first, each time itsent the most delicious sense of shock through Alicent’s body. Warm and frightening, invigorating and dreadful. Alicent looked forward to nothing else. 

On a particular night, she had you on the bed, your flushed face between her legs as her mane of red hair and fair face tilted back, gasps and soft moans slipping from her lips. She shouldn't, she shouldn't have let you in. She shouldn't have let you between her legs. You were too young for this, too pure, too good. But you also felt much too amazing to refuse.

Your face pressed closer into her thighs, gasping against the puffy lips your nose nuzzles against, pressing into her clit as the fat muscle of your tongue swipes through her swollen folds. You were consumed, hips grinding into the small slice of bed you settled on, sounds vibrating against her dripping cunt. 

“Gods,” Alicent cried, the tips of her sharp nails for once digging into her blanket instead of the skin from her other cuticles. “Just like that, my dearest. Right there,” she praised, shoots of tiny zaps right into that sweet spot of your brain– almost as much pleasure as that building in her lower belly as you switched to suckle at her throbbing clit, earning a quick and sudden bucking upwards of her lips.

“So perfect,” Alicent’s word came out as a coo– a gentle and dragged out thing, dripping with the same honey your tone so constantly did, slick with the sweetness she licked off your lips whenever she could. “My perfect girl,” she added in a rushed gasp when the cord in her tummy tightened with a particularly swift lick across her pulsing hole as you licked at the sopping wetness dripping from her. 

Mine, she repeated over and over, muddled together and desperate– a question to herself and a melody to you, a promise. Where she was not sure, you were. When she was hesitant, you were eager. Eager for her, always. 

But she was too consumed in herself to even totally notice how empty you were of the guilt she harbored. Perhaps she carried enough for the both of you. 

You were hers in every sense of the word. Hers to serve, in the job given to you in the castle. Hers to serve in times like these, with tight thrusts of your nimble fingers or quick swipes of your tongue. You were hers to use and to find pleasure in, hers to speak to, to love, to hold. Hers, hers, hers. Forever hers. 

“Yours,” you affirmed in a squeal when her hand found your hair, the sharp tug stinging the nerves of your scalp in a sudden rush of heat. Only a moment later could you shove yourself back to where you most wanted to be, tongue trailing a dripping spot of slick that wet her thigh and to her ass. No way would you let a single drop of her go to waste, not when she tasted so sweet. 

“Tell me again,” Alicent begged, ignoring the twisting in her gut. She knew she was asking to hear a lie. A flimsy lie at that, one that she knew could never be real. She could never have you the way her late husband had her, the way Rhaenyra had her lovers. But at least for now, you were only for her. For now, you belonged to Alicent. 

“I am yours, your grace,” you murmured, face tilting up from its place pressed into her cunt to watch as Alicent’s chest rose and fell rapidly, licking over her dry lips. You thought she looked beautiful. The shiny sheen of her pleasure was wiped across your mouth and cheek, sticky and sweet as your tongue darted out to find it. She thought you looked beautiful.

“Again,” she begs, her nose scrunching as she rocks her hips through another sudden wave of pleasure, almost enough... But not quite.

Soon, your hand joined your tongue, one long finger pressing over her pulsing hole, dipping against it for just a moment, testing the limits, when Alicent moaned– you pushed the finger in fully, her walls clenching around the intrusion with a soft squelch. 

“Yours,” you repeat before your mouth finds her nub again, pressing small kitten licks to it accompanying your wrist as it rolls, working her open for a moment more before another finger stretches her out. 

By now you knew what she liked. You knew how to curl your fingers in a way that would have a squeal leaving your queen’s mouth, knew how hard to thrust, how fast the strokes of your wrist should be. You were utterly entranced by every reaction she gifted you– eyes glossy and glazed over with the rose-colored lens you always had and always will view her through. 

“Keep going, that’s perfect,” Alicent praised in a rushed tone, gnawing at her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes closed so she didn't need to look down at your face, surely it would only have Alicent even more worked up than she already was. For a multitude of reasons, she is too happy to avoid it. At least for now, when she's teetering so close to that edge she craved, so close she could taste it on her trembling lips as more continuous huffs and whines escape her. It’s no use hiding it now. 

“Please,” it was your turn to beg now, your hand desperately pushing into her again and again, your sticky face pulling away from her clit to look at how your fingers disappeared into her wanting cunt over and over again. It was like her coming was pleasure enough for you too, the way you sought it out. The way you begged for it.

“Please my queen,” the titles never left your lips– even when Alicent wishes they would. They reminded her again and again that this moment was fleeting, that you would never be lovers how you wished. It was another sick turn in her gut that had her remembering how much younger you were, and what position you were in. Sometimes, when she allows herself to think about it. It is hard to ignore the tug in her gut at the reminder, something other than guilt crawling its way up her stomach at the thought of how pure you had been before her. All of this, all of it had been because of her. No one else had you this way, and if she could ensure it– they never would. 

You would be Alicent’s forever, one way or another. 

“Cum for me,” your voice is much too sweet to be speaking such vulgarities, salt falling from a sugar pot, muddling confusingly together with your voice. It dizzied Alicent. “I need it,” you whine, wet kisses pressing to her lower belly as the space of your hand’s thrusts quickened, the slick sounds filling the space of her chambers. It’s almost unbearable for her to listen to. She is sure her sheets are soaked, and it has her heated cheeks even more red. 

She clenches around you again, a near vice grip as you're forced to slow your movements, her plush walls sucking your fingers in before she bursts, gushing around your fingers in a surge of sweet and sticky wetness. Your head dips down, licking at whatever you can.

“My queen,” you coo breathlessly, “My queen.”

“Yours,” it is she who replies this time. 

[sherlokiness]

Isn't RLJ a false marriage? Won't jon still be a bastard then?

Elia and Rhaegar had healthy children, legit kids so won't Ned respect that marriage like any northern one? Also elia's marriage was not under any coercion or dubious consent like Lyanna's supposed one was. And valyrian polygamy was outlawed for years, so ned should never see it as a real marriage.

(thanks for ur earlier answer by the way)

Hi, anon. Thanks for the ask! It was no biggie.

I would like you to read the comment from Ygrain in this thread. The biggest proof of RLJ marriage is the presence of the Kingsguard at the ToJ. I'll post a shorter version of it down below.

"I looked for you on the Trident,” Ned said to them.

“We were not there,” Ser Gerold answered.

“Woe to the Usurper if we had been,” said Ser Oswell.

The KG consider Robert a usurper.

When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.”

“Far away,” Ser Gerold said, “or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.”

So the KG knew that Aerys is dead and denounces Jaime as a KG. We could also infer that they weren't with Aerys when Jaime killed his king.

“I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege,” Ned told them, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them.”

Ned tells them the remaining Targ forces have bent the knees and was surprised they weren't there.

“Our knees do not bend easily,” said Ser Arthur Dayne.

To which Arthur replied that their knees do not bend easily yet when Ned approached earlier, Oswell Whent was on his knee. Taken together, it's a clue that they have already bent the knee to someone.

“Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him.”

Why aren't the KG with Viserys the supposed king if they're really so honorable? Their duties would demand them to get him to safety.

“Ser Willem is a good man and true,” said Ser Oswell.

They've ignored the insult of Viserys being called a prince and admits he doesn't have a KG.

“But not of the Kingsguard,” Ser Gerold pointed out. “The Kingsguard does not flee.”

So Willem is a good man and it's okay to be with the prince but not them because they're the KG. And what is the primary duty of the KG? To protect and defend the King.

“Then or now,” said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

So the KG does not flee and they would have defended the king then(Aerys) and that's what they're doing now(Jon).

“We swore a vow,” explained old Ser Gerold.

Below are the exact points from the thread:

The Lord Commander is citing the Kingsguard’s vow as the reason that they must stay. He has decided that all three would remain, and we must presume that the reason is to protect the king. Several things contribute to this conclusion:

The White Bull, as Ser Gerold is known, is quite the stickler when it comes to the comport of Kingsguard duties.

Ser Gerold does not have a friendship with Rhaegar that would favor this decision.

Ser Gerold has already stated that he would slay Jaime to protect Aerys.

Ser Gerold’s decision to keep Arthur and Oswell with him only protects the king (the primary purpose of the Kingsguard) if the king is present at the tower.

Ned knows that these men were honoring their Kingsguard vow. There is no other vow that Ned is ever aware of. He thinks of these three as the epitome of honor and skill. A shining example for the world.

Also, all the jokes about bastards and princes GRRM does with Joffrey and Jon won't work if they're both bastards.

[lilacmingi]

DIFFERENT

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. Ageless blogs and blank blogs risk getting blocked

Pairing: Vampire!Hoseok x Vampire hunter!fem reader

Word count: 2,020

Note: This imagine is from my Wattpad so there won’t be any extra parts or continuations

Someone was watching you. All day, you had this persistent feeling that you were being watched, maybe even followed. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself that you were just imagining it, but your gut said otherwise—and your gut was never wrong.

Going from class to class was when you really felt that unease creeping up on you, that vague feeling that something wasn't quite right. Much to your relief, your last class of the day let out about fifteen minutes early, which you were thankful for.

The college you attended wasn't far from your apartment, so you would usually walk to and from both places. Typically your class ended at 3:00 in the evening, so you were usually home way before the sun set. Today was different though. Since you class ended a little earlier, you decided to stop at a few local shops to peruse and grab a quick bite to eat. Once you had your fill of window shopping and was ready to go home, the sun was starting to dip below the buildings, streaking the sky with pale pink and orange.

Despite having a few hours of enjoyment, that feeling of someone watching you never really went away and now that you were on your way home, the feeling was stronger than ever.

Throughout the evening you tried to act as if you suspected nothing, going about your day as you normally would so as not to alert whoever it was that had been keeping their eye on you.

The faint sound of a second pair of footsteps somewhere behind you reached your ears, putting you on high alert. Turning your head ever so slightly, you acted as if you were looking at objects in a nearby store window, but really you were doing it to get a glimpse at whoever was behind you. From what you could tell, it was a guy with dark hair, but that's all you could see.

With a stranger lingering behind you, you made the decision to take an alternative route instead of your usual one in hopes to get that creep off your back.

You turned down an alleyway that was a shortcut to the park. Thanks to the narrow space between the buildings that allowed sounds to bounce off the brick walls, you could hear better. Whoever was behind you was walking faster and you could feel that he was getting closer. There was a weird energy radiating from the man that was almost tangible. It was obvious he wasn't human.

Your hand moved discreetly over to the bag that hung at your side, slipping your hand into it. When the man's footsteps got close enough, you withdrew a blade that you kept hidden in your bag and spun on your heel. The stranger was knocked onto his back and you placed your foot against his neck, holding the blade close to his chest.

"What are you doing following me, bloodsucker?" You interrogated sharply.

"I-I wasn't following you! Please don't hurt me." He begged, wincing slightly.

Your brows furrowed, finding it odd that a vampire was begging for mercy.

"Don't lie to me. I've felt your presence all day." You moved the blade closer to his chest. "Why were you following me?"

There wasn't a single part of you that was afraid to kill him. You'd killed vampires before, therefore this would be an easy task to carry out if need be. You weren't exactly a vampire hunter because you didn't really hunt them, just killed them if it was necessary. Never had you spared a life.

The vampire below you started sputtering explanations.

"I was walking around campus and you just smelled really nice and—"

"So you thought you could catch me while I'm vulnerable and drain me dry, right?" You questioned.

"N-no!" He shook his head vigorously. "I'm not like those other vampires. I'm not rogue."

"Yeah, right. Listen, I'm not someone you want to mess with. I kill vampires. I have killed vampires."

His eyes widened in horror as a clear look of fear flashed across his brown eyes. The guy, whoever he was, genuinely seemed terrified. You had never pitied a vampire, but part of you felt bad for him, as he didn't exactly seem like a threat. Though vampires were known to be misleading.

Then again, this one seemed different.

"Please don't kill me." He begged, his eyes squeezed shut.

He could have easily pushed you off of him if he wanted to, but he didn't.

You withdrew your blade and hesitantly removed your foot. As soon as he was able to, he scrambled to his feet and backed away a little, his behavior akin to a skittish animal.

"Explain yourself." You demanded. "Why have you been following me all day?"

"Like I said, you smelled really nice and it drew me to you. I know I don't know you, but you just seem really nice and... pretty. I wasn't trying to be creepy. I'm sorry."

"Did you say pretty?"

He nodded shyly.

A vampire thinking a human was pretty was unheard of. At least, it was to you. As far as you were aware vampires only saw humans as their next meal.

"Let me get this straight. You followed me because... you think I'm pretty?"

He nodded again, the tips of his ears turning pink.

The longer you stood there without responding, the more embarrassed he felt and the more he regretted blurting that out, especially considering the fact that you hadn't met before.

Way to go, Hoseok. He thought to himself. Now you've freaked her out.

You opened your mouth to speak only to get cut off before a single word could be uttered.

"Watch out!" The man shouted.

You spun around only to be grabbed and knocked to the ground by another person.

A vampire had you pinned to the abrasive pavement below, his fangs bared.

"Sorry to steal your meal, but it didn't look like you were going to eat." He regarded the other vampire before turning to you. "You smell delightful."

"Get off her!" The dark-haired man that had been following you hissed angrily.

In an instant, the creepy vampire that was on top of you was knocked off, rolling across the pavement. The vampire, whose name you hadn't got, was on top of the one that tried to attack you. His once brown eyes were now red with anger, his fangs bared and on full display.

"Don't touch her." He growled.

The man under him chuckled, not intimidated by his threat. "What are you gonna do?"

"I'll rip your head clean off your body." He seethed.

The vampire appeared rattled as the other one got up off him, glaring at the one that still laid sprawled on the ground.

"Get out of here and don't come back." The nameless vampire snarled.

Taking the threat seriously, the other one scrambled to his feet and disappeared in an instant.

You blinked a few times in order to process the entire situation.

"You saved me." You panted, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat.

"He was going to kill you."

"Why would you do that?"

"I told you, I'm not a bad guy." He said, his appearance now back to normal. "I'm Hoseok by the way." He stepped forward and held his hand out.

You glanced down at it apprehensively.

"I won't hurt you." He assured you in a voice that carried so much gentleness it made your heart melt a little.

Your hand gasped his, giving it a shake.

"I'm Y/n."

"That's a nice name." He smiled warmly.

It was a smile that, even in the dim, late evening light, was glowing like the sun.

His friendly energy had you momentarily wondering why you were so wary of him in the first place.

"Sorry." You apologized and pulled your hand away after realizing you'd been holding onto his hand for much longer than you intended.

"So, you're a vampire hunter?" He asked.

"I'm not a vampire hunter."

"You're not?" He asked.

"No. I just kill them when I need to, like if me or someone else is being attacked."

"Oh. So you're like a superhero then?"

"Ah." You chuckled softly, ignoring the warmth that tickled your cheeks. "Not exactly."

"You kind of are if you think about it. Saving humans from the bad vampires and all. You probably don't know, but by killing off the bad vampires you're saving us, the nice ones, at the same time."

"I am?"

He nodded.

"I never thought about it like that."

Silence fell over the both of you and you kicked a rock across the pavement.

"I should probably get home."

"Can I walk with you?" Hoseok's question came immediately after your statement. "Not that I don't think you can take care of yourself. You obviously can." He gestured to your bag which held the knife you almost used earlier. "I just want to talk with you a little longer... if that's okay."

You chuckled softly, charmed by his endearing behavior.

"Sure."

He seemed to relax, a soft smile settling onto his features shortly after.

No longer finding Hoseok to be a threat, you stepped back out onto the sidewalk and started heading home.

"Is it weird if I say that you're cool?"

You tittered at his question. "Cool?"

"Yeah. With your quick reflexes and stuff. I was terrified when you pulled that knife on me."

"I could tell. Sorry about that, by the way."

"You were just looking out for yourself. I totally get it." He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Thank you for letting me walk with you."

"You're welcome. Thanks for asking to accompany me. This is much nicer than walking home alone."

The corners of Hoseok's lips quirked upward.

"How did you learn all of these self-defense skills?"

"Well," You began, releasing a sigh. "I was attacked by a vampire a couple years ago. The only reason I made it out was because this guy happened to be passing by and saw what was happening. I got really lucky because this guy had encountered vampires before. When he saved me, I asked him to teach me how to defend myself against a vampire in case one were to attack again. I didn't want to live the rest of my life being scared. After that, we exchanged numbers and met up a couple times a week. He taught me everything he knew."

"Wow. Do you remember his name?"

You nodded. "His name is Namjoon. We still text on occasion. Don't worry though. He's like me. He'll only kill a vampire if they're attacking someone."

Rounding a corner, you were able to spot your small apartment building just down the street.

"This is my stop." You announced when you approached the structure.

"Oh." Hoseok seemed disappointed that the journey was so brief.

"Thanks again for walking with me. I enjoyed the company."

"Yeah. Sure thing." He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something.

Sensing his reluctance, you made no efforts to start making your way inside.

"Is it okay if I ask you to hang out sometime?" He asked.

You smiled. "Of course it's okay. I'd actually really like to see you again. What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could get a coffee or something. Whatever you like."

"Sure."

Fishing your phone out of your bag, you handed it to Hoseok, prompting him to put his number in your contacts. In turn, he handed you his phone so you you could do the same.

"You can text me or I'll text you and we can set something up." You grinned, handing his phone back.

He nodded excitedly, his eyes glimmering at your offer.

With that, you parted and waved goodbye to Hoseok as you entered the complex.

Even after getting into your apartment, you couldn't wipe the giddy smile off your face, looking forward to receiving a text from a certain friendly vampire that may or may not have sparked a fondness in your heart.

Jungkook ♱ Jimin ♱ Yoongi ♱ Taehyung ♱ Namjoon ♱ Jin

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

🏷 @h3arteyes4mingi @weird-bookworm @poppy2007 @parkjennykim @evidive @mxlly143 @lizzymizzy-blogg @minhanbyeol @dinossaurz @laylasbunbunny @iammeandmeisiam @delulu18 @hyunjin-amore

[topgun-imagines]

Dreamland

Requested: yes

Summary: You and your husband make a decision on how long you can keep living in dreamland.

Word count: 0.4k

Warnings: slight angst? Not really.

Note: This is probably one of my favourite things that I’ve written.

Pairings: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x wife!reader

You relaxed back on the soft picnic blanket, staring up at the fluffy clouds as they floated across the sky. Bob lay beside you, arm wound under your waist as he watched the clouds with you. The white clouds moved gently across the sky, eventually blending in with the purple and pink hues of the sunset. The only sounds that could be heard were the soft whisper of the wind in the grass and the sound of waves crashing onto the shore. Your husband drew delicate patterns onto your side where your shirt had ridden up. You breathed in deeply, allowing your eyes to slip shut for a moment. You had never felt more at peace than you did now.

But, you knew that it was time to make a decision on how long you could remain in the peaceful world that you and your husband had built. You and Bob got married a few weeks ago and so far, none of your friends knew. What was supposed to be a large wedding ceremony was quickly scaled down to you, Bob, and a priest in a small white church in the middle of nowhere.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about honey?” The low sound of your husband’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. His fingers hadn’t stilled on your side, tracing delicate designs into your skin. You relaxed into his side, eyes opening to stare up at the sky. You could feel your husband’s eyes on the side of your face.

With a soft shake of your head, you turned to meet his eyes. You could see the warm glint in them, causing you to smile gently. You sighed softly and glanced back up at the beautiful view. “How long can we stay like this?” When Bob didn’t respond you looked back at him, finding a perplexed look on his face. ‘We’re gonna have to tell them eventually.” That perplexed look was washed away by a look of understanding.

Your husband looked back up at the sky. You watched as his eyes moved slowly across the large expanse of clouds. The pink of the sunset was reflected in the warmth of his eyes. “We’ll tell them soon,” He murmured. That was a good enough answer for you. Bob’s arm tightened around your waist. You snuggled further into his side, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne. Your eyes traced over the fluffy clouds as they floated across the sky. The air around you grew slightly colder as the sun dipped below the horizon. “I just want to enjoy this for a little while longer.”

A/n: I hope you all enjoyed! I loved writing this one so much. Feel free to send in any requests.

[naomeii]

The three loves.

—Pairings: Ajax (childe) x F!Reader

Chongyun x F!Reader

Kaeya x F!Reader

Content : Angst/comfort, modern au, slightly suggestive on Chongyun's part

Synopsis : They say we fall in love with three people in our lifetime.

"The first is the puppy love, this love feels like a fairy tale. It’s that all-consuming puppy love and one that, at the time, you think will last forever.."

The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving behind hues of pink and orange that painted the sky. Y/n and Ajax, both at the tender age of nine, sat side by side on a small hill overlooking the quaint town where they grew up. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the sounds of cicadas provided a gentle background melody.

Ajax grinned mischievously, "Y/n, do you believe in shooting stars? They say if you make a wish on one, it'll come true!"

Y/n's eyes sparkled with curiosity, "Really? What should we wish for?"

Ajax looked at her with a twinkle in his eye, "Let's wish to be together forever, okay? Like, even when we're grown-ups!"

A giggle escaped Y/n's lips as she nodded, "Yes, that's a perfect wish!"

They clasped their hands together, their tiny fingers entwining like the promise they were about to make. The night was clear, and a shooting star streaked across the sky. As it did, Y/n and Ajax closed their eyes and whispered their innocent promise to the cosmos.

"Let's get married when we're big, big adults, Ajax!"

Ajax chuckled, "Deal! You're going to be the prettiest bride ever!"

"...but it won't, 'cause we soon learn that fairy tales don't exist."

Years passed, and the once-inseparable pair found themselves standing on the same small hill where their innocent promise had been made. The landscape had changed, and so had they. Y/n, with dreams as vast as the sky, was on the brink of a new journey that would take her far away from the town they called home.

Ajax gazed at the horizon, a subtle sadness in his eyes, "Y/n, I can't believe you're really leaving."

She turned to face him, a mixture of excitement and sorrow in her expression, "I have to, Ajax. There's so much out there, and I want to explore it all."

Ajax tried to control his tears, as a pang of sadness tugged at his heart. "What about us? Our promise?"

Y/n sighed, "Ajax, we made that promise when we were kids. Things change, priorities change. It doesn't mean I'll forget you or what we shared."

He looked down, disappointment evident in his voice, "Is this the end for us, then?"

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "No, it's not the end. But we have to be realistic. Long-distance is tough, and we both have our paths to follow."

Ajax looked up, determination in his eyes, "What if we try? What if we make it work?"

Y/n smiled sadly, "Ajax, you're a part of me, and I'll always treasure our memories. But we can't tie ourselves down with promises made in the innocence of our youth.. Let's just cherish what we had and see where life takes us."

He sighed, his gaze downcast, "I guess this is it, huh?"

Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and understanding, "Ajax, we'll always have our memories. You mean a lot to me, and I'll never forget us."

Ajax nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of the shared past, but a lingering pain in his heart. "I thought maybe we could make it work, but maybe it's for the best."

Y/n reached out and gently touched his cheek, "You deserve someone who can be there for you.."

He smiled weakly, "You're right. It's just hard to let go."

As Y/n left, she never looked back, fear of looking at Ajax's broken face, the one she loved so dearly.

"The second love is the intense love, the love that turns your world upside down.."

The rain poured down in sheets, turning the city into a blurry watercolor painting. Y/n hurried through the streets, groceries in hand, regretting the decision not to bring an umbrella. As she navigated through the crowd, a sudden warmth enveloped her as a blue umbrella shielded her from the downpour.

Y/n looked up to see a person with messy blue hair, their face partially hidden by the hood of their jacket.

"Need some cover?" the person asked with a friendly smile.

Y/n nodded gratefully, "Thank you so much! I forgot my umbrella."

As they walked together through the rain, Y/n couldn't help but notice the kindness in the stranger's eyes. Conversation flowed easily, and laughter punctuated the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella.

Eventually, they reached their apartment building, and to their surprise, realized they were neighbors.

"You live here too?" Y/n exclaimed.

The blue-haired stranger grinned, "Small world, huh? I'm Chongyun, by the way."

Y/n introduced herself, and from that day forward, their lives became intertwined. Shared dinners, movie nights, and the occasional run to the convenience store during late nights.

"The one that comes with highest of highs and lowest of lows.."

One evening, after a delightful date, Chongyun took a deep breath and looked into Y/n's eyes, "Y/n, would you officially be my girlfriend?"

Her face lit up, "Absolutely, Chongyun! I'd love that."

Their dating phase was filled with laughter, shared dreams, and the comfort of knowing someone was there. Soon, the idea of moving in together surfaced. Given their proximity in the same apartment complex, it seemed like the next natural step.

Moving day arrived, and as they settled into their shared space, the reality of living together unveiled a new dimension of their relationship. They discovered each other's habits, preferences, and the occasional quirks that grated on their nerves.

One evening, a seemingly harmless argument escalated into a heated exchange. Chongyun, frustrated, exclaimed, "Y/n, sometimes you're just too serious about everything! Can't we have a lighthearted conversation without you analyzing it to death?"

Y/n, equally frustrated, retorted, "Well, maybe you could take things a bit more seriously! Not everything is a joke, Chongyun!"

Silence hung in the air as they both realized the weight of their words. But just like every other time, they found themselves gravitating towards each other, seeking comfort in the familiarity of shared sheets and intertwined limbs.

Y/n sighed, "We can't keep doing this, Chongyun. It's exhausting."

Chongyun then pulled her closer to him, taking a deep breath he spoke, "I know, Y/n. I know."

"The one that will cause you so much pain.."

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the intensity of Y/n and Chongyun's relationship reached a tipping point. The cycle of arguments and reconciliations became a weary routine, leaving both of them drained.

Once, after a particularly heated exchange, Chongyun took a step back and looked at Y/n with a mixture of sadness and resignation. "Y/n, I think we need some space. This isn't healthy for either of us."

Y/n, caught off guard, felt a lump forming in her throat. "What do you mean, Chongyun?"

He sighed, "I mean, maybe we're not meant to be together. We've been through so much, and it's not making either of us happy."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as the weight of his words settled in. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Chongyun nodded, "I think it's for the best. We both need to figure out what we truly want, and staying in this cycle isn't helping either of us."

The apartment, once filled with laughter and shared dreams, now echoed with the painful silence of a relationship coming to an end.

"But I love you, Chongyun," Y/n whispered, her voice breaking.

He gently touched her cheek, "I love you too, Y/n, but love isn't always enough."

"..but it will teach you what you want, and what you don't"

Chongyun moved out, seeking a fresh start. However, fate had other plans, and they found themselves crossing paths in the same complex, the awkward encounters serving as painful reminders of what once was.

Y/n, weary from the constant reminders of their past, decided it was time for a change. She received a job offer in a new city, and with a heart heavy with memories, she packed her bags to embark on a journey of self-discovery.

On her moving day, Chongyun showed up to help with the boxes. The air was thick with unspoken words as they navigated the process of dismantling the life they had built together. The shared glances and hesitant smiles hinted at the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

As the last box was loaded into the moving truck, Y/n looked at Chongyun, gratitude and sadness mingling in her eyes. "Thank you for helping me, Chongyun. This is goodbye, isn't it?"

He nodded, a somber expression on his face, "Yeah, it is. Take care of yourself, Y/n."

A bittersweet silence hung in the air, and they found themselves wrapped in a tight embrace. It was a hug that spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of the shared pain and the decision to move forward.

"Goodbye, Chongyun," Y/n whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

"Goodbye, Y/n," he replied, the weight of their history lingering in the farewell.

As the moving truck pulled away, Y/n glanced back at the complex that held the fragments of a love that had taught them both valuable lessons.

"The third love, is the unexpected love.."

In the hustle and bustle of the new city, Y/n found herself working under the supervision of Kaeya, a charming yet infuriating figure who seemed to revel in pushing her buttons. Kaeya, tasked with training the new recruit, couldn't help but find amusement in Y/n's exasperated reactions.

From the very beginning, their interactions were laced with a peculiar tension. Y/n, with her determination to prove herself in the new job, clashed with Kaeya's laid-back and unpredictable approach to work. Each meeting felt like a battle of wits, a constant attempt to outsmart and out manoeuvre the other.

Kaeya smirked, "You know, Y/n, you're taking this job a bit too seriously. It's not a life-or-death situation."

Y/n shot back, "Well, someone has to do the work around here, and it seems like you're allergic to it."

"..The one that comes from nowhere and feels just completely and utterly right."

As Y/n and Kaeya continued to work together, their relationship began to take an unexpected turn. Y/n couldn't help but notice Kaeya stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking.

One day, catching him in the act, Y/n raised an eyebrow, "Kaeya, is there something on my face?"

He quickly averted his gaze, a subtle blush coloring the tips of his ears. "N-no, of course not. Just lost in thought."

Y/n smirked, sensing something beneath the surface, "Lost in thought, or lost staring at me?"

Kaeya attempted to play it cool, "Staring? Please, I have more important things on my mind."

But the telltale redness of his ears betrayed him, and Y/n couldn't help but find the situation amusing. The once-annoying colleague seemed to be harboring feelings he wasn't ready to admit.

"And whereas it may not always start off very interestingly, it is the love that keeps knocking regardless of how long it takes you to answer.."

As Y/n and Kaeya's relationship deepened, their initial irritation gave way to a unique connection. The line between bickering and flirting became increasingly blurred, and late-night work sessions in Kaeya's apartment became a common occurrence.

One night, surrounded by the soft glow of city lights filtering through the window, Y/n and Kaeya found themselves engrossed in their project. The air was charged with tension, and their banter teetered on the edge of something more.

Y/n couldn't help but confess, "You know, when I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying."

Kaeya grinned, "Anddd?"

"And you still are," Y/n replied with a playful smirk.

The atmosphere shifted, and in that moment, the tension hung heavy. Kaeya's eyes locked onto Y/n's, and without warning, he closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a kiss.

However, the moment was short-lived. Y/n, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions, pulled away, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

"I… I can't," she stammered, her hands shaking.

Kaeya, sensing her hesitation, tried to reassure her, "Y/n, I didn't mean to—"

She interrupted him, hastily gathering her things, "I need to go."

As Y/n rushed out of Kaeya's apartment, the door closed behind her, leaving a bewildered Kaeya standing in the quiet space. The city lights continued to flicker, but the warmth that had enveloped them earlier had been replaced by a chilling silence.

"..You no longer have to hide your flaws and imperfections; they accept you for who you are."

The days following the abrupt departure were heavy for Y/n. Overwhelmed by her emotions and the fear of confronting the newfound feelings, she took a sick leave, attempting to find solace in solitude. The apartment, once a sanctuary, now echoed with the quiet emptiness of her own thoughts.

One afternoon, as Y/n sat lost in her contemplations, a sudden knock on the door disrupted her fragile peace. Startled, she wiped away her tears and opened the door, her appearance far from the composed image she usually presented.

Kaeya stood at the doorway, his usually charming demeanor softened by concern. His eyes traveled over Y/n's disheveled state, taking in the messy hair, the tear-streaked face, and the hastily thrown-on pajamas.

"Y/n, I was worried. You haven't been answering calls or messages," Kaeya said gently, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Y/n struggled to meet his gaze, her vulnerability laid bare. "I… I needed some time alone."

Kaeya's expression softened even further as he stepped closer, "Can I come in?"

Y/n hesitated but eventually nodded, allowing him entry into her private sanctuary. As Kaeya entered, he took in the traces of her emotional turmoil scattered throughout the room.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he began, choosing his words carefully. "I care about you, Y/n. I just… I wanted to make sure you're okay."

She looked at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears, "Kaeya, I… I don't know what to do. I'm scared."

He took a step closer, reaching out to gently wipe away a tear from her cheek. "You don't have to be scared, Y/n. We can take things at your pace. I'm here for you."

A fragile smile played on Y/n's lips as she allowed herself to lean into his comforting presence.

"It comes so easy it does not seem possible and the connection sweeps you off the ground because you never planned for it."

Winter draped the city in a soft blanket of snow, and as the holiday season approached, Y/n found herself on the path to healing, guided by Kaeya's patient presence. Their bond had weathered the storms of uncertainty, and with each passing day, the warmth between them grew stronger.

One chilly evening, they strolled through the twinkling streets adorned with festive decorations. Families bustled about, and the air was filled with the joyous anticipation of the upcoming celebrations. Y/n couldn't help but notice the couples hand in hand, the laughter, and the shared moments that painted the city with a special kind of magic.

As they walked together, Y/n felt a comforting warmth radiating from Kaeya. The time spent healing had allowed her to unravel the layers of fear and uncertainty, revealing the genuine love and care Kaeya had consistently offered.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n turned to Kaeya, her heart pounding but filled with a newfound clarity. "Kaeya, I… I love you."

His eyes sparkled with genuine happiness, and without a moment's hesitation, he scooped her up in his arms, twirling her around. Peppering kisses all over her face, Kaeya chuckled, "I love you too, Y/n! More than you can imagine."

As she giggled, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the simplicity of loving Kaeya. It felt easy, natural, and unlike the complicated loves of her past. Ajax, the childhood friend, brought comfort but carried the weight of duty. Chongyun, the intense love, brought excitement but was overshadowed by the strain of constant conflict.

With Kaeya, it was different. His patience, understanding, and genuine affection created a love that flowed effortlessly. In the embrace of the winter evening, Y/n realized that loving Kaeya was like navigating through a calm river after weathering tempestuous seas. It felt easy, secure, and filled with a warmth that melted away the remnants of her past doubts and fears.

"It is the love you’ll spend the rest of your life with."

The snowfall from the night they confessed to each other was a distant memory as Y/n and Kaeya stood together at the altar, surrounded by the warmth of their love and the presence of friends and family. The ceremony marked the culmination of a journey filled with challenges, growth, and an enduring commitment to each other.

The venue was adorned with flowers, the air filled with the sweet melody of joy, and the love between Y/n and Kaeya radiated, turning the ceremony into a celebration of a lifetime. Y/n, in a breathtaking wedding gown, looked at Kaeya with eyes filled with love, and he, in a sharp suit, beamed with pride.

As they exchanged vows, promising to stand by each other in sickness and health, in joy and sorrow, the connection they shared blossomed into a bond that would withstand the test of time. The wedding guests, a mix of family and friends, looked on with smiles and tears, witnessing the union of two souls destined to spend the rest of their lives together.

After the ceremony, as Y/n and Kaeya danced under the starlit sky, they caught glimpses of the other two important figures from Y/n's past. Ajax, her childhood friend, danced with his partner, a person who brought stability and warmth into his life. Chongyun, the intense love, swirled around the dance floor with his partner, a companion who complemented his spirit with laughter and understanding.

It was a moment of shared happiness, a realisation that the journey of love took different paths for each of them. Y/n's heart swelled with gratitude for the past loves that had shaped her and led her to this moment.

As the night continued, Y/n and Kaeya revelled in the joy of their love, surrounded by the people who mattered most. The dance floor buzzed with laughter, the music echoed through the night, and the stars above bore witness to a love that had endured and triumphed.

And so, Y/n and Kaeya stepped into the adventure of a lifetime, hand in hand, ready to face whatever the future held. As they sealed their love with a kiss under the moonlit sky, the promise of spending the rest of their lives together unfolded, a journey filled with love, laughter, and the beautiful simplicity of a love that felt just right.

[marixadxo]

Life With Price and your new Baby girl

----Heads up!--------

This story contains {Lovey Dovey and Protective} relationship

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the heart of the bustling city, Captain Price and Y/N found themselves in a rare moment of tranquility. The chaos of their usual missions had taken a back seat to the overwhelming joy that had just entered their lives—a baby girl, born into a world far different from the battlegrounds they were accustomed to. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the room, Captain Price held their precious daughter in his arms. His stern expression softened as he gazed down at the tiny, fragile being he now cradled. With a tenderness not often seen on the battlefield, he whispered soothing words to the baby, marveling at her delicate features. Y/N sat beside him, a mixture of exhaustion and pure elation on their face. They reached out to gently stroke the baby's cheek, their touch as gentle as a feather. The baby stirred, her fingers curling around Y/N's in response. The room was filled with an atmosphere of wonder and love, a far cry from the explosions and gunfire they were used to. "I never thought I'd see the day," Price remarked, his voice gruff yet laced with an undeniable affection. Y/N smiled, their eyes reflecting the same sentiment. "It's a different kind of mission, that's for sure." Price chuckled softly, his gaze shifting from the baby to Y/N. "Aye, and one worth fighting for." As the night deepened, they settled into a rhythm of caring for their newborn daughter. Price, usually commanding squads and making split-second tactical decisions, found himself captivated by the simplicity of holding his child, marveling at the boundless potential wrapped in such a small package. Y/N leaned against him, finding solace in his presence as they navigated the uncharted territory of parenthood. They exchanged tired but contented smiles, grateful for the respite from their demanding lives as soldiers. In the days that followed, Captain Price and Y/N juggled the responsibilities of protecting the world and nurturing their new family. The contrast between their roles on the battlefield and their roles as parents was stark, yet it brought a newfound depth to their partnership. Their shared experiences, both harrowing and heartwarming, forged an unbreakable bond between them. As their daughter grew, she became a living embodiment of their love and resilience. Price taught her stories of valor and sacrifice, while Y/N imparted the importance of empathy and compassion. And while their lives never ceased to be complicated and fraught with danger, they faced each challenge with the unwavering determination of parents who knew the true meaning of sacrifice and duty. In the end, Captain Price and Y/N discovered that their greatest mission was not one of warfare, but of love—for their daughter, for each other, and for the world they hoped to make safer for future generations.

[xthewhiteravenx]

Fanfic Ideas I Probably Will Never Write (9/?)

SUMMARY: While at an antique store, you and colby accidentally both touch the same clock, throwing you both into a loop of endless day and night. The only thing that will save you is a violent act of you both driving into the antique store building. But while the antique store lays in ruins, something else was built between you two.

Rating: Teen and Up

The decision hung heavily in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to stretch time itself. You and Colby stood before the ruins of the antique store, the remnants of shattered glass and splintered wood like fragments of a shattered reality. The relentless loop of day and night had pushed you to the brink, and now, the only way out lay in the violent act of crashing your car into the heart of the store.

The car's engine rumbled with an eerie anticipation, a reflection of the turmoil within both of you. The gravity of what you were about to do weighed down on your shoulders like a leaden cloak. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue across the sky, as if the universe itself was holding its breath, awaiting the outcome of this endeavor.

As you and Colby exchanged glances, the flares of the car's headlights danced in your eyes, casting flickering shadows that mirrored the uncertainty in your hearts. The moment was charged with a mingling of determination and fear, an unspoken understanding that the consequences of this action were unknown, the outcome a high-stakes gamble.

"Ready?" you asked, your voice a blend of resolve and vulnerability.

Colby's gaze met yours, their expression a mélange of courage and trepidation. "As ready as we can be, I guess. It's now or never."

The words hung in the air like a declaration of defiance, a refusal to bow to the chains of the temporal anomaly any longer. With a shared nod, you both stepped into the car, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white under the pressure. The engine's growl swelled to a roar as the wheels lurched forward, propelling you toward the gaping maw of the antique store's ruins.

The impact was jarring, a cacophony of shattering glass and splintering wood that seemed to reverberate through your very bones. Time seemed to slow as the car plowed through the wreckage, each shard of debris a testament to the strength of your will to break free. The world around you blurred into a symphony of chaos and destruction, the very fabric of reality bending and warping.

As the dust settled and the car came to a stop amidst the wreckage, a tense silence enveloped you both. The store, once a holder of history and nostalgia, now lay in ruins, a stark reminder of the lengths you were willing to go to escape the relentless cycle. Breathing heavily, you turned to Colby, your eyes searching for any sign that the gamble had paid off.

Colby's lips curled into a wry smile, a mixture of relief and disbelief playing across their features. "Well," they began, their voice laced with a flirty edge, "I guess that's one way to make an entrance."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the moment releasing in a wave of emotion. "And here I thought we were just going for a leisurely drive."

The flirty exchange was a lifeline, a reminder that amidst the uncertainty and danger, your connection with Colby remained unbreakable. But it was the confession that followed that truly shattered the lingering uncertainty.

Colby's gaze held yours, their eyes revealing a depth of emotion that words alone couldn't capture. "You know, when we were stuck in that endless loop, there was something I wanted to say..."

Your heart raced, anticipation mingling with the weight of the situation. "What is it?"

A breath exhaled shakily, as if they were releasing a secret they had held onto for far too long. "I realized that life is too short—or maybe, in our case, too long—to keep things unsaid. So, here it is: I've always had feelings for you."

The confession hung in the air, a moment suspended in time as the world around you seemed to fade into insignificance. In the midst of chaos and destruction, amidst the uncertainty of survival, the raw honesty of Colby's words formed a fragile bridge between your souls.

As you reached for their hand, fingers intertwining in the aftermath of the tumultuous journey, you couldn't help but smile through the uncertainty. "Well, then I guess crashing into a building to break a time loop is as good a time as any to say... I feel the same way."

The tension that had gripped you both gave way to a shared sense of understanding, an unspoken promise that no matter the outcome, the connection you had forged was unbreakable. The wreckage around you held not just the remnants of a store but also the echoes of a confession that defied the bounds of time itself.

[cleo-c-art]

🌂❤️✂️ for stonearm!

Thanks for letting me talk about my girl!

Two sketches to go with these. Answers are below the text break!

What genre do they belong in?

Stonearm absolutely belongs in the seedy underbelly of high fantasy! She's a rogue/fighter who almost dipped into paladin and has the divinely favored feat. Her 'birthright' is paladin-hood and a lawful, honorable connection to a good god. Her inheritor background brought her a beautiful rapier with a diamond in the hilt (+ a curse from a demon and a second hand blessing from her birth mom's dying breath.) The path she chose is much less knightly: running away at 16 to join a gang, drink, commit crimes, and do mushrooms. In a high fantasy world, she ran from herself so far that she has spent the vast majority of her life in jail (and when she was free she was usually not sober.)

What is one of your OC's best memories?

About two weeks ago in-game, Stonearm got to meet her deity, Segojan Earthcaller. He offered her a lot of good advice as well as the only flowers she'd ever seen in real life. In accepting his blessing, she became one of his holy warriors, her stone arm (which had been actually turning to ooze, long story) was restored to flesh, and the hold the demon had on her was broken. For about an hour she got to be super happy and was excited to have full use of and feeling in her hand, which she never had before, but then of course things went bad later that day. A few days later she found out the blessing also made her not age, so she is going to outlive everyone she loves, and that kinda sullied the memory a little and messed with her connection to her god. Despite that, meeting the Earthcaller is the only time she has ever really felt peace and warmth.

What is one of your OC's worst memories?

She has so many it's hard to choose from! About a week ago in-game is probably now her worst memory. Stonearm, after getting drunk and feeling truly horrible about herself, went to go talk to her gf Aitha about their future. They had established they were getting back together and were going to make decisions as a team, but they hadn't really agreed on what their future was. When Stonearm got to Aitha's room, she found a letter and Aitha's sword on the bed. Reading the letter, Aitha didn't really break up with her, but I thought for a while that it was probably the end of them anyways as she made such a huge decision against everything Stonearm has stressed about what she needs from Aitha. The DM agreed that that was a very fair reaction lol. Another good contender for worst memory is when Stonearm had to fight three of her and Aitha's dead friends who had been turned into monsters, then Aitha left her to deal with it and get drunk, and then Stonearm's late best friend's head got thrown in sewer water by a naked rat guy. When she went to check in on Aitha, she got yelled at by Aitha's brother Peak (misguided barbarian anger, he later apologized) and then Aitha got mad at her (sad drunk barbarian anger.) Then, in the morning, she found out a party-mate had, in cold blood, killed the two friends they managed to subdue instead of kill in the original fight. That also really sucked.

[theoneandonlyyuriaoo]

The Unseen Dilemma

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the bustling city of Yokohama cast long shadows over its dark secrets. In the heart of this enigmatic realm, the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia existed as opposing forces, battling for control, influence, and dominance. However, for one individual, the line between the two organizations became blurred.

You, the reader, were once a devoted member of the Armed Detective Agency. Your supernatural ability to manipulate shadows was invaluable in solving countless cases. You had a sense of purpose and a desire to help the innocent. But deep within, you held a secret longing for more, something that the Agency couldn't offer.

One fateful night, as the city's underworld was gripped by a series of mysterious disappearances, you received a message. It was an invitation from none other than the enigmatic Port Mafia boss, Mori Ougai. He recognized the potential of your shadow manipulation ability and believed it could be a valuable asset to the Port Mafia.

Conflicted and torn between your loyalty to the Agency and the allure of the Port Mafia's power and influence, you decided to meet Mori in a secluded location. The encounter was shrouded in secrecy, hidden from both organizations, and you were welcomed into the underground world.

The transition was not without challenges. Your fellow Agency members saw you as a traitor, and your new Port Mafia colleagues eyed you with suspicion. As you trained under the watchful eye of Mori, you honed your abilities further, mastering the manipulation of shadows to an extent you never thought possible.

The more you delved into the Port Mafia's world, the more you understood its complexities. You witnessed the dark and morally ambiguous actions that the Port Mafia took to maintain control over Yokohama. It was a far cry from the Agency's noble mission, but the power you wielded made you feel invincible.

One day, a case arose that would force you to confront your loyalties. It was a case that pitted the two organizations against each other, and you found yourself in a precarious position. Your decision would determine the outcome, with no easy way out.

In the end, you chose to follow your own path, not beholden to any organization. You realized that the world of Yokohama was a complex and multifaceted place, where the lines between good and evil were not always clear-cut. Your decision, though not without its consequences, allowed you to navigate the treacherous waters of the city and make your own mark on its history.

And so, you walked the tightrope between light and shadow, a unique force in Yokohama, with the power to shape your destiny as you saw fit.

[pure-garbage]

Preoccupation Over Discipline. What Does Zoro Want?

Zoro was having a hard time focusing. Training usually cleared his head, but in this case, his routine only drew him nearer the source of his distraction.

"Up... over... pivot... and slice!"

Lana went along with the motions of Zoro's drill, empty hands mimicking the swordsman's form. He watched a drop of sweat slide down her neck, eyes following its trail all the way until it disappeared between her breasts, falling below the collar of her top. Lana noticed Zoro's intent gaze and frowned tersely.

"Am I doing it wrong?" she asked.

"Uh... no! But... just bend your knees a little more."

"Like this?"

"Yeah. Now, up... lunge. Hold..."

Zoro tried to lose himself in the familiar, rhythmic flow of one form to the next, but his eyes kept escaping his control and drifting back to his crewmate. Lana's concentration was complete, the movements engrained just deep enough in muscle memory that she could follow his instructions without studying his posture. She breathed carefully, evenly, through barely parted lips that drew Zoro's gaze. It had been less than a week since those same lips had met his, under water and the desperate pressure of his imminent drowning.

He felt a flush creeping over his face as he remembered their softness, the sweet taste they'd left behind on his. His tongue darted out absent-mindedly, as if it might catch a remainder of that faint, sugary essence lingering still.

"One more set? Zoro? Zoro?"

"Huh?"

Lana's voice ripped him back to the present. He diverted his eyes quickly, stretching to hide his discomfort at being caught staring.

"No, I uh... I need to cool off some."

"You're done?"

"Go on without me."

"You're just looking for an excuse to get out of meditation," Lana accused playfully.

"I'm not, I'll finish up later. I'm just too hot, that's all," he insisted.

Lana dipped into a deep stretch as Zoro prepared to dive overboard. His hands froze, sudden chagrin overcoming him at the thought of taking off any more clothes in Lana's line of sight. He started up the mast instead, causing Lana to raise a questioning brow at his break in routine.

"No swim? We'll raise anchor soon, you know."

"I know. It's fine."

Zoro climbed faster, heaving a loud sigh of relief when he reached the crow's nest.

"Get it together, would you?" he berated himself, running a hand through his hair as the cool sea breeze soothed his flushed skin and cleared his foggy mind.

"1, 2, 3..."

Lana was still exercising on the deck below. Zoro caught himself glancing down and pointed his eyes skyward hastily.

'Don't be indecent. That damn cook does more than enough gawking for the whole crew,' he scolded himself inwardly.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Lana's exerted counting rose like a lullaby, calling the restive swordsman to the sweet reprieve of unconsciousness. The events on the Seeker pirate ship kept pulling him back, replaying against the pitch backdrop of his eyelids.

Zoro kept revisiting the instant he set eyes on Lana, bound to the mast, her former captain leering over her with a possessiveness that bordered on maniacal.

"You're mine, Avariya!"

Even remembering the words nearly tore a growl from Zoro. He steadied his breathing and opened his eyes, which was so much more than he'd been able to do in that moment. Zoro prized control, but watching Corrin leaning so close to Lana, seeing his hand muzzling her, seeing her so distressed...

Zoro didn't regret losing control, but he couldn't deny it either. When he cut Corrin down, it wasn't a decision and that fact bothered him.

'I'd have done the same for anyone else,' he reassured himself. The act alone was nothing special. The rage that drove it though... that was unlike anything he'd ever felt in his life. Even privately, he couldn't deny that his wrath wasn't motivated by chivalry. Far from it.

"She's not yours! She never was, and she never will be!"

Zoro shivered at the memory, not of what he'd said. The words he held back were what shook him.

'Avariya Lana is mine!'

Except she wasn't.

Zoro groaned, letting his head fall into his hands, eyes snapping open as Lana continued counting below.

"... 108, 109, 110..."

She was his shipmate. His sparring partner, his occasional medic, but rightfully, he had no claim on her. Her words rang through his mind, fresh as they'd been two days ago when they traded histories.

'I've spent my whole life running from one jailer to the next.'

Zoro knew he needed to kill his growing desire to possess Lana. She wasn't something to be owned. Given her experiences and the importance she placed on her independence, he doubted possessiveness would go over well with her if she caught wind of it.

"... 244, 245, 246..."

He leaned back, gaze cast over the side of the lookout, watching Lana as she kept going through her self-prescribed routine.

'Her form is good. You can stop looking now,' he thought grumpily. It took longer than it should have, but he did tear his gaze from her body.

He closed his eyes with a sigh. Instantly, he was back under the sea, Lana's lips burning against his.

'It wasn't a kiss,' he reminded himself. 'It was just air. It was a clever trick to keep me alive. That's all it was.'

The same for the second time. The third as well.

Suddenly, Zoro's memory shifted, his imagination taking over and tugging him into the realm of fantasy. The sensation of Lana's lips on his, her palms on his chest, her legs wrapped around his waist...

His heart pounded and he gasped for breath at the vividness of the scene, pieces torn from separate memories and merging into a vision that left him reeling from its impact. He clutched the rails as fire raced through his veins, Lana's soft voice echoing at his ear.

'Zoro...'

It sounded so real that he had to look down to make sure she was still exercising.

"I need to get a grip," he groaned. He couldn't keep drifting off to fantasy land every five minutes.

"... 391, 392, 393..."

Zoro stormed down the mast, resolve fixed. He wouldn't look at her. Not until he got a handle on the confusing feelings brewing inside him. When he reached the deck, he grabbed his shirt off the barrel where he'd left it. Robin sat reading in the sun near the cabin door. Zoro paid her no mind and she ignored him in turn. Despite their adventures together in the clouds, he still couldn't bring himself to fully trust their newest crewmate. Even so, Nico Robin's possible motives and the looming potential of her betrayal were shoved to the back of his mind.

"...436, 437, 438..."

Zoro circled the deck needlessly, stripping down to his boxers out of Lana's line of sight. Still, he felt eyes following him.

'Nico Robin,' he grumbled internally. He clenched his jaw and ignored her gaze as he dropped into the water. He sank gratefully, but as the salt stung his eyes and the cool ebb and flow caressed his skin, he was reminded even more strongly of his near drowning.

Lana's quick solution may have saved his life, but now he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her.

Oh.

'Is that all?' he wondered.

He broke the surface of the water, floating lazily on his back as he surrendered to indulgent fantasizing.

'I could walk up to her any time.'

Maybe after training. Before dinner, after. Maybe in the dead of night, mid-watch, his or hers.

'Zoro? What is it?'

He would have to lean down. He stood easily a head taller than her. Once he was on her level, he could do it.

Back in reality, Zoro's tongue crept out to swipe slowly over his lips as he imagined kissing Lana.

'Yeah... that's it. That's what I want,' he realized. Now that the nebulous desire had a name, it didn't seem so daunting anymore. Excitement bubbled up in his chest as he cemented the conclusion in his mind.

Zoro always took what he wanted. Why should this kiss be any different?"

"Idiot!" he cursed aloud, sinking beneath the waves as he was overcome with frustration at himself.

'She's not something I can just take like a nap or a swim or a drink. It's more complicated with a person. What if she doesn't want me kissing her?'

Zoro remembered how irritated she'd been when he tried to pull her mouth to his for a fourth time. The look she'd given him...

He sighed underwater, then followed the bubbles to the surface so he could breathe.

Lana definitely didn't want Zoro to kiss her.

'That settles it,' he thought glumly. 'I'll just forget about the whole thing. I won't think about it again. Easy.'

___________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

==First Chapter ==

[cherryrainn]

Of all the possible character options, my friends chose the old villain - the shredder.

After a while, I will send this request again because my friends are not very patient people

Husband! Shredder x fem wife! reader

(recommended to listen)

In the song, of course, a completely different story, but together with death there will be a different outcome, that is, a declaration of love

Sorry for the very very very strange request

Tmnt 2014

━━ ✧ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐩

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; shredder (oroku saki) + reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; most of this is just a flashback to highschool hehe (had to ask questions about it in dms)

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; mentions of suicidal thoughts and emotional turmoil

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; here

as you stand on the rooftop of your apartment building, the cool night breeze ruffling your hair, memories from the past come rushing back. the sound of distant traffic and the flickering city lights transport you to a different time, a time when the weight of your emotions threatened to consume you.

you think back, a recollection of a pivotal moment in your life—a moment that began on the rooftop of your school.

it was a quiet evening, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty rooftop of your school. you stood there, your heart heavy with an unbearable weight. this rooftop had become your sanctuary, the place where you had sought solitude when your emotions overwhelmed you. and tonight, it was the place you had chosen for what felt like an impossible decision.

your gaze was fixed on the schoolyard below, where students laughed and chatted, oblivious to your presence above. you had climbed up here with a purpose, a gnawing ache in your heart that you could no longer ignore. it was a feeling you had carried for far too long, a love that you believed was unrequited.

oroku saki, the enigmatic and popular student, was the object of your affection. you had seen countless girls approach him, their hearts in their eyes, only to be dismissed with an elegant wave of his hand and a charming smile. you believed that he was out of your league, that he would never notice someone like you. why would you be any different?

but tonight was different. tonight, you couldn't suppress your emotions any longer. you had convinced yourself that your feelings for saki were a hopeless cause, but deep down, you longed for him to know. you wanted to confess your love, even if it meant revealing your vulnerability.

unbeknownst to you, your feelings were not as one-sided as you believed. saki had been silently observing you from the shadows, captivated by your unique beauty and gentle demeanor. he, too, had been nursing a secret affection, but the fear of rejection had kept him from confessing.

tonight, something had changed within him. saki had gathered the courage to seek you out, to find you and lay his heart bare. he had combed the entire school, inquiring about your whereabouts, until he finally received a lead that you had been seen heading to the rooftop.

with each step he took towards the rooftop, his heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced. he thought about all the words he would say, the feelings he would reveal, and the risk he was taking. but he couldn't suppress his love any longer.

as he reached the rooftop and saw you standing at the edge, his heart ached with concern. he couldn't let you jump, not when he had to tell you how he felt.

"y/n!" he called out, his voice filled with genuine worry.

startled, you turned to see oroku saki running toward you. his dark eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and determination, and his handsome face was flushed with emotion.

"y/n, please don't do this," he implored, his voice softer now. "i can't bear to see you hurt. and there's something i need to tell you."

he reached out to gently hold your trembling hands. "i've watched you from afar, admired your kindness, your beauty, your strength. i was a fool to let my own fears hold me back from telling you this sooner, but i can't hide it any longer. y/n, i love you."

tears welled up in your eyes, but they were not tears of sadness; they were tears of overwhelming emotion. you had never expected to hear these words from him, especially not here, on this rooftop.

"you... you love me?" you stammered.

he nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "yes, with all my heart. i can't imagine a world without you in it. please, don't ever think of hurting yourself again. i'm here."

you stood on that rooftop, two hearts laid bare, as the sun set behind you. you realized that you had nearly lost your life just moments before, but now you had gained something far more precious—a love that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to be revealed.

years later, as you stood together, husband and wife, you thought back to that fateful evening on the school rooftop. it had been the turning point in your lives, the moment when you had confessed your love and found solace in each other's arms. you both knew that it was a love that would last a lifetime, one that had conquered the darkest moments and emerged stronger on the other side.

[littlemourningstarr]

Maelstrom

Pushed to their breaking points, the party has finally reached Thorm Mausoleum. But what awaits within, and below, will change the course of their lives irreversibly. For some, it will shake the very foundation their lives have been built on.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Transmasc tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, violence, gore, plot heavy, alluding to past SA, everyone is tired and angry

The Thorm Mausoleum loomed in the dark, imposing as it sat atop a slight incline. The air felt thinner here, colder somehow. Sekh swore he could nearly see his breath. Behind him, Shadowheart was walking very close to Karlach, attempting to leech as much heat as possible from her.

Deciding to fracture the group had been a hard decision- but they finally agreed it was best for some of them to stay back, with the Harpers. Whatever this relic was they were looking for, once they had it they would have precious little time to strike.

They began ascending a set of uneven stones, used in place of stairs, when a voice spoke out from ahead, “Our hero thought but a treasure ahead.”

Sekh paused, glancing around. Gods above and below he knew that voice.

“Did not consider the peace of the dead.” Raphael stepped into view, as the group finished ascending the stones. He was masquerading as a man, but Sekh could just smell the sulfur buried under cherries and musk. Having seen him, even just once, in his true form, Sekh could never stop seeing it, as if Rapheal’s edges blurred, flitted in and out of focus.

The devil continued, quite obviously loving the sound of his own voice. The speech was showy, flippant and unnecessary. Furthest back, Sekh was sure Karlach was grinding her teeth.

When the devil finally stopped- did he ever breathe? Did devils need to breathe?- Sekh folded his arms, inclining his head slightly. “A warning,” he mused, “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Raphael.” Not that Sekh believed for a moment the devil truly cared about their well-being for any altruistic reason-

But it was fun to tease. Besides, he preferred whatever games the devil played with them to the countless unknowns of the stranger in Shadowheart’s artifact- Astral Prism. Devils were almost predictable, there was always a catch.

But that stranger? Sekh didn’t know how to read them- he just knew they sent a chill down his spine. Yet he hadn’t killed them at Vlaaktih’s command-

Frankly, he’d do almost anything to spit the wretched lich queen.

“Merely protecting my…assets.” Raphael held up his hand, traced a curve in the air, as if he knew the shape of Sekh’s hips, the dip of his waist. The drow didn’t need to glance to his side to know Astarion was frowning over that. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, in my own way. And I felt it only right to warn you of the dangers ahead.”

“How very sweet.” Sekh unfolded his arms, lifted his dominant hand, let the air crackle with the chill of death as he pulled at his necrotic magic. “I can handle myself, Raphael.” Especially with the company he kept- Sekh had little fear when any of his companions were with him. He trusted them with his life, with his death.

“Oh, I’m sure you can, little dark dweller. If I needed reassurance on that, I could simply ask your little vampling.” Raphael turned his glance to Astarion- and why was Sekh not surprised that Raphael knew about them? Why did he have a feeling Raphael knew the moment Sekh had first bedded Astarion?

Damn devils- bloody know-it-alls.

“It would be pointless to try and bar you from entering- you’re far too willful to listen. Honestly, Astarion, is he as much of a handful in bed as he is in simple conversation?” Before the vampire could answer, Raphael continued- obviously not actually caring for the elf’s input. “Instead, let me give you a bit of advice. Because I am oh so fond of you.”

Sekh felt a sudden sting, radiating from his left hand, his middle finger- the ring. He didn’t dare glance at it, lest he give Raphael any more information about him than the devil already had. He could only fathom that the discomfort was stemming from Astarion’s own.

Sekh shifted slightly closer to him, dared to move his hand slightly, trail a finger along his hand. He didn’t dare grab it- he wasn’t interested in any further commentary by Raphael- but he wanted to let the vampire know it was alright. This would be alright.

Lost in his own voice, Raphael didn’t seem to notice. “There is a creature that lurks, in silence and shadow. A creature who, like me, is very much of the infernal persuasion. Should it make its way out of the doors you are about to brazenly swing open, you’ll have unleashed a pestilence upon this realm.”

“So, are we talking an ex-lover?” Karlach spoke up, the sneer on her lips dripping into her words.

Raphael leveled a glare at her. “It is carnage incarnate. Should you meet this devil, do not hesitate, take no other course of action but to kill it. And kill it quickly.” Sekh waved his hand in the air, motioning for Raphael to give him more. Besides, Karlach’s question wasn’t unfounded.  Raphael frowned. “You try my last nerve, love.” He took a step closer, and Sekh could tell he was squaring his shoulders, puffing out his chest.

It was laughable that he could be in a pissing contest with a damn devil.

“It would be in my best interest as well, should the creature remain in the dark- or conveniently misplace its head. So strike fast and strike true- and perhaps the next time I see you, you’ll be wholly intact.”

Lovely parting words, although Sekh did appreciate knowing there was something infernal lurking below. He was glad to have the devil take his leave, when Astarion stepped forward, in front of him. “Wait. Before you go, I have a proposal of my own.”

“Astarion?” Sekh asked, not even able to whisper. A proposal? He had been so adamant about not taking Raphael’s assistance with their parasite- not that Sekh disagreed- that the drow couldn’t fathom what the vampire could want from Raphael now.

Unless…

“A proposal? If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern whiskey.” Raphael gently twirled his wrist, as if he was swirling wine in a glass, to appreciate its aroma.

Astarion frowned, his brows knitting in frustration. “This is serious business, devil.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “My old…” and two words in, paused. The word master must have tasted like the most vile poison, Sekh was sure. “A long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”

“Runes?” Karlach asked, sounding quite fairly confused. Sekh had kept his word to Astarion and told not a soul about his scars. As far as he was aware, Rolan was the only other person to have seen them, to know they existed.

“It’s something of great important to your master. But- is it a love letter?” Sekh could see Astarion tremble, a tremor traveling down his spine. He had never asked for Astarion to elaborate on the details of how Cazador mistreated him- he didn’t want the vampire to ever relive even the memories- but he had a terrible, sinking, gut wrenching feeling that thoughts he had always hoped were wrong were far too true. “A warning, perhaps? Or a deed of ownership? Oh, I can give you all the gory details, Astarion.” Raphael reached out, gripped Astarion’s chin, forced him to tilt his head back slightly. Sekh reached out without thinking, grabbed Raphael’s wrist and squeezed, feeling bone grind against bone.

The devil merely chuckled, as if Sekh’s gesture was cute, and held not an ounce of threat.

“And I will- once the beast that lurks below is vanquished, and sent back to the hells.”

Astarion pulled away from Raphael’s touch, his voice sounding rather calm, despite the unwelcomed touch. “A fairer deal than I expected.”

“You wound me spawn! I always deal fairly- especially with those I find so… endearing. But I am glad that we have an… understanding. Scars often tell such wonderful stories. I think yours might be truly… exquisite.”

Raphael chuckled then, snapped his fingers, and dissipated into little glittering sparks of fire. The wind carried them away quickly, and Sekh turned to face Astarion as Karlach and Shadowheart both spoke at once-

“What scars are we talking about?”

“Astarion you had better not have just contracted us into a devil’s debt!”

Astarion frowned, but didn’t answer the others. He did meet Sekh’s gaze, however. “Do you trust a deal with him?”

“I’d trust a devil over a vampire anyday,” he said, folding his arms- looking rather sullen. “Besides, what other options do I have? Whatever Cazador carved into me is only a fragment of something bigger- and considering the other spawn aren’t here for us to line up nice and neat, I need someone who can decipher it despite the missing text.”

Sekh nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Shadowheart yelled, pushing up close to them. “Sekh we are indebted to a devil!”

Sekh didn’t blame Shadowheart for her concern. They had all been very adamant to avoid Raphael’s first deal. But Sekh also knew these scars were clawing at Astarion, tearing him open with their mysteries. He deserved to know the details of whatever that rat bastard had done to him.

“To kill another infernal,” Sekh pointed out. He turned back to Karlach. “At least one devil dies- right Karlach?”

The tiefling thought on it, before shrugging a shoulder. “You’re not wrong. I’m happy to spill any devil blood. And if it will help Astarion…" She cast a very fond look at the elf. “Then I’m in. I just wish you’d clued us in sooner, fancy boy.”

Astarion looked away, but Sekh could see a smile, trying to pull at his lips. The relief, that it wasn’t just Sekh willing to take a risk for him.

Shadowheart sighed, hanging her head. “I hate you all so much,” she muttered, before taking a deep breath and straightening back up. “Okay. So we find Ketheric’s relic and we kill a devil. Completely reasonable and plausible actions for us, with little to no chance of failure, injury, or untimely death.”

“That’s the spirit fringe!” Karlach slapped Shadowheart’s back, grinning, and Sekh tried to stifle a chuckle. Even Astarion was smiling now- and Sekh hoped the vampire realized that he could have opened up to their companions earlier on. That they were all here for him.

*

The mausoleum smelled of dust and old bones, the air still, cool to an unpleasant level. Each footstep the group took seemed to echo- and they all nearly jumped out of their skins when a skull began talking to them.

A message, from Balthazar.

“I don’t relish the thought of making his acquaintance,” Astarion admitted, as Sekh stepped up towards the large sarcophagus in the center of the chambers. He read the encryption outloud. Thorm’s late wife.

“Seems even the most annoying of men can still be loved,” Shadowheart mused, adding, “but I suppose Astarion is proof of that as well.”

“You wretch,” Astarion teased, smiling with his fangs in full display. Sekh rolled his eyes and left them to their playfight, heading further into the structure. He heard Karlach call out to him, found her standing in front of a large room with a broken open tomb-

Well, that didn’t bode well.

“Buttons- under the pictures,” she noted, nodding towards one. Sekh scanned the room, noted the three- a simple flip them in the right order, it seemed. Meaning there was far more to this room than what they were seeing.

It took some digging about, flipping through dusty books and nearly rusted shut drawers- but Shadowheart found a clue, and they were able piece together the story Ketheric wanted painted- tragic, truly.

Sekh hoped no one would ask why they shed no tears.

They stepped into the now open passage, the grand entrance to something far more than just a family tomb. With no other options, they settled on the large disk- Sekh losing his footing when it began moving and landing painfully down on one knee. He was sure that was not a sign as to how this would go.

Once it had settled, Karlach hoisted him up, and they stared for a moment at the grand, echoing cavern-like tunnels. Smooth rock, polished to perfection- even if it felt like whatever this was had slept for years upon years, beneath the shadow cursed lands.

Deeper into the structure, the lights began to fade. They were faced with a large statue, and Sekh swore he heard a voice, echoing in the dark. He glanced at his companions, hoping he wasn’t crazy- and noted that Shadowheart seemed to be staring ahead in wonder.

“Shadowheart?”

“I cannot believe it,” she whispered, “But this… this must be the gauntlet of Shar. It would make sense that Ketheric would house it, since he was once devoted to the dark lady. And that,” she gestured to the air, to the voice that had rung in all of their heads. “That is Shar herself.”

Sekh frowned, glanced away from Shadowheart, caught Karlach’s eye. The tiefling looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. Shar wasn’t a deity any of them were interested in being acquainted with.

And after the talk Sekh had just had with Shadowheart, after the House of Healing- well, he’d thought-

“She loves me,” Shadowheart said, voice wispy, airy, light, “she must. She protected me from the shadows- she’s given me the chance to prove myself in the Gauntlet. My life’s biggest desire- she is willing to see if I can truly be a Dark Justiciar.”

“Shadowheart,” Sekh said again, softer now, but she ignored him.

“I should never have faltered in her name.” She straightened up, held her head high. “I will prove myself, in her name.”

Shadowheart moved forward, leaving the rest behind. She was allowed to reach the statue of Shar in the center of the room without any hindrance, pressing her hand to the glimmering stone in front of her. The door across the room opened, the air moving in a cold breeze, like an exhale.

Sekh, Astarion, and Karlach had no choice but to rush to keep up with Shadowheart, who moved with a purpose now. She walked as if this temple were her own- like it was her birthright.

It set Sekh’s stomach to uneasy knots. But all he could do was follow her, in the hopes that her fanatical love would die to reason.

They reached and ascended a large flight of stairs, only to be abruptly stopped by-

Gods, were those skeletons?

The rattling bones were quite demanding, and clearly unhappy at the intrusion. They felt strange, a consciousness pulled between them- somehow there were tadpoles trying to react to Sekh’s, even though these were bones and dust.

“What are you?” he asked, before a tremor shook the room. He extended his arms, bracing himself, caught a glimpse of Astarion tipping over into Karlach, who caught him in a firm hold. The skeletons looked about, before one yelled,

“Stupid worm-infested cockhead!”

Well, that was one that Sekh’s mother would have been proud of.

“You have awoken the shadows. Rally on me! A wall of bone and blade against the shadows!”

The room quaked again, this time sending Sekh back down onto his knee- which ached upon impact- as seething masses of black and violet shadows erupted around them. Crawling from their maws were heavily armored undead, all masked-

“Dark Justiciars,” Shadowheart said, and then, dejected, “why would Shar’s dead attack? Am I being tested?”

“Not the time sweetheart,” Karlach said, hefting her large axe. “Kill first, contemplate later.” Without hesitation Karlach turned, swinging her axe into one of Shar’s dead, cleaving the thing clean in two. It fell to the ground with a clang of armor- and if anything had been inside it, it was nothing bust dust now.

Sekh noted the three shadow masses, each birthing new undead as quickly as Karlach could cut them down. They needed to take those down first.

“Karlach, Astarion,” he called, “you two take care of the undead- Shadowheart, you and I need to take care of those shadows- or we’ll drown in the undead.”

Thankfully Shadowheart gave a nod, turning to the closest and calling down a brilliant sphere of radiant light. The shadow shrieked as if it was living, and Sekh let loose a blast of his own shadow magic, letting it coil around the shadows writing in the light. There was a loud rush of air, as the darkened mass burst-

And didn’t return.

Okay. They could definitely do this.

Sekh and Shadowheart turned their attention to the next summoning portal, Shadowheart dropping low as one of the long dead Dark Justiciars swiped their sword clean through where her neck would have been. Before she could retaliate, Karlach was burying an axe in the thing’s back, snarling, “Do not touch my cleric.”

Sekh got goosebumps over the sheer power of her voice.

He trusted Shadowheart to right herself, and Karlach to ensure she stayed in one piece. He focused on the swarming shadows instead, trying his necrotic magic this time, to see if it had more effect.

The shadows growled, he swore, seeming to try and devour the death magic. It flickered, but didn’t go out- and he knew, the shadows it was.

He pulled on Syl’s powers, felt the shadows on his face swarming, hot, stretching along his neck, beginning to curl over his shoulder. The blast he released nearly knocked him back a step, a stream of shadows blacker than night swarming the summoning portal, engulfing it entirely. He tightened his fist, could feel his shadows choking the life out of Shar’s.

They had to be her shadows, right?

He could feel Syl laughing in his mind, enjoying exerting her own power over the goddess. Nothing but shadows herself, he knew Syl thought very little of the goddess of loss.

He didn’t disagree.

The portal screeched, before collapsing. Sekh’s shadows dissipated with it, and he turned, saw Shadowheart was already working on the third portal- thankfully, the last. It had been left dormant long enough, unfortunately, that it had quite the number of undead crawling out, twisting in ungodly ways as they righted themselves.

Astarion, having finished with a straggling Dark Justiciar from one of the other portals, rushed over, leaping into the air and kicking one of the undead in its hollow chest. His landing was a bit rough, as he went down on his knees- but as the Dark Justiciar stumbled, he dropped his daggers, grabbed one of his single handed crossbows, and fired into the opening between armor and mask.

A second and third shot sent the shade collapsing into nothing but rusted armor.

Sekh focused on the portal, Shadowheart already raining golden light down upon it. He joined, letting his shadows mingle within her light, creating a dizzying cascade of brilliant golds and a sheer black void. Both were gritting their teeth, concentrating, until the portal let out a resonating crack and dissipated.

Shadowheart and Sekh stumbled back, both sucking in a breath, as Karlach kicked one of the undead away from Astarion, shattering its bones with the force. It crumpled to the ground, as just as suddenly as the mayhem began, a silence fell over them.

For a moment, they were all still, coiled tight, waiting for anything to happen. Yet when it didn’t, after a minute, Astarion pushed himself up off the ground, stowing his crossbow, before gathering up his discarded daggers. Karlach settled her axe away, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the piles of bones and armor.

“Well, that was a warm welcome,” she mused. “Shadowheart, mind asking your goddess to lighten up on the hospitality just a little bit?”

Shadowhear frowned, folding her arms, as Sekh crouched down by one of the piles of bones. He poked at the skull, hand recoiling as a tadpole flopped out of the eye socket, wriggling. It was dying.

“Ugh,” Astarion managed, fighting back a gag. “I would rather not be reminded of what those worms look like, thank you.” He kicked a pile of bones, before jumping back, another tadpole dislodged by his action, being shot a few paces forward to land on the ground in a wet splatter. “I am going to be sick.”

“No time for that soldier,” Karlach said, though she pointedly did not look at the dead tadpoles. “How the fuck did someone worm a damn skeleton?”

“No idea,” Sekh admitted, standing up and brushing dust from his hands. “But there’s necromancy at play, serious necromancy.” He planted his hands on his hips, forcing himself to not focus on how cold it seemed now. As if the life was being drained from the air around them.

“So, like your magic?” Karlach asked, as she moved closer to Shadowheart, seemed to be checking the cleric over for injuries. Shadowheart tried to bat her away, but there seemed no stopping Karlach from fussing over her.

“No,” Sekh admitted. “No, I… I’ve never had the skill for necromancy. My spells are simple death magic- but I’m not reanimating the dead. My mother couldn’t even do that- hells I don’t think anyone in my line has been able to for generations.”

“But they could once?” Karlach asked, looking intrigued. Sekh simply shrugged a shoulder- he’d heard his mother say they could, once. But the magic dwindled throughout their bloodline, as they turned more to brute force.

Hence, his mother’s shortsword.

The matter dropped as they weighed their next options. There was another disk, just ahead of the room’s large entrance- but it seemed dormant. The strange pedestal in front of it had a small indent, as if it needed something.

Progressing right led to a broken staircase, while left was actually attainable. They went that path, passing at the landing. Another set of stairs, or a long, shadowed hallway. Sekh felt the air moving, swore he heard a murmur, and Shadowheart was turning quickly, moving into the hallway. Past a large statue of Shar, she pressed her palm to a door, pushing as the rest of the party caught up with her.

The door creaked as it opened, as if it hadn’t been touched in one hundred years. The room was nearly pitch black, the faintest light creeping in. Set a few paces back, a statue of Shar stood, over a large stone bowl. Sekh and Shadowheart moved towards it, Sekh noting the dried blood caked within.

“These are her trials,” Shadowheart said, the awe back in her voice. “She needs a blood offering.” She turned to Sekh then, eyes pleading, “I need to do this. I need to know I’m worthy.”

Sekh bit his tongue. He was terrified of what this would do to Shadowheart- but he also had to respect her desires. He had to trust her.

He moved for one of his daggers, knowing he was possibly the most acclimated to bleeding at this point- but Shadowheart placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Let me,” she whispered. Sekh nodded, stepped back as Shadowheart pulled out a dagger, gave her arm a slice, grimaced as her blood dripped slowly into the bowl- a vibrant crimson compared to the long dead blood of her predecessors.

The gentle splash of her blood broke the silence, and then the creaking metal gates moved, cracking open, providing multiple entries further into the room. Shadowheart pulled her sleeve down, stowing her blade.

“I have to do this alone.” She glanced at Karlach and Astarion, both a few paces back. While the vampire seemed rather indifferent, Karlach was frowning.

“That’s not a good idea, soldier,” she advised, but Shadowheart only shook her head, turning to Sekh. He sighed, shoulders slumping a little.

“I trust you,” he said, and something seemed to spark in Shadowheart’s eyes. “Come back in one piece, okay? We need you.” She nodded before turning, examining the open doorways, before proceeding through one.

Sekh took a step back, falling closer to Karlach and Astarion. “Was that… was that a smart idea?” Astarion asked, and Sekh couldn’t answer. No, it wasn’t- but he couldn’t deny Shadowheart. She was free to make her choices. She was free to face the consequences.

A few minutes of silence passed, before Karlach grew antsy. She shifted from foot to foot, before she began pacing. Astarion had long since abandoned staring at the doors, was poking around the room- though there seemed to be little beyond dust and bone. Sekh could tell that Karlach wanted to charge in- and while he did as well, he was ready to push back if she tried-

Thankfully, there was a sudden break in the air, tendrils of a glorious purple, space ripping open. Shadowheart stumbled out, one hand clutching something tightly. “Hells,” Astarion exclaimed, watching with wide eyes as reality stitched itself back together behind her.

Shadowheart straightened up, then grinned. “One trial down,” She opened her hand, showed her companions the small orb she was holding. “I think this will fit by the disk back up the stairs.” She stowed it away, before walking briskly through the room, back out to look for the next door. Sekh, Astarion, and Karlach had no choice but to rush after her, watching her step into the next room over.

Inside was the same statue, the same cracked stone bowl. Without hesitation Shadowheart dug her knife, deeper this time, into her arm, bleeding for her goddess. She had barely gotten her knife away when the doors opened, revealing the chamber was much deeper than it originally looked.

Shadowheart strode through, chin high, and the party followed quickly after. The room felt colder than the others, and Sekh swore he could see ice forming, on parts of the floor.

He distinctly did not like the feeling the space gave him.

“I don’t like this,” Karlach said, as Shadowheart began up a set of stairs. She barely crested the top when a bolt of radiant light struck down, missing her by mere inches. She jumped back, as a flickering shape descended the stairs, turning the corner and grinning wickedly.

It was Shadowheart, except… not. She was made of shadows, wisps of purples and blacks, her features faded.

“We are our own greatest enemy,” Shadowheart said, just loud enough for the rest to hear- as more shadows stepped out. Once to mirror each of them.

There wasn’t a moment to think, to speak. The party leapt into action, charging up the stairs to avoid having the low ground. Sekh leveled a shot of necrotic magic directly at the Shadowheart facade, as Karlach took on herself. Movements blurred, and Sekh lost track of where everyone was, his opponent seeming to constantly shift.

At one point, he was dodging a sneering Karlach’s axe.

Another, a wicked Astarion was trying to bury both his daggers into his belly.

And then he himself was reaching for his own throat, wanting to chill his bones beyond death.

Sweat trickled down his spine as he pedaled back a step, his other self missing his neck by a thread. He swallowed thickly, drew his shortsword, as the shade studied him. It didn’t speak, thankfully- Sekh wasn’t sure he could stand having a conversation with himself.

He struck out at him with shadows. Sekh dropped to his knees, crying out slightly because they ached with the impact so intensely. They would be all bruises, he was sure. But he stuck out with his sword, got the shade in its leg. It stumbled, and he dropped his sword, grabbing at its thigh and pulling it down, mumbling over and over again as necrotic magic surged forward, enveloping the shade.

It shrieked- a bastardization of his own voice- and began to convulse. Sekh let go, wanted to grab his sword, but even in death throws his other self reached for him, grabbed him and pulled him down into the mess, rolling them over. The shade was twitching, nearly foaming at the mouth as he straddled Sekh, put both hands around his throat and squeezed.

Sekh grabbed at the shade’s arms, his neck aching as his air was cut off. He tried to focus on his magic as his legs thrashed- but his mind spun, black speckles taking shape. He could just feel a chill in his fingers, and if he focused a bit more, he could get his magic back-

The shadow above him jerked suddenly, hold going slack. Sekh’s eyes darted, and he noticed two daggers sticking out of its side, Astarion looming over, face twisted in a sort of rage Sekh wasn’t sure he’d seen on the man before.

Astarion kicked the shade and it slumped off of Sekh, who sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to sit up. He coughed, his lungs burning, as Astarion reached for him, began to pull him up. Sekh tried to thank him, but his voice was rough, and Astarion’s look alone was enough to shut him up, for the moment.

They weren’t done.

Karlach’s shade was the last to fall- it took all four of them to take her down. By the time she crumpled to her knees, they were sweaty, dusty, and a bit bloodied- but all alive. All in one piece.

Shadowheart stayed focused, immediately searching the shade corpses for another gem. Sekh left her to it, rubbing his throat, before Astarion was pulling his hand away, examining it. “I’d rather never kill you again,” he said, and Sekh could hear a faint tremor to his voice.

“Promise I won’t make you.” Sekh’s voice was hoarse. He swallowed, watched over Astarion’s shoulder as Karlach pulled a small arrow from her shoulder, throwing it onto the ground.

“Can we be fucking done with this now?” she asked, as Shadowheart returned, stowing the second gem. “We came here for a relic- and I love a good time, but this is beginning to be a bit much. Besides, we’ll still have Ketheric after all of this.”

Karlach was right- no one could argue that.

Still, when Shadowheart left the room, seeming to ignore everyone, they all followed. Thankfully, the next trial wasn’t a battle, and was Shadowheart trusting herself to walk on the shadows. And all they found after that was a library that seemed to suck their voices from their lungs, but nothing more.

They headed back up the gauntlet, but moved forward instead of fully retracing their steps, up the second flight of stairs. The room that opened before them was massive, set with an old alter, candles still burning-

And more of these god forsaken skeletons. The air stank of necromancy.

“So the shadows didn’t swallow you,” one spoke, voice a hiss of stale air. “Come, before-” the words broke off as an all too familiar sound of the air ripping open, shadows bursting forth in a booming birth. “Rancid donkey scrotum!”

Alright, Sekh liked one thing about whoever was behind this necromancy- and it was their colorful vocabulary.

“Again?” Astarion asked, head swiveling between the summoning portals. Karlach screamed oh bloody fucking hells and simply launched herself at one, cleaving her axe through the shadows. It shuddered and dissipated.

Good to know that physical force worked as well.

Chaos erupted within seconds. The portals began to birth Dark Justiciars from the temple's abysmal, fetid womb. Karlach hacked away at each one she found, arms straining with the sheer force of effort she was putting into her swings. One cracked the floor, beneath a portal.

Sekh fired shadows from one hand, necrotic magic from the other- trying to split his focus before they were overwhelmed. He had to dodge the Dark Justiciar’s attacks- as the possessed skeletons were little more than a one time use bone shield.

Sekh gritted his teeth, sweat trickling down his spine, along his hairline. He was exhausted, yet it seemed each time a portal broke, a new one arose.

“We can’t do this forever!” Karlach yelled, as she grabbed Astarion as he ran past, swung him forward and launched him into the air. The vampire laughed as he landed, daggers first, into one of the portals.

“I don’t know, I think I’m having fun!” the vampire yelled, before he was knocked flat onto his ass by a Dark Justiciar. He grimaced, glared up at it, and bared his fangs. “Nevermind- not having fun.”

Sekh sent a bolt of shadow directly through its chest, barely able to spare a glance at Astarion to ensure he was in one piece, before he turned back to focus on the portals. He trusted his lover could handle himself.

His palms began to burn from the sheer amount of magic pouring out of him. It felt like they were all trapped within a sordid, violent dance- constantly shifting, focus split between the never ending growing portals and the wretched undead they spewed forth.

By the time the portal growth began to ebb, Sekh’s legs felt like they might give out. He swore even Syl felt exhausted, in his head- so much of her magic channeled to him. His party was a chorus of cursed and panted breaths, fatigue gripping everyone tightly.

Still, the last portal fell beneath Karlach’s axe and Shadowheart’s light, a burst of thunderous noise that gave way to, once again, a bone chilling silence.

The silence lasted but a moment, not long enough for words to even be exchanged, before a large door was opening, revealing an inner sanctum, private like chambers. A single glance between the party, and they moved forward- there was no other direction to go.

There was no turning back, at this point.

The room reeked of rotten flesh- a stench so foul that Astarion covered his nose, actively gagged and tried to silence the noise. Sekh stayed close, reached out to rest a hand on his back as they walked, fighting down bile in his own throat. The large stone table- alter like- in the center of the room was littered with body parts- old bone showing, rot clinging to limbs, blood so congealed Astarion would need a fork, as he had joked once, what felt like lifetimes ago.

The man who greeted them had a voice that seemed to echo, as if it sucked in the noise of the shuffling undead in the room and turned them to sheer silence. He was short, his eyes glowing from beneath his hood, face crossed in scars that looked as if he had freshly opened them- many times.

Sekh didn’t need to be told that this was Balthazar. His chambers back a Moonrise had given the group a similar sickness, had boasted the same horrid stench.

Sekh wanted a very long, very hot bath- he worried he’d smell like decay for months.

“I could put those limbs to work,” Balthazar said, sizing up Sekh, the party, as if they were simply hunks of meat, after his curt greeting. Sekh gritted his teeth, very much over this necromancer, after only being in his presence for moments. His pompous, arrogant, sorry little face-

“Oh I’m so done,” Karlach said, and Sekh didn’t even glance back. He raised his hand, and without hesitation, shot a shadow at one of the ambling ghouls, clean through its chest. Fuck their exhaustion, they’d grind themselves to bone if it meant not listening to this bastard prattle on.

“We’re done playing nice,” Sekh said, against the sound of Astarion drawing his still bloodied daggers. Before Balathazar could speak, Shadowheart rained her radiant light down on the hulking Golem behind him, knocking it back a few steps. Sekh jumped up onto the table as Blathazar turned, running further into the room, trying to get behind the recovering golem, to use him as a flesh shield. “I’ll kiss whoever kills him!” Sekh announced, feeling delirious from exhaustion.

He watched Astarion run at full speed towards Balthazar at that- and he wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this all felt. As if the vampire needed to earn a single kiss…

Karlach moved past the table, leaping to dig her axe into the Golem’s shoulder. It stumbled, blackened blood leaking out in disgusting, thick rivets. The smell was noxious, and Astarion stumbled as it hit him, causing him to miss Balthazar. The necromancer laughed, a noxious cloud forming at his hand and spilling over Astarion.

Before Astarion could right himself, a ghoul lunged, tackling him to the floor. Balthazar was laughing now, a sucking, wet noise that made Sekh grimace.

He drew his sword, leaping off the table, taking a few running steps and skewering the ghoul atop his vampire. It squealed as he freed his sword, kicking it off Astarion and grabbing a hold of his armor, dragging him out of the growing, sickening cloud. They were both coughing by the time they cleared it. Astarion pushed himself to sit up, looking paler than usual.

“Stay here,” Sekh said, even as he couldn’t catch his own breath. He heard the vampire argue- but he stopped listening, focusing on the fact that Balthazar seemed to be trying to summon more of his skeletons. And while they were nothing but a one use bone shield- they were still annoying.

Sekh shot his shadows at him, but the Golem intercepted, throwing Karlach across the room and taking the hit itself. It roared- gods above it really roared- but didn’t stop. Sekh coughed so violently he swore he tasted blood, felt his knees giving out. He fell down, gritting his teeth, a hand splayed on the floor as he swore his insides were caving in.

The golem charged, was only a few steps away- and Sekh watched as an arrow sliced clean through the air and into one of its eyes. Its head jerked back, before another pierced the center of its neck.

Sekh managed to glance to the side, and Astarion had both his crossbows in hand, looking pissed.

“Fuck off,” he said, firing a third shot, into the creature’s other eye. It went down, just in time for Karlach to be back, dripping sweat and blood and looking like the hells themselves. Her axe bit into its neck, the sheer force carrying the blade all the way to the floor.

The golem’s head rolled away, lifeless once more.

Sekh managed to push himself into a standing position, sucking in a painful breath. They needed to cut out the rot, the cause-

As soon as the thought occurred, he heard a bone rattling screech from Balthazar. He turned, watched as Shadowheart pulled back her mace, covered in blood and brain matter, the necromancer going down on one knee. Half his skull was caved in.

She brought the mace down a second time, light exploding upon impact, blinding Sekh. He reached up, shielded his eyes- and when the light faded, Balthazar was left motionless on the floor. As lifeless as his creations.

Karlach dropped her axe, the sound of metal an echoing clang around the room. Beyond that, all Sekh could hear were everyone’s panted breaths and his own pulse pounding in his skull.

“Gods I need a bloody drink,” Karlach finally managed, wiping sweat from her brow. Sekh couldn’t argue that, even though they were far from done.

He didn’t know how their bodies were going to hold out.

He heard Astarion stand up, the vampire groaning with the effort. He managed the few steps to Sekh, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn around.

He looked… well, still pissed.

“Don’t ever tell me to stay back,” he said, voice laced with an anger Sekh had never seen directed at him before, “when you are in danger.”

He squeezed Sekh’s shoulder so hard it ached, but the drow didn’t push him off. “You were in bad shape.”

“And you weren’t any better.” Astarion bared the tips of his fangs, and Sekh squared his shoulders. He knew, down in his gut, that Astarion was allowed to be angry, even if he felt justified in trying to protect the vampire as well. That the elf was angry at the situation.

But gods, he was too exhausted to truly think.

Before he could open his mouth and say something he’d regret, Shadowheart was guiding Astarion’s hand from Sekh’s shoulder. Despite the exhaustion in her eyes, she seemed in good spirits.

“I believe I won something,” she said, and Sekh stared at her, confused- before Astarion barked a laugh.

“Utterly ridiculous,” he said, even as he relaxed, the anger beginning to ebb. “Bloody hells Sekh, kiss her so we can be done with this place and move on.”

Sekh turned his eyes back to Shadowheart, and felt himself relaxing a bit. He reached up, cradled the back of her head and said, “You asked for it.”

Kissing her was quick, playful. He almost laughed into the brief touch, before they broke apart and she was stepping back, laughing into the back of her hand. “That felt like what I imagine kissing a brother is like,” she said, “never again.”

Karlach had picked her axe back up, was shaking her head at them, as Sekh felt Astairon move back into his space, not quite touching but close. Sekh glanced over at him, took a breath- “I’m sorry.”

“For kissing Shadowheart? Please, I do believe she earned it. Besides, it’s not as if I have competition.” Sekh sighed, turned fully and took Astarion’s hand, toying with the ring on the elf’s finger.

“No, you ass.” He lifted Astarion’s hand, kissed it softly, watched the vampire almost blush. “For upsetting you.” Astarion shifted a little, before he took his hand back, mumbling that they didn’t have time for this.

Flustered, but no longer angry. Sekh would gladly take that.

*

Battered but victorious, and with nowhere left to go but broken stairs or a waiting disk, and with a devil still needing to meet their demise, the party decided to at least attempt to finish exploring the temple before following whatever path the disk, powered by the orbs Shadowheart had earned, would take them.

It felt like luck- or a very obvious trap- when they noticed a Displacer Beast, prowling at the bottom of the stairs. Aside of the rats, it had been the only sign of real life within the temple. Sekh refused to refer to Balthazar or his creations as life.

Sekh jumped into Karlach’s arms, clearing the gap in the broken stairs. The tiefling grinned, looked like she wanted to hoist him up like a cat- but instead let him down, moving next to help Astarion.

Sekh watched the displacer beast round the corner, before moving into another room. Even back here, there was a faint whiff of sulfur, displacing the scent of ancient dust. Once the party had all crossed Sekh followed the displacer beast’s steps, entering a room that had him pausing.

Carnage, everywhere. Bodies strung up, piles of bone and old gore, blood so black it threatened the shadows. Sekh wrinkled his nose. “Gods, what happened here?” he whispered, as the overs glanced around, none seeming eager to move into the room.

Was there a single room in this gods forsaken temple that wasn’t gore splattered and reeking of stale death?

Finally, Astarion said, “I’d wager Raphael’s little friend,” before he slipped past Sekh, continuing brazenly into the room. Sekh was impressed that the smell of all that old blood and gore didn’t have the vampire gagging-

But he was determined.

Sekh hurried after, Shadowheart and Karlach a step behind. He could feel eyes on him in the room- they were being watched.

A low chuckle broke the silence, and the party turned, staring up to find a colossal devil watching them, a sparking crossbow that seemed almost comically small in his hand poised right at them.

“What have we here?” he mused, hellish eyes boring into their very souls. “Fresh entertainment? You’ve burrowed too deep, little rabbit.”

Sekh took a single step closer, to be shoulder to shoulder with Astarion. The devil seemed ready to speak more, before he sniffed the air, his brows furrowing.

“There’s a stink of the surface to you, but something else as well. Musk, cherries, and… sulfur. Raphael!” The crossbow shifted slightly, aimed directly at Sekh’s head. “Where is he?”

The devil’s voice boomed, shaking the bones suspended around his strange, bastardization of a throne room. It was then Sekh noticed other shapes coming into view. They were far from alone.

And considering the beating they had already taken, he didn’t think they would survive another.

“You’ve had dealings with him too,” Sekh said, “talk to me. We have no love for that devil.”

The devil- an Orthon Sekh would later learn from Karlach, chuckled, but did lower his crossbow just a notch. 

“Bargaining won’t help you, little rabbit. The last man who tried watched me eat his young, before I fashioned his skull into a codpiece. If you’ve had dealings with that trickster, you know there’s nothing to discuss.”

Dealings- did the Orthon have a contract with Raphael? Sekh felt a presence in his mind, Syl watching through his blackened eye.

He was a warlock, and even if his contract with Syl was different, he still knew how they worked. And there was always a loophole.

“Show me your contract,” he said, caught Astarion whipping his head to glance at Sekh, confused. So quietly Sekh could barely hear him, the vampire mumbled we’re supposed to kill him.

Sekh reached for Astarion’s hand, teased his fingertips along it. He didn’t like to use the parasite, but he focused on his companions for a minute, echoing trust me into their skulls.

Astarion said nothing more.

The Orthon dropped the arm holding his crossbow, and much to Sekh’s surprise, began singing- or, as close to singing as the creature could get. Spoken word, really.

“Your contract is a song?” Sekh asked, rolling the lyrics over in his mind, trying to buy time.

“Parchment can burn, oral agreements aren’t worth the tongues they’re wagged on- but a song, it sticks in your mind.” The Orthon lifted his crossbow again, aiming it back at Sekh. “Now little rabbit, enough stalling.”

And then it hit Sekh. “An audience,” he mused, before adding louder, “You’ve always had an audience.” He gestured towards the Merridan who had formed an unnerving ring above them.

“The Merridan? There isn’t a single thought between them.” The Orthon paused, and Sekh could tell he was considering it. “Kill yourselves,” he said, after a moment- and without hesitation the beasts tore into each other, dying silently.

The devil growled.

“I still bloody hear it, endlessly.”

“Your displacer beast,” Sekh said, not glancing at the beast that had kept a watchful eye on them, since they entered.

“Nyssa?” The Orthon looked struck, hurt at the thought. “Raphael would demand such a sacrifice.” He turned towards the creature, but didn’t lift his crossbow. For a moment Sekh thought the devil might change his mind, might choose to skewer the drow’s skull with an arrow. “Stay still, my beauty.”

The Orthon leveled a single shot at the displacer beast, and Sekh refused to turn and watch the beast die. Necessary, yes, but he didn’t have to like it.

The Orthon bared his near tusks. “I still fucking hear it!” His voice sent the bones around them to clacking together again, and Sekh could tell his companions were tensing, ready for another fight. He had been able to level the odds, at least-

But he wasn’t done.

“You know there’s still one person who has always heard the song.” Sekh folded his arms, and in his head, Syl was giggling, mischievous. Her presence made this easier.

The Orthon looked at Sekh, perplexed- but the moment he made the connection, Sekh saw the light in his eyes. He stowed his crossbow, pulling out a blade instead. “If you’re wrong about this,” he said, eyes staring at Sekh, and Sekh alone, “I’ll claw my way from the hells and skin you alive. You’ll scream as I pluck each nerve out of your broken body.”

Sekh shuddered. He didn’t doubt the threat.

The Orthon turned his blade on himself, pressed it at the edges of his ribs. “Well played Raphael. Bastard.”

With no hesitation, he drove the blade into his own body. He toppled forward, falling from his perch and shaking the ground when he landed, dead on impact. He’d hesitated more when faced with dispatching his displacer beast.

For a moment, all four stood in silence, before Shadowheart said, “That silver tongue if yours is impressive.” Sekh smiled, rather proud that he had pulled that off. Before he could speak, however, Astarion was turning him, arms going around his neck as he jumped onto him, locking his legs around his waist. Sekh stumbled back as the vampire kissed him, not seeming to care that the drow was too exhausted to support their combined weight.

Thankfully, Karlach stepped in quickly, grabbed at Sekh’s waist, just under Astarion’s legs, and held them up. It was utterly ridiculous, and Sekh tried to say so, but he couldn’t form a full word, Astarion refusing to give him a chance.

He gave up, got his hands on his vampire’s waist, and enjoyed the kiss for what it was- filled with such strong excitement that Sekh swore he could feel it vibrating, in the vampire’s lips, in his touch, his fingers-

It was the ring Sekh realized, when Astarion finally let him breathe. “You beautiful man,” the elf said, “that tongue of yours is too talented.”

Shadowheart made a face. “Oh I don’t need to hear that from you, Astarion.”

The vampire ignored her, leaning in for another kiss, biting at Sekh’s lips. Sekh could almost fall into it, before Karlach cleared her throat. “Astarion, mind climbing off your man? Holding you both up does get a bit tiring.” Astarion pulled from Sekh’s mouth with a frustrated little noise, glancing past the drow at Karlach. Then, with a sigh, he got back to his own feet.

“That had better count as us killing him,” Astarion said, as Sekh leaned back against Karlach still, breathless, almost dizzy. If killing things for Astarion was going to always elicit that reaction, he could really get into the blood trade-

“I think it counts.” Shadowheart turned away from the group, heading for the dead displacer beast. Sekh watched Astarion walk over to the Orthon, toe at his body, as if checking that he was truly dead.

“You still with me soldier?” Karlach asked, as Sekh finally supported his own weight. He nodded, watched as Astarion returned to his side, now holding the Orthon’s crossbow. Sekh raised a brow, must have given him a look, because Astarion scoffed.

“What? The beastie’s dead, he won’t be needing it.” Karlach took it from the vampire, looking rather eager to examine it. “Now I just need Raphael to resurface.”

“Who knows where that’ll be,” Sekh mumbled.

“Wherever he feels like it- my own bedroll if he sees fit.” Astarion scrunched his face up at the idea, and Sekh couldn’t resist-

“I’m really not looking for a threesome with Raphael, but if you’re that eager-”Sekh was cut off when Astarion pulled him in for another kiss.

“Please do not finish that sentence,” he said, when the words were well and truly dead on Sekh’s tongue. The drow grinned, and Astarion rolled his eyes at him, but kept his little smile. And as exhausted and weary to his very bones Sekh felt, it was always worth it for just one of those smiles.

*

The orbs that Shadowheart had been harboring did prove to move the disk that had been dormant. It carried the party into the sheer depths of the temple- and they couldn’t even fathom how deep it truly went.

The remaining orbs opened a door, revealing a towering statue of Shar, presiding over a large pool. The water looked crisp, so clear that Sekh could make out the details etched into the stone floor beneath it.

“We made it,” Shadowheart said in wonder, looking up at Shar’s likeness. “Only by her grace. I need to pray.” She settled down onto her knees, bowed her head- and the silence that fell was deafening. Sekh could hear each of their breaths, his own heartbeat- and something else, like a bated breath, an almost whisper.

They weren’t alone. But he wasn’t sure they had ever been alone in the temple.

He stepped forward, into the pool, the water sloshing against his boots. He could feel its chill, felt goosebumps rising on his arms, along his back.

“Don’t rush in without me,” Shadowheart said, standing up then, wading into the pool herself. It lapped at her calves, then her thighs-

And she walked, ready to let the depths swallow her.

Something seemed to shatter then, pull them into the frigid, watery embrace. The breath choked from Sekh’s throat, and for a moment he was suspended in water that should have been ice, felt it stabbing at his lungs, his eyes, his throat-

And then it was gone, and he was left coughing up water and spit, laying on the ground. He heard his companions around him, all seeming to be in a similar state. He forced himself onto his hands and knees, winced as he took a breath and it felt like daggers were residing in his lungs.

Around him, everything was different. The ground they were on was just a hunk of rock, suspended in the air. The sky was rolling purples and blacks, above and below.

“The Shadowfell,” Shadowheart said, as they all began to stand up on unsteady legs. “We’re in Lady Shar’s domain.”

Sekh glanced over the edge of the rock, noted that everything seemed endless. As above, so below, it seemed.

In the far distance, they could see a larger stone, ornate seeming, with something in the center, bathed in a pale light that seemed wrong in Shar’s realm. Shadowheart, without hesitation, leapt off the side of the rock, landing on one below. Seemed they would need to make their way down and pray for sure footing.

It took time, with too many slips, Shadowheart the only one who seemed true in her step- but when they reached the final landing, Sekh realized it was a person bathed in light. A tall, sturdy built woman, in rags as old as the dust in Shar’s temple. Despite this, despite the dirt smeared along her face and hands, she radiated a sort of vigor Sekh wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

And when she spoke, her voice felt as if it would move mountains.

She addressed Shadowheart directly, ignoring the party- and it took only moments to realize she was Kethric’s “relic”. Her captivity was what granted his immortality.

She was the Nightsong. 

She was what every Sharran dreamed of ending.

Shadowheart’s eyes were near rabid, focused solely on the Nightsong. When she spoke of a spear, she held out her hands, and as if a gift from Shar herself, one materialized.

“Your death, your silence, is everything my goddess has ever wanted.”

This felt wrong.

“Shadowheart,” Sekh said, moving to take a step closer to her. The cleric whipped around, looking at the drow with eyes he barely recognized. The blackest shadow seemed to be encasing her irises, leaving an inky blackness not unlike those bloody summoning circles they’d faced, all day. “Is this what you want?”

To kill a captive who couldn’t fight back? To kill a victim?

“This is my life’s work,” she said, but he could hear it, a moment of falter, in her voice. The Nightsong heard it too- Sekh could see it on her face. She knew her life rested on Shadowheart’s decision.

“But is it what you want?” Shadowheart was quiet, and Sekh closed the gap, reached out, placed a hand over one of hers on the spear. “Is Shar really what you want?”

He thought of her reaction, at the House of Healing. He thought of how radiant she always was, how her magic was a warm bathing light, nothing like the shadows Shar graced.

She was the antithesis to what a Sharran should be.

“I want you to be happy,” Sekh said, meaning it. “I can’t make a decision for you, but neither can Shar. You need to do what you feel is right.”

Shadowheart looked past him, stared at the Nightsong, before she ripped away from Sekh’s touch. And for one, agonizing, numbing moment, Sekh was sure the spear was going straight through the Nightsong’s heart.

Instead, Shadowheart pivoted on her heel, threw the spear with all her might so that it clattered to the edge of the platform, rolling until it fell into the abyss below.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she whispered, looking at her hands. She was visibly shaking. “Shar will disown me.”

“You were never hers, child.” The Nightsong was looking at Shadowheart fondly. She got down on a knee, bowed her head. “You’ve vanquished your wolves, little warrior.”

“What did you say?” Shadowheart’s voice was broken.

“Lay a hand on my shoulder, in friendship, and free me. We will vanquish the blight that is Ketheric Thorm, and I will illuminate the truth.”

Shadowheart reached out, hand trembling, and rested it gently on the Nightsong’s shoulder. The woman smiled, pounded her fist into the ground, cracked the stone, before the light intensified.

She was beholden, resplendent, when she was fully visible again. Fully armored, winged like a feathered dragon, she was sheer glory.

Her smile felt like moonlight, her eyes like stars, before she was gone, ascending into the air and disappearing, leaving in her wake a rush of golden light that pulled at Sekh, at the group.

A way home.

“We need to leave,” Shadowheart said, sounding terrified. “We cannot be in the Shadowfell now.”

Sekh nodded, took her hand firmly in his, pulling her towards the portal. Astarion and Karlach flanked them, felt like a protective wall against the shadows that seemed to be closing in, trying to devour the light the Nightsong had left behind.

They stepped into the blinding light, enveloped in a warmth that seeped into their blood, their bones. Sekh felt some of the exhaustion leaving him, the aches in his joints dissipating. He felt rejuvenated, mended.

Stumbling out of the light, the shadows of the cursed lands felt cold. Sekh managed to hold his balance, could see the light of Last Light in the distance- and the stark, brilliant golden-white streak of the Nightsong, as she flew through the sky.

He glanced to his side, found his hand was empty. He glanced around him quickly, found Karlach and Astarion both orienting themselves- but Shadowheart was missing.

He opened his mouth to speak, alarmed, when suddenly she was flung from the light, before the portal closed, leaving them in darkness. She rolled a few paces on the ground, stopping nearly limp.

Sekh was at her side, saying her name over and over and over before the others could move. She opened her eyes, looking up at him with this distant, sorrowful look.

“I’m abandoned,” she whispered, as Sekh cradled her head.

“Never,” he breathed, “never Shadowheart. You have us.” Karlach and Astarion reached them next, the tiefling gently pushing Sekh aside, carefully scooping Shadowheart up into her arms, cradling her against her chest.

“We’ll be whatever you need,” Karlach said, her voice softer than Sekh had ever heard it. She held Shadowheart so close the drow thought Karlach might simply absorb her, absolve her of the sins in Shar’s eyes with her hellfire.

“The Lady of Loss does not like losing,” Astarion remarked, mouth set in a firm frown, looking just as displeased as Karlach and Sekh. No one needed Shadowheart to elaborate on what happened- Shar had kept her, and whatever punishment the goddess had inflicted-

Well, it was best they didn’t know the details.

They hurried through the dark, Karlach never once losing her grip on Shadowheart. Last Light was a chaotic, seething mass, most of the Harpers and Flaming Fists gone.

But Isobel was still there, seeming to try and keep some form of order. When she saw the party she hurried over. “What was that, in the sky?”

“An immortal,” Sekh said, and while the look of shock and disbelief on Isobel’s face was compelling- there wasn’t time. “The others?”

“Jaheira led them to Moonrise. I swore we heard the world scream, before the… light.” She glanced at Shadowheart, frowning. “What happened?”

“Shar.” Karlach said, her voice laced with venom. Isobel beckoned her closer, motioned for her to set Shadowheart down. The tiefling only held her tighter, unwilling to let her cleric go. Isobel didn’t push further, but set her hands on Shadowheart, closing her eyes. Her hands glowed with iridescent moonlight, the light seeping into Shadowheart, snaking through her veins.

Shadowheart’s eyes opened, as Isobel was still pouring the light into her. She looked over at Sekh, and in that moment she was raw, open, everything and anything.

Sekh lifted one hand, waving his fingers at her, and mouthed- I’m here. He always would be. They all would be. Next to him, Astarion reached out, brushed some of the cleric’s bangs off her forehead.

“You almost had me worried about you, Shadowheart.”

Isobel stepped back then, and Karlach carefully helped Shadowheart to her feet. The cleric rolled her neck, before nodding a silent thanks to Isobel. There would be time for explanations later.

For now, Moonrise called.

*

The fortress was in sheer, tumultuous horror by the time the four reached it. Jaheira’s Harpers were ripping through cultists, a ferocity to them that Sekh hadn’t envisioned.

It did help that Lae’zel was at their forefront, bloodied and grinning.

“Thought you’d miss all the fun!” Wyll said, as the party ran into the fray.

“Never,” Sekh said, drawing his shortsword as Karlach rushed passed him, revitalized from the moonlight gift the Nightsong had left them. He scanned the scene, took in how quickly the Harpers were making ground-

And spotted an all too familiar, growling face. Z’rell. Astarion’s eyes followed Sekh’s stare, before he bared his fangs. “Oh, I’m going to have fun killing her,” he declared, before he rushed her, pulling his daggers out. Sekh hurried after him, watched him narrowly miss embedding a dagger into her side.

“True Soul,” she spat, glowering at Sekh, seeming to ignore Astarion. “What have you done?”

“What we always planned to do.” He leveled his sword at her, adding, “I’m going to enjoy killing you, if I’m honest.”

She smirked, lips tugging along her large tusks. “Have you wanted that this whole time? You hid it well. But I don’t die easy.” She moved before Sekh, but the drow jumped to the side, avoiding her strike. She had her eyes firmly trained on him, ignoring the rest of the battle.

It would be her quick downfall.

“You know,” Sekh mused, as Z’rell flexed her hands, readying herself to cast. “You really shouldn’t ignore my starshine.”

She looked confused- and before she could turn Astarion was on her, leaping from behind. He wrapped his legs around her body, held tight as he sank his fangs deep into her neck. Sekh took advantage, closing the gap and shoving his shortsword directly into her belly.

“He gets quite peckish when he’s feeling ignored.”

Sekh pulled his sword free, and Z’rell collapsed to her knees. Astarion unwound his legs from her, supported himself on the ground as he drank quickly, deeply, letting her life drain directly into him. Sekh left him to it, knowing if he watched Astarion feed for more than a second he risked forgetting the world around them. And most likely, risked losing his head.

They secured the ground floor quickly, the companions heading up to the roof in a storm of blades and seething, crackling magic. When they burst into the cold, perpetual night air, Ketheric was glaring at them, the lines around his eyes deep in his anger.

“What have you done?” he asked.

“You’re mortal again,” Halsin said, his eyes dancing with a threatening light. Sekh knew he was ready to give into his beast and devour the man whole, for what he had done to the land, to Thaniel.

“No.” Ketheric looked at his hands, before he glanced up into the sky, saw the brilliant, dancing light of the Nightsong. “You freed her.”

“Ketheric Thorm!”

The Nightsong landed with enough force to shake all of Moonrise. She was imposing at her full height, the breadth of her wings threatened that of a small dragon. She was ethereal.

“Face me you coward!” She drew her sword, and Ketheric, for a moment, looked less imposing- for just a heartbeat, Sekh saw a tired, old elf, who had seen too much. Maybe had lost even more.

But it was gone, steeled behind an iron resolve. Whatever remnants of humanity might have clung to the strings of his consciousness was smothered.

The man was gone.

Ketheric raised a fist, the air screeching at his command, as bones began to knit together around the roof. The stink of necromancy was thick, as the skeletons began to rush at the party before they were even fully formed. The air kicked up with bone dust, felt blinding- and then a thunderous crack, as the whole structure shuddered.

Breaking the chaos was a large, wet, pulsing tentacle. Sekh’s face twisted in disgust, as he heard Astarion mutter oh hells. It lifted from where it had slammed into the roof, leaving thick, viscous strings of off white, not quite translucent fluid.

Sekh felt his stomach roll.

The tentacle wrapped protectively around Ketheric, swallowing him up into the depths of the fortress. The Nightsong flew after him without hesitation, diving into a large, organic tunnel left in the disgusting thing’s wake.

There was only one thing for the party to do- and with a round of nods, they charged forward, leaping down into the abyss.

*

Being inside an Illithid colony was not something Sekh had ever thought he’d experience. And now, walking through the organic, pulsing flesh like prison- well, he would’ve been quite happy to have missed out on this experience.

“This is disgusting,” Astarion mumbled, as they passed what had to be doors, but functioned like fleshy sphincters, opening and closing like an esophagus.

“For once, we agree,” Lae’zel said, her sword drawn. She was tense, each muscle pulled so taut Sekh swore he could see them, under her skin. 

“Find Ketheric, kill him, and never think about this again,” Sekh said, a mantra more to himself, but the round of nods he received was proof enough they were all just as tired, just as ready to leave this horrific mess behind them.

The followed the throbbing, seething hallways through the colony, making their way across its breadth. When a door finally opened for them, they were struck by the sight of rows of pods- the same pods that had held them once, on the Nautiloid.

Sekh recognized the Flaming Fists uniforms as they walked past them. He could just see, at the end of the room, an opening to another. A brine pool was barely visible, but it's salty stench was all too apparent, even from this distance.

Sekh paused, as some of the party continued- Sekh was sure looking for whoever Mizora had set them up to rescue. Instead of following, he looked around at the pods again- his heart aching at so many victims. Some were still unturned, while others were already slumbering mindflayers, waiting for their command to awaken.

Sekh turned his head, studied a strange Illithid device by the doorway. Its center was glowing, tendrils pulsing and squirming in the air. His tadpole moved eagerly, pushing against his skull towards the device.

He had a feeling he could make it listen to him, whatever it was. He looked back at the pods, before making a decision, consequences be damned. He had to hope it did what he assumed.

“Don’t touch that,” Lae’zel hissed, as Sekh reached out to the pulsing Illithid device, its tendrils squirming excitedly now, opening to allow for his hand. “Sekh’met.”

“Darling what are you doing?” Astarion asked, echoing Lae’zel’s nerves. He looked fidgety, fingers twitching towards his daggers as the tendrils closed around Sekh’s hand. The light was warm inside them, seeped into Sekh’s mind, open to his command.

“We can’t leave them.” He closed his eyes, as Lae’zel yelled at him to stop-

He ignored it. Gods be damned he wasn’t leaving anyone to a fate worse than death down here.

Release.

He thought the single word, and the system bent to his authority. The pods opened, spilling forth a noxious fluid and a mix of victims and Mindflayers.

Sekh opened his eyes, found a familiar face- Zevlor- standing up slowly, sucking in deep breaths. Whatever had happened in the shadows, he knew there had to be more to the story- and he wouldn’t have left the disgraced Paladin to die.

The device released his hand, and Sekh turned fully, saw with horror that the Mindflayers that had been released were up far before the unturned victims- naked and slick with whatever amniotic-like fluid they had been cradled in.

There were maybe three seconds to think. None of the party chose to use them- they simply moved. Lae’zel charged a Mindflayer as it raised those long, clawed fingers, and Sekh instantly felt his mind cramping, crumbling in on itself. He fell to his knees, grabbing at his head, his breath catching. He swore his skull was splintering-

It stopped, when Lae’zel drove her sword through the Mindflayer’s neck with a scream, her rage palpable. The creature’s head tumbled to the fleshy ground, rolling away as the body crumbled.

Sekh’s mind instantly cleared, and he didn’t hesitate- he lifted his left hand and called on Syl’s shadows, aiming for the closest Mindflayer.

It was sheer chaos- screams of rage from his companions, commanding shrieks from the Mindflayers- the desperate yells of the now freed captives. A hellstorm that ended just as suddenly as it had begun, when the last Mindflayer fell, and the room descended into an eerie silence, except for ragged breaths and the off putting, constant wet pulsing of the colony around them.

“You could have gotten us killed!” Lae’zel yelled, turning and storming towards Sekh. “What were you thinking, releasing ghaik?”

“I wasn’t going to leave anyone to die,” Sekh yelled back. Lae’zel tossed her sword down, got directly in his face, so close he could feel her breath.

“Any sacrifice is worth making if it means ghaik death!” The tension in her muscles hadn’t rescinded in the slightest, and Sekh knew she was a moment, a few words, from striking him. He’d never move in time, he was physically no match for Lae’zel, he knew that.

He spoke anyway.

“The fucking Mindflayers died anyway Lae’zel, and we saved people who would have been forced into our same fate. I’d do what I did again in a heartbeat. Have some fucking compassion.” The words were spat, volatile, and Sekh knew in his gut that he wasn’t enraged at Lae’zel, and she wasn’t enraged at him.

Again, they were all simply so bone deep tired.

Lucky for Sekh, Wyll approached before Lae’zel could knock him completely on his ass, settling a hand on the Githyanki’s shoulder. “Calm down the both of you,” he said, “what’s done is done. While you were out here considering tearing each other apart I… may have made quite the discovery.”

The discovery being Mizora, trapped in a pod. Free now, the devil was long gone- but Wyll’s pact had a termination date, now. Freedom was within his reach.

At least that was one good outcome.

Sekh stepped away from Lae’zel, heading for Karlach, who was speaking with Zevlor. The man looked tired, bags under his striking eyes, new lines along his well aged face that hadn’t been there upon their first meeting.

Sekh was caught up quickly, regarding the disaster that struck the tieflings upon entering the Shadow Cursed lands, that led to the deaths of many, the capture of more- and Zevlor’s time in the pod.

“I cannot undo my mistakes,” Zevlor said, his voice solemn, “but I can atone to the best of my abilities. I will search for any survivors, and I will find and free them.”

Sekh nodded- even though it would have been nice to have the Paladin within their ranks, when they faced Ketheric. But he didn’t want to risk any more casualties- and he knew they couldn’t stay to look for more. He didn’t want to risk splitting the party, and splintering them further.

The party left the chamber, able to navigate back into the pulsing living halls of the colony. It was accidental, when they stumbled into a large chamber, boasting a fleet of nautiloids.

Lae’zel swore, and for a single moment, Sekh saw a spark of fear, in her eyes. It was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen.

“How many have the ghaik turned?” she breathed, “how far have they spread?”

“Too far,” Halsin said, voice deep, far too calm. Despite his serious look, Sekh swore he could feel the rage rolling off him in hot waves. The Druid was as close to a breaking point as the rest of them.

It was Gale who discovered the edge of the englave was in fact a disk that could move. And with no other options, they all climbed on, riding down further into the depths of the beast.

Before the disk could properly land, their tadpoles began to squirm, excitedly. Sekh gritted his teeth against the feeling, felt Astarion lean against him as the vampire reached up to clutch at his own forehead, baring his fangs at the discomfort. Despite his own headache, Sekh slipped an arm around him, helping to keep him standing. “I take it everyone’s tadpole is excited,” the drow said, through gritted teeth.

The chorus of groans from everyone except Halsin was all the answer he needed.

When the disk settled, a sick, wet, suction sound alerting them that it was stable enough to dispatch from, the group made their way towards another large, muscle like door. Larger than the rest.

In his gut, Sekh swore they were standing on a precipice. Something was beyond that, something large, something final. He glanced at the group, but everyone’s eyes were locked ahead, serious, stone like.

Now, or never.

Creeping in with such a large group was difficult, but not impossible as they disbanded, flanking half the room. Ketheric was at the center, raging with a phantom of a woman and a well dressed man. Sekh didn’t know either of them- but as they spoke heatedly, it became sickeningly clear that Ketheric was far from working alone.

That this was bigger than him.

Sekh didn’t recognize the man at first that the woman was sitting on- but when he noticed Wyll, across the room, nearly launching himself forward, only stopped by both of Karlach’s arms around his waist, he had an idea. It was confirmed when he was sardonically addressed as Duke Ravengard. Wyll’s father.

“That crown,” Gale breathed, from where he stood with Sekh and Astarion. The drow chanced a glance at Gale, and his eyes were sparkling, utterly transfixed by the heaping adornment on top of the Elder Brain. Gods below, this was so much more than any of them had ever expected.

Gale swallowed thickly, his hands clenching.

“To have it, to hold it.” He took a steadying breath, closed his eyes. “I’ll never know. Mystra gave her orders.”

Sekh fully turned then, reaching out for Gale, grasping his biceps. “Gale,” he exclaimed in a hushed voice, “you’re not… you can’t be serious about using your orb?”

Gale opened his eyes, and when he looked at Sekh he looked sad, resigned to his fate. “It’s Mystra’s will.”

“Fuck her will,” Sekh said, gripping tighter, “Gale, what about your will? Are you ready to die?” There was a flicker of hesitation, in Gale’s eyes, and Sekh’s heart broke. The man wasn’t ready to die, not yet. But he would because his wretch of a goddess deemed it a necessary casualty.

The amount of contempt Sekh had for the gods was infallible.

“Don’t, Gale,” he whispered, “don’t do it. Trust us, trust yourself. We’re going to go up there, we’re going to kill Ketheric, and we’re going to end the Absolute. And you’re going to walk out alive.”

Gale stared at Sekh for a moment, silently, before his shoulders sagged slightly. “Damn you,” he said, though the vigor was gone from his voice, “for making me want to live. Damn all of you.”

“Damn us or thank us later, it matters not,” Astarion said, reaching for Sekh with one hand and guiding him away from Gale, trying to get him to turn around. “Right now we have more important things to focus on.” Sekh fully turned, and knew Astarion was right. The brian, along with Ketheric’s counterparts and the Duke, were leaving.

Leaving him alone.

It was time to act.

The towering man didn’t seem shocked when the party stepped from the shadows. He looked bemused, but tired, the bags under his eyes more prominent than the first time Sekh had met him.

“There you are, as predicted.” The exhaustion from his eyes had crept into his voice. He seemed not the least bit shocked to be surrounded. “What is it, I wonder, that draws one toward death like a moth to light.”

Sekh narrowed his eyes, leveled his stare at Ketheric, but didn’t speak. Let the man have a moment of his own voice- it gave them a chance to orient themselves with their surroundings. As Ketheric spoke about how they could have absconded with the prism, Sekh noted the clanking undead, the swarms of Intellect Devourers-

But mostly, he noticed the Nightsong, struggling against chains that glistened with magic. Chains that held her in place, seemed to silence her- he could see her mouth moving, could imagine her screaming- but the only sound was Ketheric, drawling on.

She was the key to Ketheric’s enigmatic vitality. Bound, she would feed him immortality. But free, as Sekh had seen earlier- her life was her own again.

He reached next to him slowly, dragged his fingers along Astarion’s hand. The vampire glanced at him, only those sanguine eyes shifting, before they moved to follow Sekh’s glance.

He stared at the Nightsong, and in silent understanding took Sekh’s fingers in his hand and squeezed. It was enough- Sekh would trust her fate, and their lives, to Astarion.

“Perhaps you hoped to learn your place in history before you are erased from it.” Sekh’s attention returned solely to Ketheric, brows knitting together as he frowned at the older elf.

“And what is my place, Ketheric?” he asked, venom seeping into his words. Sekh let the anger take hold, let it burn in his crimson and abysmal eyes. Let the fire be stoked by all of the anguish he had seen, over his years- over recent weeks, within his companions. “Please, enlighten me. What will history have to say about me? About us?” He held his arms out, gesturing to his companions, as he took a step closer. Ketheric’s eyes were trained on him.

Good.

“And tell me why I should give a fuck?” Another step closer, putting dangerous space between himself and his companions. He trusted them to know what he was doing. “Tell me why I should care about history, about fate, when all I’ve seen for nearly seventy years is misery?” He reached the edge of the platform Ketheric was standing on, and reached up, taking hold of the fibrous, organic roots and hoisting himself up.

Ketheric let him climb, unobstructed, so Sekh could stand level with him. Or, as level as their height difference allowed.

“Enlighten me, Ketheric, on what divine bullshit you think will be written about any of this, when we’re all stale blood and rotten bone.” Sekh moved closer, close enough to smell the faint whiff of rot that clung to Ketheric, the gravedirt tell tale scent of necromancy. “Tell me what all this suffering was for- give it a purpose.”

For a moment, Ketheric remained unreadable, his stoic face giving away naught a single emotion. But then, there was just a flicker in those eyes- annoyance, at something Sekh had said.

“Whatever my Lord Myrkul deems necessary is what will be written- I’ll make sure of it. He has given me what no other god could grant- my daughter’s life, returned.”

Sekh fought to keep his face neutral- but a daughter he hadn’t expected. They had found Ketheric’s wife’s tomb, but the only other one-

Had been an open grave.

“Myrkul has never had a more devoted follower. For her life, I would grow his cult, and then seize it.” Ketheric fisted one large hand, as if he could squeeze the life from whoever his cohorts were, in a single, vice-like grip. “I have fought many, many wars, great and small, for other gods- but for Myrkul, I would condemn all of Faerun.”

Sekh couldn’t fight off the twinge of disgust that crept onto his face at the mention of the gods. Myrkul rang only the faintest of bells in his mind, but even knowing the bastard claimed divinity was enough for Sekh to despise him without a second thought.

“So your place,” Ketheric said, reaching for his hammer and hefting the mighty thing in his hands, “is to die. To be forgotten in the pages of fate and history, as nothing more than a pebble cast at my lord’s greatness.”

He raised the hammer, and in an instant everyone moved. Sekh stumbled back, lost his footing and fell, the hammer falling directly between his knees- could have caved his skull in, had he not stumbled away.

He heard shouting- Gale, casting in every direction as Ketheric’s undead charged, as the intellect devourers clawed their way forward in quick, jerking motions. Sekh couldn’t spare a glance- Ketheric had already raised his hammer as he scrambled back a few inches, boots not catching purpose on the flesh-ground.

The hammer could have found his chest, caved all his ribs into pierce his lungs, his heart, had Lae’zel not leapt up onto the platform, her shoulder digging into Ketheric’s weight and dislodging his footing just enough. His hammer faltered, and Sekh was able to scramble back another pace, as the elf stumbled.

He stared at Lae’zel with wide eyes, and she gave him a stern stare that simply said get up.

Sekh didn’t hesitate. He pushed himself up, drew his sword, and circled Ketheric with her, as the chaos continued to erupt. There was the shriek of a Mind Flayer, Wyll cursing- and then an enraged scream that could have rattled the very hells themselves.

Shadowheart, letting out some of the rage and ire that had thickened in her blood, since forsaking Shar.

Sekh crouched down, shot a shadow at Ketheric as his hammer just missed him. It hit his hip, yet the man didn’t even seem to notice, pivoting instead to intercept Lae’zel’s strike with his shield. He managed to push Lae’zel back a step, putting his weight behind his hold on the shield.

Sekh stood up, charged Ketheric, blade ready to pierce into him. His hand was crackling with necrotic energy, the magic seeping up the blade, encasing it-

But the moment the blade hit his armor, Ketheric stood fast, the groves and ridges catching Sekh’s sword. The drow gritted his teeth, pushed- and felt the metal give.

The tip of his sword fractured, splintering off, leaving the edge jagged and uneven, as Sekh pitched forward, nearly falling. Ketheric ignored him completely, eyes focused on Lae’zel, and Sekh stared at the now broken sword. The room closed off around him, his pulse echoing so loudly in his head that it drowned out every other noise.

His mother’s sword. The sword she had kept at her side for years and years, before his birth- before she had even met his father. The sword she died with, gripped in her hand, fighting to her last breath. The last thing he had of her.

Shattered. Shattered.

Sekh dropped the blade, was moving without knowing, the rage inside him boiling over, burning his veins like a caustic, noxious devil’s brew. He snarled, threw himself on Ketheric, wrapped his hand around the man’s throat from behind and squeezed, pouring every ounce of magic inside his body into the man’s throat, trying to plant a seething, writhing, death worm in his fucking veins.

For a moment, Ketheric ignored him- but then Lae’zel sliced into his arm- and suddenly the man was stumbling, the arm that had been holding his shield severed, falling to the ground with a heavy thud.

Ketheric stumbled to his knees, gasping for air as Sekh bared his teeth, panted, squeezed and continued to pour magic into him. Against his raging pulse, he heard a cry, enraged and saddened, fueled from a hundred years of betrayal, echoing around the room-

And then the Nightsong, in all her glory, landing heavily in front of them, her sword drawn. Sekh released Ketheric’s throat as the aasimar spat the elf’s name, let himself stumble from his hold on the elf, daring to look back, across the room.

Astarion stood where the Nightstand had once been chained, one of the heavy chains in his hand, grinning wickedly. Triumphant in the silent task that, had he failed, would have condemned them all.

Sekh loved him so fiercely in that moment, it quieted his rage, for a single heartbeat.

He stood up, watched as the Nightsong placed her foot on Ketheric’s chest and shoved, sent him falling back, over the edge of his hellish stage, into the churning, fiery depths at its center. For a single moment- a heartbeat- it all seemed quiet, over.

And then the room shook, trembled in a rage that seemed to terrify Ketheric’s minions. They scrambled, faltering, as a huge mass of bone began to rise, speaking in a voice what wisped like a final breath, a death rattle.

They were staring at a god. Divinity itself, taking the form of bone, Ketheric fused into his mass like a writhing, beating heart.

“Bloody fucking hells.” It was Wyll, speaking against the silence. And to hear the other warlock speak in such words, such a tone- well, it should spell death, for each of them.

“I am the smile of the worm-cleaned skull. I am the regrets of those who remain, and the restlessness of those who are gone. I am the haunt of the mausoleums, the god of graves and age, of dust and dusk.” The creature was huge, hulking, its vice growing to encompass hundreds, thousands of dead, echoing its every desire. “I am Myrkul, Lord of Bones, and you have slain my chosen.”

Sekh took a step back, reflexively, the air acrid with the scent of old bones, the stale stench of rot gone to dirt and dust.

“But it is no matter, for I am death. And I am not the end- I am a beginning.”

It struck done with its hefting bone-scythe. Sekh jumped, having to leap off the platform, crashing down below on his shoulder, feeling bone grinding into bone. He grimaced, bit back a cry of pain, as he heard the sounds of Lae’zel and the Nightsong’s swords cracking against bone.

“On your feet soldier,” Karlach said, pulling Sekh up, ignoring the way his face twisted in pain. “We need you.”

They could only manage this if each of them were present. Only as a single, enraged entity did they stand a chance against a god.

He bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood, but he nodded, moving to try and climb up to the platform behind her. His arm felt like lead, he could barely raise it- and he realized in horror there was no way he could make the climb.

But he had to.

 Sekh hoisted himself up with his good arm, feet digging into the soft webbing, and pressed his chest tight to it, bit at the flesh to keep himself steady as he reached up as far as he could with his good arm. The flesh tasted of decay, had bile rising in his throat- but he swallowed it down, as he pulled himself up again, against the noise of bone, steel, the stench of magic and fire.

When he reached the top, settling on his knees, it was hell incarnate. Every party member, each glorious person he had learned to love, over these weeks, was bloodied and snarling, enraged, throwing themselves without regard for their own well being at the Lord of Bone. Giving everything they had, to tear this monster of a god down.

It would be a dishonor to them to not give the same.

Sekh stood up, screaming his throat raw as he held out his good hand towards Myrkul, letting loose not only whatever necrotic magic remained in his core, but also Syl’s shadows, wrapping around the blast, acting a shield to guide it directly into the cracks within Myrkul’s ribs. The force of it burned like a freezing fire, his skin prickling as if punctured by a thousand needles.

He had never combined the two. But with his other arm useless, he had no other option.

The sheer ferocity they rained down on the god, the divine hulking mass of bone and hate, was unlike anything Sekh had ever seen. Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought and hope and prayer they each had within them was given to this very moment. Bloodied, broken, it seemed none of them cared as they continued to rain blow after blow into the divine bastard- blades and arrows and magic enough to quell an army.

And when the bones began to crack, they only drove harder. Splinters began to fall from Myrkul’s body, sharp shards of bone that broke skin, yet no one cared. Their own pain was fuel-

Fuel that fed a fire, culminating in a sudden true death rattle, shaking the room, as Myrkul collapsed, body sundering into dust and nothing at all. His ribs spat Ketheric out like a parasite, left the man’s corpse to the party, as Myrkul sank into nothingness.

And then, there was silence, except for the ragged, desperate breaths they all clung to.

Ketheric was dead.

Sekh collapsed onto his knees, feeling his energy draining him. He heard weapons falling, as the strength they had exhausted left them. He sucked in a breath, his lungs aching, entire body throbbing.

But it didn’t matter, none of it mattered. Ketheric’s body was there-

And suddenly, the prism was as well, having pulled itself from Shadowheart, glowing like a sun. It seemed to open the air around it, and out stepped that golden paladin, that dream figure-

Hazy, edges blurred, a figure that wasn’t fully real. Sekh wondered what the others saw- if the figure was the same to all of them.

“How are you here?” It was Karlach, standing closest. The dream visitor spoke, a brief reprieve and nothing more- and then began to speak at length about the dead man in front of them, and the god they had slain.

As they spoke, Sekh felt a hand on his back. Astarion knelt down next to him- bloodied but looking intact, despite the worry lacing his face as he noted Sekh’s limp, left arm. Sekh said nothing, as in the distance the visitor droned on about gods, The Dead Three, about a man named Gortash that had Karlach screaming, an unknown woman-

A magical hulking crown that had Gale nearly vibrating out of his skin.

“Take his stone,” they said, gesturing towards Ketheric. At the center of his armor an amethyst like stone- cut in sharp edges- rested, radiating a heated power, a pull. Sekh realized, after a moment of hesitation, that they were all looking at him.

Expecting him to pry it free.

He swallowed thickly. “I can’t,” he admitted, nodding towards his useless arm. He wouldn’t have the strength in the other to pry it free. He shifted his stare to Lae’zel, said her name, but left the rest of the request silent.

She nodded, walked over to Ketheric’s body, crouching over him. With a dagger she was able to work the stone free, standing once it was in hand, the dream visitor looking at it with lovestruck eyes. Sekh didn’t care for the stare. “Remarkable,” they breathed, before their edges began to blur more. Their presence was fading.

They blinked out of sight, but left in their wake a shimmering light, breaking reality. A portal, out of this hellhole.

Sekh went to stand, was thankful when Astarion was up first, helping to pull him up. Sekh bent over, gathered up his mother’s sword- but then Astarion took it from him, holding it firmly in one hand so Sekh could cradle his lifeless arm. 

And slowly, broken, exhausted, feeling half dead yet victorious- the party stepped into the light.

*

Sekh leaned his head against the wall, gritting his teeth as Halsin’s large hands moved along his shoulder. He knew this was going to hurt-

He couldn’t bite back the cry as Halsin popped his shoulder back into its socket, the sick, bone crunching noise making his stomach churn. He felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes, and was thankful that the druid didn’t call him out on it. Instead, Halsin’s large hand rested soothingly on his shoulder.

“Try to move it,” he said, his voice deep, a timber form his chest that could have lulled Sekh to sleep. He was bone-dead tired and couldn’t wait to rest. When Halsin moved his hand away Sekh rotated his shoulder. It was stiff, sore, but his arm was functional again. “Good.” Halsin stood up, offering a hand to Sekh and pulling him up, as if he weighed nothing. There were bandages wrapped up along one of the druid’s arms- nasty bitmarks from the undead that had gnawed into his bear flesh.

They were all battered and bandaged- but back at Last Light. And the shadows were already thinning- the air was beginning to lose its lung piercing chill. They had prevailed.

Yet it didn’t feel like enough. They all knew it- their worms still wriggled and writhed in their heads. And now, thanks to some explanation from Withers, before they had made the trek back to Last Light, they knew they were up against the Gods of Death themselves.

Fuck the divine.

He was too exhausted to hide the displeasure on his face. Halsin hummed, moving for Sekh’s good shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We may not be done, but we did a lot of good. Don’t lose sight of that.” Sekh nodded halfheartedly, and Halsin moved to brush the hair from his face, tuck it behind one of his ears. The man’s touch was far too gentle for his size- and for the carnage he could invoke. “Your speech to Ketheric was quite the good distraction.”

Sekh barked a laugh, wholly unattractive but real. “I can lie my way out of a lot of things. Had to learn how to over the years- most folks don’t take kindly to drow.” He tried to roll his injured shoulder, and Halsin helped with the motion.

“So was it all a lie?”

Sekh settled his arm again, shook his head. “No. Definitely not. But I can say, my years with my family were quite nice. But why bother with the math for that bastard anyway?” Halsin nodded, bemused little smile on his handsomely lined face.

“You’re still quite young,” he said, “don’t let yourself think it always has to be this.” With that, Halsin gestured towards the door, urging Sekh to get out and get some rest.

Sekh walked out of the small room that was serving as an infirmary, was accosted nearly instantly by a few Harpers offering him wine to celebrate.

He politely declined with a smile, left them to their merriment as he headed outside. He hadn’t seen Astarion since the moment they’d stepped within sight of Last Light- and all Sekh wanted to do was curl up with him and let his bones rest.

Those thoughts were quickly derailed when he saw Shadowheart, standing with the Nightsong- no, Aylin, he had learned- and Isobel- gods, Ketheric’s once dead daughter.

He was convinced he could never make an uncomplicated acquaintance.

He walked towards them, pausing a step back when he heard the hushed tone they spoke in. His concern for Shadowheart was outweighed by a desire to give her privacy- but Aylin caught sight of him, and Shadowheart turned. The exhaustion in her eyes faded just a little, and she smiled.

Gods, it was the sort of sight Sekh sorely needed.

She held her hand out to him, and he took it, felt her fingers lace in with his as he stepped into her space. As he did so, there was a tingling, in his mind- her parasite, reaching out to his, wanting to show whatever Aylin was about to share with her.

Sekh let her in.

The woods, dark, a wild, terrified heartbeat- masked strangers, a wolf- and then a man. A man that Shadowheart’s very soul recognized, even if her mind couldn’t seem to place him.

Sekh watched the scene unfold, when the Sharrans first took Shadowheart from the woods, until it faded to black, and he was back, in the present. “Who was that man?” Shadowheart asked, and Aylin’s eyes softened.

“You know, little wolf, in your heart.” She reached out, placed a hand firmly on Shadowheart’s shoulder, as Shadowheart whispered my father. “He lives, as does your mother.”

Shadowheart brightened at this, eyes wide, staring into Aylin as if she was the moon, and this was Shadowheart’s first night topside. “But I was told they were dead-”

“And by who?” The silence was enough of an answer. “They yet live.”

“Then I have to find them.” Shadowheart’s mouth fell to a determined line, and Sekh squeezed her fingers.

“You won’t be alone,” he said, and she glanced over at him. He’d die before he let her lose her parents a second time- he knew losing them once was more than enough. “We’ll find them.”

Shadowheart pulled her hand free, reached out and wrapped her arms around Sekh’s neck. He pulled her flush to him, clutched at her back, found they were rocking slightly as he pressed his face into her neck.

“Thank you,” Shadowheart whispered, as Aylin and Isobel took their silent leave, to give them space. Sekh lifted his head- his question evident on his face, as Shadowheart added, “For believing in me.”

He smiled, his chest warm, aching. “I always will,” he said, and Shadowheart leaned in, pressed her lips softly to his forehead. “But you got yourself here.”

“I would have killed her,” she admitted, leaning back slightly. “If you hadn’t asked me to truly think, for a moment. I would have done exactly what Shar wanted, because it meant I didn’t need to think, I could just do what I’d been told would make me happy…” She shook her head. “I would have thrown away so many lives.”

“I think you would have faltered, in the end. I think, no matter what I said, you would have let Aylin live.” Shadowheart looked ready to disagree, but her eyes caught sight of something, over Sekh’s shoulder. Sekh turned his head, saw Astarion weaving through the Harpers clamoring about, eyes scanning around him quickly, quite obviously looking for something.

And the moment his eyes caught on Sekh, they never left him.

Shadowheart stepped back, giving Sekh a little smile, as Astarion closed the space quickly, reached out and curled an arm around Sekh’s waist, pulling him close-

And pressing the sweetest kiss Sekh had ever known to his lips. Sekh melted, felt his knees wanting to give out, as he clutched at Astarion’s half discarded armor. The world fell away, for one sweet, blissful moment- the pain radiating in his joints, the aches in his bones, everything was gone-

Except Astarion.

Astarion’s other hand found Sekh’s shoulder, gently traced along the tender skin as he pulled back- despite Sekh chasing him, slightly, never wanting the kiss to end. “Your arm-”

“Halsin popped it back into place.” Sekh offered a smile, but knew he wasn’t fooling the vampire. “Hurt like hell.”

Astarion nodded, before he looked over at Shadowheart. “I believe I interrupted something…”

“Oh no,” Shadowheart waved him off as she spoke. “Trust me- Sekh has said more than enough.” She smiled at them both, reached over and brushed some of Sekh’s hair back, behind his ear. “Get some rest- both of you. Morning will come far too soon- and it seems we’ve got a lot more work to do.”

Sekh nodded, watched Shadowheart slip away, before he turned back to Astarion. The dark circles under his eyes were bruise-like, his skin pale enough that Sekh swore he could make out some of the veins, under that porcelain skin. Astarion was beyond exhausted, just like him.

And he was still the most beautiful thing Sekh had ever seen.

Astarion tipped his head slightly, spoke in a low voice, asking almost hesitantly, “Can we go to bed now?”

Sekh smiled- and despite the torrent of misery this day had been, the smile was so large his cheeks ached. “Nothing would be sweeter, Starshine.” Astarion’s cheeks flushed, slightly, and Sekh’s chest utterly burst, burning moths and butterflies, fireflies of hellish heat swarming inside him, igniting his veins. He had never in his life felt like this, around anyone. He had never loved someone so fiercely that he could explode into the stars themselves at just the sight of them.

Love.

Sekh swallowed the word down, was content to cross the camp with Astarion, walking so close they were nearly touching. They were moving towards Astarion’s tent, Sekh presumed to rid the rogue of his remaining armor, when the air shimmered and sparked, the scent of cherry laced brimstone wafting through.

And then Raphael was there, a smug, pleased little smile on his face.

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?” His voice seemed to shatter the very air, and both Astarion and Sekh paused, as Raphael approached them, speaking at length about how they return to the Hells, how the Orthon they had displaced for him returned to his House of Hope for some reeducation.

Sekh could tell Astarion didn’t give a single fuck about what sort of sordid reeducation Raphael had been enjoying administering. “We delivered the devil,” he said, his impatience thick in his voice, his exhaustion rendering him unable to mask it, “now I want what I’m owed. We had a deal.”

And the sooner they knew the truth, the sooner Raphael would be gone, and they could finally find respite, find peace, for just a blink in time.

Raphael chuckled, as if the vampire’s annoyance was nothing more than a small child’s pout. “Oh, indeed we did, little vampling. And I discovered all there was to know about those precious scars, so experectly and devotedly carved into your ivory skin. It’s rather grim, even for my tastes.” Yet as he spoke, there wasn’t a hint of disgust on his face- simply ill-hidden amusement.

He was enjoying this. It made Sekh want to grind his teeth together.

“You house part of a contract between your dear master-” he began, stressing the dear so achingly lovingly that Sekh felt his own stomach roll. Astarion didn’t even try to hide the look of disgust that crossed his face. “-Cazador Szarr and the archdevil Mephistopheles. Or, former master, perhaps. You do seem to be such a free spirit now.”

Sekh wondered what Raphael would look like, choking on his own severed tongue, drowning in blood pooling from a fractured skull. He felt a bristling in his mind, and let Syl have his sight, welcomed her even. With her distaste for devils, she would probably have some lucious and vulgar ideas to add to the fantasy.

“In full, the contract states the Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been enacted.” Raphael dropped the act of trying to hide his glee, and outstretched his arms as he proudly announced, “The Rite of Profane Ascension.” Sekh felt a cold chill, clawing up his spine. Astarion shifted, slightly, and Sekh wondered if he had felt it too. He knew he had, a moment later, when he felt a chill in his hand, radiating from his ring. Shared discontent. “It promises to be marvelous, very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and oh so diabolical.”

“As lovely as your usual flare is, Raphael,” Sekh managed, working hard to keep his voice even, “please cut to the point.”

Astarion didn’t deserve to have the truth dangled in front of him, like it was the putrid blood of a rat and he’d been starved for weeks. The man had been tormented enough.

“You wound me, my little dark dweller. A sordid and horrid thing such as this deserves true showmanship.” He moved closer, the scent of cherries making Sekh nauseous. He swore Raphael was going to ruin the fruit for him. 

The devil reached out, dared to grip Astarion’s chin, force his head up slightly- examining him like one would a bitch for breeding. Like he was livestock. “If Lord Cazador completes the rite, he will become a new kind of vampire- something far beyond what his kind has ever dreamed. The Vampire Ascendent.” He squeezed Astarion’s chin, before letting him go. The vampire reached up, rubbed at his jaw- then looked disgusted at himself for the silent admission that Raphael’s touch had even registered.

“He’ll retain all the strengths of his vampire form, even find them amplified- and yet, the hungers, the arousals of man will return to him as well. And, unlike you dear Astarion- he will have no need of a parasite to shield him from the sun. The ritual, of course, has its price, as all worthwhile things do. Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his precious spawn, if he is to ascend. Imagine how he felt, when his darling Astarion went missing- when he was but so close to the end.”

This time, Astarion shuddered. Sekh wanted to reach out to him, but feared that even his touch would be unwelcomed, in that moment. His fingers flexed and curled into his palm, resisting the urge. Astarion’s face was unreadable, in that moment.

“You, Astarion, are all that is missing for Cazador to complete the ritual. Your scars bind you to it, and your soul will set off a very wave of death unlike any this plane has ever seen- giving Cazador his true life.” Raphael flicked his wrist, smiled as sparkling embers burst in the air- unable to resist just a bit of drama. “Our deal is done, my little vampling. Now, I have other pressing matters that require my attention.”

Another snap of his fingers, and Raphael was gone, against the smell of smoke and burnt sugar. Astarion hummed, folding his arms, and Sekh turned to him, still couldn’t read the look on his face. “You’re quiet,” Sekh said, softly, as he felt Syl severing the connection with his eye- giving them unrequested privacy.

He appreciated it.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Astarion admitted. And then, in a single instant, the wall that seemed to have built crumbled- Sekh saw anger, fear, and even betrayal in those gorgeous eyes, along the lines that framed Astarion’s mouth.

Sekh reached out then, offered his hand. Astarion unfolded his arms, took it, accepted the touch. Sekh laced their fingers tightly together, took a step closer to Astarion. “Cazador is a vile, worthless, rat bastard.” Astarion almost smiled, almost, and Sekh reached up, brushed some of his falling curls from his forehead. What he had to say hurt, but he said it anyway. “You’ll never be free so long as he lives.”

Astarion closed his eyes, took a single, deep breath. “I hate how right you are,” he admitted, through gritted teeth, bared fangs. When he next opened his eyes, they burned with a hellish fire, an ire ripping its way up directly from Astarion’s soul. “I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone, even when I was just another wretched toy for him to play with. But if I’m the key to this power he craves,” he paused, took another breath, “why, he’ll hunt me to the ends of Faerun. I’ll never be rid of him.”

Astarion turned, pressed his mouth to Sekh’s palm, then his wrist- felt his pulse, beneath his chilled lips.

“I need to take the fight to him,” Astarion whispered, “and I need you to help me.” Astarion closed his eyes, pressed his cheek to Sekh’s warm hand, let the drow cradle his face.

Sekh let go of his hand, wrapped his arm around his waist, pulled Astarion flush to him. “Always,” Sekh promised, “whatever you need, Starshine. Only ask.” He paused, swallowed thickly. “And it's yours.”

Astarion opened his eyes, looked up at Sekh through thick, silver lashes. The drow’s heart hammered in his chest, ached, and he knew Astarion could feel the spike in his pulse from just a single look. “Is that a promise?” he asked, softly, and Sekh nodded.

“I swear it, Astarion. Whatever you need of me, you’ll have.”

The vampire hummed again, before he closed his eyes, content for a moment to focus on Sekh’s warmth. The drow held him, knew that it was true- he would never be able to deny anything Astarion asked of him.

He loved him so much, he would burn the world, himself, for him. He’d blot out the sun in blood, forsake any divinity, let himself be torn asunder and burnt in the hells, if it meant that Astarion could have his freedom, the life he deserved- one he could be fond, even proud of.

[t1meslayer]

Lapis and Sage

No new fics today, I've been busy on some more secret projects. So why not take a look at this sweet little Fire Emblem Engage piece I wrote before this Tumblr existed for me to advertise on!

Starring my favorite yam girl, naturally <3

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Fandom: Fire Emblem Engage

Pairing: Alear (male avatar)/Lapis

Summary: As the Divine Dragon Alear collects more Emblem Rings with each passing day, he has to make hard decisions about who should utilize the powerful artifacts. However, his choice for the Ring of the Sage Lord feels obvious - even if she might not agree. Spoilers up to Chapter 8 in Fire Emblem Engage.

Click through the Read More below for a preview. Thanks for reading <3

Lapis stares mortified at the ring before her, eyes transfixed as its golden band glistens in the evening light. Her right hand clutches the beige strap of her shoulder bag tight, the other stuck firmly at her side.

"I don't mean to be rude Divine One, but…" She clears her throat, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. "You can't be serious. Right?"

Alear keeps a casual stance, presenting the well-polished Emblem Ring as though it were a copper coin. He tilts his head curiously at the girl's response.

"Have I given you reason to believe I would be lying, Lapis?"

Her eyes jump up, meeting his candy-coated heterochromia with her own salmon-pink shade - decidedly at the lighter end of Brodia's red-eyed spectrum. All the color drains from her face.

"No!" She bows her upper-body much like her master, though can't dip quite as far. "Of course not… I would never accuse you of dishonesty, Divine One."

The display brings a smile to Alear's face. So he persists, placing the Emblem Ring squarely under her head.

"Then you know I am being serious."

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

Original Short Story: Quick Thinking

The walk home is no different than any other day: trash litters the streets, Talakais prowls at the edge of the shadows, and the artificial sun for the planet Gluvyasdro sets against his back, giving him just enough light to get home.

His boots echo against the gravel path as he keeps to the middle of the road, his shadow stretching out far ahead of him. The groaning of the Talakais begins as it always does when someone walks their path, a low rumbling that ends with a horrid scratching noise at the edge of the shadow. They hardly ever reach into the light; the pain it causes them, even from an artificial star, served as a sufficient deterrent. It’s usually small animals who were the victims, such as rats or stray cats, though Milo knows small children can share enough similarities to fall under that category too.

His fingers curl inside his pockets, his shoulders tightening at the thought. He breathes in deeply, hoping to push back the brining that rising behind his eyes. The accident happened a year ago; he should be over it. He grits his teeth the more he thinks about it, her, the incident. Milo doesn’t think he can ever forgive his wife for her irresponsibility.

He snorts, then shakes his head. Ex-wife. The papers were finalized a week ago.

He speeds up his pace, as though he can escape it. Her. The memories. His therapist advises him to move on but…it’s hard to do so when she was the one to walk away, leaving the nursery and all its trinkets for him to throw away. He hates her. Can’t not hate her. After all their daughter would be here if she just-

A loud scream interrupts his thoughts, the noise sending shivers down his spine. Milo swallows, a stutter in his step before he continues on. He cringes as another cuts through the silence and it’s through sheer determination that each foot moves on. His shadow nearly doubles as the sun dips further below the horizon.

The next scream should have been a warning when he turns the corner, but Milo has never been a man who could read the unspoken signs of caution well. After all, he couldn’t even tell his wife was-

He stops. Blinks. His fingers twitch as boots squelch under the blood that fills the street. A hand reaches out and Milo is quick to jump away from the appendage. His eyes glance down to scan the threat and it’s the worst decision he’s made that night.

A Leynaui girl gasps on the floor, her body stuck between the shadows and the light. Her fingers scrape against the concrete in a pitiful attempt to escape, her muddy green skin tearing from her fingertips.

“Help me,” she begs in a quiet whisper before letting out a painful screech. Quiet chittering brings Milo’s eyes up to the two Talakainys hovering over her lower body. Their bony fingers dig into her leg, tearing muscle away with no effort. One lifts the meat above their head, tilting back as they lower the whole piece in their mouth. Their hand, still holding the tendon, pulls as their teeth scrapes the muscle away like chicken on a bone. A piece of tissue sticks out from their ripped cheek as they chew.

The other just stares, its eyes almost caved within its skull, and Milo ignores the poor girl’s pleas as he backs away. He turns quickly on his heel, and speed walks past the various bodies that clutter the road. The Talakais snicker a laugh as he passes more Leynauey and his guilt threatens to overwhelm him.

Where was the man who fought for the Talakais’ removal? Who protested the government’s action against overpopulation with the massacre of poor neighborhoods? Who fought for the protection of children against these creatures?

Milo pushes his guilt down. He’s not…he can’t…they’re already dead. He can’t save anyone.

The next corner comes around much quicker than he expects. It’s the last one he needs to take before he can reach his apartment and as he glances at the sun, he will have just enough time to make it home at an even pace.

Or he would have if he didn’t stop.

The last pair of Leynauey were no different from the ones he passed, their skin torn open and dug into like meat to a king. The woman…wife…was dragged slowly into the shadows, the Talakais tittering as her blood leaves a blue stain against the road.

Her husband laid on the ground, barely touching the shadows but his crushed legs shatters any hope Milo had for him to escape. His eyes are focused only on the smiling toddler, who reaches out with a stubby hand to push against his face.

Milo stares. Can’t stop staring. The child is younger than his daughter was but their hands…she used to reach out to him too.

Milo puts a foot forward. Then another. His boot scrapes against the concrete and he refuses to look at the man whose gaze burns against the side of his head.

He continues to move forward, pushing down the feeling of betrayal that threatens to close his throat. His fingers shake as nerves burn under his skin. The toddler’s wearing the same onesie his daughter used to wear, same blue color and all.

This is his turn. He should take his turn. There’s no reason to go back.

Milo breaths, curses, then turns back towards the pair. The man has already started to be dragged back and the toddler crawls after him. A Talakainy reaches their bony hand out to grab the child, just a hair breadth’s away before Milo scoops the child away.

He holds the Leynaui child close as he runs to his apartment, the sun seemingly setting faster than normal. He shuts the door just as soon as the sun disappears and breathes a sigh of relief. He sags down the door, still cradling the child who sucks on a tiny green thumb.

Stupid, he thinks. Why did he take this child? He’s not a parent, not anymore. The child coos and Milo can’t bring himself to regret the decision. He couldn’t save his daughter from the monsters, but he could save this child.

It wouldn’t fix him. Nothing ever would if he’s being honest but maybe…Milo stares down at the child, whom barely needs a rub on the back to fall asleep. It’s a second chance.