#Why is a Hip Fracture So Dangerous?

[dr-aashish-arbat-pune]

Hip Fracture

Here get detailed info on: Hip Fracture. Its types, symptoms, recovery. Know about the Worst Type of Hip Fracture. Learn about, Hip Fracture Treatment Without Surgery…. From Dr. Aashish Arbat… Top Orthopedic Doctor in Pune. Top Hip Replacement Doctor in Pune.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Rumors ✧

Plot : He calls you to his office when ridiculous rumors reached his ears, and he didn’t like them at all.

The dimly-lit confines of Levi's sparse office seemed to press in with stifling intensity, the stale air rife with lingering traces of cedar wood and black tea leaves.

You stood at rigid attention before the broad oak desk, pulse thrumming heavily as those gunmetal irises drilled into you with hawkish focus.

"You wished to see me, Captain?"

Your carefully measured tone belied none of the fraying trepidation eddying through your veins.

A pale hand currently braced against the desk's edge curled into a white-knuckle fist as Levi's jaw ticked with pent displeasure.

"Explain it to me, brat."His gruff timbre emerged clipped, edged in blatant steel.

"What's this absurd fuss about you getting all...friendly with the Commander?"

So this interrogation was about the unfortunate rumors encircling yours and Erwin's camaraderie as of late.

A treacherous flicker of amusement nearly broke your stoic facade at the naked undercurrent of jealousy evidenced in Levi's bristling tension.

You fought to keep your voice level and expression neutral under that smoldering glare.

"There's no fraternization occurring, Captain. Myself and the Commander simply share a amicable rapport given our respective responsibilities coordinating strategy."

Slate brows pinched in displeasure at your clinical assessment, burgundy orbs flashing outright derision.

"Tch. Save your diplomatic drivel, you disobedient woman."

Levi seethed as he rose in one lithe, economical motion from behind the desk.

You held your ground, back ramrod straight, even as he stalked forward with purposeful, predatory strides - every coiled movement radiating vicious leonine grace.

The fluttering throb of nervous anticipation tripled as your Captain loomed those few, scant inches separating your figures.

One pale hand Shot out to fist in your collar, jerking you forward until Levi's warm breath purred over your slackened lips.

"You weren't laughing and smiling like some dizzy teenager for my benefit all week, were you?"

He growled with lashing, dripping contempt.

Unable to formulate any coherent response beyond a strangled whimper, you felt your stoic control rapidly fraying under the broiling intensity of Levi's jealous focus.

To the rest of the Corps, you simply presented as close colleagues and confidantes - none were privy to the true nature of your torrid, secret liaison with Humanity's Strongest Soldier.

Only Levi held intimate knowledge of the bond anchoring you both.

And your bond rendered him undeniably feral when even a perceived threat jeopardized that possessive claim.

Every shard of air evacuated your lungs in a gust as he grasped your hips with bruising force, hoisting your weight up in one clean swoop as he walk back to his chair, straddling you on his lap.

Both arms trapped by his vice-like grip bracketing your thighs, you stared down at the smoldering tempest flickered in those mercurial depths glaring up in demand of your full fealty.

"I’m going to ask again..."

Even uttered through gritted teeth, Levi's words still possessed that grating indelible authority certain to be obeyed.

"What foolish notions are driving those idiots to pant after what's already mine to hoard, hm?"

Despite his unyielding snarl and iron countenance, you detected the thinnest fractured glimmer of uncertainty corroding the unwavering steel comprising Levi's solitary heart.

A fond, crooked smile tugged faintly at your lips before you felt emboldened enough to test your luck.

"Why, Levi..."

Your breathed his given name like a dangerously saccharine taunt as you leaned down, pausing a mere hair's breadth from his pursed scowl.

"Don't tell me...you're actually jealous over something so petty?"

His grip spasmed tighter in reprimand, the cords of muscle in those pale forearms flexing with sinuous precision.

Low in his throat rumbled a primal, animalistic growl dripping corrosive threat.

"Care to repeat that reckless drivel a second time?"

You deliberately held his volatile stare, hazy affection limning your own hazy depths.

"There is not a soul among us who holds a candlestick to what we share in this world or the next, Levi."

Each uttered endearment fell like a droplet of fragile hope melting Levi's icy armor bit by bit.

"I know my place - and it's at your side, steadfast and eternal."

With those hushed, impassioned vows, you leaned down to close the final scant distance between your shared breaths.

Levi stiffened further against you, but his staunch facade cracked the instant your pillowed lips slanted over his in a searing, openmouthed claim.

A full-bodied shudder bled through him as you surged forward, plastering every contour of your lithe frames inextricably entwined.

Fingers curled to possessive talons in your hair as the Captain lurched up into your plunging kiss, breath escaping in a ruined exhalation against your slick intrusion.

You poured every fevered fiber of conviction into that bruising tangle of enraptured flesh and fervent need - wholly, utterly submerging any shred of doubt in Levi's besieged spirit.

He greedily drank down your devoted mewls and impassioned intimations, swallowing each tremulous keen rumbling from your intermingled forms.

Only the obscene sounds of breathless want and molding lush friction remained as Levi surrendered all remaining restraint.

You felt yourself pinned astride his musculature, his sturdy form swathed in the desperation of your coveting embrace as if trying to blot out any remaining light beyond your conjoined cyclone.

By the time his grip slackened into liquid satiety, you felt akin to a man drowned - yet buoyed on endless warm tides of Levi's ravenous adulation.

When your swollen mouths at last separated with a shuddering inhale, Levi's face remained suspended in rapturous stasis against your own - eyes shuttered and brow smoothed under the influence of your immovable devotion.

Each shaky breath gusted scalding embers across your tingling skin as strands of ebony dishevelment scattered in silken disarray.

Only once that gunmetal gaze slitted open, wholly transfixed on venerating your glowing presence, did Levi truly wrest back any semblance of composure.

"...Tch." The clicking rasp of his tongue provided shaky pretense of recovered aloofness, even as those pale fingers spanned possessive branding sears across your flushed cheekbones.

"Filthy, manipulative little brat..."

Yet his lips shaped the coarse endearment like a sacred benediction rather than invective.

With a shuddering exhale, Levi gradually relaxed his shielding form against yours - the stalwart mask of Humanity's Strongest Soldier giving way to the man laid emotionally naked before you.

His true face drained of all staunch defiance, surrendering utterly to the one comfort his solitary existence would forever know: your eternal, unconditional grace.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Ownership.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader x Yandere!Childe (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Hybrid AU, AFAB!Reader, Non-Con, Rough Sex, Overstimulation, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, and Unbalanced Power Dynamics.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Childe’s grey ears twitched, his shoulders squaring as he tightened his grip on your thighs. He spread your legs further, settled deeper between them, his broad tongue lapping over your pussy and his nose bumping clumsily into your clit, but Kuni (the most recent name you'd settled on for him, because Kunikuzushi was a mouthful and you couldn’t get away with calling him your ‘little wanderer’ forever) only scoffed, his tail beating against your mattress in irritation as he watched Childe work. That wasn’t surprising. He was always annoyed, when Childe was around. You could count the number of full days he’d spent in your apartment after you brought home that hyper-energetic husky hybrid on a single hand, and when they did spend time together, it usually ended with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a new scar on Childe’s cheek. You couldn’t imagine when they’d decided to do this, how they’d come up with this plan when they could barely talk to each other. You couldn’t imagine why they’d do something like this, why they’d be so cruel to you after you tried so hard to be so kind to them.

You couldn’t imagine how you could’ve let this happen, when Childe and Kuni were supposed to be your pets.

From where you were laying, your head in his lap and your legs thrown over Childe’s shoulders, you watched Kuni reach out, tangling his fingers in Childe’s hair and forcing him to bury his face deeper in your cunt. There was a throaty groan, a wagging tail, and then his tongue curled around your clit, suckling the bundle of nerves and pushing your already fried nerves to their limit. You weren’t sure what Kuni wanted. You’d already cum on Childe’s tongue more times than you could count – a mix of his saliva and your slick already running down your thighs and staining your sheets, your mind already made useless by the fog of exhaustion and the pain of overstimulation. You’d stopped thrashing the first time you came, stopped crying by the tenth, but Childe never seemed to run out of energy and whatever Kuni wanted, he clearly hadn’t gotten it yet. It reminded you of how he’d acted the first few times you had to go to work after bringing him home, how he’d follow you from room to room with his ears plastered against his scalp while you got ready, occasionally knocking something over or digging his claws into your legs whenever you failed to give him the attention he was looking for. You used to think it was cute, the inconvenient but adorable insecurities of your formerly stray kitten. Now, it just felt dangerous.

Childe’s tongue slipped inside of you, stretching you open and brushing against something soft and over-sensitive, and your body tensed up, going rigid as you came undone with a long, fractured moan. This time, Childe didn’t try to draw it out, raising his head in spite of Kuni’s best efforts to hold him down and letting out a pitchy whine. “Is it time yet, kitty? Can it be my turn? Please?”

Kuni rolled his eyes. “If it’ll get you to shut up and stop assaulting my ears, you can do whatever you want.”

Immediately, Childe lit up. You could hear his tail start to wag faster, see him push himself onto his knees and take his cock in his hand, hastily lining it up with your entrance. He didn’t tease you, didn’t hesitate – just pushing himself into you with a rough groan, only stopping when he couldn’t possibly force himself any deeper. There was another sound, too ragged and too guttural to be called human, and a pair of massive, padded hands curled around your hips as started fucking into you properly. He was big, even for a canine-based hybrid. It felt like he was splitting you open, tearing your cunt apart with little more than erratic thrusts and tiny, airy whimpers. The curve of his knot knocked against your entrance, threatening to slip inside of you and stretch you even further, and Childe threw his head forward, his blunt claws digging into your waist, his—

“He’s so fucking gross.” Kuni shifted, drawing away from you and leaving you unsupported and alone. While Childe was busy between your legs, he straddled your chest, glaring down at you with a fanged scowl. “That’s what you get for bringing a mutt home. All he’s ever going to want to do is—” He let out a sharp growl. “—stick his dick in whatever he can reach and drool. You’re lucky I’m willing to teach him this much.”

Childe lurched forward, resting his chin on Kuni’s shoulder and licking a stipe up his cheek. Kuni cringed, but didn’t move, didn’t swat him away. Rather, he took you by the hair and jerked your head forward, pressing your lips to the head of his cock. You tried to keep your mouth shut, to ignore the beads of pre-cum dripping down your chin and past your jaw, but he dug his claws into your scalp and, when you opened your mouth to scream, shoved his cock past your teeth and down your throat. You gagged, fresh tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but he didn’t seem to care, a loose smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he bucked his hips.

“Maybe next time, you won’t be so eager to bring your stupid mutts home.” If Childe disagreed, he wasn’t in a state to protest, and to be fair, neither were you. A dark film spread over your vision, and before you could hope to hold yourself together, your eyes fell shut, your last tether to consciousness snapping.  Again, if Kuni cared, he didn’t find it concerning enough to stop. You felt him start to fuck your throat properly as you faded into that dark, empty void, with only the sound of Kuni’s voice for company.

“Maybe next time, you’ll remember that you don’t need anyone but me.”

[cassiefromhell]

Lollipops

Post-War: Levi Ackerman x Reader

wc: 4.3k

warnings: SPOILERS. im so serious guys. SPOILERS. if you havent watched/read to the FINALE, do not progress. you've been warned. also theres a little tiny bit of gore.

a/n: this is self-defense writing to protect my sanity after the last ep. im so not okay with it being over. also requests are open, i'll write anything! also, this is written in flashbacks. but never fear, the flashbacks are separated from the present by dividers, so you'll know when it switches.

“You two are like a fairytale couple,” a young girl giggles, hugging a pink-covered book to her chest. “Like a damsel and her prince.” 

You smile, pulling a lollipop out of your box — and then another, handing them to her. “Take two for sweet-talking me. But remember that true love isn’t perfect by any means.”

She grins, nods, and takes her candy, sprinting off into an old woman’s arms. You sigh softly, looking up to see that the line of children coming to receive candy from Paridian heroes is momentarily empty.

“Not perfect, huh?” Levi asks from beside you, shifting in his chair.

You roll your eyes, gently flicking the side of his head. You crouch down to be on his level. “You’re saying that we had a fairytale romance? That you swept me off my feet and carried me away from danger?”

“Yes. I would. Now get your ass up, I don’t need you to get down for me,” he scowls, his eyes flicking over your kneeling form.

“I would get down on my knees for you anyti—”

“Up.”

You grin, but listen to him and stand up, picking up your box once more. “Fairytale, huh? So what are you, the savior?”

“I’d say it’s even. Although, I remember saving your ass much more often than you saved mine.”

You scoff, putting your hands on your hips. “Name a time!”

“Get your ass up, scout!”

You groan, shoving yourself up onto your elbows. “Just a sec,” you manage between heavy breaths, coughing and coughing.

Hoofbeats approach and you whimper, knowing that if that’s the captain you think it is, you’re about to get the beating of a lifetime.

“Why, exactly, are you laying in the dust?” Captain Levi Ackerman asks, tone cold and voice sharp as a knife. “You’re a transfer, not a cadet. From the MP’s, even. I expected better.”

“I’m recovering from an injury, Captain,” you wheeze out, pressing a hand to your side and shoving yourself up onto your knees. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“You’d better be. Now, up. On your feet, or be left behind.”

You pull one foot under you, then the other, and nearly collapse. His arm shoots out to grab your bicep, effectively keeping you up as your side screams in protest, ribs aching and tears springing to your eyes.

“What kind of an injury?” he asks, his grip tightening. “Why on earth would you switch to the Survey Corps while injured?”

“Ribs,” you hiss, gripping your side. The doctors have said that nearly all your ribs on your right side are either bruised, fractured, or completely broken. “And I had no choice. I had to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, but slowly releases you, making sure you’re not going to fall over the second he lets go. “You’re in no condition to be training, and I don’t need you getting worse. I have no interest in crippled soldiers. Go inside and get yourself assigned to kitchen duty for the next two weeks, on Ackerman’s orders.”

Your eyes slowly shift up from the ground to him, and you get your first good look at him.

And holy shit, the rumors of Humanity’s Strongest did not mention how mouth-wateringly attractive he is.

You give the dumbest nod you’ve ever given and turn on your heel. You hobble your way inside, and then immediately lean against a cold, stone wall, repeating to yourself in your head over and over again:

We are not falling for a captain.

We are not falling for a captain.

You open and close your mouth, then shrug. “Okay, but of course you were going to save my ass a lot while I was training. I’m sure it got better once I was a captain.”

“Did it, though?”

You elbow him, scowling. A smirk dances on his lips.

A woman grinning ear-to-ear starts your way, and you narrow your eyes. “She’s too old for candy.”

“Reporter,” Levi grumbles, looking down into his box, as if not making eye contact will stop her from approaching.

“Hi!” She shouts, giving a big wave. “I was hoping to ask you two a quick few questions, while you’re not too busy.”

“We’re quite busy,” Levi drones.

“Ah! I had heard about that grumpy attitude!” The reporter laughs, then looks at you. “And you must be his sunshine!”

You scratch the back of your neck, shrugging. “Something like that.”

The reporter whips out a pen and paper. “Now, all sources say that tog two have been married for quite some time, but nothing ever tells me when you two met, or how! Do tell.”

“We met in the service,” you start, rubbing your chin. “I had just transferred to the military police, so I was starting fresh in the Survey Corps.”

She quirks a brow. “Why did you transfer?”

The air simply won’t come to your lungs. You can’t breathe. The night sky doesn’t help, the fresh cool air is only suffocating you more.

You drop to the grass in the courtyard, one hand on your healing side and the other around your throat. Tears pour down your face, and you cough, and cough, and cough, and gasp.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help. You can still remember what really happened, his hand around your neck, boot in your side, the bruises along each ridge of your spine from being tossed into a wall.

Your ribs may have been almost fully healed now, after two months being a Scout, but you still can feel each kick he gave you just for telling him no.

“Breathe.”

You sputter, looking up to see Captain Levi kneeling in front of you. He grips your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Breathe, come on. Take a deep breath.”

You try, you really do, but you only end up sobbing harder. Your hands clench the grass.

He sighs heavily, scooting over to your side and awkwardly patting your back. “Breathe.”

You manage to slow your breathing, and take a few good deep breaths. Then you immediately stumble to your feet. “…Sorry. I’ll head back now.”

His hand is around your wrist before you can even register that he’s gotten up. “Why are you out here so late, crying in the damn courtyard?”

“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream, you murmur, tugging your hand away from him and heading back inside.

You feel assessing eyes on your back as you walk, and you can’t help but look down at your hand, that hand that you wore a ring on for a year and a half.

You’ve fallen silent, chewing your lip and looking off to the side. The reporter tilts her head, raising a brow. 

“She just needed a fresh start,” Levi answers for you, placing a hand on your hip for reassurance. “And that’s what she got.”

She accepts that answer, writing down the words. “Now, how did you two end up together? Was it live at first sight?”

Levi scoffs. “Far from it.”

You glare at him. “Well, I liked you.”

“No, you hated me. You just wanted to fuck.”

“Thank you, Hange,” you grin, folding up the card again and tucking it back into the envelope, which reads ‘Congrats, new Captain!’. “I really appreciate it.”

A year in the Survey Corps flew by fast, and you had shown immense skill in the craft, therefore earning the title of Captain of your very own squad.

But your skills weren’t the only thing that had developed. You and Levi tolerated each other now, even if he thought you were loud and chaotic and you thought he was grumpy and sad, like a lonely old man.

And yet, you were drawn to him. He was handsome, and every once in a while you’d say something that would make his mouth tilt up, and… that mouth. It would be the death of you.

Hange heads out, leaving you alone in your room for the first time in hours. Everybody had been in and out, offering congratulations and words of advice.

You sink back onto your bed, yawning. It’s been a long day, and now you just want to sleep—

But a knocking comes on your door, and in walks Levi.

“I could have been naked,” you grin as he strides over, dumping a pile of paperwork on your desk.

“Captains have more paperwork than everybody else. I’ve been assigned to show you how to fill it out.”

“I bet you were hoping I was naked” you tease, but get up anyway, running a hand down your face as you stand next to him.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re boring.”

“Boring? Really?”

“Yeah.”

There is a short silence, with Levi sorting through the papers. And suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that you are in your bedroom, alone, with Levi Ackerman.

And apparently he’s aware of it too, because he gives you a look.

And then you jump on him.

The reporter laughs and scratches a few things down on her pad of paper, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “And what year was this?”

“We met in 846, and then started seeing each other romantically in 847,” you explain. You open a lollipop and stick it in your mouth.

The reporter only stares at you, a brow lifted and eyes narrowed.

“Eleven years ago,” Levi says, and then she nods and writes it down.

“What—”

“Different years,” Levi murmurs, shaking his head. “They’re in the damn 1900’s, remember.”

You flush, blood rushing to your ears and cheeks. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been with the rest of the world, you always forget that years are different and you can take a plane somewhere and getting a papercut doesn’t mean you might die of sepsis.

For you, it’s still 858.

“Did you two personally know Eren Jaeger?”

You crouch by the bars, tilting your head as you examine him. Just a child. Skinny. He couldn’t hurt a fly.

“This is the titan child?” You ask, squinting. “He’s, what, fifteen?”

“Yes. Please step back,” Levi says. “You don’t need to be that close.”

“He’s like a fleck of dirt in a crop field. I need to be this close to see him. Are you sure he really—“

The chains on his arms rattle, and you skitter back, slamming into the wall beside Levi.

“Careful,” he scowls, brushing dirt off of your shoulder.

“What… happened?” The boy asks, rubbing his eyes.

Erwin launches into a full explanation, and by the time he’s done the boy looks completely lost.

“You’re… the commander of the Survey Corps,” he looks at Erwin, “…And Captain Levi, and Captain {Y/N}… where am I?”

“A dungeon—”

Erwin keeps speaking, but a thump near the staircase catches your attention. You stride off, past the MP guards, and peek around the corner.

There, struggling against a guard, is the young girl that you’ve been told is Mikasa.

You scowl, shutting the door behind yourself and storming up to her.

“Calm down,” you whisper, taking both her wrists in one hand and pushing her up against a wall. “Do you realize what you’re risking here?” 

“You don’t understand, I need to see him—”

“Shut up. You’re risking his freedom by coming this close. Go back upstairs.”

She glares at you, damn near baring her teeth. But you hold firm, and she slowly nods.

“Good, now go.”

You release her, and with one final glance over her shoulder, she trudges up the stairs.

You run a hand through your hair,  thinking to yourself: these new scouts are going to be an issue, aren’t they?

“Yes,” you say, nodding. “We knew all of the kids.”

“All of them?” she asks, furiously scratching down your words.

“We were both captains when Eren’s year entered the corps — we trained them. Of course we knew them all.”

“On my squad,” you read off of your paper, speaking to the large crowd in front of you — all the scouts that will be on the next expedition. “…I am pulling in an extra scout. Mikasa Ackerman will join me in the center ranks.”

Whispers run through the crowd, and you step off of the stage, taking your spot next to Levi in the captains line. Erwin picks up a speech, talking about the squad formations.

A tap on your shoulder makes you turn, and your eyes widen as you’re met with your favorite chaos trio: Jean, Sasha, and Connie.

“Get into your formation,” you hiss.

“But, here’s the thing,” Jean whispers. “I’ve been really great during training. What do I have to do to get on your squad?”

“Jean!” you narrow your eyes. “You are not getting on my squad.”

“I would bring you food every day,” Sasha pleads, putting her hands out in a prayer position. “Please! We’d be the best squad ever.”

You actually pause to consider that for the food, but Levi stomps on your foot. “Ow— Uhm, no. Now return to formation or I’ll bump you down a squad.”

They skitter off, moving through the crowd. You just hope that they’ll go to the right place this time.

You sigh, facing forward again. You’ve already heard everything that Erwin has to say, so this is all repeat to you.

You brush your hand against Levi’s, and his pinky touches yours. You lock them together, resisting the urge to just lean into his warmth.

Pinkies locked, you wait out the rest of the assembly.

“Would you say you were close with any of them?”

Levi shrugs. “They respected me. They loved her.”

“Oh, they loved you too,” you grin, patting his shoulder. “Loved you enough for Historia to smack you the second she was legally allowed to.”

“Have there been any hardships?” The reporter cuts in.

You pause. Levi pauses.

“Of course,” he murmurs, voice softer now. He brushes his fingertips against your thigh.

As soon as you make it in through the gate, Levi is at your side, pulling his horse up next to yours.

“Let me look,” he murmurs, beckoning with his hand. 

You shake your head, cradling your messily bandaged hand to your chest. “No.”

“{Y/N}. Let me look,” his voice is more stern now.

You know the damage. You found a cloaked figure up high in the trees, you went for the attack, and they were faster than you. It was a clean cut. Your index and middle fingers are gone, as well as a chunk of your thumb.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I can’t take it off ‘till I reach the medics,” you whisper back, turning away from him. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

But he doesn’t leave. He stays by your side, silently. He rides with you all the way to the scout headquarters, silently. He walks with you to the medics, without a single word.

The medics take one look at you, and, having heard that you were coming in, usher you into a private room.

There are three medics with you, which means they consider your injury a serious one. 

The lead medic closes the door, and then turns to you with a pitiful smile. “Let’s take a look, alright captain?”

You cradle your hand closer to your chest. You feel like a child, not wanting to accept what’s happened. But it’s… your hand… this is forever. 

Levi gently touches your arm. “You don’t have to look.”

You can’t remember the last time Levi was so soft with you. You’ve been with him for years by now, but he’s just not a soft person.

Nevertheless, he pulls your face against his shoulder, stroking your hair. He carefully pulls your wrapped hand away from you, holding it out for the medics. 

You feel it immediately when they start pulling the bandages off, and you bury your face into Levi’s shirt, whimpering.

“You’re alright. They’ve almost got it off,” he murmurs, holding your face against his chest.

The wrapping falls away, and there’s a soft gasp from one of the medics, followed by Levi stiffening.

“Is it bad?” you moan, crying out as someone prods something painful.

“Do you want me to lie?”

“No.”

“It’s not good. But it’s a clean cut, so they’re going to clean it and stitch it up for you. You’ll be fine.”

You fist his shirt. “…Please don’t go.”

He pulls you a little closer. “I won’t. I won’t leave your side.”

The next thing you know, they’ve stuck your hand in alcohol, and you’re screaming.

You tuck your half-hand into your pocket, out of the reporter’s watchful gaze.

“But you two are married, correct?”

Levi nods. “Yes.”

“When were you married?”

You look to Levi, smiling softly. “Well, twice. Once in Paradis, and they don’t acknowledge Paridian marriage licenses here, so we did it all over again a couple years ago.”

“When was the first time?”

Your hand has become a focus for you.

Just as you lay in bed now, holding your two and a half fingers above your head. The stitches have been taken out, leaving you with pinky and ring fingers, two little nubs cut below the first knuckle, and half of a thumb. It’s still healing, but this is pretty much what your hand will look like. Forever. Till the day you finally croak.

The door swings open, and you immediately feel Levi’s cold, calculating gaze. “Are you picking at it again?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “Just looking. Y’know, at least I still have a ring finger.”

“Why does that matter?” He asks. He takes off his jacket and hangs it up, then sits on the bed beside you and starts on his boots.

“So one day I could wear a wedding ring.”

He pauses. You pause, realizing what just came out of your mouth.

He turns to face you, leaving one boot on and the other half off. “You’re interested in marriage.”

Suddenly your face feels hot. “…Yeah.”

“To me?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s really what you want?”

You nod, chewing your lip.

“Then marry me.” His face stays completely blank.

You sit up slowly, eyes wide. “You— you wanna marry me?”

“You already know that I love you. If you want marriage, it’s only logical that—”

You cut him off by tackling him, sending the both of you tumbling off the bed. Levi twists so that he’ll hit the ground and you’re just land on him, but you have no time to ask if he’s okay between all the kisses you’re showering across his face.

He scoffs. “Enough, woman.”

“You wanna be stuck with me!? Really?!” You grin, sitting up to be straddling his waist. 

“I guess so.”

You throw your arms over your head, starting to sing to yourself. “You looooove me, you wanna maaaarry me, I’m gettin’ maaaarried,” you snap to your own little beat, dancing on his waist.

You look down at him, beaming, just to find him watching you with soft gray eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers.

The reporter smiles and nods, then looks over her notes. “Well, I just have one more question, and then I’ll leave you two be.”

Levi looks quite ready to be done, so you speak up. “Just make it quick.”

She nods, looking up at you one last time. “Did everyone else know you two were together?”

You sigh, reaching behind you and pulling your hair out of its ponytail. It’s been a long day, and all you want is to refill your ODM fuel for tomorrow and go to bed.

You approach the supply closet, but pause when you hear voices. You peer in, eyes widening at the sight.

Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Reiner, and Bertholdt all crowd around a table, coins in piles. But there are no cards. No game.

“Listen,” Connie says, throwing up his hands. “It’s just gotta be someone in the Survey Corps. There’s no way it’s not!”

“But wouldn’t we know if it was?” Jean adds, rubbing his chin. “There aren’t too many options.”

“Miche?” Mikasa proposes, spinning a coin in her fingers.

“What? No,” Eren scoffs. “Absolutely not. Armin, what do you think?”

Armin lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “I already lost my money on the bet that Captain {Y/N} would stay single. I thought she was the type to not want or need a man.”

Ah. So they’re betting… on my love life!?

“Well, she’s wearing a ring, that’s for sure…” Sasha rubs her chin. “What if it’s Levi?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Everyone in the room erupts into laughter. 

“Ha! Her and Levi? When pigs fly!” Eren laughs, banging his fist on the table.

“You’re such an idiot,” Connie grins, shoving Sasha. “I’d say she’s a lesbian before that!”

You smirk and roll your eyes, walking away from the room. You just know that they’re gonna be knocked off their feet when they find out.

“No, no, it took them quite a while to find out,” you laugh, shaking your head. “They couldn’t have guessed it if they’d put all their little brains together — and believe me, they did.”

“So, how did they find out?”

“Alrighty, Armin,” you sigh, running a hand over your head. “Let’s get this transformation done. The area is cleared for miles, so just give me a few minutes to get out of dodge, and you’ll get the smoke signal to go ahead.”

He nods, chewing his lip. 

“Hey,” you pat his shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

With that done, you turn, shooting your grappling hooks into a tree and soaring off into the forest.

After a few minutes, you’re damn near in the safe zone.

Near.

And then the sky lights up like a Christmas tree.

As expected, a massive explosion sounds behind you, and your ears immediately start to ring. More concerning, however, is the shrapnel made of trees and dirt and rocks flying your way.

You shriek, turning forward once more and zipping your way through the trees. Except, you have to hold your left sword in a weird way because of your hand, and then a gush of wind hits you and—

The branch you’re swinging from snaps, and you’re sent tumbling to the ground, unable to right yourself. 

The grass gets nearer and nearer, and you fumble with your swords. But you won’t make it. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, and accept your fate—

Until you collide with Levi’s chest, and his arms are around you, and you’re zipping towards the safe zone.

“Holy shit,” you wheeze, coughing on stirred up dust. You grip his shoulders, shaking from all of the adrenaline rushing through you.

You’re back in the group with the others in no time, and Levi immediately puts you on the ground. But you don’t get a hug and a ‘thank god you’re alive.’ No, Levi puts his hands on your shoulders and shakes you.

“Are you crazy?” He hisses, gripping your jaw with one hand. “I’ve told you to hold your swords upside down like I do, so this wouldn’t happen. You almost died, and all because of your idiocy—”

“Levi—”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You cannot go dying on me, you hear me? I will not lose you.”

You bite your lip, putting a hand on his chest. “Levi…”

“You are such a fucking idiot. I cannot believe I married someone who would risk her own life like that. You need to value yourself, damn it! You cannot leave me here alone—”

You shut him up with a kiss, rooting your hand in his hair. He kisses you back without hesitation, his hands flying to your waist.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you murmur, pulling away. “You saved me. You caught me. And I’m confident that you always will.”

His jaw clenches, a muscle feathering, and he opens his mouth, but a voice from the right interrupts whatever he had planned to say.

“Did I, uh… miss a chapter?” Jean asks.

You look over to find almost all of Eren’s friend group standing there, dumbfounded. Hange sits up in a tree, grinning ear to ear, but they’ve known about you two for years.

You grin, shaking your head. “The money goes to Sasha.”

“AND YOU ALL CALLED ME STUPID!” Sasha shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air.

“That’s all I need,” the reporter nods, and closes her notebook, tucking away her pen. “Nice meeting you two, heroes.”

She leaves with a wink, and just in time, because a little refugee boy has approached, hands behind his back.

You give him a soft smile, kneeling to be on his level. “Would you like a lollipop?”

The boy nods, giving a shy smile. 

Levi reaches into his box, holding out a blue lollipop. He gives the child his softest smile, and in that smile you see it all.

You see the man that saved your ass more times than you can count. The man who presses a kiss to your temple when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. The man who blushes when you run your hands down his chest. The man who doesn’t give anyone that soft smile of his, except for on very rare occasions.

Your man.

The center of your universe.

The boy takes his lollipop, bows at the waist, and then skitters off with a  mumbled ‘thank you.’

You watch him go, and then you turn back, met with Levi, holding out a lollipop to you.

You press a kiss to his scarred knuckles and take it, giving him your own soft smile. “I love you.”

“Yeah, you too, brat,” he chuckles, turning back to the box of candy.

And you remember the nights you spent eating sweets he brought back for you from town.

You remember every night with him.

Because Levi is your world. Your one and only.

And he always will be, from now until the end of time.

@jeannineee be proud of me bitch <3

[loveemagicpeace]

🛁Body & Health🧼

🛁6th house is also about your health. How you can get sick or which part of the body may be most vulnerable. Of course, there are other factors as to why and how. But the 6th house is connected to your body, which means that there are things here that can have the greatest impact on your body.

☀️Sun in 6th house you can be prone to exertion. Many times your heart and hair can suffer. Back, spine and immune system -They can many times be affected. It is good if you eat a lot of vitamins. Exercise is also very important. The more you move, the more energy you will have. Heart disease is often confirmed in men due to excessive strain. Herbs good for you: sunflower, calendula, mistletoe, juniper, laurel, chamomile, cinnamon, rosemary.

🌙Moon in 6th house you can be prone to depression. Emotional stress can greatly affect health. You must not be emotionally burdened with work. Your body can recover quickly even after a serious illness if you are emotionally stable. Parts of the body you have to be careful are: breasts, mammary glands, esophagus, stomach, intestines, salivary gland, liver, gallbladder, intestine. Herbs good for you: anise, cabbage, camphor, cucumber, iris, jasmine, lettuce, lily, poppy, violet, willow, lotus, moonwort, mugwort, pumpkin.

🍀Mercury in 6th house-you can be prone to stress. The nervous system is weak and sometimes they are threatened by tension and stress due to the fast pace of life. You have to remind yourself that it is necessary calm down and relax every now and then and try to eat regularly. The brain, lungs, respiratory system and nervous system can be affected the most. With mercury here The lungs are a potential weak point because it's a common cold may develop a persistent cough. Also shoulders, arms and hands. These can be susceptible to injuries such as sprains or fractures. Herbs good for you: lilies of the valley, marjoram, fern, lavender, fennel, anise, mint, thyme, dill, lemon grass.

🍒Venus in 6th house- you can be prone to prone to unpleasantness. Many times it can be something that affects your appearance, your beauty. People with this placement can fluctuate a lot with their body weight. They also tend to tighten in the neck, which is usually the result of tension that has accumulated over time. Because they want to remain calm, most of the time feelings of anger and stress. Parts of the body that may be most prone to damage: throat, kidneys, lumbar region. Herbs good for you: birch, walnut, almond, violet, narcissus, elder, poppy, passion fruit, fig, peach, apricot, olive.

🦋Mars in 6th house- you are prone to irritation. Many times you can get injured during sports or activities. It is not recommended to do things that are dangerous. Many times you can burden yourself too much by being able to finish or do something. You can often be prone to migraines and headaches. Even to a hot temperature, which otherwise quickly disappears. It is not recommended that they be active when they are tired. It can mean that you have too fast a pace of life, which can mean that you skip the main meals (which can lead to digestive problems). Parts of the body that may be most prone to damage: head, muscles, adrenal glands, fetuses. Herbs good for you: pine, pepper, hot pepper, nettle, cherry, radish, horseradish, onion, garlic, ginger, tobacco.

🫧Jupiter in 6th house-Jupiter is usually good in this house because it represents happiness luck abundance. So most likely you will be very blessed with your health. However, you may be inclined to react too impulsively or optimistically to certain health problems. Even if they get sick, they recover quickly. The thinness of the stems is rich food and wine, which can lead to obesity, especially in middle age. They tend to overeat, which can overload the liver. In later years, arthritis and rheumatism affects the hips. Parts of the body that may be most prone to damage: thighs, liver. Herbs good for you: oak, pine, maple, birch, willow, cherry, pear, licorice, moss, wheat, nutmeg, saffron, clover.

🪐Saturn in 6th house-you can be prone to burdnes. Sometimes you can have too much stuff. You are stressing too much and giving yourself too much stress and limitations. When they're exhausted, their weakened immune systems can't cope with minor ailments as easily, and unrelieved tension can prevent a good night's sleep. The main body parts associated with it signs are knees, teeth and bones. Over the years, joints can become stiff. Meticulous dental care is required. They are prone to strong melancholy and can gradually begin to sink into depression. Parts of the body that may also be prone to damage : gall bladder, spleen. Herbs good for you: cypress, hemp, wolf cherry, moss, cumin, ivy, sage.

🪼Neptune in 6th house- you may be prone to self-inflicted diseases. Things can be confusing and not clear. They can get diseases from computers, phones and other modern technology and pollutants. Mysterious health problems that modern medicine cannot define or explain. Complementary therapies may help you more. Since Neptune and Pisces are associated with the feet, this part can be the most affected. Pisces often under severe stress they seek solace in alcohol and drugs. A foot massage will be good for you. Parts of the body that may be most prone to damage : nervous system, feet. Herbs good for you: water lily, mushrooms

🧃Uranus in 6th house- You may be more sensitive to the cold. Diseases that can appear are often related to unknown or strange things. They have an intense mind that needs plenty of stimulation, but they are not always in tune with their body's needs. Daily lack of movement causes a decline in energy and circulation. During the winter months, numb fingers and feet can swell if nothing else take action. Uranus is also associated with the ankles so people can be prone to sprains. They can exercise caution and must wear appropriate footwear. They are also subjected sudden illnesses that then disappear without a trace. Parts of the body that may be most prone to damage: ankles, blood circulation. Herbs good for you:orchid

🐚Pluto in 6th house- They are extremely durable and resistant, which means that they are generally healthy. Some diseases that may be related to them are of a more psychosomatic origin. They may also be prone to nervous tension, which can affect the muscles of the shoulders, neck, and back. A massage is good. The main parts of the body are the bladder and large intestine. It is important that they excrete toxins. It is also good to do a detox diet every now and then. Parts of the body that may be most prone to damage: miscarried, gave birth, bowels. Herbs good for you:eggplant, beetroot, pomegranate, daffodil.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🧚🏼‍♀️💕🌙

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

"Need a hand?"

@summer-of-bad-batch week 5 prompt Also featuring Wild Guess prompt "Would a hug help?" from @timtwelve Pretty sure I read that there are bonus points for using the Wild Guess prompts ;)

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Crosshair, Wrecker Set after the finale, when everyone is living happily on Pabu Word Count: ~1355 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair struggles to manage a task one-handed. Wrecker is there to support him.

Crosshair swallowed a snarl as he pinned the jar of preserve between the counter and his hip, fruitlessly straining at the lid with his left hand. The angle felt awkward, his fingers clawing weakly at the smooth metal rim.

No matter how he tightened his grip it was his hand that slid along the surface of the jar, instead of the lid itself turning.

Glaring futilely at the jar, he slammed it back onto the counter so hard that the plate and cutlery he had laid out rattled.

He was still seething in the direction of his aborted lunch when Wrecker walked in. The big clone spotted his brother glowering over the unopened jar, greeted him with a cheerful question.

“Need a hand?”

The line of Crosshair’s shoulders went rigid. Then he spun, grabbing the jar and hurling it past Wrecker so hard that it smashed on the wall behind him, spattering the stunned man with jam and shrapnel slivers of glass.

“I don’t need your kriffing pity!” Crosshair’s voice rose in frustration even as it wobbled. “I can do it myself!”

Wrecker had flinched as the jar whistled past his head, but now he straightened. The immediate shock dropped quickly from his face, replaced by an anguished look.

“I’m sorry, Cross. I didn’t mean it. It’s just an expression.”

“Kriffing rub it in, why don’t you!” As if launching one projectile wasn’t enough, Crosshair grabbed the plate too and threw it in the opposite direction. By the time it shattered on the floor his attention was already elsewhere, sweeping the cutlery onto the floor with a clatter, then opening the cupboard door just to slam it again for the sake of making noise.

“Hey, hey, Cross!” Wrecker moved swiftly to intercept him before the fruit bowl and its contents could be turned into ammunition as well. Catching hold of his left wrist and ever-so-gently wrapping his other hand round his right forearm, he positioned himself in front of Crosshair, holding him steady as the sniper tried to turn his face away.

“Let go of me.” Crosshair’s voice was low and dangerous, but edged with the threat of tears he was holding back. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want it. I can do it myself.”

Wrecker cast a glance at the sodden lump of jam dripping down the wall, then returned his attention to his brother.

“I know that Cross,” he said, voice breaking with gentleness. “You’re the toughest person I know.”

He rubbed his thumb soothingly along the inside of Crosshair’s forearm, willing the tense muscles to relax. The longer he held on, the more the fight leached out of Crosshair, until he sagged his forehead against Wrecker’s chest. His shoulders were shaking.

“I didn’t ask ‘cos I thought you couldn’t do it, Cross,” murmured Wrecker softly, resting his chin atop his brother’s head so that his words vibrated through him. “I asked ‘cos I want to help.”

“I don’t want your help.” Crosshair’s voice fractured on the words. Then, a hiccoughing snuffle, “I don’t want to need help.”

Curling in on himself and pulling his arms free of Wrecker’s grip to cross them over his chest, Crosshair gulped as his body was wracked with involuntary sobs. His eyes were screwed tight shut, shoulders creeping up towards his ears as tension ratcheted through his trembling body.

Wrecker leaned after him hesitantly, but Crosshair had broken their contact and he wasn’t going to re-initiate it. Crosshair hated being touched at the best of times, and the only reason Wrecker had stepped in before was because he was scared his brother would hurt himself if he didn’t.

There was a loud squelch as a glob of jelly detached from the wall and fell under the inexorable force of gravity to the floor. Crosshair brought his head up, a forlorn look on his tear-and-snot streaked face as he looked at the destruction he had wrought. Then he coiled over his truncated right arm once more, left hand gripping the space just below where his right wrist used to be.

“You alright for a minute?” Wrecker asked, gentling his voice. “I’m gonna clean up the glass. ‘Fore someone hurts themselves.”

Despite his tears, Crosshair nodded. He leaned against the counter, letting it take his weight, and watched through watery eyes as Wrecker carefully moved around the kitchen, gathering broken crockery and mopping up jam and shards of glass.

Depositing the dust-pan filled with debris on the counter and rinsing his hands in the sink, Wrecker asked, “Want me to make you a drink?”

Crosshair didn’t reply, other than to give a very small nod. He had his face turned away now, red-rimmed gaze distant and unfocused.

Wrecker filled a glass with chilled water and pressed it gently against Crosshair’s knuckles. It prompted Crosshair to release his grip on his right arm, folding his stump across his abdomen as his left gripped the glass and brought it shakily to his lips.

His throat bobbed as he drank, and even when he finished he kept the glass pressed to his mouth, swallowing thickly. A rapid series of blinks cleared the glaze of tears from his eyes, although his lashes were still damp.

“Don’t know why you’re here,” he muttered, not looking at Wrecker. “Waste of your time. You could be doing something better.”

“Nothin’ else is more important to me,” said Wrecker levelly, refusing to be perturbed by Crosshair’s negativity. “Want me to make you a sandwich?”

“I can do it–”

“–Yourself, I know,” Wrecker finished the sentence flatly. “But do you want me to?”

A sniff. “No. Not hungry.”

“Fine.” Leaning on the counter beside Crosshair, Wrecker rolled his neck until it clicked. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” came the angry reply, despair and self-loathing making Crosshair’s voice rasp even more roughly than normal. He dropped his head to stare at the floor, biting back more tears. “Everyone keeps saying they’ll help, but there’s nothing they can do. I’m useless. I can’t do anything. Can’t…” He trailed off with a ragged gasp, gesturing futilely at the mess of jam and glass in the dustpan. “Can’t even look after myself.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Crosshair’s breath rattled erratically as he tried to compose himself, in contrast to Wrecker’s deep, measured inhales.

Before he spoke, Wrecker tilted his face up and away, making sure not to burden Crosshair with his scrutiny.

“Y’know, it’s okay to stop and feel it once in a while. Feel sorry for yerself, or angry. It’s not a bad thing.”

“I’m better than that,” snarled Crosshair through clenched teeth.

Faced with his aggression, Wrecker lapsed into silence once more. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly not wanting to leave but unsure how to continue.

It was Crosshair who spoke next.

“If you tell Hunter I cried over jam,” he warned, “I will end you.”

Wrecker grinned as he placed a hand over his heart. “I won’t tell.” He turned, finally bringing the weight of his gaze to bear. “Feelin’ better?”

Crosshair sniffed. “Not really.”

“Would a hug help?”

Warily, Crosshair glanced up at him. His left hand cradled his right elbow, nursing his abbreviated arm. In the absence of a toothpick he chewed on his lip, worrying the skin until it split and bled.

“Yeah,” he agreed finally, cheeks flushing beneath his tear-bruised eyes. “It might.”

Without a word Wrecker gathered him into his embrace, arms gentle and so-careful around his slim shoulders. Crosshair might be nearly as tall as him, but at that moment he seemed small and vulnerable.

He didn’t return Wrecker’s hug. His arms were still wrapped tightly across his own torso, the self-soothing gesture layered under Wrecker’s. Wrecker seemed not to mind. He tilted his head to rest his cheek against Crosshair’s temple.

“Love you, Cross.”

Crosshair’s sharp exhale puffed against his chest. “Don’t know why.”

Wrecker rumbled a dismissive noise, arms tightening in a protective barrier encircling his wounded brother. “I jus’ do, Cross.” His words were a reassurance whispered into the space between them. “I just do.”

[shini--chan]

May I request headcanons about Yandere Kaneki please?

Of course, here, have a character sheet. I got a bit carried away, since it has been so long since I wrote somthing for Tokyo Ghoul.

Yandere Character Sheet

Ken Kanaki 

Trigger warnings: implied/references murder, humans are eaten, imprisonment, emotional/psychological manipulation, delusional behaviour, references to depression and suicidal ideation

Attributes - What sort of Yandere is he/she?

One of the cornerstones of Ken's yandere tendencies would be his protective urges. Few people aside from him know how dangerous and wicked the world can be. A person doesn't have to be a particularly sadistic ghoul to revel in bloodshed after all. There are so many ways you could hurt yourself. 

In the beginning, he would be haunted by scenarios of all the ways harm could befall you. He would wake up from nightmares of you dying and feel his heart clench at the thought of you being wronged. Thought of how you could be harmed drives him half-insane with worry.

After his time with Agoiri Tree, these tendencies would only skyrocket. You are his Elysium, an island in a stormy sea, an oasis in the scorching desert. Do you really think he could let anything happen to you? What had once been an unbearable anxiety, uncomfortable like centipedes crawling under his skin, would morph into outright bloodlust. The harmful element would wind up as a blood splatter on the ground.

Of course, part of these protective urges would be based on how strong you are. If you're just a fragile doll, then Ken would want nothing more than to wrap you up in the finest silk and hide you away forever. If you have your own back bone of steel, then he would be relaxed enough to allow you more leeway and time outside. However, even if you are strong, even more powerful than him, then he would still feel protective over you. After all, even the most talented and effective people have weaknesses and openings, even they sometimes make stupid mistakes.

Aside from that, Ken is sweet and often very considerate. He takes note of your wishes and desires, even taking the effort to remember the little things - a book that you offhandedly mentioned that you wanted to read, how you like your coffee, the route you take to work in the morning. If you do, he doesn't even take physical notes, rather dedicating it all painstakingly to memory. That way, you would take a long time to catch onto the red flags, to how he seems a bit too dedicated, too desperate for it to be healthy. 

Yes, he would be desperate and dependent. At night, he tries to tell himself that he would be happy just by watching you from afar, by ensuring your safety while remaining just another face in the crowd. He is too broken to be with you after all. But it is exactly because he is broken that he can't stay away from you. You put him at ease - your mere presence is balm to his fractured psyche and thus he would only grow more dependent on you the longer he would be a ghoul. 

There would be days when he would practically be attached to you by the hip, for once ignoring all your protests and trying to drink in your presence as much as possible, as if you are some healing draught. Lie down with him, card your fingers through his hair and sooth over all his rough edges and your wish would be his command (of course, as long as it would be within reason). This is also one of the reasons why it would never be able to let you go - you’re his source of strength, the reason he clings to life instead of falling to his suicidal ideation. In a way, you’re what Rize (the figment of his imagination, that is)  is to him and everything that she can’t be - supportive, yet not as harsh and biting, present and not in his head. You are something more than just a representation of one of his facets.  

Though, there are still times when he is fractured, when even you aren't able to consolidate the parts of him. Then, he is rash and paranoid and so very restrictive. In some ways, he projects his mental state onto the outside world - when he is particularly fragile and conflicted, then he would see his world as endangered. When he is plagued with doubts, he second guesses your words and reads between the non-existent lines, constantly fearful that you are just putting up an act. 

Entwined with that, is the way he flips between delusional and lucid. Thanks to his rather mild temper and selfless nature, he probably will have developed a somewhat normal relationship with you before his yandere tendencies would really emerge. At times he recognises that what he is doing is unhealthy and even toxic and that all the hurtful words you hurtle at him are warranted. Then there are other times when he isn’t sure of his own identity, or how the world really works. As a coping mechanism, he turns to you and ignores any misgiving you have about your relationship. 

Kaneki is also very much obsessed with you. At night, he dreams about you and during the day he sees you in his inner eye. You come to mind when he imagines what true beauty is supposed to look like. Whenever his mind dares to wander, it wanders to you. His thoughts revolve around you to the point where he finds it difficult to think clearly, unless he is in a fight or you are close by. And having you in his arms is by far the more preferable option. 

Cornering - How would they get you?

Ken doesn’t kidnap you. Not unless he would see that as the only option to keeping you safe. Instead, he tries to approach as he would a friend. With some luck on his side, he is his co-worker or a classmate; that way, it is expected that the two of you interact with each other as it is. Even with his character development over the course of canon, he is still clunky and shy when it comes to you. Well, if things start out as a professional relationship where he is mature and kind and helpful. However, as soon as matters would get more personal, then he would find himself floundering. 

Perhaps you find his clumsiness when it comes to his emotions for you adorable, perhaps you first have to warm up to him (which he would manage to his helpfulness and persistence) but in the end, when you are together, he couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t have to be an official relationship either, it can just be you growing closer and closer, you not even being fully cognisant of the extent of your feelings, or of his for that matter. 

Either way, Ken Kaneki does his best to wrap you up in a normal relationship before the going gets rough. It isn’t really his intention when the nature of your relationship starts to change; it just happens. There is this constant itch under his skin, these constructs in his mind mocking him that he’ll end up losing you. Thus, he pulls you closer and closer, drawing up all the more rules that you have to follow. 

It would start with him being more prying than usual on where you are going and being all the more inquisitive on how your day went. Then it would transition to a tracker in your clothes or one your phone and locked doors at night. And it would end with you only being let out of the house with him as a chaperone or with a person that he particularly trusts.  

Expectations - What do they expect of you?

Ken doesn’t have that many expectations of you, since he has a rather wide pallet of people that would check his boxes. Nevertheless, there are a few things that he looks for in a person and a few things that are absolute no-gos for him. One of those things is a strong sense of justice. He wouldn’t be able to bear a person that is psychopathic and sees other people as cattle or ants to be trod upon. After experiencing so much suffering, as well as seeing so much suffering being inflicted upon others, he requires somebody that can look at the world with kind eyes and not want to hurt others out of some sense of twisted glee. If you are an idealist that somehow wants to turn the world into a better place, then he would be all the more interested in you. 

Tying into that, you better not be hedonistic. While there is nothing wrong with wanting to indulge in the few joys life has to offer, there is something off putting to him about a person that makes their life revolve around chasing pleasure and drowning in it. There is much more to life than a set of actions or experiences that make your brain release endorphins, and you not acknowledging that would just seem cowardly to him. He wouldn’t have anything against you being naive and sheltered - to him there is a difference to being that and willfully blind, or even sadistic. 

Be sweet with him. He doesn’t mind a tsundere, but having to deal with a cynic (even if he is one at times) would just wear him down. At times, he just wants to put his head in your lap and have you card your hands through his hair. Surprise him with preparing coffee for when he gets home, and even if he can’t really eat the cake you bake for him, he would appreciate the sentiment. Aside from that, I can see him falling for somebody working in medicine and if you know that he is a ghoul and maybe go out of your way to smuggle out a bag of blood for him, he would be over the moon. 

Besides that, he has a huge competence kink. There is just something about you being very good at something significant that warms him with pride and adoration. If you write, then he wants to read everything that you bring to paper, and lose himself in descriptions of other worlds. Good at singing and/or dancing? He has countless videos and audios on his phone. Should you dance with him, then you’ll have the privilege of seeing his cheeks flush deep red as you guide him through the motions. If you have a particular talent for something else that isn’t tied to entertainment, then he could spend hours listening to you talk about your field of expertise. He doesn’t even have to understand it to be enraptured, your passion and competence is more than enough to entice him. 

Faded - Would they let go of you in any way?

You could scream and shout your throat raw at him, he would just nod along and prepare some warm milk with honey for when you’re finished with your tirade. He does his best to act unaffected, though your words are the equivalent of rubbing powdered glass over his skin. If you would continue for long or hit particularly sensitive nerves he would break down and cry. But still he would never let you go, as he would tell you. Because don’t you see, none of this is for him, it is all for you! 

So no matter what you do, no matter how much what you say amplifies his self-hatred, he would keep you by his side. That being said, there are still two circumstances where he would let you go. 

The first is if he comes to the conclusion that you are safer away from him rather than by his side. This would be due to you being endangered by proxy to him. The last thing he would want would be for you to die in the crossfire in a fight with the CCG or another ghoul faction, or, heavens forbid, be targeted as a means to hurt him. 

The second would be him forgetting you. When Ken Kaneki becomes Haise Sasaki, he forgets you, at least when it comes to conscious memory. Though watch out! As soon as he would smell you or see you again, he would find himself drawn to you again. 

Punishment - How would they proceed if you do something they disapprove of?

On average, Ken isn't big on punishments. He sees himself as your protector and guardian, and what sort of protector would he be if he can't protect you from himself? Perhaps as the Centipede he would more deliberately punish you. Else, in his mind he only takes measures to protect you, and if they are harsh, then so be it. It is clear that you are too reckless and naive and optimistic so you need a minder that isn't reluctant to make tough choices. 

If you are too carefree and prone to venturing around, he'll imprison you in your shared apartment. Hanging out with people he doesn't approve of? Suddenly you are hearing stories of how they are terrible, good for nothing people. He'll lock away all the knives and anything you can hurt yourself with if you try to fight, and baby you if you self-harm. After trying to escape, he'll forbid you from watching TV or reading books, citing that your overactive imagination caused you to do something so foolhardy. 

Protest will seem to fall on deaf ears. Sometimes they will but other times they'll be carefully filed away so that he can lose sleep due to them. You are always on his mind, after all, the good as well as the bad. 

Reaction - How would they react to you escaping?

Panic, full blown panic. That is what he'll experience at first and the younger he is, the longer the panic attack will last. He'll dash around your shared living space, just hoping his panic is unwarrented and you just hid yourself away in one of your tantrums. His searching becomes more frantic and destructive the longer you remain undiscovered.

Eventually, he'll force himself to make a cup of coffee and sit down. Kaneki will do his best to piece together the various variables: When did you leave? What did you take with you? Which places are you most likely to run to? Are there any people from your past life that you still place a lot of trust in? 

He will try his best to put himself in your shoes in order to anticipate your past, current and future choices and thus successfully track you down. Depending on which phase of his life he is currently in, there will be differences.

The shy Ken Kaneki that he is in the beginning of canon handles it like a teenage boy looking for his crush or friend. Checking social media, asking around, quietly loitering around places where he thinks you'll pop up. The Centipede is far more violent and far more desperate to get you in his grasp again, therefore the police and the CCG will find a lot of corpses, courtesy of his quest to find you again. As Haise Sasaki, he has far more resources and is calmer. In that case, he can cook up an excuse to have you very officially hunted down and dragged before him. 

The end is always the same - him fussing over you like a mother hen, obsessively checking you for injuries and chiding you. After that incident, he’ll vow to keep a closer eye on you. You’ll be kept on an even shorter leash, with him being far stricter about rules and such in comparison to before your escape attempt. In his eyes, it came to you running away because he was far too lax with rules and vague about his intentions. 

Turnabout - Scenario: You have the upper hand? What would be different from their usual MO? 

Actually, not much world change, on the surface at least. In some ways, he wouldn’t mind you taking the steering wheel and allowing you to play the dominant partner in the relationship. If anything, being taken care of and having to relinquish control to you would be a new yet not unwelcome experience for him. At first, he would be worried and nagging, wanting to wriggle his way into being the one that takes care of you, the one that makes sacrifices yet he would slowly learn to enjoy taking the back seat. That is, of course, if the two of you would stick to being in a romantic relationship. However, don’t think he’ll allow you to get away. If anything, he might become so used to being taken care of, that he’ll not allow you to get rid of him. 

On the other hand, if you become his captor and he your captee, he would have a lot of mixed feelings. In many ways, he would understand your urges to harm him and restrict his movements. After all, he had wronged you and in retrospect, he would realise that he might have been too harsh and condescending. That would make him vow to learn from his mistakes and treat you with more dignity, should he manage to turn the tables again. Because even if you would harm him, he would still continuously forgive you, because you forgive the people that you hold dear, or not?

Vengeance - What would they do in the face of competition?

Ken is insecure as it is and having a rival would only make this worse. Though it wouldn't have the intended effect of making him back off, rather it would make him all the more determined. Though, depending on which stage he is currently in, there are vast differences on how he deals with rivals. 

As Ken Kaneki, the original, shy and timid Ken Kaneki, who has just become a ghoul or will soon become one, he’ll be much more shy. There is something all too tragic about the way he pines after you, in the manner a mediaeval knight would have pined after a lady of noble standing, a love that could never be mutual and fulfilled. Though, at times the depth of his passion will even spur him to action! It is surprising to everybody, even him and therefore he has a lot of plausible deniability in the case law enforcement comes knocking. It would sicken him to the core what he does to have you, and all the while he carries the heavy regrets in his heart, but it is all worth it as long as you are safe. Though, that is just when his emotions get the better of him, an absolute last resort. Else, he will try to convince you with shy words and texts in the middle of the night that your current paramour just isn’t compatible with you and that you deserve better. 

As The Centipede, he is far more ruthless. After all, he does know what is best for you at the end of the day. So when he determines that the man that is currently in a relationship with you, or is bringing you flowers and chocolates every other day in an attempt to woo you, is bad for you, then the unlucky fellow must go. If he is feeling particularly frustrated and just must get the point over to you, then he waits to kill the offender right in front of you. Of course, that is if he can’t talk to you about his issues with you. Else he expects you to know that his arms are the safest to be it, and for you to reject any advances. It just might be that the one or the other is particularly pesky and persistent and needs to be taken out. 

As Haise Sasaki, his plans are more complex. He has a reputation and a hell lot of resources to fall back on. As such, he tries the easy route first and foremost - talking to you. Of course, you might very well not be convinced by his word alone and then he’ll do some digging to drag the skeletons that certain person has in their closet forth. Maybe he’ll get other people to talk to you, to offhandedly mention and discuss the various flaws of his opponent with you. As much as he might want to kill his rival, he can’t make it too obvious. Perhaps that person will then be sandwiched between two warring parties and wind up as collateral damage, or be the victim of a violent crime in a far away city, or are found dead by a suicide hotspot. It takes much to get Haise to take his rival into a back alley or out into the country in order to make short work of them. 

In all scenarios he feels a twinge of guilt, but does his best to stamp it out with thoughts about you - your safety, your love, your happiness, you, you, you. 

Art is not mine: from Irina Vinnik and other artists

[daisychainsandbowties]

it's become commonplace for them, beatrice sitting astride ava's lap, arms draped over ava's shoulders, a book clutched loosely in her hands as she reads aloud. it's poetry, usually, slim volumes by oliver and vuong and siken and gibson and smith, the words slipping from her mouth with the pitter patter of summer rain, warm and all-encompassing.

ava always busies herself with her hands sliding beneath beatrice's shirt and her mouth on beatrice's neck, each touch shaped into oblation by the fervour of her devotion. there's restraint there, in the surety of hands that remain above the white-capped crests of beatrice's hip bones, below the blooming swell of her ribcage. it's an unspoken understanding, a silent promise. at our own pace. always, always at our own pace, now that we are free.

beatrice initiates the shift, having, in one of those moments she'd felt brave enough to venture into the queer bookshop across the city, stumbled across a particularly apposite poem. she recites it into ava's ear, chest clenched with that all-too-familiar melange of laughter and tears, emotion now too frequently spiralling beyond her ability to control it. whatever happens with us your body will haunt mine and your touch on me, firm, protective, searching me out and your strong tongue and slender fingers reaching where I had been waiting years for you.

and ava acts the words out, fumbles beatrice's belt open, slides her hand between her legs. her other hand climbs the uneven ladder of beatrice's ribs, presses delicately against the scar tissue that marks where beatrice's breath had been gifted back into her body, and ava captures beatrice's exhalation in the hollow of her mouth as she slides a finger into her cunt

Language, to Beatrice, has always felt like a poorly-healed bone; a series of fracture points waiting for the right pressure to come apart again. She feels like an imposter inside it, trying to untangle her hands, her mouth, her hips from their signifiers - words like daughter, like duty. Words in restless orbit trying to stick to her skin.

She can’t think of what she’s thinking of when Ava’s finger glides through her wetness. Maybe she’s wondering at words, maybe she’s speechless in the face of these soft, mouth-made things and their ability to consume her. Why does it frighten her so much, to think of that motion? Fingers gathering the slick evidence of her desire, using it, and she’s already imagining what will happen to it after, where it might go.

She wants to flinch from the thought, but she can’t, because Ava’s hand is shifting down between her legs and god, she’s in every direction.

Ava’s fingers drumming on the tabletop, damp from her mouth, licking strawberry jam off her fingertips in the morning. Tangled in Bea’s, or drawing them over into her lap just to play, folding and unfolding each joint, tracing traceries of scars and asking after each one, like she wants to know where they live so she can visit.

She takes Bea’s startled exhalation into her mouth as she starts to fuck her, one finger sliding into her cunt, and it is astonishingly easy.

It’s as if Ava’s finger belongs there, moving slow, steady, ghosting around her entrance and then inside. There are moments that make language inadequate,Beatrice thinks but all the same she reaches, dangerously, for the half-remembered image of a page from the book in her hands. One line in a poem that goes ‘Spilled orange juice all over the table this morning. Sudden sunlight I couldn’t wipe away. My hands were daylight all through the night.���

There’s a palm pressed into her ribs, around scar tissue, and where’s the word for that gone? Pneumothorax, and the flutter of Ava’s hands after unearthing her chest, how they shook flecks of blood back down onto her. It didn’t happen like that, but Beatrice dreams of it anyway – of what I almost did to you.

She pulls away from Ava’s mouth as Ava pushes into her, further, and the poem was right; it’s as though she’s been waiting her whole life for this, hips rolling down onto Ava’s hand of their own accord.

Beatrice didn’t think her body could, would move without her permission, but it does.

There’s a gap between them - space given form by the bracket of their bodies - and Ava’s looking down inside it, watching the movement of her own hand as she fucks into Bea. The uncoordinated twitch of her hips in response. 

‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ Beatrice breathes, feels Ava pause, buried to the knuckle inside her. She looks up, away from her hand in Bea’s pants, the belt hanging open like a door. She pushes up – slow, easy – shifting only slightly in Bea’s cunt but enough to make her cry out a little. Not a shout but a short, plaintive noise.

Ava leans up, gentle, to kiss her, and Beatrice realises she’s still holding onto the book only in the moment that she lets it falls back onto the pillow. Her hands find Ava’s jaw, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing, at all, but she rolls her hips forward and she finds this mouth she’s been seeking and waiting for and wanting, so badly she almost died from it.

Thumb up under her shirt – Ava’s thumb – rubbing that crescent of scar tissue. Fervent, and this is a language, too. It’s Ava’s hand reaching up further, until her elbow hooks at the hem of Bea’s shirt, pulling it up and away from the flexing of her stomach muscles. She’s fucking herself on Ava’s finger now, feeling Ava huff – not in frustration but out of need – as she finds the back of Bea’s neck. Her fingers now splashed over her shoulder to hide the comet tails of freckles.

‘Bea,’ she sighs, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak. Breathless sound, tipping high at every jolt of Bea’s hips, her slick spread onto the heel of Ava’s palm where she’s grinding down against it. She smiles, and this is what they have in common – honesty.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing either.’

Recitation. This has been her lifeline, her life, the feeling of her faith in the braidedness of syllable into sound into meaning into motion. She used to pray under her breath, by rote, before, when cleaning knives in the leaky light of the armoury. How blood gets in everything, how it goes everywhere, and the prayers slipping out of her into silence. But now she’s home, and there’s no evil in the world. Just light, taking different shapes.

Soon it all slips into fragments, words hurrying through her on the way to somewhere. Ava, whispering to her as she slides a second finger into her cunt, her free hand pushing Bea’s shirt up more and more, until she’s helping her to duck out of it, casting it onto the bed behind her. Not the floor, because she knows who the shirt belongs to.

Ava kissing her on her collarbone, fingers slipping out to their tips and plunging back into her, taking up a steady rhythm. Her mouth in the softness under Bea’s jaw as their movement finds tandem, and all the world can be simplified like an equation. Into Ava’s mouth, kisses scattered along her jaw until they find the corner of her mouth. Ava’s fingers, fucking into her.

Now, in the glow of the bedside lamp, she holds Ava by the absence of the scars she said once lay across her back. In Switzerland, she remembers Ava sitting on their tiny couch, doing the sudoku in the local newspaper. So much slipped out of her then, unguarded, almost unbidden.

‘They were probably totally fucked up – the scars, I mean.’

I never got to see them, but there were places where people paused, holding me at an angle to reach my back with a washcloth. There was this… catch in their words, like a question.’ 

‘You’re not a question, to me.’ Beatrice said this sleepily, trying to pretend that she found it natural, the way Ava pulled her stockinged feet up onto her lap when she collapsed onto the couch next to her.

She never elaborated on it then, wondered if Ava knew that underneath her response there was another, too honest for daylight, too scalding for her tongue.

So she takes Ava’s nipple into her mouth, humming the discarded edges of sentences into that softness, feeling it change with the pressure of her tongue before breaking away. Ava, smoothing the tears from her eyes as her other hand tries to match the frantic pace of Bea’s hips, as she clenches around her, as another cry – louder, and as honest as anything she’s ever said -  falls from her mouth.

Her voice unravelling. Language, her anchor, falling into needy whimpers as she lowers her head, surrendering to the heat pressed against her, wrapped around her, inside her. Thinking of a poem she read while standing in a bookstore, surrounded by motes of dust, by sunlight. Ava’s voice wafting through the shelves and the words rummaging around behind her lungs for a place to live.

‘if love is a hole wide enough to be God’s mouth, let me plunge into that holy dark and forget the colour of light.

love, stay in me until our bodies forget what divides us, until your hands are my hands and your blood is my blood and your name is my name.’

[minteayoongimakesmewoozi]

oh no..... had a thought about the au where tanjirou is giyuu and ayame is sabito.........

tanjirou and ayame face the hand oni, but they're both so unprepared for it. tanjirou's rib is broken, his forearm is probably fractured and he's been limping since they managed their escape. it's almost too dark for ayame to see where they're hiding in the cave, but she can feel the terrible tremors of the hand oni as it hunts for them.

the terrified expression on tanjirou's face is what makes her decision for her.

the hand oni said "sweet little fox".

maybe if he sees the fox mask and cloud jinbei and nothing else, then they might have a chance.

or, well, tanjirou might have a chance. urokodaki-san would be sad if he didn't return. urokodaki-san doesn't have anyone anymore.

ayame tears the jinbei off tanjirou's shoulders, replacing it with her kimono while he's still disoriented. she pulls it loose around her, then snatches the mask off his head.

"what - ayame, what - ?"

"stay here," she says quietly, her expression hidden behind the mask urokodaki-san carved for him. "i'll lead the oni away. don't make any noise, then make your way down to the wisteria trees as soon as the coast is clear."

"the mask - "

"tanjirou." her voice is solemn. "whatever happens... tell my shishou i was always grateful for everything."

she disappears from the cave before tanjirou can demand answers.

murata finds tanjirou and helps him through final selection. there is only one casualty for final selection that year.

kamado tanjirou is the water hashira, and he wears a dark blue seigaiha haori, the pattern dyed red. he's the water hashira, so no one wonders why he wears seigaiha. the charcoal half of his haori is hard to explain, but no one will ask.

when sabito is faced with the boulder, a girl in a fox mask appears before him. she holds himself the way a master swordsman does, and her strikes are swift and merciless. she knocks him out in ten seconds and doesn't bother to wait for him to wake up.

he begrudgingly admits that the way she moves is beautiful.

another girl, also with a fox mask, but with the mask resting against the side of his head, is the one who greets him when his eyes open.

"sorry about ayame-san," she says with a rueful chuckle. "she isn't very patient."

ayame-san, sabito learns early on, doesn't speak much if she can help it. she doesn't linger, even if sometimes he feels like he's being watched when he's alone. she continues to use a bokken while he wields a live sword, but it doesn't matter; she is always the one who deals out the first strike. often the last one as well.

"ayame-san doesn't want to show off too much," hikari says as she braids a flower crown. "she's a bit different from the rest of us, that's all. she doesn't stay for urokodaki-san after all."

"then who does she stay for?" asks sabito.

hikari's smile is secretive as she rests the daisy crown in her dark hair. "one of these days, you should ask her, sabito. you might be the only person she answers."

three months later, ayame stands before him with a steel katana at her hip. she draws it slowly - almost reverently. sabito notices that the curve of it is slightly different; it's steeper, the kissaki almost menacing.

"so," she says in a measured voice, "after six months, you can finally face me as a swordsman. hikari-san did well training you."

"you had just as much to do with it, ayame-san," hikari calls out from the side.

sabito snarls. it pulls the scar on his cheek, making him look more dangerous.

"today is the day i win," he declares, unsheathing his own blade.

ayame tilts her head. he wonders if her lips follow the same downward curl of her mask, or if she smirks at him like he always imagined she has.

"then you'd better hit me with everything you have, sabito."

time slows around him. his nose twitches, picking up a strange scent. it's metallic and sharp, like a freshly polished katana. it winds through the air, and he finds his blade following its arc.

for the first time since they met, his blade reaches ayame first.

there is a moment of stillness.

sabito can't believe his katana sliced downward first. her arms are still raised, and she doesn't move as her sleeves fall downwards, exposing the kumihimo cords she has wound around her left wrist.

the fox mask splits in half - sliced vertically in a perfect line. when the wood falls to her shoulders, sabito is shocked to meet shockingly blue eyes.

ayame's lips are parted in surprise. as he watches, her lips curl into a small smile. the slightest twitch of the corners of her lips is both happy and sad.

"sabito..." she murmurs.

sabito can never catch ayame's scent. for the first time, there's a hint of charcoal and something floral lingering in the air, muted by the scent of a summertime rain.

"you did great. remember what you just did, ne?" her voice lowers. "win, okay, sabito? beat that guy too."

sabito glances at hikari in disbelief. she smiles at him encouragingly.

"ayame," he hears himself say, "who do you stay for?"

surprise flits across her features.

"hey," she chuckles sadly, "next time you see tanjirou, be sure to say hi to him. he's so gloomy nowadays."

sabito glances at hikari, but she's disappeared. when he turns back to ayame, she's gone too.

the only thing left in the clearing was the boulder, sliced in half. exactly the same way he had sliced ayame's mask.

[arianna-irwynarn]

Part seven.

Sorry for the wait guys, I've been dealing with work and pain from my fractured knee. But here it is and I hope you like it.

Rei

Sfw

“Might need to get shadow heart to fix that though.” Karlach poked lily's cheek. A pain shot through her face. An arrow had brushed her face but managed to split her cheek open, she hadn't noticed due to the adrenaline.

“Oh!” Now she was aware of it, the pain started up. Raising a hand to her cheek she could feel blood running slowly down the side of her face from karlach’s poke.

Thankfully everyone else was unscathed. She quickly pulled out a potion, chugging the contents of the small bottle she felt her skin knitting back together.

“I thought we’d killed all those bastards already?” Karlach mused.

“It's just like goblins to hide when they see they are at a disadvantage.They couldn't run back to the goblin camp.” Wyll commented as he placed a pair of daggers into his haversack.

Lily made her way over to Astarion.

“Oh, hello and what can I do for you?”

“Uh, thank you, for rugby tackling me out of danger back there.”

A charming smile graced his face.

“Well I couldn't let our shy little leader get an arrow through the chest now, could I?”

Lily tried to keep her composure as she looked up into his ruby coloured eyes.

“Also for bringing me back to camp last night.”

“Well someone has to keep an eye on you and the others said I had to. As punishment for not revealing my true nature.”

He said it so flippantly, waving his arms around in a dramatic fashion.

Lily felt anger surging inside.

“Well I'm so sorry for being such a punishment for you. I guess you didn't like that ‘gift’ after all.”

With that lily turned on her heels and stormed off in the direction they were going, tears stung her eyes, another thing that had followed her from her human life. Did they all see her like that? Someone to make a mockery of? If that was the case then why even follow her? She would prove them all wrong.

The shadows were beginning to stretch like tendrils of darkness across the forest path. It was then that she saw something truly beautiful and horrifying. A shadow shaped like a nightmare passed through her, her silver eyes tracked the shadow upwards and her mouth fell open. A dragon, a real life dragon! It was a majestic beast the colour of blood, the wingspan was like that of an aeroplane. Sat atop was a Githyanki, his armour glinting in the late afternoon sun.

It told her that a big fight was on the cards if they continued that way.

The camp was set up quickly and as discreetly as they could make it. Everyone was inside their tents, except for lily who sat next to the camp fire reading a large book.

Monsterous creatures of Fae’run

An A-Z of most documented species.

V is for vampire.

“Darling, if you wanted to know about vampires you could have come to me.”

Lily snapped the book shut and placed it on the bedroll. Astarion looked down at her, a look of mock offence on his face. A laugh escaped lily's lips.

“My, have I offended you? My most humble apologies.”

She stood placing her hands on her hips. Wondering what he wanted.

“Well, actually, I wanted to… apologse for what I said. You aren't a punishment.”

His pale cheeks showed the slightest hint of colour. He was blushing! Apologising clearly wasn't an easy thing for him.

She couldn't help the soft smile that graced her face.

“Thank you.”

She wanted to hug him but something held her back. The memories of Cazador. That monster who turned him then sent him out to seduce people. She needed to respect his personal space.

“Why are you still up? The others went to bed ages ago.”

Astarion pretended to flick something off of his billowy cream shirt.

“Oh, well we were all so busy today and time positively flew by. Next thing I know everyone has gone to bed and I never got the chance to feed.”

His crimson eyes lingered on lily's pale throat as he spoke.

“Astarion, you can’t go hunting. Not here, there’s a red dragon and gods knows how many Githyanki roaming around.”

“Darling I didn't know you cared,”

‘of course I do.”

She lightly grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, careful not to touch him as she gently pulled him down to sit beside her.

Astarion had never really paid any attention to lily's tent before. It was cramped with two candles creating small circles of light. An old bedroll was laid out and the books they had found in the blighted village were in a pile. It bothered him, their leader sleeping in such conditions. She could have taken over any of the group's tents for herself. But she didn't. In fact she never complained once.

Lily weighed up her options silently. Astarion broke the silence

“You never complain do you, you're in this crappy tent with the rattiest bedroll I've ever seen and yet you could make it much better. I couldn't dream of living in such…” His voice trailed off, memories of that palace of pain and suffering, of Cazador beating him mercilessly. The feel of his blade as he carved into his flesh. The taste of bile reached the back of his throat, he swallowed it back down. He almost jumped when he felt the warmth of lily's touch on his hand.

“I'm going to go with you. If you have to go hunt, I'll be your uh, hunting wingman.”

Lily quickly released Astarions hand not really even meaning to touch him at all.

“You want to do what? Darling you are hardly the stealthiest warlock. I'll stand no chance of hunting anything with you following me.”

Her cheeks flushed but her face held a look of determination and stubbornness that was almost cute.

“This is not up for discussion. I am coming with you and that's final.”

A sly grin appeared as he looked down at her.

“All right but if I should come up empty” he leans down to whisper in her ear “you'll have to pay the price.”

[dr-aashish-arbat-pune]

Hip Fracture

Here get detailed info on: Hip Fracture. Know, Why is a Hip Fracture So Dangerous? Learn about, Hip Fracture Treatment. Hip Fracture Symptoms. Hip Fracture Types. Hip Fracture Treatment Without Surgery… from Dr. Aashish Arbat… Top Orthopedic Doctor in Pune. Top Hip Replacement Surgeon in Pune.

[softquietsteadylove]

I would like to do a request for the Doctor AU

How about some protective Thena?

She hears angry shouting from 3 woman in the waiting area, letting their anger out on Gil, even lashing out on him physically. He tries to calm them down but doesn’t fight them back of course.

They are angry because they are waiting so long (minor things nothing dangerous) and they saw how Gil came in with a patient with life threatening wounds just going passing them and they decide it was enough of waiting for them 🙄

And Thena won’t stand there and watch them!👀

Thena sets down her charts with a sigh. It's been a busy night for the emergency room, not necessarily by seriousness but by sheer volume. They can't seem to catch a break. It's been patient after patient, so far.

And she feels like she hasn't seen Gil in hours.

He's been on run after run for minor accidents and taking patients to other hospitals. He's texted her a few times between runs, but mostly they've commiserated about how busy they've been tonight.

She can't wait to get off shift and go home with him.

Not that they necessarily go home together all the time, now. And even when they do, it's not always a date...thing. Sometimes they really do just go home and fall asleep on the couch together. She doesn't know if that makes it better or worse.

"Hey."

Thena's heart leaps in her chest at the familiar greeting, and she tries not to look disappointed when she realises it's Ajak who said it and not a certain someone. She smiles, "hey."

Ajak holds her hand out and nods her head, "you're almost done right? Let me finish those."

Thena nibbles at her lip a little, looking down at her charts (arguably her least favourite part of the job). She peeks up at Ajak, "are you sure?"

Ajak just gives her a smirk and pulls the clipboard towards herself. "I'm sure, honey. You go and find that hot hunk of yours."

Thena rolls her eyes at Ajak, storming away so she won't know how embarrassing she finds it that Ajak knows all about their little secret. It's not like she told her!

She didn't have to.

Thena does leave the nurses' station and heads towards the main waiting room. Gil should be done his last run by now, judging by how long ago he texted. She reaches for the end of her ponytail idly.

"We've been here for hours!"

She frowns; it isn't uncommon to get people who are unhappy with the wait times. And feel happy to take it out on them (those still seeing them despite the global shortage on people in the healthcare profession).

"Why did they get seen before us?!"

"Or do these numbers mean nothing?!"

Thena rolls her eyes. A couple of Karens cawing up a storm like seagulls in a parking lot. Nothing new, and certainly nothing interesting.

"Ladies, please, we're doing what we can."

Thena picks up her pace until she's jogging towards the waiting room. When she arrives, there is indeed a swarm of women cawing about their wait time. But they're taking it out on Gilgamesh.

Gil is trying to look at all of them at once, holding up his hands close to himself as they swing and smack him with their hands and even their purses. He grunts a little, obviously not pleased but not exactly one to fight back, either.

"You call yourself a medic when you leave women with possible fractures waiting like this?!"

"HEY!"

Thena storms over, moving between the women and Gil, who looks like a dog getting water poured on him. She plants her hands on her hips.

"Who the hell are you?" the one who thought swinging around her purse was appropriate behaviour.

"I'm the doctor here, and I want to know what the hell you think you're doing to my paramedic!" Thena snarls at them, not one to back down from intimidation, whether it be from a Karen or a Chad. She glowers at them.

"We saw him take people in there!" another one points with her pointy little finger. "When we've been out here for hours!"

Thena swats the hand away from them. "You are out here because of the degree of your injury and because the emergency room is understaffed. Every emergency room is understaffed!"

"Well, that's not our fault!" the third one huffs in her face. She holds up her wrist, "I have a wrist fracture that needs treatment! And you've taken three people in there ahead of us!"

Thena eyed the woman. If her wrist were fractured, she most absolutely would not be holding it up in that position. At worst, she had pinched a nerve between her ulna and tibia and it was being aggravated from being waved around. "Then put it down."

All three women looked aghast.

"Thena," Gil tried to put his hand on her shoulder, no doubt to talk her down from getting into a screaming match with the patient and her accompaniment.

"This is how you treat your patients?!" the purse swinger rages at her.

Thena doesn't take it lying down, though. If anything, it's taking everything in her not to give the wrist a hard squeeze to give her something to be genuinely hurt over. "For the treatment of my paramedic, you're lucky I haven't called security and ordered you to a different ER."

"He-"

"Has other patients!" Thena steps forward, forcing the other women back with her sheer anger. She clenches her hands into fists, bellowing at them. "People who have been in accidents, people who are in need of a lot more than an x-ray and a compression sleeve!"

"I-"

"Have a repetitive stress injury at most!" Thena barks at her. She puts more distance between them and Gil behind her. "And it's no excuse to treat him the way you have!"

The women are almost all the way back in the seats they vacated just to harass Gil. "We-"

"If I ever see you anywhere near him again, I will have every authority there is to drag you out of here! And you should count yourself lucky I don't do it myself!"

The women are practically clenching their metaphorical pearls. They eye her with disgust, "th-this is unacceptable! We'll call the hospital for the way you're treating us!"

"By all means, ladies!" Thena invites, moving from angry to practically manic. She wants to lie down so bad. "Name's Thena, and you can complain all you want! But no one lays a hand on him while I'm alive and breathing!"

The women turn on their heels, already huffing and muttering up a storm about their treatment. But Thena couldn't care less. They can try to sue her for all she cares. She tugs at her scrub top, "the nerve of people these days."

"Thanks."

Thena inhales and finally looks up at her soft, precious Gil. He gives her a sheepish smile and she frowns again, reaching up to his cheek, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he laughs, leaning into her touch as they make their way out of the waiting room and towards the ambulance bay and parking lot. "It's a couple of mean ladies with press-on nails, honey. They're not gonna break me."

"Still," Thena grumbles, tugging at his work hoodie until it's less rumpled and sitting properly on him. She tilts her head, "if you have so much as a bruise I'm gonna find where those women live and-"

Gil kisses her.

She stills for a second, panic flooding her as she thinks about anyone seeing them. But then the cool of the ambulance bay and the wind tunnel it creates rushes over her. She melts into the kiss because she's not very good at thinking about other things when Gil is kissing her. She's tried--it never works.

Gil pulls away slowly, his lips leaving her oh-so reluctantly. He raises his brows at her, "what were you saying?"

She nibbles at her lip a little, turning shy not that he's doused the embers of her temper so lovingly. She looks down at their shoes as they keep walking, "just...making sure you're okay."

"I'm okay," he assures her, taking her hand in his once they're in the employee parking lot and relatively alone. He smiles, "thanks for the save, though."

"Hm," she nods, letting his thumb trace over her skin and chase away the last of her energy. She sighs, "let's just go home."

"Sounds perfect," he chuckles, kissing her temple as they head to her car. "Hungry?"

"Nope," she declares definitely now that sitting down is so in-sight. She digs out her keys and tosses them at him, "just sleep."

"You got it, baby," he chuckles, pulling her in for another kiss before letting her drift to the passenger side of the car. "Drive thru?"

"Fine," she groans as she throws herself into the car and yawns loudly, "you pick where."

[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.

[soncfthewitch]

Toby hooked his other leg around Patrick's waist, pressing their bodies flush together. The friction sent sparks dancing across his skin as water sloshed around them. Every point of contact blazed with heat - Patrick's firm chest against his, strong thighs gripping Patrick's hips, the hard length of Patrick's cock nestled against the curve of his arse.

His breath caught as he registered their new position. He was slightly elevated now, looking down at Patrick from this vantage point. A heady rush of power surged through him. For the first time since encountering this infuriatingly alluring man, Toby felt like he had the upper hand.

A slow, cocky grin spread across Toby's lips as he savored the moment. His eyes raked over Patrick's face, drinking in every detail - the sharp line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the flecks of different blue shades in his irises. Toby's hands roamed Patrick's body with deliberate slowness, mapping the planes of muscle and sinew.

He traced the curve of Patrick's shoulders, fingertips skimming over sleek, water-slick skin. His palms glided down Patrick's chest, feeling the definition of his pecs and abs. Toby's touch was both appreciative and possessive as he explored. After resisting for so long, he allowed himself to indulge in the exquisite physicality of the moment.

Toby felt the foundations of his control began to fracture, hairline cracks spreading like a spiderweb until it threatened to crumble piece by piece. Heat prickled across his skin, intensifying with each passing second. His body temperature rose steadily until wisps of steam began curling off his shoulders, transforming the air around them into a hazy fog.

Toby's eyes locked with Patrick's, and he saw flames reflected in those blue depths. With a jolt, he realized the fire was coming from his own gaze - literal flames dancing in his irises as his true nature began to manifest. The flames flickered and swirled, mesmerizing in their intensity.

"Well now," Toby purred, his voice low and teasing. "If we're going to drop all pretenses, why don't you go first? Tell me what you really are, Patrick." He rolled the name on his tongue, savoring it. "Or is that even your true name?"

His words carried a double edge - part playful taunt, part genuine challenge. Toby was pushing Patrick, testing how much control the other man was willing to relinquish.

Toby tightened his legs around Patrick's waist, using the leverage to grind their hips together in a slow, maddening rhythm. "I've felt it since the moment you walked in," he murmured. "This pull, this... compulsion. Like gravity itself was drawing me to you." His fingers dug into Patrick's shoulders. "What are you? Some kind of incubus? A siren maybe?"

He leaned in close, lips barely brushing the shell of Patrick's ear. "Or perhaps something far more dangerous?" Toby's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Come now, darling. You can tell me. I promise I won't run screaming into the night."

As he spoke, Toby was acutely aware of every point of contact between their bodies. The press of Patrick's chest expanding with each breath. The flex of his abdominal muscles. The heat of his cock, hard and insistent against Toby's arse. It was intoxicating, overwhelming his senses.

Toby's own arousal throbbed between them, trapped against Patrick's stomach. He fought the urge to rut shamelessly against the other man, to seek relief for the aching need building inside him. Instead, he focused on maintaining this delicate balance of power, pushing Patrick toward revelation.

"What's the matter?" Toby asked, voice dripping with faux innocence. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you just enjoying the view too much to form coherent sentences?" He punctuated the question with a deliberate roll of his hips.

"Or are you just distracted? Little Patrick seems to be enjoying himself. Where he is right now, it would take just a little push to… I mean, I'm sure he's looking for someplace warm."

Whatever the other man plan was – he was merely delaying the inevitable. It was impossible not to feel the spark between their bodies, the heat concealed by their gazes and the itch that they felt on their fingertips, wanting nothing more than to reach forward and touch. To touch and explore ever muscle and crevice. To feel the heat against the palms of their hands, to squeeze, pinch, scratch and claim. But Tobias was playing the long game. The demon had to give it to him. He was resisting far better than most people would and he wasn’t even putting that much effort in his own demonic allure. Where was the fun in subduing someone via supernatural ways? That would be the equivalent of having fast food rather than a prime rib. Why would he bother himself resorting to his demonic gifts when his presence and charisma alone were more than enough to get the job done? However, as entertaining as the teasing was – Patrick was not exactly expecting Toby to have enough mental fortitude to lash back. To be the one reaching out for him – to touch his jaw, his chin – to change his movements to go further south past his chest. The demon’s eyes narrowed with both challenge and desire – a faint, lewd hiss rolling involuntarily from his lips the moment Tobias’ nails marked his skin. He could feel that partial sting for a second or two, enough to force him to look away in order to follow the trail that the curious hand was making. Down past his chest – almost at his navel –studying and feeling every muscle on his body contract and tense under that teasing, fleeting touch. So…he wanted to play hard, uh? “You are playing a dangerous game, pretty boy…” It wasn’t a threat. If anything, Patrick was amused when he felt their chests firmly pressed together – so close that he could catch a whiff of Tobias’ natural scent. Oh… he could even feel the desire deep within him. That little spark of lust buried deep within that threatened to become wildfire if left unchecked. Everyone had their sins. Their vices. Pride was the most popular one amongst humans – but lust was a very close second, especially to someone who knew which buttons to press to get the reaction he needed. “But I guess that’s what turns you on, isn’t it?” Blue eyes closed and Patrick exhaled softly when teeth met with his earlobe – almost making the demon lose any and all control. He liked that. The little nibble, the wetness of Toby’s tongue dancing across his skin in order to taste him. He was putting on a show now. Definitely attempting to flip the tables on him, a very graphic and welcome reverse Uno card. Like his lips along his throat. Feeling his Adam’s apple bop as he swallowed hard in response – merely enjoying the sensation that set his own skin ablaze. What. A. Tease.

And when they regained some distance between themselves, Patrick shook his head in order to regain some modicum of control, meeting Tobias’ dark eyes with his own blue eyes. A challenge had been issued. Tobias had made the first move and it was his time to show him what he was really capable of. “You obviously suspect something more.” Like a snake coiling around the unexpected prey, Patrick leaned in to brush the tip of their noses together – refusing to break the eye contact between them. Toby had opted for a sensual approach. Nothing too lewd or brazen. Just enough to spark his desire and show him that he was not to be underestimated. “What do you believe I may be?” Large hands rested on top of Toby’s legs before Patrick spread them open, nails digging and scratching the inside of the other man’s thighs almost in a feathery way as he moved to his knees. “You have theories.” A light smirk formed on the demon’s lips as he turned his head to the side, making positively sure that he would brush his scruff over Tobias’ cheek before capturing the brunette’s earlobe between his teeth. “I’m dying to hear your opinion.” It was obvious that both of them were more than what they presented. Patrick had that feeling ever since he saw Tobias at the hot springs. There was just something about him that did not feel… entirely human.

“What am I, handsome?” His hands – still lingering underwater – gaze Toby’s knees a gentle squeeze before moving to their underside, unceremoniously wrapping one of those long, athletic legs around his waist and thus forcing their bodies to be closer. Close enough for Patrick to roll his hips in a tantalizing manner against Toby’s crotch – knowing full well that he was naked and aroused. “We should both stop playing games.” Teeth nibbled the other man’s jaw ever so gently before the demon went above by using the tip of his tongue to caress the outline of Toby’s lips. Just some fun. No kissing, no biting, no giving in. “At least, when it come to pretending we are NOT something extra. I can tell. You can tell. So why keep pretending…?”

[corkcitylibraries]

Echoes of our Past | March 10th 1923

Librarian Richard Forrest takes a look at news highlights published in The Echo 100 years ago this week.

Road Smash at Carrigrohane

At about 11 o’clock last night the Fire Brigade ambulance was called out to Carrigrohane where several persons were lying injured in a car smash. It appears a pony and trap collided with two Scotch carts and a military car coming along then ran into one of the carts. Several persons were thrown on the road. The injured were brought to the Mercy Hospital and a man named Donoghue, belonging to Blackpool, was found to have sustained severe injuries to the head, as well as a fractured dislocation of the hip joint. He lies in a dangerous condition. Three soldiers were also detained.  

Mrs. Powell, Mount Nebo House

I had put the younger ones (7,5 and 3) to bed and was drawing my chair up to the fire at about 8 o’clock when I heard a rap at the door and the command “put your hands up!” I looked around and saw four young men with my own two lads. I thought they were playing a joke and said, “indeed I will not!” I suddenly realised these were real guns and, though terribly frightened, in a calmness born of despair I said, “I must stir and go to my babies” and rushed to the door. The muzzle of one of the revolvers actually struck my chest but to my surprise I got up the stairs safely. Little Brenda was hysterical at the bedroom door and a man was sprinkling petrol from a can over the other two in bed. I got the children downstairs and there were men all over spilling petrol. I asked the one who appeared to be the leader what was meant by this conduct. He replied, “are you Mrs. Bowles?” I said, “no, I am Mrs. Powell and these are my babies”. Said he, “your house is to be burnt as a reprisal for the arrest of the Cumann na mBan members”. I told him I was not responsible for the arrest of anyone and was a member pf Cumann na mBan before any of them. He then used some threatening language and said get the children out. I said I had to have some warm clothes. the children were trembling, and I realised my most treasured possessions, including the letters from my late husband and brother would be destroyed. I rushed to the writing table and two shots rang out. Gathering my little flock, I rushed out the front door. More shots rang out and I lay dazed, wondering, after some time elapsed, why the house was not ablaze. Then I heard a friendly voice say, “anybody hurt?”  and was surrounded by men of the dear green uniform. They told me “Scottie” was wounded and there was an agonising search. Our relief was great when we found he was not too bad. He undoubtedly saved my house. Houses and women and children cannot hit back, we expect another attack, but God is good, and so are the Fianna Fáil, the soldiers of Ireland. (Mary Powell was a sister of Michael Collins. Mount Nebo is off Blarney Street).

Irregular Warning on Bandon Dances

The following has been served on some lady members of a dance committee in Bandon by O.C. I.R.A. 1st Battalion, No. 3 Brigade: “I have been informed that you have taken part in organising dances in the town of Bandon recently. Take warning that if you attempt these dances again while the young soldiers of he Republic are  being done to death by a band of ruffians calling themselves a Government, you will be severely dealt with. Remain within the town of Bandon until further notice. Failing to comply with this order will necessitate me to take action of a drastic nature”.

1921 All-Ireland Hurling Final

Despite restricted railway services the attendance at Croke Park last Sunday for Limerick vs. Dublin was on the big side. There were 19,000 at the match yielding gate receipts of £1,080. Croke Park now possesses a number of excellent stands and presented a lively and intensely animated appearance. The best of good feeling was in evidence and though there was not much to enthuse over on the standard of play, it is but justice to the Central Council to state that the arrangements for the big fixture were perfection. It was a hard-fought game in which accidents and frees were rather on the too numerous side. Munster’s representatives suffered pre-match disadvantages attributable to circumstances of a very obvious character, but it gradually emerged that Dublin were altogether outclassed on the wings and less and less likely to hold their title. The training the Garryowen men had put in worked to the good, supplemented by an indomitable determination to capture the magnificent new trophy. The donor of which, Mr. Liam McCarthy, London, was unavoidably absent on the day. Dublin have altogether gone off the form lately shown against Cork but, to their credit, never relaxed it trying to limit the deficit (8-5 to 3-2).

The Thrush’s Pathetic Note

Now we come to strike a pathetic note. A dingy street where, all day, ragged children play. This narrow dwelling place of the struggling poor. Cardboard and cloth are more plentiful than glass in an upper window. Each morning a hand protrudes to thrust out a cage that is to hang on the wall till darkness gathers. Within is a thrush. That fine, speckled, white-breasted, large-eyed bird, sings on the perch throughout the day. The creature of the thicket and the brake gazes downwards upon the ragged children and upwards to the strip of sky across which sometimes it sees its fellow creature’s career in full flight to the hills, the woods, the meadows. Whether the thrush sings loud or low, it hops in weary monotony back and forward. Little does it dream that it occupies a tiny space in that newspaper which a shouting newsboy distributes as he runs along the path below.  There on the back page are the words, “A singing thrush for sale”. Tomorrow someone will come, the cage will be drawn in, money will jingle and away – where? To the native wilds? Alas, no. Only to some other, perhaps more obscure neighbourhood. Some darker, dingier prison house. Yet those bird dealers are not gaolers. Indeed, they are kind and considerate to a degree. But you who have heard in March the song of the brown thrush at the end of your garden, or above your heads in the woodside road – you at least will read the advertisement with deeper and sadder thoughts than the ways of barter know.

[tahoechiropracticclinic]

WHAT DO SOUTH LAKE TAHOE CHIROPRACTORS DO TO TREAT SCOLIOSIS?

Scoliosis is a spinal condition characterized by a sideways curvature of the spine. The curves are frequently S-shaped or C-shaped. Scoliosis is a problem you must have probably heard of, but are you aware of the pain and health risks it can cause? If so, this guide will put you through what chiropractors do for the treatment of people with scoliosis. Scoliosis is a disorder that most commonly manifests around puberty when rapid growth can alter the way the spine develops. 

The degree to which the spine is curved varies from case to case and can range from hardly noticeable to a nearly S-shaped spine. Idiopathic scoliosis is the most frequent type of scoliosis, accounting for around 80% of all instances. While this may appear to be a rare occurrence, scoliosis affects approximately 3% of the population across the globe. The most common age group affected by the illness in children aged 10 to 15, and girls are more prone to this condition than boys. Adults with scoliosis are becoming more common, even though it is more common in this age and gender.

The majority of scoliosis instances arise during the growth spurt soon before puberty, which can result in abnormalities. Cerebral palsy and muscular dystrophy are two more possible causes. Scoliosis is currently unknown to physicians and chiropractors, though it appears to be caused by inherited factors. While there is no cure for scoliosis, there may be treatments to provide relief and enhance patients’ quality of life. Just so you know, chiropractors in South Lake Tahoe treat scoliosis in a variety of ways. This is why people with this condition in South Lake Tahoe do visit Tahoe Chiropractic Clinic for treatment.

The Different Types of Scoliosis

Before screening yourself or someone else for scoliosis, it’s crucial to understand the different types of scoliosis and how they’re caused. Idiopathic scoliosis, which has no recognized cause, is the most prevalent scoliosis subtype. However, functional, neuromuscular, and degenerative scoliosis are the three other basic forms of scoliosis. 

Functional Scoliosis: Other existing abnormalities in the body, such as muscle spasms or one leg being shorter than the other, might cause functional scoliosis. 

Neuromuscular Scoliosis: Because of its severity, neuromuscular scoliosis is caused by neurologic and/or muscle abnormalities and requires the most attention from a chiropractor. The nerves and muscles in this condition are unable to support and control the spine and trunk. Scoliosis of this type can be caused by a brain or spinal cord problem, as well as other neurologic diseases including muscular dystrophy or cerebral palsy. 

Degenerative Scoliosis: Older persons develop degenerative scoliosis after years of regular wear and tear of the vertebral discs in the back. Vertebral fractures, which cause sections of the vertebrae to collapse, are the most common cause of this type of scoliosis. The change in the shape of the discs as they tumble and lose height over time causes an irregular bend in the spine.

How to Check for Scoliosis

There are several ways you can detect if you have scoliosis. First, you can do the forward bend test. To do this, bend forward at the waist with your feet together. When you do this, it might display asymmetry or unevenness in the back. This imbalance in the back, which may usually be noticed in the rib cage or hips when observed from behind, could be a sign that you have scoliosis. 

You can also look for other unbalanced looks in your body posture to see if you have scoliosis. Uneven shoulders or hips, a head that is off-center or not in line with your pelvis, or a movement of one side of the spine are all possibilities. Even minor asymmetrical appearances, like the alignment or tilt of your eye line or ears, can be a symptom of scoliosis. 

If these subtle indicators are difficult to spot in yourself, paying attention to how your clothes fit or even how you walk can reveal scoliosis danger signals. Look in the mirror after getting dressed in the morning for items like uneven pant legs or arm sleeves. Meanwhile, a small limp or body tilt are two signs of scoliosis to watch out for while walking.

Common Symptoms of Scoliosis

It is a fact that most occurrences of scoliosis have no recognized cause. Some conditions, such as congenital scoliosis, are recognized to have a cause. The curvature in congenital scoliosis is thought to be caused by improperly formed vertebrae that are present at birth. Since chiropractors in South Lake Tahoe have a thorough understanding of musculoskeletal difficulties, diseases, and illnesses, scoliosis can be detected during the complete physical tests that all chiropractors do on new patients. Symptoms that may indicate scoliosis to a chiropractor include the following:

Clothes appear to be hanging unevenly.

One shoulder blade is higher than the other or protrudes more than the other.

Unbalanced hips

Breathing difficulties due to a smaller region in the chest for the lungs to expand

Muscle spasms or chronic back discomfort.

What Chiropractic Care for Scoliosis in South Lake Tahoe Entails

There are lots of things chiropractors from the Tahoe Chiropractic Clinic in South Lake Tahoe can do to help in the treatment of scoliosis. Many adults with scoliosis discover that non-drug, non-invasive chiropractic treatments can help them feel better by relieving strain on their nervous system and strengthening their core muscles. Chiropractors can assist scoliosis patients to gain relief from their symptoms and regaining normal posture without surgery or other medical interventions.

Many people with scoliosis are completely unaware of any symptoms or the requirement for concessions. Scoliosis, on the other hand, can worsen without therapy and cause excruciating discomfort. Shortness of breath can occur in more severe cases due to a reduction in chest cavity space.

Scoliosis-specific chiropractic treatment for scoliosis goes outside of the usual standards to fix the curve. Scoliosis-specific adjustments are precise and mild, to gradually correct the spine into a typical spinal curve. This procedure can benefit people from various walks of life, including those who have had surgery before and don’t want to have it done again, those who want to avoid surgery, youngsters who don’t want to wear a brace, and those in most other scenarios.

Scoliosis is commonly thought of as a lateral bend in the spine, but it’s a little more nuanced than that. The cervical lordosis, which points forward in the neck, the thoracic kyphosis, which points backward in the middle of the back, and the lumbar lordosis, which points forward in the low back, are the three curves that should be present in the spine. For one or more of these three natural curves, scoliosis strains the spine in a different direction.

Scoliosis patients have double-jointed necks. If not treated appropriately, this hypermobility renders the joints unstable and puts them in danger of injury and dislocation. In scoliosis-specific adjustments, there is no twisting or turning of the neck. The neck and other joints of the body are adjusted with precise mechanical adjusting equipment for scoliosis-specific modifications.

The first step in regaining proper spine curves is to recenter the head. An adjustment tool is used to provide precise but moderate forces into the bones of the neck while the patient is sitting up. The neck is coaxed into the proper position by these pressures. Depending on the three-dimensional measurements of the spine obtained from x-rays, adjustments to the back and hips may be made.

Many chiropractors in South Lake Tahoe claim to be experts in scoliosis. However, their expertise is limited. It’s critical to have a conversation with your physician to ensure you are getting therapy from a scoliosis-trained chiropractor. If your chiropractor isn’t getting you the results you want or isn’t altering your therapy to get you the outcomes you want, it’s time to find a new one.

To achieve the optimum results, one to two hours of exercise per day is required in addition to the adjustments made at the chiropractor’s office. Balance training, strength training, and the scoliosis traction chair, which uses vibration to stretch the spine and uncoil the nerves, are all scoliosis exercises. 

You must be your advocate to treat scoliosis. Also, to empower yourself and take responsibility for your spinal health, you must first create a communication with your chiropractor in South Lake Tahoe.

Meanwhile, it will take a series of routine treatments to see relief from your back pain and discomfort caused by scoliosis. However, you may feel some alleviation after your first treatment.

Scoliosis Treatment in South Lake Tahoe is Divided into Three Stages:

1. Plan for Evaluation and Treatment

The first step is to meet with your chiropractor so that they can assess your specific treatment needs and set treatment goals for you.

Your chiropractor will take a complete medical history and perform a physical examination, which may include some spinal and neck manipulation to determine your range of motion. The chiropractor may also ask for medical documents from your other doctors, as well as any imaging that was done to diagnose your scoliosis. Your chiropractor and you will talk about your symptoms and how your scoliosis impacts your daily life. During this meeting, you and your chiropractor will discuss your treatment goals.

A treatment plan will be developed once your chiropractor has discussed your problem and goals with you, as well as examined your medical records, and completed a physical exam. This treatment plan will detail the sort of treatment you’ll receive, how often you’ll be adjusted, and any at-home exercises you’ll be required to complete. As your treatment continues, your treatment plan will be reviewed regularly and altered as needed.

2. Exercise Schedules

This is the most time-consuming part of your scoliosis chiropractic treatment. Your chiropractor may recommend that you come in for adjustments a few times a week at first until your spine has adjusted to the new positions provided by chiropractic care. During this time, you would probably be advised to undertake at-home exercises. For the best outcomes, do your best to follow your treatment plan for better.

3. Maintenance Phase

When you have reached a point in your therapy where your pain and suffering are more controlled, your chiropractor may suggest that you transition to the maintenance phase. You will see your chiropractor for occasional adjustments during this phase, either regularly or as needed.

This phase of chiropractic treatment aims to keep your spine in the best possible alignment, minimizing pain and making your condition more tolerable in the long run. While you may not be able to cure your scoliosis, chiropractic treatments can help you live with it more comfortably. The skilled chiropractic team thoroughly assesses your issue, creates a customized treatment plan, and gently adjusts your spine to provide pain relief. 

Benefits of Chiropractic Care in Scoliosis Treatment in South Lake Tahoe

Seeing a chiropractor in South Lake Tahoe for relief from scoliosis symptoms is a safe and cost-effective way to alleviate the pain and discomfort associated with this illness. But pain relief isn’t the sole benefit of chiropractic treatment for scoliosis. 

Also, you may potentially have other connected and unrelated problems if you have scoliosis. Neck, shoulder, and hip discomfort, as well as numbness in your limbs and headaches, are all possible symptoms. Chiropractic treatments can help correct spinal misalignments that can contribute to or cause various other illnesses, providing pain relief and improved quality of life. 

Chiropractic therapy can help you manage and reduce the pain associated with your scoliosis without requiring surgery. Chiropractic treatments can also provide pain relief similar to that provided by some drugs but without the negative side effects.

How to Prevent Scoliosis

After reading this guide, you may be wondering if there’s anything you can do to prevent your spine from bending; if there’s anything you can do to lower your risk of acquiring this condition and the numerous symptoms that come with it. 

Additionally, scoliosis cannot be prevented in the majority of cases. The majority of scoliosis instances (about 80%) are idiopathic, meaning there is no recognized cause. Idiopathic scoliosis usually manifests during puberty, so if your adolescent or pre-adolescent child has recently been diagnosed with scoliosis, it’s likely idiopathic. Because the source of the curvature in these circumstances is unclear, there is no way to predict it and no way to prevent it.

Meanwhile, scoliosis can be a symptom of a variety of other diseases, like osteoporosis, Chiari malformations, Marfan syndrome, and neurofibromatosis. However, some of these underlying conditions can be prevented. For example, exercise and a diet rich in vitamin D and calcium can help to reduce the risk of developing osteoporosis. But others are passed down through the generations, making it difficult to prevent these conditions and the spinal curvatures that they frequently cause.

Getting Chiropractic Care for Scoliosis in South Lake Tahoe

While scoliosis is often easier to cure when caught early, there is no way to prevent the condition. Scoliosis cannot be prevented by activities such as excellent posture, exercise, yoga, or Pilates. Adult scoliosis induced by osteoporosis is the only kind that can be avoided. Though many cases of scoliosis do not necessitate treatment, it can assist prevent the condition from worsening and alleviate other symptoms such as discomfort. Meanwhile, chiropractors in South Lake Tahoe can try their best in ensuring that you get adequate treatment if you also adhere to the instructions given.