#something that makes it difficult to 'hide' that all three of them have. they actively stand out

[baalzebufo]

actually, posting the little commentary clip where alex talks about gideons origins because I want it on my blog haha

[queenimmadolla]

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

(eddie munson x pregnant!reader)

Summary: You and Eddie discuss your current pregnancy craving...or, in which you want something not all that common of a craving and ridiculously difficult to get a hold of, and Eddie teases you over it even though you both know he's going to get it for you.

warnings: references to baby making activities.

a/n: those damn tiktoks keep getting to me. lil drabble. more dad!eddie here. masterlist.

Pregnancy was not something Eddie Munson believed he would ever understand. Wasn’t something he thought he’d have to do.

  Until—at the very responsible age of twenty─he took to finishing inside of you and one of his swimmers took. Played hide-and-seek for a good five months before either of you knew she was there.

  You hadn’t started showing until about two or three weeks after finding out, and now at almost seven months, you had the cutest baby bump Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off, a ravenous hunger for the most peculiar things and absolutely no tolerance for the weirdest fucking things; the sound of kernels popping made you want to throw up, and so did the scent of baked goods and the ‘air on Tuesdays’ (Eddie was still trying to work that one out).

  Whatever you wanted, Eddie got you. Albeit, with tons of questions asked. Like, right now.

  It was late in the evening, chilly throughout the trailer but warm in the room thanks to the trusty space heater Eddie had had for years. The both of you had traded your day clothes for pajamas, so you were in one of his t-shirts and nothing else while he was only clad in a pair of sweats because his body temperature always ran a little on the hot side, and you were curled right up to him. Your head had been previously nuzzling into the crook of his neck, placing kisses over the tendons there and nosing along his jaw but now it was craned back, batting those pretty eyelashes up at him with pleading eyes and a pout.

  “Pleeeaaaaase, Eddie?”

  “Branzino.” Eddie repeated your request with amused disbelief.

  “It’s low in mercury, so I can eat it.”

  “Branzino.”

  “It’s what she wants!” You chirped, moving a hand to rest over your growing bump. Baby Munson, your little Penny, had recently learned she had legs and could stretch them out in there. Despite the two of you settling down, she seemed to be filled with energy; you could feel her moving around, targeting certain areas with her kicks. She’d been pretty still for a good hour or two so you thought she might have woken up from a nap. 

  “Yeah?” Eddie asked, quirking his brows with lidded eyes, so engrossed with how caring you were for his baby already. 

  Witnessing you go from awkwardly acknowledging her existence with a pat or uncertain conversation to almost always having a hand over your bump, as if to protect her from a threat while talking to her as though she was already cradled in your arms, had Eddie always so tender with emotion. 

  He was so proud and in love.

  You hummed in confirmation and when Eddie’s hand moved your (his) shirt up, you immediately grasped his wrist to place his palm over the area your baby’s foot was currently pressing up against. Eddie grinned as he felt the movement just under the warmth of your skin, firm and held surprisingly long before it retreated and he rubbed over the area as you relaxed further into him.

  “She was stretching.” He correctly deduced. 

  “Mhm, she’s been kicking the heck out of my ribcage, so I think her head is right here.” You placed your free hand over your bump, just under your left breast, “She only got active after we showered, so she just woke up.”

  Eddie felt a little guilty about that, it had probably been him railing you against the shower wall that stirred her from her slumber.

  “Sorry, sweet pea.” He mumbled, continuing to rub your belly if not somewhat more apologetic, “I’m just so excited that I can’t get your mom pregnant right now, ‘cause we already have you, and she’s just so horn—“

  Eddie laughed as you delivered a swift whack to his chest with the back of your hand, fighting a smile as he teased you through an attempt to talk to your baby.

  “Excuse me, you were the one trying to feel me up on the couch!”

  “No, I did feel you up. And if I recall correctly, which I do, it was my fingers you were cum—“

  “Distracting!” You pointed an accusatory finger in his face, booping the tip of his nose with it, “You’re trying to distract me. Branzino.”

  “Ugh,” Eddie sagged into the pillows, but the smirk on his face told you you’d be getting exactly what you wanted, like always. He just liked to give you a hard time. Banter with you was like foreplay to him. “Alright, alright. Since you must have your fish dish─”

  “I must,” You placed the back of your hand against your forehead as you fell dramatically back into the pillows.

  “And since she’s craving it─”

  “She wants branzino so badly and I’d get it for her myself but I’m utterly exhausted─no, not because we had sex,” You had immediately clocked the grinch like twist in his smirk at your mentioning of exhaustion, “I’ll have you know I probably made a good chunk of her brain today. That takes energy. Dedication. And she probably sucked the bone marrow out of me to do it, or something.”

  Eddie threw his head back and howled with laughter. You giggled along with him but tried to reason, “Okay, I’m not being completely dramatic, though! She really does steal some of my own body to make hers! I could lose my teeth, Eddie. I read it in a book.”

  The bed shook with how hard Eddie was laughing and you delighted in being the reason behind it. Once he calmed down, his head lulled to the side, cheeks red from all that amusement and warm brown hues focused on you.

  “You read it in a book, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  “Ask your doctor about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “…’Cause I’m scared she’ll say it’s true.”

  You sent Eddie into another laughing fit. When he was done with that one, he launched himself out of bed and you snuggled into the spot he’d occupied—so warm and cozy—to watch him grab a shirt and hoodie from the closet, and his jacket from where he’d thrown it on the dresser. A beanie was shoved on his head and as he wrapped the scarf you’d gotten him around his neck, he eyed you with mirth twinkling in his pretty eyes.

  “Branzino in the middle of winter.”

  “It’s what she wants!”

  “It’s what she wants.” He conceded with a fond smile, “I’ll be back after like an hour and a half of driving around to find a Greek place open so you can replenish your bone marrow with it somehow and grow the rest of her brain.”

  You hummed in appreciation, beaming at him as he neared you to lean over and get a thorough kiss goodbye. 

  “Thank you,” You mumbled shyly against his mouth.

  “You don’t have to thank me . . . but you’re welcome.” He teased.

  Driving around in the cold didn't seem all that terrible with you blowing him kisses from the bed, and his baby growing inside you. 

  That damn fish was so worth it.

[piracytheorist]

I'm the type of Spy x Family fan that sees so much angst potential in Identity RevealsTM, so I'm thinking about the heartbreak Yor will feel after it, when she'll realize that Loid is not as kind as she thought he was.

When she meets him, from her point of view, he's just a widowed father who wants the best education of his daughter, at the same time honouring his late wife's dying wish. Investing in a child's good education is something Yor greatly relates to, seeing how hard she worked to provide one for Yuri. Point one.

She asks him to play the part of her boyfriend, and he immediately accepts; he asks for a favour back, but he's satisfied with only Yor's promise to keep her end of the deal. He's showing trust in her and kindness by being willing to fulfill his end of the deal first, thus risking Yor walking out on her promise. Point two.

Despite being injured - something that Yor fully trusts is an occupational hazard for him (I mean, it is, but not because of the occupation she really thinks of) - he still fulfills his end of the deal, albeit messing up and saying he's her husband (though this doesn't count as much, because it came to Yor's advantage in the end). Point three.

(Remember, at this point Yor doesn't know of Loid's plan to convince her to marry him officially, and that this was why he mixed up his introduction. She just thought he made an unrelated mistake out of rush and being wounded)

Taking the opportunity from Loid's mistake of calling himself her husband, Yor asks him to marry her (again, she has no idea of his actual plans; she only knows he wanted her to pretend to be his wife for the interview and only, and that then they'd part ways). He immediately accepts and actually vows to be there for her in difficult times. Point four.

He welcomes her into his family and home, even giving her her own bedroom and her privacy. He has no demands of her regarding to household chores, praises how clean she keeps the apartment - even in front of a misogynistic guy who has power over them in the interview (and we as the audience know that was not For the Mission, as Twilight immediately goes like "Wait why am I getting worked up over this") - he trusts her input when it comes to raising Anya, shows genuine happiness and praise when she makes a tasty meal for them, all of that culminating in the bench scene where he openly and emotionally praises what she fears is a deal-breaker flaw of hers, her physical strength. Point five.

He accepts her eccentric brother that she adores, and after the messy meeting they had with him where said brother left cursing at Loid left and right, Loid is not only understanding, he also opens up about how he envies her relationship with Yuri (and again, we the audience know it's an honestly vulnerable moment for him; not a For The Mission thing). Point six.

So overall, she gets the image of a kind, trusting fellow who is willing to help her despite there not being any (obvious) gains for him outside having a wife stand-in for the interview. To her, Loid had no reasons to keep up their agreement after the interview, especially after Anya got in the school. But he still gladly keeps it on while doing his best to be a good and supportive roommate... and friend.

Like, we joke how gullible Yor is, and not only when it comes to him. But from her point of view, what with especially hiding from him that she's an assassin of all things, he's just as much if not more gullible.

Through all that, Yor genuinely builds feelings for the Forger family - and unlike Twilight, she's much faster in accepting and embracing them. She has no reason to act motherly towards Anya; heck, she has no reason to even spend time with them when they're indoors. She could just stay in her room all the time and never take part in dining together, helping Anya with her homework and activities (like how she helped Anya train for the dodgeball game) and being by their side in general. In only a few months' time, she's already invested in them emotionally so much that the thought of leaving them terrifies her. She's been truly kind and open with them, and now wishes she can keep her place in the family, and not for her job - but because she truly cherishes that place.

So... yeah. Think how all that will come breaking down when she finds out what Loid's original plan was :)

He wasn't trying to get Anya into Eden to provide for her future, nor honouring his "late wife's" dying wish; it was for the mission, after the end of which he fully intended on abandoning Anya.

He didn't agree to play her boyfriend out of kindness; it was to have a leverage over her so that she'd keep her end of the deal - and god I just thought how she might think that him introducing himself as her husband was intentional so that he'd back her up into a corner later to actually marry him (something we know isn't true, but maybe in a very emotional aftermath of identity reveals Yor could very well consider a possibility).

He didn't accept to marry her because he was being helpful towards her - he was simply advancing his own mission.

Now, we know that a lot of the things Loid praises her for come from the truest depths of himself, but Yor does not have the audience's point of view to see that - when she learns that he's a spy and that he's told her so many lies, she'll have no reason to believe anything of what he's told her is true.

His interest in Anya's future, the trust and acceptance he showed her, his supporting words, his efforts to be a good roommate, the vulnerability he showed her... those are all things that Yor would've admired him for, and from a romance perspective, fell in love with him for. Those will all be doubted by her when she finds out what he really is and it will be devastating.

As many other people do, I doubt Yor will be upset by him having lied to her about his job, because she did the same. The heartbreak will come from her knowing she showed her true self as the wife and mother of the Forgers, while when the truth comes out she'll have no idea who the real man behind Loid Forger is. She trusted him, supported him, protected him, opened up to him, fell in love with him... and then that "him" will be pulled from under her feet to reveal a guy who has been using her from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

Of course, like the next twiyor shipper, I want that to resolve into Twilight proving to her that the feelings he grew for her and Anya, the trust he showed her and the connection he built with them were genuine, and the family staying together by the end. I JUST WANT THAT ANGST FIRST.

(No manga spoilers please 😁)

[kckt88]

Three Hearts, One Breath.

Summary:

After kissing his brothers wife, Aegon tries to distance himself from his growing feelings.

However Vaeryna and Aemond have other ideas.

Warning(s): Language, Exploring, Body Worship, Kissing, Incest, Smut - F/M/M, Lactation Kink, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V Sex, P in A, Double Penetration, Multiple Orgasms, Cum Eating.

Word Count: - 5063.

PURE FILTH - I'M SORRY. IT'S DEPRAVED.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

GREENS WIN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

One Shot Take My Breath Away AU

AEMOND X O.C & AEGON X O.C

Tag List -@immyowndefender, @fanficapologist, @wickedfrsgrl, @queenofthekeep, @kaelatargaryen

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

How could he be so stupid? Kissing Vaeryna like that, literally just after she’d given birth.

There was something wrong him, there had to be for him to do something so stupid like that.

This infatuation with Vaeryna had to stop, she was his brothers wife. Of course, his curiosity towards how brother didn’t help matters either.

The only immediate solution to his problem, was to actively avoid Vaeryna and Aemond at all costs, of course he had council meetings to attend to which would make things difficult with regards to Aemond, but he would avoid Vaeryna.

He would surround himself with guards and make sure no one approached, he would also avoid his favoured whores, indulging in his usual habits wouldn’t help, not right now.

As hard as it was to avoid his good sister, he seemed to manage it.

In the weeks since Aegar’s birth and her recovery, Vaeryna had tried multiple times to gain an audience with Aegon, they would usually have dinner together every Thursday, but he made his excuses, even his trips to the gardens were off limits as Vaeryna would often frequent them in the hopes of running into him.

It pained him to cut her off, but he just couldn’t be around her anymore.

Which is why he found himself hiding in his chambers like a coward.

Gods, his mother was right. He was nothing more than a disgrace, she once said his carnal urges would be the death of him and she was correct.

Because once his brother found out what he’d done, he would kill him, admittedly it was odd that Vaeryna hadn’t told him yet, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t eventually.

As his heir Rhaegar wasn't old enough, upon his death, Aemond would ascend the Iron Throne with Vaeryna by his side as his Queen, mayhaps the crown of the conqueror would look better on Aemond than it ever did on-

A soft knock brought Aegon out of his reverie.

“W-Who is it?” asked Aegon, his voice shaking.

“It’s Vaeryna”

Oh shit.

He could ignore her; he should ignore her. He’d made a promise to himself to stay away from Vaeryna and let go of his feelings for her.

He would stay firm in his decision to avoid her, he could tell her to leave him alone, he could even be cruel to her in the hopes that she would hate him enough to stay away.

Yes, that was a plan, open the door and tell her to leave him alone.

So, with that plan in mind Aegon opened the door and-

“What’s wrong?” asked Aegon concerned as he spotted Vaeryna’s tearful gaze.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” asked Vaeryna.

“I haven’t-“

“-Yes, you have, I called your name yesterday and you turned away from me, you won’t have dinner with me anymore and I never see you in the gardens” said Vaeryna.

“I-I just don’t-“

“-Is this because of what happened the day Aegar was born?” asked Vaeryna.

“N-No”

“You are such a bad liar Aegon Targaryen. Why are you treating me like this? What did I do wrong?” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“It’s not you-it’s me” replied Aegon.

“Then what is it?” questioned Vaeryna.

“Who-“

“What are you a fucking owl? Just spit it out” snapped Vaeryna.

“I LOVE YOU-OK I FUCKING LOVE YOU”

“Aegon” gasped Vaeryna.

“I don’t know when or how long, but I do-I’ve tried not too, but I can’t stop” said Aegon.

“What if I don’t want you to stop?”

“WHAT?” asked Aegon.

“What if I want you to love me, what if I want you as much as I want Aemond”.

“Then I would think you were having a joke at my expense, there’s no way I would ever believe such a thing” replied Aegon.

“Well, believe it” muttered Vaeryna.

Aegon didn’t have a fucking clue what was happening, one minute he was staring at Vaeryna like she had three heads and the next-well, he had her pressed up against the door as he kissed her, their hands grasping at one another desperately.

It was only when Aemond appeared that Aegon reared away from Vaeryna.

“I-I can explain” stammered Aegon.

“You can explain why your kissing my wife?” asked Aemond cocking his head to the side.

“It was me-I came onto her; she isn’t too blame-I am” gasped Aegon.

“An admirable sentiment, however, you do realise that I was aware of the reason for Vaeryna’s visit” said Aemond, his arms folded behind his back.

“What?” exclaimed Aegon, looking at Vaeryna who blushed.

“Well, you see brother, your infatuation with my wife has not gone unnoticed, and of course that has been the reason for your avoidance these last few weeks” said Aemond closing the door and sliding the lock into place with a soft click.

“Oh fuck-“ muttered Aegon under his breath, this was it-the day he was going to die. He hoped his lady mother wouldn’t be too upset, well perhaps not. She always did prefer Aemond over him, mayhaps she would be glad that he was dead.

“My wife is truly one of my most precious treasures” said Aemond, advancing upon Aegon like a predator upon its prey.

“Y-Yes” breathed Aegon nervously.

“I will not concede her too you, but I am willing at times to share”

“S-Share?” asked Aegon.

“Hm”

“It’s ok Aegon-why chose when there is the option for both” said Vaeryna sweetly.

Aegon’s gaze shifted from Vaeryna to Aemond and back again, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing-surely, they weren’t suggesting some kind of threesome were they?

Wait-was he actually dead and this was some form of heaven because there was no way this was even remotely real.

“B-Both?”

“Yes- besides didn't mother always tell us to share” said Aemond as he began unfastening his leather doublet.

Oh fuck.

This was real, and it was happening.

Aemond released Vaeryna’s mouth and bent down to lick her nipples.

“Oh” muttered Vaeryna as she flung her arms over her face, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

Aemond ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Come Brother-You have one, I’ll have the other” growled Aemond.

Aegon leaned forward and slowly ran his tongue over one of Vaeryna’s nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff peak.

His cock throbbed as Vaeryna writhed against the bed.

“A-Aemond, A-Aegon” gasped Vaeryna.

“Hm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suck his wife’s breast.

Aemond looked over at Aegon as they indulged themselves in worshipping Vaeryna’s breasts, their gaze locked upon one another.

Suddenly Aemond reached around the back of his brothers head and took hold of his roughly shorn silver tresses, pulling him away from Vaeryna and seizing his lips in a brutal kiss.

Aegon could taste the mother’s milk upon his brothers tongue, and it drove him wild.

“Hm”

Aegon moaned at Aemonds rumbling hum, it used to annoy him whenever he did that during conversation but in this circumstance, it was fucking amazing.

Suddenly Vaeryna let out an adorable squeak, Aegon looked and noticed that Aemond had his fingers inside her cunny.

“You should touch her too” exclaimed Aemond as his mouth once again descended onto one of Vaeryna’s breasts.

Never one to back down, Aegon gentle ran his hand down Vaeryna’s body and had to recite some stupid faith of the seven prayer to stop himself from coming when he felt how wet she was.

“I-Is she always-“

“-This wet?-Hm-yes issa byka zaldrīzes, so sensitive” muttered Aemond (My little dragon).

“A-Aegon-please” whined Vaeryna as their eyes connected.

“Patience issa dōna nūmio” replied Aegon as his fingers began teasing her slick folds (My sweet pearl).

Aegon watched with awed fascination as Aemond expertly fingered his wife, the way he used his fingers and thumb in tandem with one another to tease her little pearl.

Aegon knew Vaeryna was close to her peak, he could feel her cunny fluttering around the finger he had inside her.

However, Aemond removed his hand and sat back on the bed, his singular amethyst eye darkened with lust as he pressed his fingers against Aegon’s mouth.

“Taste her” growled Aemond.

“Delicious” muttered Aegon as he swirled his tongue around Aemond’s fingers.

Vaeryna clearly not happy at being denied her peak, began to whine.

“Aemond-“

“-Now ābrazȳrys. I want you to sit on my face, whilst my brother sucks my cock” exclaimed Aemond (Wife).

Even though he was the younger of the three, Aemond had a naturally dominant personality, and if he wanted to be in control then Aegon was more than happy to submit.

Aemond reclined on the bed and smirked, his cock standing hard. Aegon’s mouth was watering just looking at it, his brother the absolute twat had truly been blessed.

The largest dragon in the world and a cock to match-no wonder he was so smug all of the time.

Vaeryna hovered above Aemond’s face, her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cock sleeve" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaeryna’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaeryna her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaeryna.

“FUCK” groaned Aemond as he felt Aegon’s mouth around his cock.

Devouring his wife’s sweet cunny as she sat on his face was one thing, but to do it whilst his brother sucked his cock was other worldly.

Admittedly it was different from Vaeryna she was soft and patient, always teasing him to the brink of madness, whilst Aegon was firm and unyielding.

He enjoyed the feeling of Aegon’s mouth around his cockhead, his tongue teasing his slit, as the salvia dripping down his shaft.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaeryna, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaeryna "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“T-That’s it, fuck-Aegon” breathed Aemond, as his brother wrapped a hand around his cock and began to move in sync with his mouth.

“Oh" whimpered Vaeryna; her chest heaving as she began to roll her hips against him.

“That’s it baby, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, thrusting his own hips.

Vaeryna was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing the King's chambers would surely hear as Aemond’s nose bumped repeatedly against her pearl.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Vaeryna’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaeryna’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Vaeryna moved off Aemond’s face and flopped down onto the bed beside him.

Vaeryna moaned quietly as she caught sight of Aegon sucking Aemond’s cock, she could feel herself getting wet again, she watched as Aemond placed his hand on the back of his brother’s head, forcing him to take more of his cock inside his mouth.

Suddenly a naughty thought entered into Vaeryna's head and before Aemond could stop her, she bent down and began running her tongue along the part of his cock that wasn't in Aegon's mouth.

"SEVEN HELLS" roared Aemond.

Aegon and Vaeryna shared a knowing look before they both began to take it turns slowly sucking Aemond's cock, taking him the brink only to stop.

"V-Vaeryna" groaned Aemond, he needed her, he needed her now.

"Yes my love"

“Come here” rasped Aemond, his chin still shining with her slick.

Vaeryna leaned forward and wiped her tongue across her husbands bottom lip before taking it in between her teeth and biting down gently.

“You naughty girl” muttered Aemond as he surged forward and pressed a kiss to his wife’s sumptuous soft lips.

One hand tangled in his brothers hair and the other in his wife’s.

“A-Aegon-enough-stop” groaned Aemond his hips stuttering, he could feel the urge to come building in his abdomen.

“Spoil sport” muttered Aegon as he wiped the spit from the corners of his mouth.

“I want to spill my seed inside my wife’s cunny”.

“W-Where will-“ asked Aegon looking around awkwardly.

“I want you to spill your seed inside me as well” whispered Vaeryna.

Aemond was sure his brother was about to blow his load right there, judging from the way his eyes rolled back into his head at every filthy word his wife spoke.

Vaeryna moved over Aemond’s body, her slick folds rubbing against his cock.

Gods he was so hard, it was bordering on painful.

Seizing his wife’s hips, Aemond surged up and ploughed his hard cock into Vaeryna’s soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaeryna.

"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaeryna, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“Aegon-please” breathed Vaeryna as she felt his warm chest press against her back, his hands gently caressing her sides as he pressed a series of gentle kisses along the back of her neck.

“Do you want his cock as well Issa perzys?” asked Aemond, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips (My fire).

“Y-Yes, please. I want it-I want you both inside me” moaned Vaeryna.

“I’ll need to prepare you” whispered Aegon as he took hold of the small bottle of oil that Aemond discreetly pressed into his hand.

Aegon uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of the oil onto his palm, spreading it over his fingers.

After discarding the bottle somewhere on the bed, Aegon reached down to her arse.

“Hm-yes, I-like it” whined Vaeryna, biting her lip.

“Be patient” urged Aemond as Vaeryna began to squirm against him.

Vaeryna gasped as she felt Aegon’s finger on her little rosette, and it felt so naughty, it was good.

“Yes, or no?” asked Aegon.

Vaeryna didn't even have to think.

“Yes, Aegon” moaned Vaeryna as he slowly inserted his finger into her body.

He worked in silence for a while, easing his finger in and out of her arse until she could take it easily.

Aemond began teasing her pearl with his fingers, his cock throbbing inside her.

Pulling out, Aegon added a second finger and brushed both around her hole.

“Yes, or no?” Aegon asked again.

“Aegon. I want you take my arse, I want both of you to fuck me until I scream out your names. I need to come, please. Do not deprive me any longer” begged Vaeryna.

Aegon let out a breath of air, but no words. Silently, he breached her arse once more.

Vaeryna screamed, and Aegon panicked. He started to back his fingers out, but she begged “No, no, oh god it feels so fucking good I can barely stand it”.

Aegon continued to work his way into her tight space, his cock was like stone, and needed nothing more than the odd stroke to keep him there. When his fingers were fully inside her, he put his lips to her ear again.

“I'm going to take your arse” whispered Aegon, pumping his fingers slowly in and out.

“Yes” gasped Vaeryna as she pushed against Aegon’s talented finger’s.

“I'm going to breach your arse with my cock and fill you all the way up. It's going to feel so good, love, I can't wait for you to come around Aemond’s cock in your sweet cunt, whilst my cock shoved in your arse”

Vaeryna’s teeth were gritted, and she grunted low in her throat each time his fingers surged in.

“Yes” moaned Vaeryna loudly. Aegon slapped her buttock, and she wailed again.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir” moaned Vaeryna. She was pushing back against his hand, so he spread his fingers inside her, accommodating her to his size. At last, she was ready for him.

Aegon pressed the head of his cock to the entrance of her arse, and Vaeryna moaned in need, he pushed through her entrance and past her sphincter muscle, swearing loudly as it gripped him unbelievably tight.

“Oh gods. Oh yes” moaned Vaeryna, flinging her head back. Aegon eased himself slowly into her tight anal passage, trying not to pass out from the sheer fucking bliss of it.  

Eventually, Vaeryna took his entire cock.

The three of them remained unmoving as Vaeryna got used to having both Aemond and Aegon inside her.

“I-I’m ready” whispered Vaeryna.

“We’ll go as slow-” muttered Aemond as he placed his hands on his wife’s hips.

“-as you want” said Aegon as he placed his hands on top of Aemonds and entwined their fingers together.

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaeryna as both Aegon and Aemond began to move, finding their rhythm and thrusting gently.

Both brothers moving in tandem with one another, a slow sensual pace, that drove Vaeryna to the brink of insanity.

"Faster, please" begged Vaeryna.

"Patience, Issa zaldrīzes. This is your first time doing this with both of us" chided Aemond (My dragon).

“I-I’ve taken you there before” admitted Vaeryna softly.

“Fuck” groaned Aegon at Vaeryna’s admission.

“I know but you’ve never taken us both at the same time” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaeryna.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaeryna" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

“Y-Yes, fuck” muttered Aegon.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaeryna "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Make me scream, make me come. Give me your seed. I want it”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaeryna was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaeryna wanted faster and he was going much faster now; so much for having the control in the situation. His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips.

“Fuck Aemond” groaned Aegon, the force of his brother’s thrusts moving Vaeryna on his cock.

“A-AEGON-“ screamed Vaeryna as she reached behind her and wrapped her hands around the back of his head.

She craned her neck back and dragged Aegon’s head towards her, she wanted to feel his lips on hers as she took both of their cocks.

Aegon released his grip on Aemonds hands and slowly caressed her skin until he reached her breasts, both hands squeezing them as his tongue moved against hers, his cock thrusting inside her.

Aemond watched with a hooded gaze as his wife kissed his brother, he thought he would feel jealous knowing that his wife was finding pleasure with someone who wasn’t him, but in truth he found it incredibly hot.

Both of them were cock deep inside her and it felt glorious, it was just a shame they’d waited so long to do this.

“Faster-I can take it-I can take both of you-please” stammered Vaeryna as she released Aegon’s hair from her grip.

Aemond and Aegon shared a quick glance before nodding.

Now they were both quickly thrusting in and out, the force of their combined movements shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Vaeryna was meeting them thrust for thrust.

“Aemond-Aegon! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaeryna; not caring if anyone could hear them.

Vaeryna always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Vaeryna clamped down around Aemond’s cock so hard he could hardly move. That, combined with how glorious Vaeryna looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“God. Vaeryna” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.

Aegon followed not long after, his cock twitching as he spilled inside Vaeryna, his head falling to her shoulder.

His chest heaving with every breath he took; he had never come so hard in his life.

“Aegon-“ whispered Vaeryna as he gently pulled his softened cock from her.

“You were so good” replied Aegon as he laid on the bed next to Aemond.

“Hm-so perfect for us” said Aemond as he also pulled his cock from Vaeryna and moved over so she could lay in between the brothers.

Their sweaty bodies pressed against one another as they came down from their high.

Aegon opened his eyes at the feeling of the bed shifting.

“Did you really think that we were finished brother-I want you to clean my seed from wife’s cunny as I fuck you” growled Aemond.

“Aemond” gasped Aegon as his brother flipped him onto his stomach.

“Be a good boy and clean up the mess I’ve made” cooed Aemond as he reached for the bottle of oil.

“How are you so hard this quickly” exclaimed Aegon not sure whether he should be impressed or not.

“It’s a gift” replied Aemond smirking as a generous amount of oil coated his fingers.

Aemond manoeuvred Aegon so he was all on all fours and began to prepare him for his cock.

Aegon groaned as felt Aemond’s fingers breaching him, obviously this wasn’t his first experience with a man, but Aemond was significantly larger than anyone he’d taken before.

“Do not neglect my wife, Lēkia” said Aemond (Brother).

Aegon moved in between Vaeryna’s open legs and moaned as he saw the seed leaking from her.

“Go head and clean her up-“ ordered Aemond as he coated his cock with oil.

Aegon grunted with mild discomfort as he felt his brother’s fingers withdrawing from him, only to be replaced with his cock.

“Fuck-Aemond” groaned Aegon, closing his eyes as he took every inch of his brother.

“Do not leave my wife wanting-or I will punish you” snarled Aemond, as he gave a rough deep thrust.

“Yes-“ groaned Aegon as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Vaeryna’s cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into her core with his tongue, in and out.

Vaeryna clutched at his head with one hand, her other hand grasped at the sheets.

Aemond withdrew from Aegon and surged forward again, setting a brutal pace as he watched his brother lick the seed from his wife’s cunny.

Aegon lashed hard at Vaeryna’s pearl with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard and fast, alternating between her bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt, the taste of Aemond’s seed mixed with her delicious ambrosia.

Vaeryna ground down on Aegon, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

However, she shoved Aegon’s face away from her and smiled widely.

“I want you inside me” whispered Vaeryna as she shimmied slightly down the bed.

“Go on brother-give her what she wants” exclaimed Aemond as he thrust forward, his hips slapping against Aegon’s.

Aegon slid into Vaeryna immediately, aided by how wet and open she was for him. He sighed into the crook of Vaeryna’s neck, slowly building up the pace. 

The feeling of Aemond inside him and Vaeryna around him was heavenly.

Initially when he had pulled off his tunic and breeches, he was apprehensive as to what Vaeryna and Aemond would make of the burn scars that covered the majority of the lower half of his body, especially his cock, it still functioned as normal, and he could produce seed, but he wasn’t fertile, not that he minded anyway.

But Vaeryna and Aemond had still welcomed him into their relationship, and it made his heart soar, and the way Vaeryna had gently kissed everyone of his scars made him want to cry with happiness.

Vaeryna’s tits bounced with each thrust, as Aegon was driven into her by the force of Aemond’s thrusts.

Vaeryna moaned and cried beneath Aegon, his pelvis rubbing against her swollen bud with each thrust he gave.

“You going to come? I can feel you gripping me” huffed Aegon, watching his scarred length disappear into her wet folds.

“Please” wailed Vaeryna, her hands gripping the sheets.

“That’s it-come for us baby” moaned Aemond, his pace relentless, the sweat dripping down his chest.

Aegon took pity and slid a hand down to Vaeryna’s pearl, rolling it in time with his thrusts,

“Come on then. Cum on my cock”

It took four sharp thrusts before Vaeryna screwed her eyes shut, as she came with an earth-shattering cry.

Aegon fucked her through it, his hips and hand not once still until Vaeryna was a sobbing and slick mess beneath him.

“Give him another Issa jorrāelagon” grunted Aemond (My love).

“Fuck-Aemond” moaned Aegon, his face pressed into the crook of Vaeryna’s neck.

“That’s it-fucking take it” snarled Aemond.

Vaeryna squirmed to get away from Aegon, but it was no use, and Aegon ripped yet another peak from her with precision.

Vaeryna’s head lulling to the side tiredly as her body was thrust up the bed with the combined force of Aegon and Aemond’s thrusts.

Vaeryna laid limply beneath him as he continued to fuck her.

“Fuck-going fill your cunny” moaned Aegon.

Vaeryna nodded weakly as Aegon continued to thrust his length into her.

“You want me to fill up this pretty cunny with my seed?”

Vaeryna nodded her head again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as Aegon continued to rut into her.

Vaeryna’s brain went blank as ecstasy shot through it.

Aemond was close as well, his thrusts had grown sloppy and uncoordinated.

Vaeryna heard Aegon’s loud groan as he spilled his seed deep within her.

Then nothing as darkness embraced her.

It took a while for Vaeryna come back to herself, and when she did she was in Aemond’s arms, with Aegon pressed behind her.

She felt warm, safe, and completely exhausted. Vaeryna shifted to look up at her husband, watching as his eye opened to look down at her.

“So good you blacked out?” mused Aemond softly, watching as his wife weakly smiled at him, nuzzling into his chest, the sparse hairs tickling her nose.

“D-Did you finish?” asked Vaeryna, craning her neck to look at her husband.

“Yes I did-“

“-All over my back the dirty bastard” retorted Aegon.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time” snarked Aemond.

“I need moontea” whispered Vaeryna.

“There’s a cup waiting, freshly brewed” said Aegon pointing to the silver trap on the table.

“H-How long was I blacked out?” wondered Vaeryna.

“A while-“ mused Aegon as he climbed out of bed and picked up the cup of moontea.

“Thank you” replied Vaeryna as she took the cup from Aegon and drank the concoction in one gulp, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“Don’t mention it-“ said Aegon as he pulled on his small clothes and went to pour himself some wine.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond quietly.

“I’m fine, are you ok?”

“I’m ok, gaomagon ao gīmigon skorkydoso olvie avy jorrāelan?” replied Aemond (Do you know how much I love you?).

“I’m not sure, mayhaps you should remind me” teased Vaeryna.

“Tolī than glaeson, ao issi se ōños isse issa zōbrie” (More than life, you are the light in my darkness).

“In that case, avy jorrāelan, issa idaña perzys” replied Vaeryna (I love you, my twin flame).

Aemond hummed contentedly as he drew Vaeryna back into his arms and held her close.

“You do realise these are my chambers” groused Aegon as he climbed back on the bed.

“-Your point?” asked Aemond.

“After sex I like to sleep”.

“So, do I” whispered Vaeryna as she took Aegon’s hand and pulled him closer, her eyes closing as he snuggled behind her.

Soon Vaeryna fell asleep, safely ensconced between her two silver dragons.

“What’s wrong with you?” muttered Aemond.

“I wasn’t sure what this would mean-you know for us now that-“

“-We’ve fucked you mean?” said Aemond quietly.

“Well, yes. It’s not everyday you fuck a wife at the same time as her husband, and then fuck the wife as the husband fucks you” mused Aegon.

“Like you didn’t enjoy it” quipped Aemond.

“Oh, I thoroughly enjoyed it-mayhaps next time you’ll let me fuck you”.

“Absolutely not-I’m a top” replied Aemond, looking down at Vaeryna to check that she was still asleep.

“Nothing wrong with being a bottom, you should give it a try”.

“Do you want a slap?” asked Aemond frowning.

“I might like it-daddy” said Aegon smirking.

“Your incorrigible” muttered Aemond shaking his head.

“So, I guess you and Vaeryna discussed boundaries prior to her arrival earlier on?”

“Yes-we agreed to have you together, no separate encounters, it’s both of us or nothing” replied Aemond.

“Sounds-reasonable”.

“Hm, of course this will not be an everyday occurrence, as I still wish to have my wife to myself at times” said Aemond sternly.

“Of course-so how often, will we you know-“ mused Aegon.

“Once a month if you’re a good boy-“

“-And if I’m not?” mused Aegon curiously.

“I’ll tie you to a chair and make you watch as I fuck Vaeryna” said Aemond smugly.

“Sounds delightful-anyway I must say your wife is a fantastic fuck, are you sure she was a maid when you first laid with her”.

“Forget the slap-I will slit your throat if you carry on” groused Aemond shifting slight as Vaeryna moved in her sleep.

“I was joking-not about the fantastic fuck thing though, even your performance was very satisfying brother”.

“Are we really going lay here and discuss who satisfied who the most or who’s the best fuck because that’s just childish and at any rate-I’m the best” said Aemond as he laid down on the bed.

“I’ve had more practice than you” argued Aegon.

“Having more partners than you’ve had hot dinners doesn’t mean your good in bed. I’ve only had sex with three-“

“-Four people. I’m counted amongst that number now” said Aegon smiling.

“You’ll never counted amongst it again if you don’t shut your mouth” snapped Aemond.

“-Stop talking, need sleep” muttered Vaeryna.

“Shh-it’s ok, go back to sleep dōna hāedar” whispered Aemond (Sweet girl).

“Jorrāelagon ao issa zaldrīzes” mumbled Vaeryna (Love you my dragon).

“Is she aware she drools in her sleep?” asked Aegon.

“Shut the fuck up” hissed Aemond as he closed his eye.

Aegon simply smiled and snuggled against Vaeryna who sighed in her sleep, he placed his hand on her waist and jumped slightly when he felt Aemond’s fingers touch his own.

“Next time-” muttered Aegon.

“-Next time” replied Aemond softly.

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Not sure if you've done it before because blog searches just don't work but how would umbreon work as a pet?

[You may have seen it already, but I’ll take any chance I can to link to the post containing my index doc, which works much better than blog searches here! I’ll put it at the bottom of this post.]

An umbreon might make a good pet for some owners, but they are definitely one of the weaker options when it comes to eevee evolutions. It really depends on the owner and what they can reasonably handle.

To begin with, however, like most pokémon of the aforementioned category, umbreons are a decent size to be a house pet. At three feet tall they’re certainly on the bigger size when compared to many real-world dogs and cats, but that’s pretty reasonable when compared to a lot of the pokémon we cover here on the blog. Now, when taking into account the pokédex data on this species, it’s difficult to tell if they tend to be friendly. There’s no mention of them living with humans or other umbreons, and by all means they seem to be stealthy, solitary predators who prefer to hide and use ambush tactics when hunting prey in the dead of night (Ruby/Sapphire, Emerald). It’s said that when these pokémon move around in the dark, the curious yellow rings on their fur glow, “striking fear into the hearts of anyone nearby” (Silver). This could be an involuntary response on the observers part, in which case an umbreon would make a terrible pet, but I’d be willing to wager that this glow is not intended as sort sort of psychological attack since it also occurs when they are simply excited (Crystal).

Umbreon care seems like it would be fairly straightforward… so long as they are in a good mood. Umbreons, like other species in the eevee evolution line, are natural predators. This could make them pretty dangerous, given their size, so I would suggest an abundance of caution and a keen awareness of their body language and mood at all times. Given their highly active lifestyle in the wild, umbreons need a lot of play time and enrichment: a sedentary pet they are not. Be prepared to offer them lots of opportunities to get their wiggles out! Keep in mind that this species is nocturnal (Ruby/Sapphire, Emerald, Diamond/Pearl), and will thus need the most attention at night; they’d be best fit for a night owl’s household.

There’s one strange quirk about umbreon biology that really hurts their pet ranking score, and it’s not something that can be easily gleamed just by looking at them. When agitated or angered, umbreons can actually spray poisonous sweat from their pores (Gold). This is, obviously, a huge problem. Not even the best pet owner can keep their pet from *ever* getting agitated, especially during stressful events like visits to the vet. This could pose a huge problem, though we don’t know exactly the potency of this poison. While an umbreon may be able to control the spraying of their sweat, it doesn’t seem like they can control the sweating itself, which could leave furniture, pet carriers, etc. covered with poisonous material. This is a factor that would make this pokémon an ill-fit for many owners.

Umbreons are, like I said earlier, pretty dangerous even without this sweat. These are large, agile hunters, who can use physical moves like Bite and Assurance to take down prey as easily as they can use special moves like Dark Pulse.

Overall, while an umbreon could make a pretty good pet for some owners, they are generally-speaking not a great choice, especially when other options, like an eevee, are available in most regions. I’d suggest potential umbreon adopters consider the risks before jumping into an adoption.

The Index:

[tgmsunmontue]

Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide 10/?

Maverick is unknowingly surrounded by Transformers. He knows something is up though. Just not quite what it is exactly.

Bradley and Jake, having never met, are embarking on their own journeys and will have to learn to deal with the fact that they've both been adopted by Transformers.

Despite having years more experience, Maverick is no help at all.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN

                Jake is so glad that he’s not in any of this alone. Sure it was all exciting and new, but it has suddenly become very fucking real and he doesn’t like the looks that some of the brass are giving him, it makes his skin crawl and he edges closer to Bradley and Maverick just slightly, knowing that there is strength in numbers. The fact that he has somehow stumbled into this weird family and all these other Transformers gives him hope that he’s not going to suddenly mysteriously go missing, or die in action; leaving his parents left to wonder exactly what happened. Actually, thinking about his parents he should probably touch base with them, because sending messages aren’t going to cut it three days in a row, not when he’s on leave.

                He focusses back in on the conversation and realizes that Admiral Cain is spitting mad about something, his face almost purple, and he can’t even tell if it’s something Maverick or Admiral Kazansky said, because Captain Mitchell is smirking and Admiral Kazansky is looking cooly impassive. Fuck Jake wants to be like them, either of them.

                “We’re the same rank,” Cain spits out.

                “And yet you’re not the one with a house or hangar filled with Transformers, so I think that gives us the edge regardless of rank, hmm?” Admiral Kazansky states calmly, and god the man must have balls of titanium. Jake had already admired the theoretical idea of Admiral Kazansky, his rise through the ranks and dedication to remaining an active pilot for as long as possible. Now though? Knowing he’s done it while also hiding his relationship with none other than Maverick Mitchell, and is clearly unafraid of standing up to the brass or his own peers. Jake will trust him and his leadership, and not only because he also suspects that his fatherly love of Bradley means that protection reaches and envelopes Jake by default. The wave of relief he’d had moments ago returns ten-fold.

                “Stop being difficult Cain, or you can step back. Kazansky has a valid point. Now, let us go and meet these Transformers.”

                They walk to the hangar where Bronco and Hound are, and he glances around at the other vehicles. None of them seem to also be Transformers, although he wouldn’t bet any money on the fact either way. Bronco and Hound are in their robot states, chatting what he assumes is meant to be quietly, although Hound doesn’t seem to have much of a volume control. He reminds Jake of his grandpa, with the hearing aids he forgets to turn on. There’s a general conversation about how everyone is travelling, until once again Cain looks horrified at the idea of travelling inside a Transformer. Bradley is clearly trying not to laugh outright, his face schooled, but Captain Mitchell clearly looks like he wishes he had Ninja to just jump on.

…            …            …

                “No! I don’t want to travel inside it!”

                “What’s wrong with going with me?” Hound asks, his weird moustache trembling and jangling, and he sounds insulted.

                “I’ll go with Hound. You can drive Ice’s car. I mean Admiral Kazansky’s,” Mav amends and Bradley can tell he’s trying not to laugh outright.

                “It’s definitely a car right?”

                “As far as we can figure out. We can simply pop into existence though,” Bronco states, head tilted to one side and Bradley knows that’s a bunch of bullshit, at least he thinks it is. He has no idea about the procreative habits of Transformers. However Dustdrift had just confirmed that Ice’s car was a simply mundane vehicle j that morning, so he knows Bronco is just being a bit of a shit-stirrer. He can appreciate that, especially with regards to Admiral Cain so he simply nods and looks considering, like he knows exactly what Bronco is referring to.

                Bronco and Hound both transform to the vehicle states and he doesn’t think he will ever get sick of seeing that. Because there are so many humans now they have to take some of the other staff vehicles, as well as Ice’s car. The Secretary of State with his own car and driver, has invited Ice and Mav to go with him, which leaves him with Bronco and a couple of admirals he doesn’t really know.

                “I’ll drive lieutenant,” one of them says, holding his hand out for the keys and Bradley nods, sucks his lips into his mouth and knows this isn’t going to end well.

                “Uh. That… Bronco can be a little… selective, sir,” Bradley states, trying to find a word that suits but also won’t insult Bronco. Because Bradley’s yelled a few choice words at him over the years. Then again, Bronco has thrown a fair few back, but usually through the music.

                “What do you mean?”

                “He doesn’t usually drive anywhere unless it’s me in the driver seat sir.”

                “What? That’s ridiculous!”

                “That may be the case sir, but it’s often just how it is. Bronco won’t even start for Mav, uh, Captain Mitchell. Sir.”

                The man’s eyes narrow and Bradley shrugs helplessly, completely unsurprised when Bronco refuses to start. He’s not going to apologize, just gives a tight smile and accepts the keys back when they’re slapped into his hand with more force than necessary. He slides into the driver’s seat, doesn’t bother with the keys and just pats the dash a couple of times.

                “Take us back to the hangar I guess buddy…”

                “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…” Bronco plays through his radio and Bradley lets out a sigh.

                He guesses it is home once again.

…            …            …

                He’s not quite prepared for the push out of the car, but he’s not as shocked or surprised as the Admiral who chose to rise with him in Hound. Hound had been grumbling almost the entire way, and something sets him off enough to start transforming as they hit the edge of the runway near the hangar and while he staggers a little the admiral with him falls into the rocks and dust and Jake reaches a hand to help him up.

                “You okay sir?”

                “Of course. Is that… standard?”

                “Uh. No. I expect something has set him off…” Jake starts, and he glances around before raising his eyes to the sky. “Oh for… goodness sake.”

                “What?”

                “That’s Starscream sir…” Jake says, pointing up, because he’s familiar enough with the size and shape or the flying and robot forms to be able to recognize him easily now. And the fact he’s up there flying around is probably what has Hound all annoyed.

                “Your one.”

                “No. He doesn’t belong to anyone. None of them do sir. They might agree to assist with us with some jobs, but they’re not… subservient.”

                “I don’t need to ask my microwave its permission before I reheat my dinner.”

                “Your microwave isn’t part of an alien race sir. That you know of, anyway.”

                He looks a little taken aback at that thought and Jake’s glad, because he’s certain that one of the Transformers in Captain Mitchell’s collection is indeed a microwave, and he’d love to see it burn everything to a crisp if it was misused or disrespected in any way. They start the long walk down the runway toward the hangar and Jake wonders if he needs to make polite conversation, can’t help but feel a sense of relief when he sees Starscream get lower and closer and then he’s landing and transforming in one smooth movement and Jake doesn’t know his expressions well, but he thinks Starscream looks pleased to see him.

                “Jake! You’re back!”

                “Yeah. You enjoy the flying?”

                “Sally said I wasn’t allowed to go far. Something about humans getting scared… I don’t understand why. There are plenty of planes in the sky.”

                “Uh, it’s more about the other planes,” Jake starts to explain, wondering just how much detail he needs to go into. Admiral Courtney is clearly listening and watching the interaction with a keen eye and Jake wonders if he should introduce them first.

                “Uh, Starscream, this is Admiral Courtney. Admiral Courtney, this is my friend Starscream,” Jake supplies, settling on friend for lack of any other word or term that might fit the situation, and Starscream definitely looks pleased now.

                “So uh, it’s not about the planes seeing you, or the humans seeing you, it’s more about the fact they’re not expecting you to be there…”

                “No one sees me!”

                “What about the other planes?”

                “They don’t have eyes!”

                “The people in the planes…”

                “They can’t tell there is no one flying me!”

                Jake bites back a grin.

                “Starscream, it’s not about them seeing you. Human pilots talk to a series of towers that manage air traffic. You’d have been an aircraft on no one’s radar and it would freaked the pilots out when you were just suddenly there. They didn’t know you weren’t going to crash into them.”

                “Oh. Well. That’s stupid.”

                “Yeah well, welcome to Earth I guess? There’s lots of rules humans have to make the technology they have work for them. I’m sure we’ll figure out some better flying space for you.”

                “Good. I got bored,” Starscream grumbles and Jake has to bite back a laugh this time.

…            …            …

                Bradley watches as Jake, Starscream and Admiral Courtney get closer. Hound is having a good old rant at Sally, who simply looks like she is entertaining him. The rest of the brass along with Maverick and Ice are standing around, and a couple of the Admirals who Bradley doesn’t like are agreeing with Hound, about how Sally should have stopped Starscream from making himself known.

                “We are at an airstrip, planes taking off have been known to use them now and again,” Sally says dryly and Maverick doesn’t even bother to hold back his bark of laughter, but he keeps an impassive face himself, sees it mirrored by Ice. Jake and Starscream are close enough now that he walks out to meet them, jogging a little to get away from the building tension.

                “It’s fine man, what are they going to do to you? Dismantle you?”

                “I’d like to see them try…” Starscream snarls and Jake holds his hands up immediately, shooting Bradley a grin and he grins back, glad to have someone else his age in this with him.

                “No one is fucking touching you. Except maybe me or Maverick and that’ll only be so you can teach us stuff so we can build Jetfire back together.”

                “I do not need your help to rebuild my friend…”

                “Bet it would go much faster with help though. And friends help friends right?”

                The expression on Starcream’s face is a little horrified and Bradley’s not sure what’s causing it, but Jake is snorting in amusement so he guesses they already have in-jokes.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Hello :D Do you have any fanfics about the Bad Sanses/Nightmare's gang stashed away anywhere?

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Love and Roses by FineappleQueen (Mature, Incomplete)

Running from your past isn't so simple when it's actively trying to catch up with you. Cross never had a simple life, no luxury, rare instances of happiness. When he finally breaks free, he's willing to do whatever it takes to stay out of the chains of a puppeteer. An Underverse fic where Cross is in hiding from XGaster and gets taken into Nightmare's gang. (The tags make it seem more horny than it is, it is horny in places but it's a more serious fic about morality and difficult emotions.) NOTE: Cross is not sharing a body with Chara in this fic.

Not Broken, Just Bent by FeallanGilyvor (Mature, Incomplete)

Ebott was a city that promised a fresh start after breaking all ties with your family. It still is, almost a decade later, as you find yourself having to land on your feet again after a particularly heart wrenching breakup. But you’ll pull yourself up, always have, unexpectedly helped along the way by a gang of skeleton Monsters who are no strangers to the pitfalls of negativity. A non-linear short story collection about our reader-insert Addison and the bad guy bone-heads that have taken up residence in her life. Now with a table of contents!

Welcome Home by GrapeSoda, SargeLovesFandoms, StormyFictioners (Explicit, Incomplete)

Nightmare was in the middle of speaking to the murder trio when he felt it, the distinct feeling of despair that was overwhelming. It was something he had felt before ending up with the three of his cohorts- wards- no, the better phrasing these days would be 'his boys'. He was the oldest by a few hundred years, and they were like children, but in adult form. Anyway, it was that exact feeling that had drawn him to each of them, with Killer it was despair mixed with overwhelming guilt. With Dust, it was an emptiness that had come along, just knowing the human was no longer interested in resetting after Dust had murdered over and over, letting him drown in it. With Horror it had been an overwhelming hunger that had caused overwhelming food anxiety that took forever to get under control. This- this despair was like that, but there was a sadness, a loneliness, and he could taste it more than any other form of negativity right now. It was the strongest feeling throughout the multiverse and it was calling to him, practically screaming at him. ----- Or: How Cross joined the Bad Sanses. PS: XChara isn't in this. [This fic is based on a roleplay] [Tags will be updated as story progresses]

Xtra Small by Warriorstale001 (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Ink is so sick of Nightmare’s gang destroying his creations. He wants to stop the Dark Sanses from destroying the multiverse he had worked so hard to perfect once and for all. And he has just the plan to do it. But it will require a test subject. Perhaps he can start this plan off with the gang’s youngest member? Nightmare looks after his boys like any loving father would look after their sons. But will he be able to actually look after a child and protect them if it came to that? (First story in a series of Babybones/Child fics!!) First few chapters are currently under major edit!!!

Across Time and Space by Clichely (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Nightmare's gang has always been close-knit. They're a family, despite their occupation; they love eachother as any other family would. The multiverse wasn't exactly aware of that when they exiled them. Nightmare's gang story, with lots of cliches and twists. I do not own any of these characters..unless I do? It's going to be a bit hard to judge, since, uh..well, you'll see.

[fraeuleintaka]

Capcom Museum Investigations Sketches

This is the 66th post in the Ace Attorney Investigations Collection Countdown: 15 days left until release!

Today's topic: concept art sketches from the Capcom Museum Ace Attorney Investigations Exhibit!

The Investigations exhibit on the Capcom Museum website has tons of amazing artworks, backgrounds, sketches, promotional material and even the old promotion video for Investigations! The exhibit itself might be closed by now (sadly) but you can still access all the art and stuff they posted including these sketches below. They're originally from the artbook but I had first seen them on the Capcom Museum website and they're lovely so I wanted to talk about them.

This one shows a bunch of concept work done for the life-size figurine of Miles for the Investigations promotion booth back then. The highlighted parts are considered to be particularly important for Miles to look like Miles, that includes the line between his eyebrows and the lock of hair standing out at the back of his head. It's often exactly these kinds of details that make characters suddenly look wrong if they're missing even if you don't actively notice them when they're there. I also love the image of Miles with just his waistcoat on, we've never seen him like that before! (Definitely gonna use this for future fanfic endeavours.)

The next two sketches are particular favourites of mine, they're from the Investigations main trio and I always love seeing them together! The first one shows them rushing to get somewhere (the scene of the crime, most likely). Miles is running in front, very focused and determined, followed by Gumshoe closely behind, with a more concerned look on his face. Kay looks like she's flying or jumping from somewhere above them, her arms stretched and her scarf flapping in the wind reminiscent of an action hero. It's a wonderfully dynamic image, even at the sketch stage, and I'd love to see a fully drawn and coloured version of this. It's amazing how all their personalities come through in such a simple action and how well their team dynamic comes across. Miles as the serious leader, Kay always rushing in headfirst as dramatically as possible and Gumshoe lacking a little behind but always there to support. So nice!

The second one shows them sitting on something (probably a bench) and, again, I love how their personalities and dynamic is expressed in just the way they're sitting! Miles is in the middle with his hands folded on his crossed legs and facing slightly upwards with a very serious expression like he's thinking about something particularly difficult to figure out. Kay is on his left fully croaching on the bench instead of sitting like she could jump up at any time, ready for action. She doesn't look quite as serious but still contemplative propping up her chin with her arm and looking off to the side. Gumshoe has his legs parallel to each other, his feet on the ground and his back straight, the perfect picture of how to sit on a bench. He looks completely relaxed with his hands in his lap and a happy smile on his face. Such a nice contrast between the three! I'd love to have this one fully drawn and coloured too but it's great in the sketch stage as well.

The last piece is a series of sketches done for the cute little comic that came with the Investigations 2 orchestra soundtrack (the final version with translation can be found here). Just from the sketches alone you can roughly tell what it's about, the intro is dramatic with Miles, Kay and Gumshoe all looking distressed, then the reveal that Kay and Gumshoe are wearing baseball gloves and hiding, to a final extremely rough sketch of Miles finding his broken King of Prosecutors' trophy with the culprit clearly being a baseball. Great little comic and the sketches already deliver so much! It's honestly amazing that Gumshoe would agree to playing catch in Miles' office considering he's the one who cleans and is so protective of it. Maybe he thought, in his naivety, that nothing would happen or that he could clean any mess they made before Miles returned... At least it was "only" the trophy that Miles isn't so attached to anyway but I can't imagine him being very happy about them playing ball games in his office 😅 Daily shenanigans of the Investigations crew!

[yuckydraws]

(Click for better quality)

Grumpleumplepants himself

Few Word Characteristics

Alert

Decisive

Organized

Witty

Abrasive

Stubborn

Violent

Brash

Grumpy

Possessive

Information on his design/character

He's the second shortest of all the guys. Do not mention his height if you value your limbs and hearing. It's a touchy subject.

His facial scar is somewhat of a recent injury. He got it back in his universe underground. Alphys and him got in a fight about Chara. Vant was trying to protect them and convince Alphys not to go after their soul. He thought she would listen to him... but the scar that half-blinded him says otherwise.

He's got quite the scowly demeanor. You're more likely to get a smirk than a genuine smile from him.

His bandana is all sorts of teared up and battered, yet he still wears it with pride. It contrasts his otherwise well put-together image, but not many people point it out.

He's got a few tattoos, all fairly close to each other. A rose vine on his sternum (roses are his favorite flower), a memorial W.D. tattoo on his right collarbone, and a pi symbol on his left collarbone.

He's always needed reading glasses, even before the eye socket injury, but finds them annoying to wear. He'll often go without unless he's going to be reading more than paragraph or two. What? Why's he glaring at the menu? Well, these assholes should make their letters bigger, that's why.

He has a scar that stretches across three vertebrae of his spine. He got it while shielding Pup from an attack when he was a teenager. It never healed quite right (there wasn't exactly a doctor who gave enough of a shit about some random kid who couldn't pay them to help him out in that regard) and causes pain flare ups every so often. It always aches, but his flare ups make it hard to even get out of bed.

As with most of the 'Fell guys, his body is littered with scars, big and small.

He's got a rather long tail, and uses it in an almost cat-like way. When he's angry? It swishes back and forth aggressively. When he's surprised? It'll stick straight out. It's possible to get it wagging in a happy way... but you'll have to work for it.

He's always had a knack for math. He's used this to become a financial advisor, though he could easily keep up with much more difficult calculations. He'd never share this with Sans. He's rather get run over than help him with his little "project" in the basment.

He enjoys to crochet in his free time, but it's something he would take to the grave.

He also enjoys baking, though he doesn't bother to hide that. You can always tell when he's stressed by how much time he's spending in the kitchen making sweet treat after sweet treat.

Like many of the other energetic personalities, he stays active. He'll spar with the others, but when it comes to personal exercises, he tends to stick to weightlifting (when his spine will allow him) and boxing.

[unvalley]

Daycare Love

← Previous

Chapter five | Caramade Franks

Despite the slight rough start at her new job, Juvia's first week went rather well. Together with Cana and Meredy, their team decided not to plan any special activities for the first four weeks, as both the children and staff had just returned from their summer vacation. They would prioritise everyone to settle down and get to know each other. Juvia had to learn names, which wasn't her strongest suit, but to her surprise, she managed to learn all sixteen children's names. She felt pretty proud of herself.

There was one thing she definitely wasn't proud of. A certain somebody had been running through her mind like an adrenaline filled hamster on a wheel.

Juvia had seen Gray every day that week–in the morning at drop off or in the afternoon for pick up. Though the way he was acting was strange. The last time they spoke was on Tuesday, when he thanked her for helping Aster with his nightmare. The only words exchanged between the two were 'Good morning' or 'Bye'. Juvia felt like he was avoiding her and she didn't like that one bit. She wondered if she had said or done something to make him distance himself from her?

Haven't you done enough?

She visibly shook her head to bury the bad thought. Though it was the truth, and she was more than aware of it, that was the last thing she wanted to think about right now.

Juvia found herself standing in line, about to order something she had longed for–Caramade Franks.

She and her roommate had thought of what to eat for dinner. With neither of them having the energy to cook on a Friday evening, they decided take out was the answer. For him it didn't matter what it was, he ate basically everything anyway so Juvia got to decide for them and well, there she was.

"Four Caramade Franks, please." She said to the cashier when it was her turn to order.

"Since when did you eat that many?" A man asked her, or rather commented. It caught Juvia by surprise because she knew exactly who it was.

"Hello to you too, Gray." She turned to look at the raven-haired man, raising her eyebrows. To be honest, she was nervous to see him, but she had to conceal it. "Oh, hi Aster." She greeted the little boy with a smile when she noticed him slightly hiding behind his dad.

"H-hi." Aster stuttered. He was shy and most likely confused seeing her at another place than at daycare.

''I see you kept our tradition.'' Gray said, he seemed happy.

No. No she had not.

Six years. That's how long her favourite food was non-existent, but that was not because she didn't want to have it. The more she went without Caramade Franks, the more she craved it. She had to refrain herself from doing so every time, even if it was extremely difficult. She was determined to move on from him, so she tried every imaginable way to avoid thinking about him and all their shared memories.

The good memories.

''Actually, it's been a while.'' Juvia admitted, her eyes shifting anywhere except into his eyes. She hated the fact that it was true. She felt guilty. That tradition–their tradition, had meant a lot to both of them, and although Gray didn't mention it, Juvia knew he was disappointed with her answer. ''I see that you did, though.''

''Yeah, we eat Caramade Franks every Friday,'' He answered before looking happily down to Aster. "Ain't that right buddy?"

''Yeah! I love it so much, and daddy does too!" Aster exclaimed, his face litting up at the thought of the delight. It seemed his shyness had disappeared into nothing. ''Juvia too?"

"I do. It's my favourite." She couldn't help but smile at him.

After receiving her order, the three walked towards the exit. Juvia stopped in her tracks once she saw the current weather conditions. The once vivid blue painted sky accompanied with the sun beaming had now shifted to an overcast grey and the clouds had began to weep.

''Damn it." Juvia cursed under her breath. She had initially thought to take an umbrella with her, but chose not to because of the warm weather that existed just mere seconds ago. Not to mention she wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather, wearing only a t-shirt, jean shorts and sneakers. Luckily, she lived somewhat close, so she would simply have to make a run for it and hope her dinner remained edible.

''What are you doing?'' Gray asked in confusion. He carried Aster in his arms.

''Trying to protect my food.'' She replied, as she tried different ways to achieve her goal.

"Juvia it's pouring, I'll drive you home.''

"It's fine, I live close by."

''It wasn't a question.''

Before Juvia could voice another protest, Gray grasped her free hand and led her towards his car.

Maybe the rain wasn't such a bad thing since he didn't notice the sudden crimson red displaying across her cheeks.

___

Juvia was lucky the drive to her apartment was only a few minutes long. The car was filled with silence apart from Aster incoherently mumbling the lyrics to In Summer while playing with his Olaf plushie.

''Aster, I'm going to follow Juvia to the front door and then I'll be back, okay?'' Gray informed his toddler after parking the car outside Juvia's apartment building.

''Okay daddy!''

Juvia was going to protest again, that she was more than capable of walking ten metres, but she knew he couldn't care less. When he says something, he is going to do it. Still stubborn as she remembered him to be.

''Bye Juvia!"

''Bye Aster, try not to tease daddy too much over the weekend." Aster let out an adorable giggle while Gray rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth slightly tugging upwards in a soft smile.

Gray and Juvia ran to the front door, the canopy protecting them from getting soaked.

''Thanks for the ride."

''Of course, there was no way I would have let you walk home in this weather. The Caramade Franks would have been all cold and soggy."

''Aw, and here I thought you were thinking of me, aren't you sweet?'' With a playful remark, they both burst into laughter. How could it still feel so natural to be around him, even after what felt like an eternity?

''Wait, before you go, I've been meaning to ask you,'' He briefly paused before resuming, ''Can I have your phone number?''

Wait what?

"Of course." She answered, fishing her phone out of her back pocket and handing it to him.

Juvia hesitated at first, thinking about the reason why she even had a different phone number to begin with. Then again, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be a bad idea. Unsure if it was appropriate, given she was Aster's teacher, but to be fair, she knew Gray before Aster was even born.

"So… that doesn't happen to be the reason you've been avoiding me, does it?" She blurted out, her fingers rapidly typing his phone digits.

"W-what! N-No!" He stuttered and diverted his eyes from hers. Gray had never been a good liar. "I'm asking because I tried contacting you, but couldn't reach you. I thought maybe you had changed to a new number. Besides, I remember you've never been fond of social media."

"Oh yeah… my old phone broke so I had to get both a new phone and a new number."

Lies.

Juvia despised lying, especially to Gray, but she wasn't ready to tell him the truth. She knew she had to tell him everything at some point, he deserved to know, but now was definitely not the time.

"There." Juvia handed Gray his phone back.

"Thanks. Now, you're not actually going to eat all that by yourself, right?''

"Oh no, I'm splitting it with my friend, Gajeel. We're roommates.''

''Oh…I see." He murmured, a lingering hint of disappointment in his voice, leaving Juvia with the feeling that he wasn't pleased with her answer.

"Well, I should get back to the car, can't keep the little man starving or the socials will come for my ass. Take care, Juvia."

''Will you let me know when you two arrive home?"

He nodded, then hurried back to his car and drove off.

___

Juvia had only made it outside of her apartment door when she heard her phone go off.

Unknown: Hi Juvia, we made it home - Gray 18:08

Oh, that was fast.

Good, I'm glad you both made it home safe! - Juvia 18:09

Texting Gray reminded Juvia of a certain someone.

"Gajeel, I got Caramade Franks!" She called out the moment she entered their shared apartment and went to put the bags of food on the kitchen counter.

''Who the hell was that?'' Her roommate emerged from the balcony with his arms crossed.

Some people, well, most people, would be very intimidated by Gajeel, just based on his appearance. He was tall, muscular, with long black hair, and covered with tattoos and piercings. Juvia tells herself to never judge a book by its cover. She knew the real Gajeel; tough as metal on the outside and soft like a teddy bear on the inside. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't beat the shit out of people. That was only if they said or did something to piss him off; then it was game over for them.

When she moved to Oak town, Juvia found herself without anyone until she met Gajeel. He became her first and only friend there and despite not being blood-related at all, he was like a brother to her. He was the person she could confide in about anything and everything. It didn't matter how trivial, humorous or serious the matter was – he always listened and supported her, unwaveringly. Wherever it was a silly joke or a heartfelt concern, Gajeel was there for her, ready to stand by her side no matter the circumstance.

''Huh?''

''The guy you were talking with at the front door just now."

Shit.

''It's him, isn't it? Gray.''

Gray was not exactly an unfamiliar name for Gajeel. He was familiar with who Juvia's old friend was and her history with him. She never intended to bring him up, but it just happened. Juvia and Gajeel lived together in Oak time during university, and one night she had woken up from a nightmare, in panic, with tears streaming down her face. Gajeel was woken up by her cries and hurried to her room to comfort her. That dream had been about Gray, and from that night on Gajeel knew every detail about Gray and his life. He knew his hobbies, his likes and dislikes and even about his stripping habit which he thought was ludicrous.

To say Gajeel didn't like Gray would be an understatement. He harboured a strong dislike for him, despite never having met him. However, based on what he had heard from Juvia, his dislike for Gray was firmly rooted.

Also, this meant Gajeel knew the truth.

Juvia stopped bringing his name up after a while and for Gajeel, the reason was obvious but nonetheless he didn't question her but he never forgot.

"I'll kill him."

"Gajeel!"

___

Not only was Gajeel super protective over his sister but he was also a stubborn bastard so calming him down to prevent him from hunting down Gray and murder him was challenging, but eventually Juvia managed to soothe him. During dinner she told him the events of the week; Meeting Gray, discovering he has now a father and avoiding him would not only be unprofessional but impossible, given that his child was in the same daycare group where she worked. Moreover, she didn't want to be mean and hurt his feelings as they rekindled their friendship – or so she really hoped.

Now all Juvia wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. It had been a long week, leaving her thoroughly drained.

As Juvia prepared for bed, she knew there was one thing she needed to do first and that was to send someone special a message. She reached for her phone, tapping out a brief but heartfelt message in hopes of reuniting with that person very soon.

L<3 : Hi sweetie <3 How're you? Sorry for not texting sooner :( I miss you. Are you available to meet up this weekend? 23:14

Due to the late hour, Juvia didn't expect a reply until the following morning but she was surprised when her phone buzzed after only a few seconds. Checking her screen, she realised it wasn't the expected response.

Gray: Goodnight Juvia. See you on monday 23:15

"Aw, that's so sweet of him." Juvia thought, smiling. She didn't want to leave him without a reply so she messaged him back.

Goodnight Gray. Have a nice weekend! :) 23:16

Gray: You too :) 23:17

Years had passed since Juvia last fell asleep with a smile on her face, but that night, she couldn't help but do so.

___

A/N: Daycare Love comeback yayyy! I’m sorry for keeping everyone waiting for so long again :( What do you think of the new chapter and who do you think this mysterious L is? You’ll find out in the next chapter so stay tuned! Thank you for the support ♡

♡TAGLIST♡

@eme-eleff @jetblackrevival @be-dazzled @azuchifairy @greenapplegrass @fbflame94 @gruviaftw11 @pinkbtr @shampooneko @anaviarts @juvsbby @fortheloversofbooks @jekde04

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

SHADOW KNIGHT HEADCANONS

aka things from my rewrite

idea from @xerith-42 <- <- <-

————————————————————

Appearance:

They have pointed ears. They’re not as large as an elf’s or half elf’s ears, really just the size of a human’s ear… But pointed.

They’re skin sparkles. (Edward who?) Idk why I added this I just like the idea of Laury lookin like he’s rocking body glitter 24/7 ig. It’s most noticeable in direct sunlight.

They’re eyes are reflective, like a cats, and often glow in the dark. They’re eyes also appear more… empty… than a regular person’s. Almost uncanny.

When in their full Shadow Knight form, their irises become red, and the whites of their eyes turn black. The skin around their eyes also becomes red and cracked, almost irritated looking.

They have fangs. Much like this v

They each have a scar pertaining to the way in which they died. (Assuming it wasn’t something like poison). It is usually a dark grey or black color, but not always.

When they are premature, their fingers and toes are blacken. This is called the corruption. Each SK has at least some, but the amount tells you how long they resisted gaining their immortality. The longer they go without gaining their immortality, the further up the corruption creeps, only stopping at the shoulders and hips.

They have Rune Scars and Tattoos. The tattoo is located on their palms and is the source of their SK abilities. It’s embedded with the curse of binding so it cannot be removed or carved out. The scars are on their face, three claw marks on each cheek. These are referred to as The Tears. These scars enhance their SK abilities.

While in their full SK form, their scar runes turn black and emanate pure darkness. Their fingernails also grow into claws that are extremely sharp and nearly unbreakable.

All SKs appear pale, no matter their skin tone. They have no red/pink/orange undertones bc their blood technically no longer flows.

They often appear very ridged or mannequin like. Standing either too perfectly or too hunched over. Again, uncanny.

Because of all these physical traits, Shadow Knights are very easy to spot, assuming you know what to look for. Many trying to hide or blend in, will hide their heads, faces, and hands.

THE… OTHER STUFF:

Their body temperature fluctuates quite a bit. Generally, theyre cold to the touch, because yk their dead. But when they feel strong emotions like anger or happiness their temp rises, possibly to the point where they feel feverish. The only emotions that actively make them colder are sadness and fear.

Their temp also rises when the Calling comes a knocking. Rising hotter and hotter the longer they try to ignore or fight it.

^ Inspired by a convo with @xerith-42

It’s impossible to sleep in the Nether, though the reason is unknown. Because of this, Shadow Knights don’t require sleep. They still can sleep, but it’s not a necessity. Premature Shadow Knights however, still become tired and can still feel the physical repercussions of having no sleep.

Similarly, SKs also no longer need to eat or drink. However again, prematures do. Since not much grows in the nether, they’re forced to eat Nether Wart. It’s essentially a very tough, charcoal tasting mushroom. It’s their only source of food OR water as water cannot be found anywhere else in the Nether.

While they’re in the Nether, their blood becomes cold to accommodate for the extreme heat. Because of this they need to be careful about regulating their emotions while in the nether so their blood doesn’t overheat.

Nether time is faster than Overworld time. A year in the Nether is only a few months in the Overworld, if that.

Premature SKs can be killed the same ways a human can be, due to their lack of immortality. A full SK however, is a bit more tricky. Their physical form can be killed, though it is more difficult due to a combination of things, but they respawn. If their body dies, is will *poof* disappear and reappear back in the Nether on an alter. The amount of time it takes to respawn depends on the severity of their injury. A full SK can only be permanently killed with an enchanted Netherite weapon (hehe minecraft reference). These are extremely rare and hard to come by. …Zenix has one…

When a PMSK (Premature Shadow Knight) is trained, they fight against real, full SKs. They could very well be killed during their training, call it natural selection. The PM is expected to kill the Full SKs they’re fighting against.

Soul sand houses the souls of innocent lives taken by Shadow Knights. Their souls not only add fuel to their power, but also gives strength to the Shadow Lord/Shad.

In Shad’s eyes, someone with magicks or brains is often more valuable than someone who is physically strong. Though physical strength is needed in order to be a SK, if they are not particularly clever and they have no magicks, they aren’t very useful. Often used as simple pawns or sacrifices.

The first ever Shadow Knight was some random guy named Randal. He didn’t fit any of the criteria, in fact he was just some farmer who ate a bad potato and suffered the consequences. Shad only resurrected him to experiment a bit.

A Shadow Knight’s armor isn’t actually armor. It’s more like a shell that pops out when their body recognizes it’s needed. Or at least when it thinks it does. These shells are generally identical, but they do each have some variations depending on the person and their alignment. Their weapons are an extension of this shell as well, and can be any hand held weapon. Weather is a sword, hammer, mace, or even daggers. Swords are just most people’s go-to. Along with this, they cannot drop their weapons as they are basically a part of them. The only way to rid of it is by… sucking?? it back into the shell. Think of venom. But less… slimy.

They’re impervious to fire/lava. At any stage, full or pm.

Oooookay that’s all I got

Thanks for reading this far love ya mwah mwah

[leejenowrld]

I HAVE QUESTIONS!!!

for yn and jeno

- what songs do you dedicate to each other? like what songs do you think of when you think of the other?

- is there anything you regret (sexually?)

- how does it feel when you see the other upset and mad?

- do you get along with each others friends?

- who’s louder in bed?

- jeno, what’s your opinion on what seoyeon did to yn that one time?

-

<3333 i love this

what songs do you dedicate to each other?

yn - i love you by little mix. it’s a strong love ballad. i really resonate with the lyrics. it’s emotional, it’s powerful, it makes me happy, it makes me cry, it gives me life. the song perfectly encapsulates what it’s like to love lee jeno and what it feels like to be loved by him

jeno - here with me by dVvd, i don’t care what happens in my life, as long as i’m with yn then it’s all that matters. i just want her by my side, with me. we belong with each other.

(jeno) nothing on you by bruno mars, i wanna be yours, moments by one direction,

(yn) pretty boy the neighbourhood, style by taylor swift, glue song by beabadoobaee

is there anything you regret sexually?

yn - hm, i mean, not really? we always have fun and we always talk about what we should explore/what we liked and what we didn’t really like.

jeno - fuck no.

how does it feel when you see the other upset/mad?

yn - jeno gets upset very rarely. i’ve seen him cry like 3 times in the years we’ve been together. and each time killed me. if i think about it now then i will sob. you know that something hits jeno hard when it causes him to cry. all i could do was comfort him and hold him as he sobbed into my shoulder :( he cried himself to sleep all three times. i tried to hide my tears from him and not show him that i was getting upset but we ended up crying to each other all 3 times :( i want nothing in the world to ever hurt my man. like i will become violent at anyone or anything that makes him feel that way

and when he’s mad? oh he gets mad a lot. it’s not that difficult to calm him down for me, i’ve become quite good at it. i sit attentively and listen to him as he lets it out and then i actively calm him down, kisses on his temple, holding his hands, rubbing his shoulder, rubbing his cheek with my thumb, whispering softly to him. it’s all the small things that calms him down. he becomes very overwhelmed with anger and it’s gotten him into many fights, verbal and physical. he isn’t afraid to defend what’s right and that’s what i love about him, his priorities are so strong <3 there hasn’t been a time where he’s been in the wrong or he’s picked a fight for the wrong reasons. he doesn’t ever pick them. he’s mature.

jeno - yn gets quite sad and emotional, she probably cries in my arms every week and it hurts me every single time. she’s very sensitive and i don’t wanna call my girl weak but she takes a lot of things to heart, she feels everything and she feels it a lot. she can’t deal well with confrontation or any sign of misunderstandings and she just bursts open in my arms and lets everything out :( when she’s upset she begins hyperventilating and sobbing really loudly, she can’t get her words out and she shakes. so the first thing i do is drop everything for her and just hold her, put her in my arms, massage her hair, kiss her forehead, look into her eyes and whisper sweet things to her. i just wait for her to calm down before we start talking. it takes a while sometimes, sometimes she’s able to recover quickly. whichever one it is, i’m always so proud of her. she’s so strong. we always talk about what’s on her mind and what’s made her upset and i try my best to guide her through it and help her on what she has to do, i try to give her good advice. i’m so endlessly proud of her. she just has a big heart and gets overwhelmed a lot. i wish i could take away her pain.

jeno - my girlfriend doesn’t get mad, she has so much patience, more patience than i will ever have. but she can get snappy when she’s stressed and under high pressure. it’s okay though, it’s nothing serious. 9/10 she will always come into my arms and kiss me all over my face and apologise for being snappy with me

do you get along with each others friends?

yn - yeah! i love them. at first i was really shy and they all probably thought i was anti social. i’m sure they wasn’t too keen on me but i hope i’ve changed their minds :) they’re chill and good company, they make jeno happy and that’s all that matters. they’re incredibly caring and protective too. i’m someone who gets suffocated in the presence of others but none of jenos friends make me feel that way :)

jeno - yn has like… maybe three friends and one of them is me 😭 i’m joking. yn’s main friend is heejin and i do love her. mainly after seeing how good of a friend she is to yn. she always protects and defends her and she makes my girlfriend happy. yn has a habit of not defending herself, she lets people shit on her and treat her like crap but heejin always fights for her and it warms my heart. she fights back to all the girls who are so unnecessarily rude and bitchy to yn. once she punched seoyeon in the face and wow… i’m glad because she does things that i can’t do

who’s louder in bed?

yn - definitely jeno

jeno - what the fuck? it’s you

yn - [shakes her head] jeno doesn’t try to be quiet. he wants everyone to hear. it’s a kink i think. he says the dirtiest of things at the top of his lungs

jeno - it’s 100% yn. she will scream at the top of her lungs all night long. she will scream daddy, baby and jeno the most. even when she’s tired and so fucked out of her mind she still forces herself to have the energy to scream one more ‘JENO’ or ‘DADDY!!’

yn - he doesn’t care who hears or sees him, that’s why he always fucks me in the living room or in public, he wants people to see.

jeno - says the girl who rode my dick on the train home

yn - there was like one other person in the carriage and she was old and blind anyways!

jeno - well she wasn’t death, she could hear you moaning ‘daddy’

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Hi!

I'm so glad i found your blog, your deep dives are making my brain tingle in the best of ways! It's so difficult to really find all the info your curious about with the many different editions and histories of everything so you are an absolute lifesaver for understanding all these intruiging lore aspects.

I've been very curious about Asmodeus for a while now but am kinda struggling finding out more about him, I know he's very strong and apparently a large snake?? But I was wondering if you at some point feel the motivation to if you could tell me some about him, he seems so interesting to me and I just wanna know more about who and what he is.

Again, you are so awesome and I vow to devour all your writing!

Asmodeus: An Origin

Thank you so much for the kind words - and for your patience as I worked on this one. If there's any question you had about him that feels like it's not wholly answered here, feel free to let me know! There's still a lot that I was not able to include.

As ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

You would be hard-pressed to find a more succinct introduction to Asmodeus himself than in the following passage, from 3e’s Book of Vile Darkness: 

Asmodeus the Archfiend, the overlord of all the dukes of hell, commands all devilkind and reigns as the undisputed master of the Nine Hells. Even the deities that call that plane home pay Asmodeus a great deal of respect.¹ 

As to his current position, 5e’s Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide features Asmodeus among the list of gods, naming him the “god of indulgence”, and crediting to him the domains of knowledge and trickery. His symbol is “three inverted triangles arranged in a long triangle”, as seen in the image below.² 

While his active circle of worshippers remains small, he is one of the gods habitually turned to by those in need, particularly those who have done something to earn them the displeasure of another god:

After transgressing against a god in some way, a person prays to Asmodeus for something to provide respite during the long wait. Asmodeus is known to grant people what they wish, and thus people pray for all the delights and distractions they desire most from life. Those who transgress in great ways often ask Asmodeus to hide their sins from the gods, and priests say that he will do so, but with a price after death.³

Asmodeus is particularly appealing to those who fear what awaits them after death, or have arrived to find the reality does not match their hopes. For these souls, even the hazards of Baator might be preferable to long centuries of solitary wandering on the Fugue Plane. 

All souls wait on the Fugue Plane for a deity's pleasure, which determines where a soul will spend the rest of eternity. Those who lived their lives most in keeping with a deity's outlook are taken first. Others, who have transgressed in the eyes of their favored god or have not followed any particular ethos, might wait centuries before Kelemvor judges where they go. People who fear such a fate can pray to Asmodeus, his priests say, and in return a devil will grant a waiting soul some comfort.³

The worship of Asmodeus attracts staunch individualists, who desire a future unaligned with the domain of any of the other gods, and are willing to choose self-determination in any form that might approach them.

The faithful of Asmodeus acknowledge that devils offer their worshipers a path that's not for everyone — just as eternally basking in the light of Lathander or endlessly swinging a hammer in the mines of Moradin might not be for everyone. Those who serve Asmodeus in life hope to be summoned out of the moaning masses of the Fugue Plane after death. They yearn for the chance to master their own fates, with all of eternity to achieve their goals.³

Asmodeus achieved his current official status of godhood during the Spellplague, which lasted from 1385 to 1395 DR. After this, for reasons he has unsurprisingly chosen not to reveal, he performed a ritual to alter the metaphysical categorization of all existing tieflings, giving them features that highlighted this connection.

Due to this shift, tieflings are often perceived with wariness by those who believe that Asmodeus is able to exert control over these newly-determined “descendants” of his. While this is an unwarranted suspicion, as tieflings are no more bound to his will than any other individual of another race, the mistrust remains unfortunately pervasive.⁴ 

The true origins of Asmodeus, particularly from 3rd Edition on, are kept rather ambiguous, seemingly quite by design. This is both for Watsonian reasons – that a supreme being of evil such as Asmodeus would not carelessly leave information about his origins (and, potentially, weaknesses) floating around – as well as Doylist: it is a more elegant solution than eternal retcons, and leaves it up to the individual scholar or DM which explanation they ascribe the most veracity to.⁵ 

On the charge of Asmodeus’s true form being a giant serpent, we have Chris Pramas to thank for that bit of lore, stated in 2e’s 1999 Guide to Hell, but rarely mentioned - and not in any definitive manner - from 3e onward.⁶ 3e’s Manual of the Planes, published in 2001, does reference this account, but as a whispered and shadowy theory about the Archdevil Supreme, rather than objective truth.

Brutally repressed rumors suggest that there is more to Asmodeus than he admits. The story goes that the true form of Asmodeus actually resides in the deepest rift of Nessus called the Serpent’s Coil. The shape seen by all the other devils of the Nine Hells in the fortress of Malsheem is actually a highly advanced use of the project image spell or an avatar of some sort. ... From where fell Asmodeus? Was he once a greater deity cast down from Elysium or Celestia, or is he older yet, as the rumor hints? Perhaps he represents some fundamental entity whose mere existence pulls the multiverse into its current configuration. Nobody who tells the story of Asmodeus’s “true” form lives more than 24 hours after repeating it aloud. But dusty scrolls in hard-to-reach libraries (such as Demogorgon’s citadel in the Abyss) yet record this knowledge. Unless it is pure fancy, of course.⁷ 

One can see from the framing of the above excerpt that there is no attempt made at certainty. Perhaps it is mere conjecture, or perhaps a secret, hidden truth that few may know. It is impossible to say for certain. 

Another story of Asmodeus’s possible origin is found in 3e’s Fiendish Codex II. This text, again, does not frame the information given as universal truth, but rather takes pains to emphasize its ambiguity. 

The best way to understand devils and their ways is to listen to the stories they tell about themselves. The most famous of these tales have propagated as myths throughout all the worlds of the Material Plane, becoming familiar to mortals of all sorts. But as is often the case with legends, contradictions abound. For example, the tale of the Pact Primeval is the accepted version of the multiverse’s creation. But an alternate story claims Asmodeus as the fallen creator of the universe.  Countless cultures have their own versions of the Pact Primeval legend. The names of the deities featured in it change depending on where it is told, but the names of the devils are always the same. Perhaps this fact is what inspired Philogestes, the accursed philosopher of evil, to pen his famous proverb: “The gods exist in multiplicity, but Asmodeus is unique.” As is the case with any myth worthy of the name, the following tale is true — whether or not it actually happened.⁸ 

In this account, Asmodeus began as a celestial embodiment of law, formed from the concept itself to fight against the embodiment of chaos — demons.⁹ Over time, as he and his followers became more akin to the enemies they were facing, those celestial beings not engaged in the fight grew leery of what they were becoming, and took him to trial, to account for himself. The god of valor spoke first, laying out the concerns of those gathered against Asmodeus. In response: 

Asmodeus smiled, and the smoke of a thousand battlefields rose from his lips. “As Lord of Battle,” he pointed out, “you should know better than any that war is a dirty business. We have blackened ourselves so that you can remain golden. We have upheld the laws, not broken them. Therefore, you may not cast us out.”⁸

Despite their efforts, the gods were able to find no laws that Asmodeus had broken. Unsurprisingly, as he himself had helped write them. This conflict between Asmodeus and his host and the remainder of the unsullied gods continued on, with the gods unable to get rid of him, and free themselves of the constant reminder of the Blood War.

With time, the concepts of “good” and “evil” entered the world alongside law and chaos, and Asmodeus was able to argue for dominion over those souls that chose evil. The gods loathed the reminders of this fact, however, and when Asmodeus volunteered to move to the empty plain of Baator, they enthusiastically agreed. It was only years later, when the number of souls arriving at their own planes after death began to sharply decrease, that they thought to travel to Baator themselves, where they found a robust operation based around encouraging mortal souls to take to the path of evil. 

“You have granted us the power to harvest souls,” replied Asmodeus. “To build our Hell and gird our might for the task set before us, we naturally had to find ways to improve our yield.” The war deity drew forth his longsword of crackling lightning. “It is your job to punish transgressions, not to encourage them!” he cried.  Asmodeus smiled, and a venomous moth flew out from between his sharpened teeth. “Read the fine print,” he replied.⁸ 

While the recorded story implies a simple act of one-upmanship, a later section of the Fiendish Codex tells us that Asmodeus’s split from the other celestial deities was not so amicable. 

Once he had committed himself to residing in Baator, the deities physically cast him out of the upper realms, and he fell — and fell, and fell. Upon reaching the plain of Baator, he plunged through the nascent layers he had begun to shape. (In some versions, his fall created the layers, breaking the formerly featureless plain into nine pieces, which then arranged themselves into floating tiers.) At last he hit solid ground but continued to fall, spiraling through rock and soil. The protesting earth of Baator tore at his flesh, opening scores of gaping wounds. Still he fell, until he could fall no farther. The point where he finally stopped was the deepest part of Baator — the Pit.  The wounds that Asmodeus suffered in his dramatic fall have never healed. Though he manages to appear blithely unperturbed by his injuries, they still weep blood every day, and he has been wracked by constant pain for millennia.¹⁰ 

This casting down and its associated injuries is corroborated in other texts as well, including 3e’s Manual of the Planes. 

5e’s Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes seemingly follows on from the Fiendish Codex’s account, sharing one conception of the fallout of Asmodeus’s stratagem, positioned as an in-universe account penned by the aasimar bard Anodius in a work titled “The Trial of Asmodeus”.

At some point after Asmodeus broke from Celestia to rule Baator, he was brought up on trial for unspecified crimes and trespasses. Asmodeus claimed the right to speak in his own defense, and a court was gathered, arbitrated by Primus, a being intrinsically aligned with Neutrality and Law. From Asmodeus’s recorded arguments in his own defense, we can surmise that those on Celestia had accused him of acting outside of the law in actively working to turn mortals to evil. 

The case stretched on, with neither side ceding ground, for weeks, until finally Primus declared his judgment. While Asmodeus could not be convicted of any true crime – for he had acted within the law in all things – he was to take an artifact, the Ruby Rod that is synonymous with his position, which would “guarantee his adherence to law”.¹¹ A quote from Anodius’s in-universe text is helpfully provided by Mordenkainen: 

“I literally sit beneath eight tiers of scheming, ambitious entities that represent primal law suffused with evil. The path from this realm leads to an infinite pit of chaos and evil. Now, tell me again how you and your ilk are the victims in this eternal struggle.” – Asmodeus addresses the celestial jury, from The Trial of Asmodeus¹¹

In a manner similar to his contested origin, Asmodeus’s appearance is described in several varying ways — a fact that seems in line for a principal schemer such as himself. This seeming discrepancy could also speak to varying uses of aspects or projection spells.

The Fiendish Codex II in one instance paints him as “a horned, red-skinned humanoid with a tall, lithe frame” who “dresses in splendid robes and understated but elegant accoutrements.”¹⁰ A later section in the Codex corresponds to this description given in the Book of Vile Darkness: 

Asmodeus stands just over 13 feet tall, with lustrous dark skin and dark hair. He is handsome in the same way that a thunderstorm is beautiful. His red eyes shine with the power of hell, and his head is crowned with a pair of small, dark red horns. He dresses in finery of red and black; a single garment of his might cost what an entire nation spends in a year. Of course, he is never without his Ruby Rod, an ornate piece of unparalleled jeweled finery and vast magical power.¹ 

Regarding his personality, he is most often described as “a soft-spoken, articulate, chillingly reasonable fellow who is confident in his status as one of the multiverse’s most powerful entities. Even when surprised, he reacts with supreme poise, as if he were already three steps ahead of his adversaries.”¹⁰ The Book of Vile Darkness notes correspondingly that: 

The actions of Asmodeus are often mysterious to outside observers, but that is due to the short-sighted and dim-witted view most beings have. Asmodeus’s manipulations are labyrinthine and insidious. They work on a grand scale, although when it suits his needs he is willing to focus his attention even on the status of a lowly mortal soul.¹

¹ Book of Vile Darkness. 2002. p. 165-6.

² Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 21.

³ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 24.

⁴ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 118. 

⁵ “Watsonian vs. Doylist”. Fanlore.org. 

⁶ In general, I try to stay in-universe with these lore writeups, but in this case it did feel like some out-of-universe context was necessary. 

⁷ Manual of the Planes. 2001. p. 123.

⁸ Fiendish Codex II: Tyrants of the Nine Hells. 2006. p. 4-5.

⁹ While the description of these events found within the Fiendish Codex is too long to transcribe here in its entirety, I highly encourage you to read the full account for yourself. 

¹⁰ Fiendish Codex II. 2006. p. 73-4.

¹¹ Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes. 2018. p. 9-10.

[melonbear51]

VTM Character Concepts I am Compelled to Share: Banu Haqim Edition!

Hello all! Spring has sprung and with it my creativity is in full bloom! I figured it would be a good idea to take advantage of it and dream up some Banu Haqim ideas to share with you all. Now, I’m not gonna lie, this one was HARD. Not because the clan isn’t interesting (it VERY MUCH is) but because justice is incredibly varied depending on which Banu Haqim you are talking to and I wanted to honor that. That being said, I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with. As always, feel free to use these ideas however you wish.

1. A doctor turned whistleblower who was mortally wounded by agents of an unethical pharmaceutical company after they exposed dirty secrets regarding dangerous drug side effects. Before they passed on, they were embraced and now seek to topple the company once and for all.

2. A Banu Haqim who takes “eat the rich” literally, having a self-imposed feeding restriction wherein they can only drink from those of a certain tax bracket.

3. A Banu Haqim who so strongly believes that alcohol is the root of moral degeneracy and evil (look into the Temperance Movement and Prohibition for more info on this way of thinking) that they’ve been poisoning supplies of booze in order to stop people from drinking. Yes, people die because of their actions, but the ends justify the means. Besides, the people should have known better than to partake.

4. A Banu Haqim crime boss who operates out of certain areas in order to discourage people from moving in/exploring. The reason? Those areas are hotbeds of supernatural/Kindred activity and if the vampire has to tank the area’s reputation to keep people away and safe, they sure as hell are willing to get their hands dirty. Unfortunately, they also have to deal with the fact that rent is incredibly cheap as a result of their actions, which is making it difficult to keep regular people with a lower income out.

5. A Banu Haqim who actively hunts Sabbat vampires and diablerizes them. The only issue is that they’ve been having flashes of memories that aren’t theirs as well as odd dreams. Seems like the ones they devoured may be rearing their ugly heads, and the Banu is desperately throwing themself into blood sorcery research in order to keep the others hiding in their blood DOWN!

6. A down-on-their-luck Banu Haqim who is rooming rent-free with a Tzimisce. The only price for the roof over their head is nightly chats about justice, etiquette, morality, and the thin lines between the three. Naturally, the conversations end up like something out of Silence of The Lambs or Hannibal, but both vampires are starting to understand each other a bit better. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing remains to be seen.

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART]

This one is shorter, because I wanted to leave a cliffhanger at the end >:) Fair warning, there's a small paragraph describing wounds in more depth than I usually do!

These are getting more difficult to write haha. Maybe I'm trying to add too many plot points at the same time, but I like a good mystery or 5...

Ghost is tempted to barge into Price’s office for a third time today. He’s been getting increasingly more agitated, and with no missions in the foreseeable future, has no place to let all his frustrations out.

The fact he’s been avoiding MacTavish isn’t helping the situation.

“Avoiding” is a strong word. Ghost is simply waiting for Soap to get what he had told him back then through his thick skull. And hearing the conversations he has with the recruits tells him he absolutely didn’t.

The Scot keeps up a friendly approach with them, making light jokes at his revenant status. Lets enough information out that the recruits don’t feel the need to ask more, but not enough that they would truly understand what is going on.

It would impress him if he didn’t feel this underlying current of freezing ice every time he heard another of Soap’s ‘hilarious’ stories.

Watching Gaz beside him grimace tells him they share the sentiment. The Sergeants have been spending a lot of time together as of late, and Ghost would lie if he said he didn’t wish Garrick would take a moment to speak with him. He’s not one to really focus on what he’s feeling, but he needs to share what he knows with someone.

He wants more brains working on solving the mystery called “Soap”.

Ghost sighs before turning away from Price’s door. 

You’d think, for someone with Ghost’s powers, he wouldn’t need to train his physical strength as much. He wouldn’t, if things worked as they did before he joined the 141. He wasn’t as smart back then.

Ghost throws another flurry of punches at the sack that distracts him from his thoughts for a moment.

Back then, he went into missions back to back, annihilating enemies within a few seconds of touching ground. Receiving orders to unleash Limbo regardless of how close allies were to him. 

Limbo was emptier. Calmer. The not-dead residing within it weren’t always this… angry.

Another set of punches violently shakes the chains the punching bag is hanged by.

It was only after losing several squads that Ghost finally got his tight leash, but it was too late. Limbo was never the same. And neither were his fellow soldiers, who saw in Ghost not a brother in arms, but their friend’s murderer.

Soap might not have his own Limbo, but Ghost is certain his powers can, and if he continues on the path he’s on, will backfire.

Reapers, as generous as they are, are merciless.

He heaves, resting his arm on the abused bag. It might be time to involve Price in his concerns.

The path to Price’s office is intercepted by one floating Sergeant, also on his way to the Captain.

Ghost nods at him, “need the Captain for something?”

Gaz averts his eyes for a moment, “It’s about Soap, I think-”

“Save it for Price’s office”, Ghost restarts on his path, a little more sure of his purpose. With the three of them, he’ll might be able to find out more.

Before Garrick can knock, Price’s words fill their minds.

“I can sense your troubles from here, come in already.”

They both huffed and entered the room. Price sat in front of his computer screen, reading something before addressing them.

“Spill it out then. I’m listening.”

“Soap’s left arm has nerve damage, sir”, Ghost starts, “He needs more time to heal than the brass is giving him. He should be removed from active duty.”

Gaz’s eyes widen in surprise. Oh, so Soap hasn’t let his new friend know about this? Fucking great.

“How the hell is he supposed to fight without one arm?” He exclaims, “Sir, I’m sure this isn’t the first time he’s hiding injuries. He keeps telling stories about how many he got blown to bits and I can’t imagine he-”

Price cuts him off “The Sergeant’s arm injuries are registered and accounted for.”

“The higher-ups let him out when he’s ‘capable of preforming well on field’. His words” Ghost adds and deflates back into his chair.

“Bloody hell…” Gaz trails off.

Price watches both of them and exhales, “I’m not in charge of Soap’s next deployment. I can’t do anything about that.”

Ghost looks at the screen for the first time since entering. Schedules, of…

“Price… what have you found?”

The captain’s expression darkened, “We finally got back the decrypted intel you and Soap collected 7 months ago.”

His focus snaps away from Soap. Are they being sent on a mission finally? “Tell me where you need me, Captain.”

“Switzerland. Intel suggests a deal with a PMC will happen there in 4 days. Shepherd wants eyes on it, the smuggler hub it’s taking place in has been on our radar for months.”

Price drags out 2 files and dumps them in front of Ghost and Gaz, “you two will survey the area and take notes, no engagement. Get it done clean.”

“What about Soap, sir?” Gaz asks.

Price raises an eyebrow, “what about him? He will stay here, waiting for his assignment.” Price tries to reassure the Sergeant, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him busy. He’ll get to have some alone time in the training grounds”.

Ghost gets up and takes the file with him. They both get dismissed and Gaz stops after a couple of steps, “you need to talk to Soap before we leave.”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, “has he said anything?”.

“No”, Gaz chews on his lip, “But I feel like if he’ll listen to someone, it would be you.”

Ghost walks away, not before muttering, “your feeling’s wrong, then.”

He doesn’t sleep that night. Which isn’t an unfamiliar experience for him, but much rarer after Price found him a bunk bed to drag into his personal room. The victims of Limbo don’t reach up high enough to grasp at him there.

Ghost looks out at the fields, a sense of discomfort lingering around him. Footsteps behind him alert him to the presence of another sleepless soldier. He doesn’t bother turning - they’ll leave him alone when they realize it’s the Ghost, if they know what’s good for them.

It’s for that reason that he’s surprised to hear the footsteps get closer to him, before feeling a body join the window.

Ghost is about to scare the bastard away, but he turns around to find Soap, a somber look marring his features.

“I’ve thought about what you told me”, he speaks lowly, a stark contrast to his usual confident tone.

Ghost hums.

“My powers… don’t allow me to do much.” Soap locks eyes with the night sky, “I either destroy or get destroyed. I supposed you figured what I prefer.”

He did. What he doesn’t understand is why Soap is so adamant that it’s the only way. He turns to Soap, which makes the other finally look at him.

“When you return from your mission, when you’re truly under my command, I’ll decide what your role will be. For now”, he sighs, “for now, you can keep playing a puppet for the higher ups.”

Soap has a distant look to his eyes. As if he’s not really all here. “I do want to learn. How to operate like the 141 does. I’ve heard a lot about you since we last met.”

That doesn’t comfort Ghost in the slightest.

“Care to share?” He cautiously asks.

Soap, for the first time in days, shines a genuine smile at him, “You’re a bit of a myth sir. Each person seems to have a different idea of what your powers really are, how your Reaping went”

He raises his head, “None of them come close to the truth”.

“What else have you heard?” Ghost continues digging his own second grave.

“Does it matter? It’s all shite anyway.” Soap huffs, “You’re far softer than any of them realize”

He barks what could be a laugh, “Softer? Sergeant, have you hit your head in training?”

Soap fucking pouts his lips like a damn child and replies “Aye I said it! Yer soft LT! Who else would’ve cared about my arm!” His smile broadens.

Ghost can feel his eyes crescent, “I think your brain’s more messed up than I originally thought.”

“That’s for fuckin’ certain” Soap snorts.

They return to their previous silence, and Ghost unexpectedly has the urge to say, “me and Garrick are leaving for a mission tomorrow. Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

Soap rests his head in his flaming hand, leaning against the window sill, smiling up at Ghost.

“Copy that, sir”.

The mission isn’t anything to write home about. Ghost does feel surprisingly refreshed for not sleeping a wink the night before.

He refuses to acknowledge that Soap’s farewell to them on the tarmac has anything to do with that.

Gaz lifts a chunk of concrete for them to overwatch the meeting happen. The PMC representatives, a dozen soldiers covered head to toe in black uniforms, exchange with the smugglers a few words before walking over to their truck and opening the back to check the “goods”. From their location, Ghost can’t see what’s inside.

The PMC Soldiers seem pleased, and bring several crates to the smugglers.

The two parties leave, and Ghost and Gaz finish their observations and call for exfil.

When they return to their home base, Ghost notes only Price waiting for them on the tarmac.

They get dragged into debrief before he can ask where their other Sergeant is.

As Price collects the various files and maps they used in the meeting, Ghost stays behind and inquires him about Soap’s whereabouts.

“The Sergeant deployed last night”, is all he’s got clearance to get.

Price tells him he’ll be informed when the Sergeant returns, and Ghost leaves the meeting room, unsettled as if he didn’t just finish a mission.

The days are incredibly unremarkable without Soap. He and Garrick have played about 15 card game rounds in 3 days, before they both got so bored the preferred doing nothing at all.

He would be drowning in paperwork if their entire previous mission didn’t unexpectedly get wrapped in red tape, so he didn’t even have that to distract him. Although, with the size of Price’s eye bags resembling several suitcases, maybe he shouldn’t complain.

At last, Gaz runs up to him to swiftly push him towards the tarmac, yapping about and telling him that Soap is about to return.

Ghost decides then that he will stick to the Scot until he’ll tell him every single detail on his mission. Specifically, in the medical department. He’s not going to let him hide such things anymore.

Gaz sees the helo nearing and Ghost’s chest does a bizarre twisting motion in anticipation for Soap and his bright smiles.

The helo touches down, and Gaz runs up to it while the ramp lowers. He calls for Soap before abruptly stopping.

Ghost pushes beyond him to see what’s the holdup, and freezes in place.

Soap stands on one, shaky leg. His left arm, bloody and bruised, barely hangs on a crutch. His entire right side is charred, black blood caking his remaining tac vest.

He hops down slowly, and Ghost sees his face more clearly in the sunlight. Or what is left of it.

His cheek was so badly burned he could see his teeth poking through, blood covering what is certainly more burn marks. One eye shut, the other so vacant it looks fake.

He glances at Ghost for a moment, before Soap breaks the eye contact and continues hopping forward, leaving droplets of blood behind him. Distantly, he can hear Gaz shaking off from his stupor and offering to help Soap, only to be completely ignored.

Ghost himself is still stuck, his eyes glued to the helo sits.

Soap’s is covered in deep red blood.

Should probably remind y'all I like angst huh

[azems-familiar]

"Can you just- for a minute, can you pretend that I mean something to you?'

this. uhhhhhh. got a LOT longer than i intended it to, and also had a lot less angst, though if you consider the other pov there is definitely so much more. and also with literally all the context. anyway. have 5.6k words of emetraha, because i have brainrot and the prompt worked so well for them i had to choose between multiple options.

The Exarch being away is the last thing Emet-Selch expects when he arrives at the Crystarium for their usual discussion and debate over tea. The man is bound to the Tower; while he can leave, it weakens him, and thus in all the time Emet-Selch has known him he has only left Lakeland’s borders on the rare occasion, usually to treat with Eulmore (prior to Vauthry’s birth, of course) or in the event of some emergency. According to the Captain of the Guard, however (who had seemed faintly amused when he asked as to the Exarch’s whereabouts), he left the Crystarium three days ago to make the trek to Rak’tika to meet with the Night’s Blessed. The matter of this meeting, she informs Emet-Selch, is something the Exarch himself can decide whether or not to disclose to a non-citizen, and he is not expected to return for another four days, but she can offer Emet-Selch the approximate location of his destination, should he so desire to bother their leader directly.

He does, in fact, so desire. The endless waiting is the most intolerable part of any Rejoining, and while the millennia have gotten him quite accustomed to patience, he is terribly bored, and there is only so much he can do. Should he push the shard too quickly, the Light could consume it entirely before the Source is prepared, leaving a hollow void as useless as the Thirteenth - and Emet-Selch has no intention of repeating Igeyorhm’s mistakes. Thus the necessity of filling his time with activity unrelated to his plotting - and the draw of his weekly meetings with the Exarch. It has been some time since he sparred with someone near his equal in intellect, after all.

Of all places near a Warden, Rak’tika is less burdensome than others; beneath the boughs the shadows are deep enough to provide some measure of relief from the omnipresent Light and its burn. Thus Emet-Selch does not particularly mind teleporting to a location just outside the Night’s Blessed’s fort and asking after the Exarch once again from their sentries. What he does mind is being informed that the Exarch is late and has yet to arrive, and that they’re considering sending scouts out to search for him if he does not arrive within another few hours.

Emet-Selch sighs. Their scouts are near-guaranteed to be ineffective fools, and he is admittedly curious as to what could delay the Exarch, which means the solution, while distasteful, is an obvious one. “No need,” he informs the sentry, a slight bite to the words. “I will find him myself.”

Truly, how frustrating. And all because he desired a cup of tea and a stimulating conversation.

With the star as shattered as it is, his sight is without equal, and though the presence of the Light somewhat hinders him it takes very little effort all the same to find a shadow to hide in and look into the aether, with a range that far outstrips his usual vision. There’s a glaring brilliance in the sky that reflects off the currents in the ground and air, fragmenting his sight and making it difficult to pick out specifics, but after a moment of squinting against it he catches a hint of the Exarch’s familiar aether, far away and fluctuating with some kind of stress. It could simply be the knowledge that he is late for his meeting, Emet-Selch allows, but there is something…a greater concentration of Light around him. Sin eaters, perhaps? It would be unfortunate indeed were the great Crystal Exarch to be so waylaid.

…Emet-Selch has yet to have an opportunity to see the man in combat. His skills as a mage are whispered about in the Crystarium, but much of what he has accomplished can easily be attributed to his command over the Tower - which, Emet-Selch has to admit, does make him a mage of some high caliber. The Exarch is capable of directing the Tower to perform feats Emet-Selch had not expected from a Sundered soul, and his attempts at turning Allag’s voidgate technology into a summoning spell speak to his grasp on the theoretical. Combat magic, however, is an entirely different beast, and Emet-Selch is curious. And perhaps any observations he might make could unlock some of those secrets the Exarch so furiously guards.

Thus decided, he spirits himself away through the shadows, off in the Exarch’s direction. It takes four attempts for him to actually reach the man; when he finally does, he steps out of the rift into the scene of a small massacre. An overturned wagon lays sprawled across the major path through the Greatwood, crates of supplies and possessions scattered about, some torn open. Several bodies, viis all, have been flung about, deep wounds across multiple of them, marked by claws and swords, no life left in them whatsoever, and scorch marks litter the ground, patches of grass smoldering still. Smoke is heavy in the air, smoke and the spark of fading Light aether and the metallic tang of blood, a rather unsavory pall, and without any wind there is nothing to disperse it.

Emet-Selch arrives just in time to watch the Exarch, standing in the middle of the carnage, gesture with his staff and send a bolt of flame through the last remaining sin eater.

For all that he makes a heroic figure, robes bright and staff gleaming, his body language is anything but. His shoulders are tense and hunched, his fingers too-tight around his staff, his skin pale where it is visible, his legs trembling slightly. And curled against his side, held there by his flesh-and-blood arm, is a tiny viis child with wavy grey hair and small ears pressed flat against the sides of her head, her fists clinging to the Exarch’s robe, an expression on her face that is the kind of fear that has passed through the event horizon of utter terror and morphed into stillness again. Blood streaks her cheek and one arm - a gash in her forehead, another on her bicep. From her size she cannot be any older than three or four years.

“Well, well,” Emet-Selch murmurs, sweeping his eyes over the bodies - yes, that one, with the similarly-pale hair, bears enough resemblance it could be her mother. “So it was sin eaters that delayed you. I wonder, did you involve yourself before or after you knew the child yet lived?”

He takes a few steps out from behind the tree he’d teleported up against, carefully skirting the edges of the Light dappling the ground, bringing him within two or three yalms of the Exarch, though he has to pick his way around the detritus of this family’s existence as he does. The girl’s eyes snap to him as he does, but she doesn’t move except to lean her cheek against the Exarch’s shoulder. There is a rather worrying glassiness in her gaze, if he were to concern himself with such things.

The Exarch’s breaths are coming in short, shallow pants, he notices absently. Pain? “...before,” and the man’s voice is tight, raspy. Emet-Selch knows him well enough by now to know when it is in fact pain that burdens him, and this- despite his lack of visible injury, he must have put himself in harm’s way. “I would not chance passing by if someone yet lived and abandon them to such a fate.” He breathes out, shakily, and returns his staff to his back, brushing his crystal hand gently over the girl’s hair. “...you’re safe for now, little one.”

The child does not respond.

“I believe she may have a head injury,” Emet-Selch informs the Exarch, though he has no particular reason to do so. Why should he care if a single Sundered child lives or dies? And yet…it would be too easy to recall the terrified children on the streets of Amaurot, fleeing the beasts they could not contain. “You may wish to tend to it, should you desire her survival. Considering your boundless compassion for these poor creatures you consider mankind, I assume you do.”

He paces a few more steps away and crouches down to absently rifle through one of the crates - dried fruits and meats, a sack of nuts, a small store of root vegetables, nothing particularly interesting. Behind him he can hear the Exarch murmuring a quiet thank you before the aether ripples with the telltale shimmer of a healing spell; Emet-Selch does not watch, just moves on to investigate the rest of the supplies, half out of curiosity and half because it gives him something to do while he waits. Perhaps the Exarch will be more inclined to conversation once the child has been seen to and calmed.

Perhaps, Emet-Selch considers, he ought to offer the Exarch healing for whatever injuries he bears - but he has never been much of a healer, and there is a difference between providing some oblique aid to his enemy that they may continue their game and directly intervening in affairs that could hinder the Rejoining. The Exarch may be the most intriguing and capable enemy he has had the chance to face in quite some time, but he still stands solidly against the Ardor, and he has never entertained the delusion that the Exarch would set aside their enmity to join with him, no matter that he would make such an excellent addition to their cause. No matter that Emet-Selch has of late found himself wondering more and more what the Exarch would be like, were he Unsundered, soul as bright as it should be. As clever as he is now, Emet-Selch can only imagine what sort of mind he would have were the star whole - enough intelligence to rival Azem and their greatest researchers, he would think.

…it is a futile thought, he knows. But he does not intend to forget the soft rose color of the Exarch’s soul, and should he chance to see it again, when he and his brethren have succeeded- well.

For a few moments, the only sounds are Emet-Selch’s footsteps and quiet rummaging and the Exarch’s breathing, still too harsh and short. With little left to investigate, he eventually stands and stretches absently, turning back to the Exarch - as he watches the man finishes casting another healing spell and the last of the wounds across the girl’s skin close and fade. Not something one with no healing training whatsoever could accomplish, and Emet-Selch raises an eyebrow, musing. His power comes from the Tower, of course, but the knowledge of how to use it - perhaps it was found in the archives. The Exarch does seem to have few hobbies beyond studying and assisting his people.

Before he can question the Exarch, however, there’s a rustling of brush, the sound of wings on the air, and four middling-sized eaters wander out onto the path, drawn straight towards the Exarch and his living aether - and perhaps that would mean little at all, but one of the large winged eaters, bearing sword and shield and the ability to force a transformation, Light pulsing through its white-marble body in waves, descends from the sky, sword held in front of it and gilt wings spread to their fullest extent. The Exarch spits a curse, drawing his staff once again, and sets his feet, and the little girl whimpers and closes her eyes.

Emet-Selch leans against the overturned wagon and watches, untouched by the eaters. Their Light is antithetical to his Darkness, indeed, the brush of it burns like hot oil, but so too is his Darkness more than enough to quench their Light, and they have the intelligence to know his aether would not sate their hunger. He is of no danger as long as he does not come face-to-face with a Lightwarden.

The Exarch does not have that same assurance, and the tension in the corners of his mouth, his pursed lips, speak to his own knowledge of such. But Emet-Selch wishes to observe, and he would truly be a fool were he to intervene now, when this will give him an excellent view of how his enemy handles being pressed and when actively fighting back against the Light, within the Light, would exhaust him far more than he is willing to extend himself for a Sundered soul who would oppose the Ardor.

The Exarch takes three steps back, dodging clawed swipes from two of the lesser eaters, and casts a spell - ice that freezes one of the eaters in place, something far less intensive than the fire he had been calling moments ago. The trembling in his muscles is more pronounced now, as is the sweat beading on his plaster-pale skin, and Emet-Selch takes a step of his own forward despite himself, unease stirring low in his gut. The Exarch is meant to be his opponent in the long game, not to get himself killed by sin eaters over a mere child unlikely to survive to adulthood before the shard is lost-

The greater eater swings its sword in a wide, sweeping motion, and the Exarch grits his teeth and raises his staff, summoning a shimmering barrier into existence around him, a spell clearly adapted from the Allagan defense technology he uses to defend the Crystarium. An impressive display of skill - and though the lesser eaters throw themselves at it, it continues to hold, even as the Exarch shifts and begins to mutter a teleportation incantation under his breath, gathering his aether to spirit himself and the child away. A wise decision, in the face of this threat, Emet-Selch thinks, though it leaves the eaters free to advance on the nearby village. The Exarch’s vaunted compassion, it seems, does not extend to risking his own life.

The greater eater floats back a couple of fulms, raises its sword again, and with little fanfare slices the blade through the air again - and this time, a bright bolt of Light sears forward off it, sharp enough Emet-Selch is momentarily dazed, his sight vaguely scorched by the intensity. The Exarch’s barrier distorts, twists, and collapses in on itself in a rush of aether, the distraction enough to break his teleportation spell before he can execute it, and though the lesser eaters hiss in something that approximates joy, they do not move. Instead they leave it to their seeming commander to lunge forward with a blinding rush, sword held at the ready.

The girl screams, terror so all-consuming Emet-Selch can nearly feel it. Something cracks-

A sound claws itself free from the Exarch’s throat that sounds nearly inhuman. Emet-Selch blinks, then blinks again, and - the Exarch has thrown his crystal arm, claimed by the Tower, between the eater’s sword and the girl he carries, and the tip of the blade is embedded in the sapphire crystal, leaving fissures spreading up the arm from the point of impact and a deep gouge in the flat of his arm just above his wrist. Emet-Selch sucks in a breath despite himself, because the Exarch may be tied to the Tower but that does not mean he cannot feel pain, and the force it would take to shatter the parts of him he has given over-

“Emet-Selch.” The Exarch’s voice is hoarse to the point of near-unrecognizability, taut with pain and desperation, stumbling along the edge of begging. He has never, ever spoken such in Emet-Selch’s presence. “Can you just- for just one moment, will you please pretend that I mean something to you?”

For- for some reason, Emet-Selch feels the words like an impact hard enough to steal the air from his lungs, like a constriction around his throat, like the knife of his loneliness he has lived with for so long has not only driven between his ribs but twisted. The eater draws its sword back once again, raising it for the kill - or to attempt to turn both man and child, more like. He thinks of- afternoons spent deep in debate over the minutiae of the Tower’s function and the technology the Crystarium survives on, Allag’s history and the actions of Emet-Selch’s own order. Of the lounge they typically take their tea in and how it has been Umbrally-aligned for decades, despite the extra drain that would put on the Tower’s resources in this climate. Of how eager the Exarch is to present Emet-Selch with new volumes of theater, whenever one of his people manages to find or pen one. Of the indisputable fact that this enmity between them, this game they play, has caught and held his attention in a way nothing has since his son died and he once again gave up on the Sundered entirely.

…he is here, in this Light-suffused forest, is he not?

Pretend that I mean something to you.

That is truly not so difficult, in the grand scheme of things. The Exarch yet has secrets Emet-Selch has not divined, after all, and it would be a shame to strike him from the game board before they are revealed.

In the breath between heartbeats, Emet-Selch steps through the rift and puts himself neatly between the eaters and the Exarch. A simple twist of his will brings up an unwavering shield of translucent violet - the greater eater’s sword bounces harmlessly off it, the lesser eaters’ claws are a barely-noticeable scratching, and he could maintain this indefinitely, as long as no great amount of Light was brought to bear against it or him, but considering the sound of the Exarch’s ragged breathing and the quiet, poorly-stifled noises of pain, he doubts the man has the focus to teleport at the moment, and- well. Perhaps he finds himself annoyed, and the loss of five eaters will hardly matter as long as the Wardens remain. To truly fight back will drain him, yes, but it is difficult to care.

He musters his aether against the heavy, suffocating Light, lifts his hand, and snaps his fingers.

It’s an easy visualization. Large, dagger-shaped blades of shadow leap forth from him and slam into the eaters, then burst in a rush of Dark aether that instantly vaporizes the lesser eaters and sends their commander crumpling to the ground, sword and shield both falling from its hands and fading into the aether. Emet-Selch takes a step forward, extends his hand, and summons a bolt of Darkness to send directly at its chest, and that last pulse of aether is enough to dissipate it as well - for which he is grateful, because the moment he drops his hand and lets go of the shield he can feel the drain, can feel the Light on the back of his neck, as hot as the desert sun, burning his bones. 

Heavens. The things he does for-

Emet-Selch shakes his head, rubs at his temples, and breathes through the discomfort. Brushes invisible dust from his palms. Turns back to the Exarch and crosses the space between them to take the man’s crystal arm in his hands, shifting his vision to that second sight to peer at the aether currents within. They’re pale and distorted, entirely broken wherever the cracks have spread, and he grimaces at the sight, absently running one finger carefully over the edge of the gouge where the blade impacted.

“This will be difficult to mend, Exarch,” he murmurs, low. “You have done a great deal of damage to your aether.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Give me the child.”

The girl is crying, tiny little hiccups muffled by the Exarch’s robe, but she doesn’t fight back when he hands her over, and Emet-Selch takes her carefully in his arms and settles her against his hip, the motion familiar. Relieved thusly of his burden, the Exarch seems to- shrink, almost, resignation and exhaustion and pain weighing him down until he is but a fraction of the man Emet-Selch knows. “...if you decide our enmity ends here-” he starts, his voice rough with emotion and agony, “at the least take her to the Crystarium, so she can live what life she has left.”

For a moment, Emet-Selch ignores him entirely. “Shh,” he murmurs to the girl instead, drawing on old memories of the mortal children he’s raised - both those he loved and those he did not - of children from long-ago Amaurot which he had on occasion been made to entertain. He had not minded, in truth; they had been discussing having children of their own, once. He lifts his free hand to gently stroke through her hair and over her ears, swaying her back and forth and humming snatches of an ancient lullaby until she quiets, the sniffles fading into shaky breaths. Only then does he carefully cast the lightest of sleep spells over her small frame - she seems unharmed, between the Exarch’s healing and protection, but distress will only keep her compliant for so long, and better to deliver her into the hands of her people docile than clinging to an injured man - or worse, him.

He does not- care about one lone child. He does not. The Exarch merely asked him to pretend, and thus he shall.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he finally says, directed at the Exarch, and heaves a sigh, turning to look at the other man again. “Come, then. There is little I can do for your physical injuries - I leave the frailties of your mortal flesh in the hands of your fellow mortals - but I believe I can do something to mend your arm, if only in part. But make no mistake; you will owe me for this.”

The Exarch laughs, pained and cracked, wincing and curling forward over his ribs as he does, the breath wheezing out of him. “...I shall have to break out my stash of emergency plays from Voeburt, then,” he manages after a moment, and Emet-Selch raises his eyebrows.

“You have plays from Voeburt?” he asks, torn between impressed and irritated that the man has never mentioned this before - and then he shakes himself. This is hardly the time. “Never mind that, I am not so easily distracted by theater as you believe me to be. A favor, Exarch, though I will allow you this: as I did not endanger mine own people in this intervention, neither will I ask you to risk yours. Now come with me before you collapse. I have no desire to be the target of your head chirurgeon’s ire when your heroic, self-sacrificial bent is certainly no fault of mine.”

“...then it must be before the endgame, I would think…” the Exarch rasps out, leaning heavily against his staff and taking a few shaking steps. “I look forward to seeing what you will demand of me. And to watching the chirurgeons yell at you shortly.”

Emet-Selch rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting, though he would dearly like to. Instead he shifts the girl in his arms to free one hand, reaches out, and wraps his hand around the Exarch’s upper arm - his flesh-and-blood one - and unceremoniously yanks all three of them through a rather rough teleport, which he would feel slightly bad about were he not annoyed. The moment they appear in the Crystarium’s infirmary, the Exarch is staggering sideways into his chest, and it is a sign of his exhaustion more than anything else that he simply stays there, trembling and wan, leaning heavily with his face tucked against Emet-Selch’s shoulder.

Emet-Selch lets him, and does not think about why.

The head chirurgeon, as it turns out, does not yell at him, though only because of the sleeping child in his arms. Instead she scolds both of them in a furious but low voice before guiding them to one of the few private rooms and immediately fussing over the Exarch; another one of the infirmary’s staff comes to relieve Emet-Selch of the child, whose name, according to the Exarch, is Lyna. Emet-Selch accompanies them to put her to bed in another room where they can examine her, and he suggests with an idleness he doesn’t quite feel that they leave her in the care of the Exarch, once he is fit for it. She is a terrified child, after all, and she will want the familiar. Beyond that, she is likely to consider the man who saved her life as safe, a courtesy he doubts she will be so willing to give strangers.

The chirurgeons seem surprised, but they do not disagree, and he is quite satisfied with that. The girl thus dealt with, he returns to find the Exarch with some faint color returned to his cheeks, enduring a lecture from his healer about what sorts of movements and magical exertions he’s allowed while his ribs and aether reserves recover. It is not a lecture Emet-Selch has been on the receiving side of in quite some time, and for that he is quite grateful. Eventually, however, the Exarch is free, and Emet-Selch convinces him to return straight to the Tower rather than checking in on Lyna mostly by not giving him a choice in the matter, a quite useful and effective strategy. The Exarch is too exhausted, it seems, to truly argue back.

It is not until they are ensconced in the Umbrally-aligned lounge - which finally eases the strain of holding his essence together under the Light’s endless onslaught, given the energy he’d expended - and the Exarch is seated on the couch that Emet-Selch sighs. “Well, very well then, let us get this supremely unpleasant business over with. I do not ask you to trust me, merely that you do not intervene; if this does not work as I intend I will be the one most suited to undoing it, and should you distract me in the moment of casting I cannot predict what might occur. It takes only a passing thought to disrupt this magic.”

“...might I know what it is you’re doing?” the Exarch asks as he drops down to sit next to him on the couch. Even with the cowl hiding most of his face, he is clearly exhausted beyond belief and still in no small amount of pain. His voice is thin and strained, wavering. 

Emet-Selch takes his crystal arm into his lap, running his fingers over its surface, carefully tracing the bumps and textured surface, bringing to mind the complex web of aether currents the Exarch has over many years bored into the crystal. He thinks of patterns and fractals and facets, the structure of crystals, the wholeness of the arm itself, and he draws ever-so-slightly on the Lifestream itself, unwilling to pour his own Dark-aspected aether into this. “Weaving the fabric of reality,” he murmurs, only half-paying attention to the words, eyes falling closed. Creation without a set concept is a risk, especially without an encyclopedic knowledge of that which one wishes to create, but beyond the cool weight of the crystal in his lap right now there are things Emet-Selch knows that will make up for the lack.

He knows the way the Exarch moves - the way he writes, the way he gestures, the way his fingers curl around a mug of tea or a pen or an Allagan relic. He knows the gentleness this arm is capable of, as evidenced by how tenderly he’d healed Lyna; he knows, too, the strength in it, as unyielding as the stone it is made of. Near seven decades he has watched this Exarch, has seen the transformation progress as the Tower takes its due for the magicks he wields, and beyond all academic knowledge he knows the essence of the man in front of him. They are but two sides of the same coin, after all, bound by duty to be in opposition and yet terribly alike, he and the Crystal Exarch.

The power of the Lifestream is a bright, raging thing, a river even he, with his rare gift of control over its eddies, only skims the surface of unless he has no other choice. He lets the pulse of life itself swirl around him, pool beneath his hands, and he holds the fullness of his understanding of this broken limb in his mind and snaps his fingers.

When he opens his eyes, exhaling slowly to let the energies of the Lifestream fade away, the Exarch’s arm is whole and unbroken once more, only a faint cluster of hairline cracks remaining where the worst of the breakage had been. For a moment he pays them no mind - he had not expected the magic to entirely mend the arm, after all, considering he was treading the line between working from a concept and working from belief - instead focusing to once again study the aether. The Exarch’s exhaustion means the flow of aether through his arm is sluggish at best, not ideal for confirming the recreation worked correctly, and- well. Emet-Selch has done this once before, has he not?

He pours a small fraction of his own aether into the man’s arm, watching as it bolsters the flow - there are a few minor hiccups but with some time those will, he hopes, smooth out - and the Exarch lets out a heavy sigh of relief and slumps sideways, tension leaving his body in a rush as he drops his head to rest against Emet-Selch’s shoulder. Foolish of him, Emet-Selch thinks, to let his guard down so around an enemy, whether they have been playing this game for decades or no. He sweeps one thumb absently back and forth across the now-smooth crystal, shifting slightly to let the Exarch’s warm weight settle more comfortably against his side, and shakes his head, reaching one hand up to carefully adjust the Exarch’s cowl before it can slide too far back from his face.

Perhaps it is the state he is in, pushing him to think so little of being vulnerable. It would be unsporting to take advantage of it.

For a few moments there is silence. Emet-Selch lets his aether settle and taper when the Exarch finally stirs again - which is good, he had begun to worry if the man was falling asleep - and sighs once more. He does not straighten, but he does extend his arm and twist it carefully back and forth, testing. Most of the motion is smooth, but his wrist hitches when he rotates it, and Emet-Selch frowns.

Ah, of course. The remaining cracks will need to be filled in if they are to be kept from causing problems. He looks more closely at them, admittedly curious - it is strange, as much as he had not expected the magic to fully succeed, for it to work as cleanly as it had only to leave such a small blemish behind - only for a cold weight to settle low in his stomach as he does.

Because he recognizes the pattern. The lines of it are thin and simplistic, barely visible against the veining, but there all the same - a constellation cut into crystal with such perfect precision it cannot be anything but a mark.

A constellation. His constellation, the sign of his seat.

Perhaps his mind had wandered during the creation after all.

He exhales heavily through his nose, swallows, and does not say a word, and the Exarch must be too tired to notice, because he simply rubs his flesh hand over the constellation and stays tilted into Emet-Selch’s side. “...thank you for this kindness, Emet-Selch,” he says very softly, his voice still somewhat raw but much of the pained tension from earlier missing.

“It was not a kindness,” Emet-Selch reminds him pointedly. They are enemies; it would not do for the Exarch to forget such, not when they yet have all the endgame to play, and he remains deeply curious how the Exarch intends to thwart his plans. “I will expect you to repay the favor when I ask for it, Exarch. You have ever kept your promises. ‘Twould be a shame indeed for that to change now.”

“I do not intend to let my debts go unpaid, or any kindnesses go unanswered, Emet-Selch,” the Exarch answers in a similarly deliberate tone. “Regardless of which they were meant as. But this was a kindness even if you did not intend it to be such - I would have been in pain for the rest of my life without your intervention.” This, Emet-Selch knows to be true - there would have been no other way of healing or regenerating the crystal without creation magicks, and thus the wound would simply have remained, and while it would not have killed the Exarch it would have always been a hindrance. “So- thank you.”

…if the Exarch wishes to think of it as a kindness, then Emet-Selch supposes there is little harm in allowing him to. Perhaps he can leverage it for some kind of knowledge or further concession later on. When playing such a tense game against such a clever and focused foe, with the eighth Rejoining as the stakes, he would be a fool to discard any potential advantage.

(Even if he is only doing what the Exarch asked of him. Pretend that I mean something to you. How could he act any other way, in the face of such a plea? It does not mean anything - not for them, not for his purpose here, not for his duty.

Perhaps, if he reminds himself enough times, he will not risk forgetting that truth.)

His people, his city, and his star hang in the balance, after all.

But for the moment, he can allow the Exarch to remain leaning against his side, a warmth that eases the ever-present ache of grief and loneliness in his chest, and perhaps the Exarch is not the only one who would like to pretend.