#emerald blaze spoilers

[tealmaskmybeloved]

I think they'd be friends

For context: Metunn is the unique variant of Unown in the ROMhack Pokémon Blazing Emerald. You find it in the Ancient Alcove, along with a strange journal by a researcher who explores the cavern and finds Metunn. Unfortunately for that researcher, Metunn had been taking over his mind. The researcher sealed Metunn away in the Ancient Alcove so that no one would share his fate. (Didn't work, as we are able to capture it and use it on our team lmao)

(Also Metunn has a BST of 1000 but only knows the move Vol, which is Metronome on steroids.)

Pecharunt is the Gen 9 mythical for Pokémon Scarlet and Violet. If you're like me and know of/enjoy the Toxic Chain Kieran theory, you can see why I decided to draw these two together.

(SPOILERS FOR THE DLC AND MOCHI MAYHEM BELOW)

To summarize, Pecharunt/Dokutaro is the leader of the Loyal 3 and has been implied to be the one responsible for giving them their desires, but also the Loyal 3 are chained to their will. A lot of people, myself included, thought that Kieran would be controlled/influenced by Pecharunt, mirroring the Loyal 3's story. Which is VERY ironic considering that in Mochi Mayhem, literally everyone EXCEPT Kieran gets controlled.

Also both Metunn and Pecharunt are Poison and Ghost type so that's fun :)

I might make an AU where these two and their "friends" (Kieran and the researcher) meet or something. I dunno for sure though.

Lemme know what yall think

[nagichi-boop]

Sonic Disability Headcanons

This’ll be kinda long cuz I want to cover as many characters as possible and I want to include both mental and physical disorders. Spoilers but I made everyone neurodivergent.

Sonic — adhd, Tourettes; chondromalacia patella, chronic migraines (post Frontiers), narcolepsy type 2

Tails — autism, anxiety, cptsd, ocd, morsicatio buccarum (cheek biting); chronic migraines, arthritis (mostly in wrists)

Knuckles — autism, adhd; cfs/me (when away from Master Emerald)

Amy Rose — adhd, bpd; near-sightedness

Shadow — autism, ptsd, cptsd, bpd; unspecified chronic pain (caused by chaos energy, mostly affects knees), cfs/me, chronic migraines, insomnia

Rouge — autism; fibromyalgia, pcos, ibs

Omega — autism

Silver — autism, adhd, anxiety, schizophrenia, chronic motor tic disorder; asthma, pots, eds, fibromyalgia, insomnia

Blaze — autism, ocd, depression, trichotillomania (hair pulling); endometriosis, ibs, lactose intolerance

Cream — autism, anxiety, ptsd; celiac disease, epilepsy

Espio — autism, ocd, ptsd, dpdr; chronic migraines

Vector — autism, adhd; ankylosing spondylitis

Charmy Bee — adhd, dyslexia, dyspraxia, Tourettes; hard of hearing, asthma

Metal Sonic — autism, npd

Sticks — autism, adhd, schizophrenia; eds

Whisper — autism, dyspraxia, depression, ptsd, cptsd; cfs/me, fnd

Tangle — adhd, dyslexia, ptsd; eds, arthritis

Surge — autism, adhd, cptsd, npd, aspd, dpdr; type 1 diabetes (hypoglycaemia), fibromyalgia

Kit — autism, anxiety, depression, dpd, Tourettes, stuttering/stammering; chronic migraines, pots, eds

(I may tweak this as I change my mind or adopt other people’s headcanons, but I wanted to have all my thoughts in one place.)

[thyras]

→ of mourning & loss (bonus chapter)

PAIRING → mairon | annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 6.2k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → grief, loss, angst, dad!sauron

SUMMARY → face to face with her father for the first time in years, aerilaya confronts him about her mother.

AUTHORS NOTE → so this has a spoiler in it for the next chapter, but I never planned for this to be the ending of the story, but it was one of the possibilities. just going to post it anyways as I think we all kinda knew where i was going with their story. the next chapter is taking longer than i thought so i hope this holds y'all over till then.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

Aerilaya pressed the tip of her blade against his throat, the steel cool and unyielding against his unnatural skin. Her emerald eyes blazed with fury, burning like embers stoked by years of pain. She had not seen him in all that time, yet here he was—a specter of the man she once knew.

He had been radiant once, his icy blue eyes and elven grace masking the darkness that had always lurked beneath. Now, that mask had fallen away. His eyes, once bright and piercing, were nothing more than endless voids, hollow and cruel. His skin, once kissed by moonlight, had been leeched of all warmth, pale as bone. Whatever remnants of the man she had once trusted, even loved, had long since rotted away.

Aerilaya’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade, steady despite the storm of emotions surging within her. He swept his gaze over her, unbothered by the threat of death lingering at his throat. His brow arched slightly, amusement flickering in his darkened eyes, mocking her.

“I was not expecting you,” he mused, his voice smooth but edged with something sinister. His gaze flickered to the silver chain around her neck, where a jewel shimmered, pulsing with an ethereal glow. The flames of the burning ruins around them danced upon its surface, casting fragmented reflections in the suffocating night.

For a brief moment, silence stretched between them—an aching, suffocating thing, heavy with all that had been lost. Then, he smiled. “But it warms my heart to see you, Aerilaya.”

His voice was velvety, almost tender, yet it slithered through the air like a serpent coiling around her. That smile—sickly sweet, a mockery of affection—curved his lips, sending a shiver down her spine.

Aerilaya’s heart pounded in her chest, a war drum beating against her ribs.

“I had hoped to see my daughter once more.”

The words struck her like a dagger, sharp and merciless. Daughter. The title, once sacred, now dripped with something tainted, something wrong. He was no father to her—not anymore.

Her grip on the hilt tightened, fury swallowing hesitation. She pressed the blade harder against his throat, her resolve unwavering. A dark liquid oozed from the tip where steel bit into flesh, thick and viscous, unnatural. It dripped to the ground, sizzling softly against the scorched earth, staining it like ink spilled upon an ancient parchment.

Yet still, he did not flinch. Instead, his smile widened. “You truly are the spitting image of your mother.”

Aerilaya’s face hardened, but the words struck deep, an invisible wound reopened with cruel precision. He spoke of her so freely, as if his hands were not stained with the grief that had driven her to despair. As if he had not been the one who shattered her beyond repair.

A sharp ache settled in Aerilaya’s chest, tightening like a vice around her ribs. She could still remember the way her mother had wept—silent, broken—until sorrow became too great a burden to bear. In her darkest hour, she had whispered her final plea to Nienna, the Lady of Mercy. And Nienna, ever compassionate, had answered.

She had gathered her fëa into her arms, cradling her as a mother would, and guided her into the halls of Mandos, where pain and longing no longer reached. There, at last, she had found peace. A peace Aerilaya had never been granted.

Her grip on the blade never wavered, but something burned behind her emerald eyes—rage, grief, and the unyielding weight of all she had lost.

“You speak so freely of her, snake," Aerilaya spat, her voice sharp as the blade at his throat. "But you were the cause of her pain. Her torture.”

The words trembled on the edge of grief and fury, a storm barely restrained. Her chest ached, her throat burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. Not before him. Not before the one who had shattered her mother beyond repair.

She searched his face, waiting—hoping—for something. A flicker of regret, a shadow of guilt, anything to betray that he was not as hollow as he seemed. But there was nothing. His expression remained untouched, carved from something colder than stone, a mockery of what he had once been.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt, knuckles whitening.

"Do you feel nothing?" she whispered, the question slipping past her lips before she could stop it.

Still, he did not answer.

And that silence was an answer all its own.

Aerilaya's jaw tightened, her emerald eyes narrowing as she stared into the abyss of his gaze. The silence stretched between them, thick with centuries of pain and betrayal, an unspoken chasm neither could cross.

"Nothing," she echoed, her voice barely more than a breath, fragile yet unyielding. "You truly are lost."

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, but there was no warmth in it—only something hollow, twisted.

"I feel things, Aerilaya," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, yet frayed at the edges. "I feel the pain of your mother’s absence."

Before she could react, he moved. A sudden shift, swift as a shadow, knocking her back a step as he rose to his full height. He loomed over her now, his presence suffocating, his darkened eyes locked onto hers.

“I ache,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost wistful. “Because she left this world and went where I could never follow.”

Aerilaya’s breath hitched, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. She had spent years imagining what she would say to him if ever they stood face to face again. But the words she had prepared, the accusations, the fury—they faltered against the quiet agony laced beneath his tone.

"You could have followed," she whispered, her voice breaking against the weight of the truth. “You could have gone with her, if only you had listened.”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression—a ghost of something lost. But it was gone just as quickly, swallowed by the darkness he had long since embraced.

Aerilaya had only come to understand the truth of her father’s origins after Erynwyn and Elrond had told her. Her mother had never spoken of it, never uttered a word that might taint the image of the man Aerilaya had once loved with all her being. He had been her anchor, the guiding star by which she measured all others, the standard to which she held the world.

But those days were long gone.

Gone were the stories of a time before creatures roamed this land, before Arda had even settled into its first breath of life. Gone was the father who had once smiled so effortlessly in her mother’s presence, whose very light had radiated for her alone. Aerilaya had spent her life longing for that kind of love—to feel the unshakable bond of two souls woven together by fate itself.

To share in the beauty of Ages spent side by side. To fill them with warmth, happiness, and the promise of a child born of that sacred union.

But her mother had known the truth long before Aerilaya had. She had known that he would never change. That no matter how much light he tried to grasp, the shadow had already claimed him. It had consumed him so entirely that even his choice to live in the light had been a deception.

His greatest deception.

And it had been her mother’s last straw. The last fragile piece of love she had clung to had been smothered by the darkness he had embraced.

Elrond had told Aerilaya that after Eregion fell, her mother had been little more than a shadow of herself—heartbroken, laced with grief. Yet she had endured. She had carried on for Aerilaya’s sake, laying the foundations for her daughter to know only the light.

To ensure that Aerilaya would never fall as he had.

She had taught her to wield her gifts only for virtue, for the betterment of the world. Her power over the elements, particularly over beasts and the living things of the earth, was proof of Yavanna’s blessing. But it was in rare moments of great need that she was granted something more—a gift beyond even her mother’s teachings.

A gift of the stars.

A light so pure it could blot out the deepest shadow. A force that turned any darkened beast or figure from her path. A gift of protection from Varda herself—a preservation of the grace and radiance her mother had instilled within her.

A light that would never bow to the darkness.

Aerilaya's fingers unconsciously ghosted over the jewel resting against her breastbone, feeling its warmth pulse in time with her heartbeat. It was a piece of her mother, a lingering ember of her love and sacrifice, shining defiantly against the darkness that sought to swallow it whole. The silver chain and the gem it held had been forged by none other than the very man before her—the one she once called father. He had created it for her mother when they wed, binding light and shadow together in a union that had long since crumbled into ruin.

Sauron’s eyes followed the movement, a flicker of something passing over his features—hunger, longing, perhaps even possession.

Even now, he wished to claim that piece of her. To seize the last remnant of what had once been his, of the light that had drawn him in, ensnared him in the promise of redemption. The light that, for a fleeting moment, had made him yearn to walk a different path.

But that moment had passed.

Now, he coveted it for what it could do—for the power it held, for what it might grant him. His desire was no longer for the love it once symbolized, but for how he could twist it to serve his will.

Aerilaya’s fingers curled protectively around the jewel, her grip tightening as its warmth pulsed against her palm, steady and resolute. She met Sauron’s gaze, unflinching.

"You cannot have it," she said, her voice low and fierce. "This light was never meant for you."

A shadow passed over Sauron's face, his features contorting, shifting into something cruel and insatiable. "Oh, but it was, Aerilaya," he murmured, his voice like a silken snare. "It was always meant for me. Do you not see? Eru himself wove us into existence together—light and shadow, twined in a harmony that could never be broken."

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his presence thick and suffocating. Aerilaya tensed, her blade rising between them in silent warning.

But Sauron paid it no heed. His gaze remained fixed on the jewel at her throat, as though it called to him in ways neither steel nor words could deter.

"I forged that jewel for her," he continued, his voice dipping into something almost reverent. "In a light as pure as Aman itself. It holds a part of me, just as it holds a part of your mother."

His fingers, cold and relentless, reached toward it, seeking to reclaim what he had lost.

Aerilaya jerked back, her grip on the jewel tightening until it burned against her skin. A shudder ran down her spine as his voice slithered closer, each syllable a whispered ghost of a past she refused to acknowledge.

"I vowed to her that night," he murmured, a glint of something dangerous in his darkened eyes. "That she would never be parted from me. Never again."

But she had been.

By her own will.

By the mercy of the Valar.

And Aerilaya would not let him defile that mercy now.

“Let her be at peace. Let her know the light of Aman, for she has suffered too long.”

Aerilaya’s voice wavered, but her resolve did not. Tears spilled down her cheeks in silent streams, tracing paths of grief across her flawless skin. She did not try to stop them. Not now. Not when she was pleading for the one who had given her life, for the mother who had borne the weight of love and loss alike.

“Let her have those memories, those pieces of you that she now finds comfort in. Let her be as she was when we were a family—happy, joyous, full of life.”

Sauron's expression flickered—an unreadable shift in his ever-darkened gaze. A shadow of something long buried, some fractured remnant of a feeling he had once known.

For the briefest moment, he seemed to waver.

“Peace,” he echoed, the word slipping from his lips as though he had never spoken it before, never tasted its meaning. His eyes drifted past Aerilaya, unfocused, searching for something unseen beyond the charred ruins that surrounded them. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost distant.

“Do you think she sits in the gardens of Lórien, basking in the light of the Two Trees? That she walks among Melian and the others, free from the burdens of this world?” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “Or does she wander the Halls of Mandos, reliving every moment of her life—every joy, every sorrow?”

His voice, once cold steel, turned to something quieter, something raw.

“Does she remember the warmth of my embrace? The nights we spent whispering dreams to one another? Or has she cast it all away, erased me from her memory as though I never existed?”

Aerilaya’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, her knuckles white with fury.

“You have no right to speak of her,” she hissed, her voice trembling under the weight of barely contained rage. “No right to wonder about her fate when you were the one who drove her to it.”

Sauron’s gaze snapped back to her, the softness vanishing, swallowed whole by something dark and violent.

“I loved her,” he growled, his voice laced with something dangerously close to pain. “More than you could ever understand.”

Aerilaya’s breath hitched, her grief and anger coiling into something sharp, something merciless.

“Love?” she spat the word like venom. “You know nothing of love. You twisted it, tainted it until it was nothing but a weapon in your hands—”

Before she could finish, his hands shot forward, gripping her wrists with an ironclad hold.

The blade fell from her grasp.

The world around them wavered.

And then—

Darkness.

A shift in time, in space. The cold ruins, the fire, the pain—they were gone.

Aerilaya gasped as the world pulled her under, not into blackness, but into something else.

A memory.

One that still lived in the fractured, dying ember of the man he used to be.

Aerilaya blinked, disoriented by the sudden shift. The charred ruins, the suffocating heat of fire and smoke—all of it was gone. In its place, a garden stretched before her, bathed in soft, ethereal light. The air was sweet with the scent of night-blooming flowers, their delicate petals glowing beneath the silver radiance of the stars. A gentle breeze whispered through the towering trees, their silver leaves rustling like a distant melody.

She knew this place, though she did not remember it being as such.

Eregion.

Not as it lay now in ruin, but as it had been in its prime—before shadow and flame had ravaged its beauty, before betrayal had sunk its fangs into the heart of all that was good.

A melodic laugh drifted through the air, light and carefree, like the chiming of distant bells. Aerilaya’s heart clenched as she turned toward the sound. Beneath an archway of intertwined vines and starlit blossoms, she saw her mother.

She was radiant.

Her hair cascaded down her back like liquid starlight, shimmering with an ethereal glow. Her eyes, bright with love and joy, reflected the very light of the stars. She wore a flowing gown of deep cerulean, silver embroidery catching the light like woven constellations. The sight of her, untouched by sorrow, unhardened by grief, stole the breath from Aerilaya’s lungs.

She had never seen her mother like this—so full of life, so unburdened.

And then she saw him.

He stepped into view, his movements fluid and assured, his presence commanding without effort. His arm slipped around her mother’s waist, drawing her close with effortless familiarity. Aerilaya's breath hitched as she gazed upon the face of the man her father had once been.

Mairon.

His eyes—clear and piercing, like the sky over the sea—held no trace of the darkness that would later consume him. They shone with something Aerilaya had never known from him: unguarded devotion. His smile, free of cruelty or cunning, was warm and genuine as he looked upon the woman in his arms.

"Mairon," her mother whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek.

The name struck Aerilaya like a physical blow. Mairon. Not Sauron. Not the monster he had become. But the being he had once been—the one her mother had loved.

She watched, transfixed, as Mairon leaned into her mother’s touch, his eyes closing briefly, as if savoring the warmth of her palm against his skin. When he opened them again, they burned with an intensity that stole even the breath from memory itself.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice a low caress, rich with devotion. “Divine.”

His fingers traced the curve of her cheek before coming to rest upon the jewel at her breastbone—the same jewel that now hung around Aerilaya’s own neck, years later. In this memory, the gem pulsed with a gentle, living light, as though it breathed in tandem with their love.

“Do you remember the day I gave this to you?” Mairon asked, his thumb gliding over its smooth surface.

Her mother smiled, and the sheer beauty of it made Aerilaya’s heart ache. It was a smile untouched by sorrow, unmarred by regret—a sight she scarcely remembered.

Mairon’s gaze drifted downward, his expression softening further as his hand ghosted over the gentle swell of her mother’s stomach. Beneath the flowing fabric, Aerilaya lay, not yet born, cradled in warmth and light.

“My greatest inspiration,” her mother whispered, placing her hand over his. “My light in the darkness. May you wear this, so I am never truly parted from you.”

Her eyes sparkled against his soft gaze, and for a moment, they stood together—whole, unbroken, untouched by the tragedy yet to come.

Aerilaya felt her knees weaken beneath her as she watched.

For the first time in her life, she saw them as they had been.

Before the fall. Before the lies. Before everything was lost.

The vision shattered like fragile glass, dissolving into the acrid air of the present. Aerilaya gasped as the scent of sweet night-blooming flowers faded, replaced by the stench of smoke and ruin. The warmth of a life that once was—one she had never known—slipped through her fingers like sand, leaving only the cold weight of reality.

Sauron—no, Mairon—stood before her, his grip on her wrists loosening. His eyes, no longer the piercing blue of the vision but fathomless voids, searched her face. For a fleeting moment, he seemed unsure, untethered. A man caught between past and present.

"Do you see now?" he whispered, his voice rough, raw with something Aerilaya couldn't name. "Do you understand what was lost?"

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her mind struggling to reconcile the man she had just seen with the being before her. The father who had held her mother so tenderly, who had spoken with devotion, who had placed a reverent hand on the swell of her stomach—where had he gone?

Was he ever truly there?

"I..." she began, but the words caught in her throat. For a moment, the monster before her was gone, replaced by a ghost—a shadow of what could have been. "I see what was," she finally said, her voice wavering. "What you chose to throw away."

Sauron's grip tightened, his fingers pressing into her skin like iron shackles. His eyes darkened, pain flashing behind them before twisting into anger.

"I did not throw it away," he hissed. "It was taken from me."

Aerilaya wrenched free, stumbling back, her hand flying to the jewel at her throat. The warmth of it pulsed against her skin, steady, grounding.

"No," she said, her voice gathering strength. "You chose this path. You chose darkness over her—over us. You deceived her, even when she begged you to turn back."

She swallowed hard, her grief sharp-edged and burning. Then, her eyes locked onto his, ablaze with a fire that once—perhaps—mirrored his own.

"You killed her," Aerilaya whispered, the words laced with quiet fury. "You killed her with grief and sorrow."

Sauron's face contorted, a storm of emotion flickering across his features. For the briefest moment, he looked almost—human. Vulnerable. Lost.

But then, as swiftly as it had come, the moment passed. The mask of cruelty slid back into place.

"You speak of things you do not understand, child," he snarled, his voice like distant thunder. "The choices I made were necessary. The power I sought—it was all for her, for us."

Aerilaya shook her head, tears burning her vision. "No," she whispered. "It was for you. Always for you."

She stepped back, her hand clutching the jewel as its warmth pulsed stronger, as if responding to the storm raging between them.

"She loved you," Aerilaya continued, her voice trembling with the weight of truth. "She believed in you—until the very end. But you twisted that love into something unrecognizable."

Sauron's eyes darkened, a tempest brewing within their depths. For a heartbeat, Aerilaya saw something fracture—a glimpse of the man from the vision, the one her mother had loved, the one who had once spoken her name with reverence.

But it vanished just as quickly, swallowed whole by the abyss.

"You know nothing of what transpired," he snarled, taking a slow, menacing step forward. "Nothing of the choices I was forced to make. Of the sacrifices—"

"Sacrifices?" Aerilaya’s voice sharpened, cutting through the air like a blade. "What did you sacrifice, truly?" Her eyes burned with accusation. "Your conscience?"

Sauron recoiled, his expression flashing with something that might have been pain. A wound long buried, suddenly laid bare.

But then, just as quickly, he recovered. His features hardened into a cold mask of fury.

"You dare speak to me of sacrifice?" he hissed, his voice low, dangerous. "I, who have given everything for the greater order of this world?"

He advanced, his presence suffocating, shadows pooling at his feet like a tide of darkness.

"I offered her the world, Aerilaya," he continued, his voice thick with conviction. "A place where she could walk unshackled by the burden of the Morgoth’s curse. We could have been a family still." His expression twisted, anger warring with something dangerously close to longing. "She threw it away."

Aerilaya did not move. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she stood her ground.

"She wanted none of that," she retorted, her voice steel despite the tremor in her breath. "She wanted you. The real you. Not this..." she gestured at him, her voice thick with sorrow and rage, "this twisted shadow you've become."

For a moment—just a moment—his mask cracked. The glimmer of something human, something aching, flickered behind his darkened gaze.

But then it was gone. Replaced by cold certainty.

"Mairon died long ago," he said, his tone eerily calm. "And even if your mother still saw good in me, it would have never been enough for her."

He sighed, almost as if speaking to himself now.

"She doubted me at every turn," he murmured, his eyes dark, distant. "Held onto petty notions of the being I once was. Redemption is not earned through love. It is earned through peace. Through order."

Aerilaya's heart clenched, a storm of emotions surging through her—grief, fury, pity.

"You still don't understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Sauron’s eyes snapped back to her, narrowing into dark slits of fury. "What don’t I understand, child?" he hissed, his voice low, dangerous—a blade hidden in shadow.

Aerilaya stood firm, though the weight of centuries pressed down upon her shoulders. The chasm of loss and betrayal stretched wide between them, yet she did not waver. Her emerald eyes burned with an unyielding fire, one that would not be swallowed by darkness.

"Love," she said simply. The word hung between them, quiet yet powerful.

Sauron scoffed, but there was something in the way his jaw tensed, in the way his hands curled into fists at his sides—something that betrayed him.

Aerilaya pressed on.

"True love doesn’t seek to change or control," she continued, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. "It accepts. It nurtures. It grows."

Her fingers curled protectively around the jewel at her throat, its warmth a steady pulse against her skin, as if her mother’s spirit stirred within it.

"She saw the light in you," Aerilaya said, her voice softening. "Even when you couldn’t see it yourself. She believed in you. She chose to believe that the goodness in you had not been completely consumed by shadow."

Sauron’s expression twisted, his features contorting under the weight of something unspoken.

For a fleeting moment, she saw it—the ghost of the man from the vision. Mairon, standing beneath starlit blossoms, his clear blue eyes alight with devotion, his hands cradling her mother with reverence.

His mask cracked.

Pain flickered across his face, raw and unguarded. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

Then—the moment passed.

A flicker of grief. Then fury.

Sauron’s face hardened, his expression twisting into a snarl of denial, of defiance. His eyes burned with something dark and unrelenting, swallowing whatever brief weakness had surfaced.

"You speak as if love is some divine force," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "Some unshakable power that bends the will of all who encounter it. But love is fragile, Aerilaya. It is fleeting. It fails."

His gaze darkened further, shadows coiling around him like living things.

"And when it fails," he whispered, stepping closer, his voice dangerously low, "it is nothing more than a weapon. A tool to shackle and blind those foolish enough to believe in it."

Aerilaya’s breath caught in her throat, but she refused to step back.

"That’s where you’re wrong," she said, her voice like tempered steel. "Love is not weakness. It is not a weapon. It is the one thing the shadow will never understand."

Sauron's expression flickered—an almost imperceptible hesitation. But then his fury returned, colder than ice, hotter than flame.

"Then you are just as blind as she was," he said.

Aerilaya’s grip on the jewel tightened.

"And you," she whispered, "are more lost than I ever imagined."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, thick with all that had been lost. Aerilaya’s words lingered in the air like a final judgment, reverberating through the shattered ruins around them. For a heartbeat, Sauron remained still, his face carved into an unreadable mask.

Then—he moved.

Faster than a striking viper, his hand shot out, reaching for the jewel at Aerilaya’s throat. His fingers, cold as iron, grazed the silver chain, but she was faster.

With the reflexes honed by centuries of battle and bitter expectation, she twisted away, her grip closing protectively around the gem.

"No," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper—yet filled with unyielding resolve.

Sauron’s eyes ignited with fury, but beneath it, something flickered—something darker, rawer. Desperation. Or perhaps—longing.

His gaze burned into hers, his presence suffocating, his form wreathed in shifting shadows.

"Give it to me," he snarled, stalking forward with slow, deliberate steps, a predator cornering its prey. "It was never meant for you."

Aerilaya stood her ground, her heart hammering, but her grip did not falter. She could feel the warmth of the jewel pulsing against her palm, steady, unwavering—a heartbeat not her own.

"This was hers," she said, her voice a quiet storm. "It was forged for her—by you. You cannot take back what was freely given."

Sauron’s face twisted, his expression unreadable, torn between anger and something far more dangerous.

"I forged it," he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. "I shaped it with my own hands, with light I captured in the fires of my own making. It carries a piece of her—and a piece of me. It belongs to me as much as it ever did to her."

Aerilaya’s fingers tightened around the jewel.

"And yet, she chose to give it to me."

A muscle in Sauron’s jaw tensed. His fingers flexed at his sides, as if struggling to contain himself.

"She is gone," he said at last, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. "Clutching that trinket will not bring her back."

Aerilaya’s breath shuddered through her, but she lifted her chin, emerald eyes locking onto his with unwavering defiance.

"No," she said, "but it will keep you from defiling what remains of her light."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his expression—a shadow of the man from the vision. A sliver of grief, buried so deep beneath centuries of cruelty that it barely existed anymore.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Sauron’s face twisted into a snarl, his eyes darkening into fathomless voids. The air thickened, pressing against Aerilaya like an unseen force, the very atmosphere trembling under the weight of his wrath. Shadows coiled at his feet like living things, writhing, shifting, reaching—hungry.

"You speak of defiling her light?" he hissed, his voice a blade honed to cut deep. "I sought to build altars in her name, for all to revere her as I did. To worship even one like you."

He took a step forward, his presence suffocating, his movements slow and deliberate.

Aerilaya did not move.

Then, to her surprise, he reached for her.

His hand, cold yet impossibly gentle, lifted toward her cheek. She did not flinch.

For this moment alone, she allowed it.

His fingertips brushed her skin, a ghost of a touch—something that might have once been tender, but now felt like a whisper from the past.

"You are as beautiful as Lúthien herself," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. "A flame of eternal light, carved by the hands that shaped you—the hands of a Moriquendi and a Maia."

Aerilaya’s breath caught, not from fear, but from the weight of the truth in his words. She had always known her lineage, but to hear him speak of it—to acknowledge it, to honor it—felt like standing at the precipice of something ancient and powerful.

But she would not be swayed.

She reached up, her own hand closing around his wrist—not in acceptance, but in restraint.

"You speak of worship," she said, her voice steady, unshaken. "But worship is not love."

His expression flickered, a crack in the stone.

"You claim to have honored her," she continued, her emerald eyes burning. "Yet you destroyed all that she held dear. You claim to have loved her, yet you twisted that love into a cage. And when she could not live within it—you let her die."

A shadow passed over his face, something dark and deep and aching.

His fingers twitched against her cheek—then withdrew.

"You think you know love," he whispered, his voice barely more than breath. "But love is a force far older than you, Aerilaya. Older than even I.” He paused. “I never meant for any of this, never meant to drive her away. I only did as I saw fit.”

The silence between them stretched, thick with centuries of grief and regret. His words had settled between them like the final toll of a bell, reverberating through the shattered remnants of all they had lost.

Sauron—Mairon—stood before her, no longer the unshakable force she had always known him to be. His expression, once so meticulously controlled, had fractured. His shoulders, which had borne the weight of ages, sagged as if the truth she had spoken had finally sunk its fangs into his very soul.

And yet, his eyes—once dark voids of hunger and fury—now shimmered with something Aerilaya had never expected to see.

Tears.

"You're right," he whispered, his voice raw, brittle as glass. "I lied to myself. I twisted the truth until I could no longer see it."

His eyes drifted past her, lost in the ghosts of what had been. "I loved her," he continued, his voice breaking under the weight of the admission. "More than anything in this world or beyond it. But I was afraid."

Aerilaya’s breath caught in her throat. She had never imagined she would hear such words from him, the being she had spent a century despising, the one she had blamed for all her mother’s suffering.

"Afraid of what?" she asked softly, hardly daring to believe this moment of vulnerability.

Sauron's gaze remained distant, unfocused, as if he could still see her mother standing before him, radiant in her love.

"Of losing her," he murmured. "Of being unworthy of her light. I thought... if I could reshape the world, make it perfect, then perhaps..."

His voice faltered, dissolving into silence. He looked lost—adrift in memories of what could have been.

Aerilaya swallowed against the lump in her throat. Despite everything—despite the devastation he had wrought, despite the choices he had made—she ached for him. For the father she had never truly known, the man who had once cradled her in reverent hands, who had adored her mother beyond reason.

"But you did lose her," Aerilaya whispered. "By trying to control her, to reshape her world, you pushed her away."

Sauron's eyes snapped back to hers, a storm raging behind them. "I never meant—" he began, but the words faltered, as if they no longer held weight.

For a long moment, the air between them was thick with everything unsaid, everything too late to change.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, Sauron reached out.

His fingers trembled as they hovered near the jewel at Aerilaya's throat—the very last remnant of her mother, the final link to a love long buried beneath centuries of ruin.

"May I?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aerilaya hesitated. Her instincts screamed to refuse, to pull away, to protect this piece of her mother from the very man who had driven her to despair.

But then she saw it—the vulnerability in his gaze, the unspoken plea buried beneath the weight of all his sins.

Slowly, she nodded.

His fingers brushed against the jewel, and in an instant, it pulsed with a brilliant, ethereal light. A warmth unlike anything Aerilaya had ever felt surged through her, spreading from the gem and wrapping around her like an embrace. A love so pure, so fierce, it stole the breath from her lungs.

Sauron gasped softly, his eyes widening in something like awe.

"She’s still here," he murmured, his voice thick with wonder and grief. "After all this time..."

His fingers lingered on the jewel, and for the first time in all her years, Aerilaya saw the impossible.

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

The words hung in the air between them, fragile and raw. A confession years too late, yet filled with a depth of pain Aerilaya had never known he was capable of.

Her hand moved of its own accord, covering his where it rested on the jewel. Its warmth pulsed beneath their joined fingers, a steady heartbeat of light and memory.

"She loved you," Aerilaya said softly, her own tears falling freely now. "Even at the end. Even when it broke her heart."

Sauron's eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw the full depth of his torment—centuries of longing, of regret, of sorrow so vast it threatened to consume him whole.

How long had he endured, shackled by the choices he had made? How many times had he dreamed of her mother, only to wake in the darkness of his own making? How much had it destroyed him to know she had chosen peace over him?

Aerilaya saw him now—not as the tyrant, not as the Dark Lord, not as the shadow looming over Middle-earth.

But as a man.

A man who had once held everything—and lost it all.

Her grip on the jewel tightened, and she took a shaky breath.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sauron blinked, his brow furrowing. "...What?"

"This," she gestured around them—the ruin, the darkness, the power that weighed so heavily upon him. "Did it bring you what you wanted? Did it ever fill the emptiness?"

A muscle in Sauron’s jaw twitched. He looked away, but not before she saw it—the hesitation, the doubt.

The answer was there, unspoken.

And for the first time, Aerilaya saw it.

He did not know.

For all his centuries of conquest, for all his hunger for dominion, he did not know if it had ever been worth it.

And that was the greatest tragedy of all.

[sonic-4-episode-ii]

heres a "quick" list of some hcs regarding physical disabilities, mental illnesses & other stuff that can impair function or is "odd" physically but i dont know the proper term for

might update this every once in a while but for now thats it

spoiler alert: its all chronic pain!

Sonic

Fibromyalgia, big-time. Uses massively thick socks to stop his feet from hurting too much while running.

DID, which starting developing when he was like....4. now that he's (mostly) gotten over his "just push everything down" era, inter-system communications are pretty strong, and he's friends w/ a lot of his headmates

doesnt have the best eyesight (in fact its p awful) but hes convinced he can still see well enough so he refuses to wear his glasses. WILL NOT wear contacts

has NPD

autistic. contrary to popular believe, he doesnt have ADHD

schizophrenia. idk which type or whatever. hes got the hallucinations.

has auditory and visual (???) synthesia which caused him to. make the sonic CD us sountrack. yeah

Tails

HoH, but doesn't like using hearing aids. A bad habit inspired by Sonic's refusal to wear his own glasses

OCD, huge-time. his paranoia can get so bad sometimes that he doesn't even trust Sonic. doing much better in that regard nowadays, though.

tic disorder, hits themself or has their neck turn the other way violently (hurts!!!!!!)

so obviously autistic they get a little embarrassed abt it sometimes

c-ptsd haver

Knuckles

Undiagnosed chronic pain, has no idea what's causing it. Fully believed it was emerald stealing karma for YEARS.

gets weird pinched nerves alot because of some of his old scars being close to nerve endings. ow

has bad eyesight but genuinely didnt realize for years

has a sort of? processing disorder thing? i dont actually know what it is. when you try to talk but actual gibberish comes out n you cant think. someone else had the same hc but i forgot what they called it. but he has that

does actually have a lot of trauma due to being alone for most of his life and being raised by nothing but a rock and maaaaybe some birds. crazy ik

Amy

Horrible, awful eyesight. worst perscription out of ALL of her friends

Hypermobile joints, which is part of why she has such a horrible posture (along w her dysphoria).

abandonment issues due to. yk. being abandoned by her parents, which ends up leading into her getting unhealthily attached to anyone who gives her the time of day (and she arbitrarily decides is totally the one for her)

Shadow

PTSD (canon)

mobility issues (canon)

NPD + maybe borderline...?

Rouge

pretty much 100% deaf, uses hearing aids.

has some kinda smt going on because of the way she grew up but fuck if anyone knows what it actually is.

Blaze

Had anorexia for years, which has caused a lot of muscle weakness. Now that she's in recovering, things are a lot better, but she still uses a cane most of the time.

has depression, anxiety and self-worth issues due to being bullied as a child. not just for her flame powers

double anxiety bc of people trying to take her shit

Silver

similar to Blaze, weak thanks to a really bad diet as a kid.

due to genetic mutations caused by radiation, contamination of drinking water & food, and extreme changes in the environment, silver has four arms

also a really weird immune system that flip-flops from being disturbingly strong to scarily weak (can eat actual trash somehow but a cold puts him out of the running for weeks)

anxiety + separation issues. tries to be stoic abt it tho

has dyscalculia And dyslexia, struggles with understanding english especially

Vanilla

chronic exhaustion + fibromyalgia from a young age. sort of worried cream will end up having it too

Cream

weak immune system due to lots of childhood illness. might not be able to be vaxxed bc of it

gets ear infections really easily, made significantly worse w all the dirt she kicks up from flying with her ears

unspecified panic disorder due to trauma. tries to stay brave

Charmy / charmie / charmee

constantly low blood sugar due to weird bee stuff + inconsistent diet as a kid

he thinks hes funny :/

might have autism and/or adhd

Espio

undiagnosed mobility issues. can climb fine, but has trouble walking and cant run. uses a cane

anxiety he refuses to talk abt to anyone except the other chaotix and, very rarely, silper

Vector

self-inflicted hearing loss. went to too many concerts

developed anxiety after taking care of charmy and espio for so long. thanks kids

Sticks

OCD. tends to unintentionally encourage tails's delusions. currently getting experimental therapy thats working rlly well

somehow has almost every possible vitamin deficiency

Eggman

tics similar to sonic and tails's

OSDD

NPD

Neo Metal Sonic

transfeminine metal sonic from the main au

chronic headaches after episode metal

joints tend to seize up when chilly for too long. although shes immune to water, its worse when shes cold

tics due to system errors / bugs she and tails cant fix. she doesnt actually mind them since it makes her feel more connected to her bros :]

memory problems also after episode metal

due to her memory problems she has to memorize stuff by repeatedly being given info and it takes way longer for her to learn things compared to other computers so i think she has a learning disability? bc of that?

has weird backwards sensory issues. lack of harsh lighting or metallic noises unsettles and can overwhelm her

might have NPD

has delusions. getting better at recognizing them, which helps her help tails more

Hyper Metal Sonic

second, transmasculine metal sonic from a spinoff au

self-induced chronic pain (wtf bro)

joints also seize up when cold

Sage

doesnt feel much physically, which leads to her getting bad injuries she barely recognizes for ages

autism beast

Scourge

popcorn lung due to smoking several packs of cigarettes daily so his voice sounds more gruff

everything sonic has also

[acuteobserv4tion]

Adding to this, which has spoilers in it.

You know how in the Knuckles show we got that one meme of an episode that gave us lore in the corniest way possible.

But out of it, we got set up for this cool little trick that ended up being important in the 3rd movie. (I know I talked about his position in the 3rd movie before, but looking back, he really was a good big brother throughout it)

Well, the other thing that was mentioned was a certain fire demon. Mayhaps a few things in that little ballad were actually true?

And if they were, do we think maybe Knuckles has maybe helped save someone's planet in his travels before meeting Eggman?

Maybe he and Princess Blaze have met before. At least heard of each other. Maybe in his quest for the Master Emerald, he stumbled upon someone else's birthright(s).

Look, I'm still sad that the Wade and Knuckles show gave us 3 dumb human plotlines that don't really pay off instead of taking the perfect opportunity to slowly introduce or hint at Knuckles' sassy flying kleptomaniac rival.

The best part of that show was Knuckles and Wade bonding, Wade's mom, and our bounty hunter buddy who I wish stuck around. It lost me when it stopped having heartfelt Knuckles moments.

Hot take: I loved it (At least til the dad became relevant)

[astronautmike-dexter]

WIP Wednesday

Ok I love WIP Wednesday bc it actually forces me to write - slay!

This is from an upcoming fic that I have been putting off because it seemed too big and daunting (lol) but the lovely @saiyanmazen challenged me to start, so here it is! This is the start of the prologue (look at me sounding so fancy), so it's not really a spoiler.

---

Bulma Briefs had never given much credence to the fact that she might die. She had faced situations that had brought herself close to death, time and time again, yet never found it to be a certainty. Perhaps the Dragon Balls had clouded her judgment, a constant reminder that her life would be granted a second chance. In doing so, she had never considered the magnitude of pain she might feel. Despite constantly throwing herself into the fires of danger, she never expected it would burn so deeply when met with the consequences.

It didn’t just burn.

It scorched through her, blazing from her chest, her core, through to her extremities, almost tangible, visible, exploding from her, blocking the world in a burst of golden pain.

Or what she expected to be pain.

It hurt for a second, before the heat morphed into the warm comfort of a loving embrace. It was… powerful.

Sound returned to her in cool fragments, trickling into her ears; fists colliding, the roar of energy being blasted and deflected, then a weak grunt, surely too soft to logically be able to hear, yet she heard it all the same. The source seemed familiar. Something in her called out to it.

The warmth around her faded, settling an aching cold into her bones. Dread.

Her eyes started to flutter open. She could just make out the last wisps of golden light fading away into the emerald sky.

There was a deafening thud of something crashing to the ground near her, shaking the terrain. From somewhere above, she heard Goku bellow, his voice cracked and broken with pain.

“Vegeta!”

Her eyes shot open.

[elegantsplendour]

Fire and Storm

Summary: As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

Dance of the Empire inspired one shot.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister! reader, mentioned Aegon II Targaryen x Lannister! reader

Note: Hi my dearies, I’m so sorry I haven’t been active in the last month. Transitioning from Montreal to Toronto has been a lot to handle. But the good news is that I got elected as student council vp in my new school🤪. Here is a one shot inspired by my first fic Dance of the Empire (a bit spoiler). I will be back writing all the three fics and will try to update weekly. Thank you all for sticking with me❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: major character death

Tagging my friends :) @qyburnsghost @lovelykhaleesiii @boundlessfantasy @vhagarswar @purple-writer8 @valeska-fics @lexi-anastasia @f4ll-for-you

Within the chilling walls of the seat of House Baratheon, the hearth held a flame that danced rebelliously, threatening to bite those misfortunate enough to find themselves in proximity. Torrential water poured mercilessly from the sky while the wind howled ruthlessly. Sealed by the solid bricks of the castle, the flames, fragile compared to the frightful storm yet unpredictable and dangerous in nature, continued to consume silently.

The silver haired prince sat calmly by the scorching heat, his long fingers brushing against each other. It had been two days since the Lord of Storm’s End pledged allegiance to the prince’s elder brother, called by some the Usurper, in return for a marriage pact between the prince and one of the lord’s daughters. Amidst the looming threat of a deadly civil war, every second counted, but his delay was calculated. Aemond had been waiting silently and patiently for his nephew's arrival, much like a flame waiting to devour its fuel.

A servant knocked by the door, bowed and announced the news. Without a word, he arose from the chair and paced through the solemn hall of the castle with stately ease. The effortless regality exuded from his presence was as if he was on his way of being coronated. A sharp curl appeared on the corner of his thin lips as he recalled his drunken and debauched brother , expecting the Conqueror’s Crown on his head like an infant. With each step Aemond took, he felt himself drawing nearer to his desires: power and her.

Aemond Targaryen wanted everything and was ready to steal, scheme and slaughter.

Unlike his half sister Rhaenyra, the named heir of the late King Viserys, or his brother Aegon, born with the title of the first born son, Aemond Targaryen's life was a battle, a relentless one against a seemingly inescapable destiny of becoming another insignificant Targaryen royal, riding an ordinary dragon, holding a hollow position in court, accompanied by a mediocre noble woman, doomed to be forgotten in history.

However, when his mother suggested betrothing him to the eldest daughter of Tyland Lannister, he was taken aback. Could he, the overlooked second son, really be promised the "Beauty of Casterly Rock" and an alliance with the house guarding mountains of gold? Promises were a strange to the One-Eyed Prince, as he had always been a taker, much like he had claimed the largest dragon in the world. The fleeting memories of the golden lady of emerald eyes all appeared to him a cruel jest. The tender moments of her smiles were overshadowed by her anguished cries upon learning that she had been bartered off to Aemond’s elder brother Aegon, who would rather bury himself between the legs of harlots of the Flea Bottom.

Contained fury blazed in his chest as Aemond watched the young Lucerys Velaryon, his bastard nephew, who had taken his eye eight years ago.

Lucerys conveyed with a trembling voice Rhaenyra’s message to the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond paid no attention to the words coming out of his mouth. His one violet eye burnt a hole in the quivering messenger. His throat throbbed with thirst for retribution as the flashes of scarlet and black that had blinded his eye when Lucerys’ blade had cut through his flesh.

This rage was tainted with despair, for what he truly desired was taken by his own kin and given to his brother. He soon realized he had nothing left to lose.

With that, as the Lord of Storm’s End dismissed the Velaryon impatiently, the prince’s shadowy figure also disappeared in the hall as he watched Lucerys mounting his pathetic and minuscule dragon Arrax while the storm still raged on.

Soon, the monstrous Vhagar hovered over the young dragon. The lightning tearing through the black sky and roaring of thunder were music to Aemond Targaryen’s ears, as if the gods were in awe of this spectacle of terror. In the face of raw power commanded by the largest dragon of the world, neither Lucerys, Rhaenyra, Aegon, nor even the games of thrones stood a chance. Aemond was the second son who inherits nothing he doesn’t seize for himself. Addicted to the intoxicating scent of the lioness of Casterly Rock and the adrenaline rushing in his veins from being on top of the world, Aemond whispered to the green beast, “Ipradagon.”

Eat

Scarlet blurs flashed before him, followed by a haunting dragon squeal echoed before him with no one but him to bear witness to the gruesome bloodshed. While others might see flesh and dragon bones plummeting from the sky, Aemond saw a vision of the Conqueror’s Crown landing on his head. While his mother, the Dowager Queen, sought to suppress the war, Aemond stroked the anger bubbling in Rhaenyra. And what better way than slaying her favourite son?

War were precisely what he craved; for war breeds to fear, fear spawns to chaos, and chaos is a ladder.

As the Seven Kingdoms hesitated between the Blacks and the Greens, Aemond stood ready to flip the script.

All his life, he had been but a sword wielded at another’s will. At that moment, Aemond Targaryen became the master of his own terror, and the realm would watch a second son rise to rule the continent.

[joyflameball]

Full disclosure that I haven't played past S3&K yet so I may say shit that is stupid with future knowledge (disclose if you're abt to talk spoilers so i can not look at them lol) but I'm thinking abt that fucking mural in Hidden Palace. Do you think Knuckles wondered what it meant. Did he think he knew what it meant. Do you think Knuckles had an inkling of a suspicion that maybe it could mean Sonic when Eggman told him about Sonic. Do you think he saw the mural as a bad omen of Sonic causing destruction when he punched him out of super form. Do you think Knuckles saw Sonic in Doomsday Zone trying to get the Master Emerald to return it to Angel Island. Do you think he realized when he saw Super Sonic blazing in the sky like a second sun. Do you think he thought about it. Do you ever think about it. Do you think they should hold hands

[katlyntheartist]

Knuckle series is out!! Any thoughts? Does it affect your Jojo and Gang au?

Spoilers for the Knuckles series people! Avert your eyes children!

First, let's talk about the things I liked:

- Sonic and Tails were great for as little screen time as they had. And Maddie trying to be patient with Knuckles while also not strangling him was great, haha. As someone who worked at a Daycare, I related to her dealing with kids like Knuckles and Maddie's facial expressions when she was grounding Knuckles were on point. Also THEY HAVE A PLAIN BED FOR TAILS AND A TRUCK BED FOR KNUCKLES AHHHHH!!!!!

-Pachacamac is a Jedi Force ghost? Alright then. I don't know much about this character outside of Sonic X but I thought that he was fine. And Christopher Lloyd does a great job as usual.

-Wade was not terrible. I like how he has some character growth through the series and at the end he isn't a master warrior/fighter. He's still a goofball but now he's thinking things through and using what he has and his current surroundings to his advantage in a fight, and isn't just hiding and waiting for Knuckles to save him. But him breaking out of the cage in episode 4 was a bit ridiculous. What was that cage made of, cardboard? He really should have broken his hand or something.

-I liked the villains but I wish that we got to see them more involved in the story, especially the buyer. Who was menacing for about five minutes and then was crushed to death like, dang 0-0

-NANA WHIPPLE AND KNUCKLES SPINOFF SHOW PLEASE!!

-Knuckles was the best part of the show. He's the strong tough warrior but with a big heart and good intentions, though a bit misguided at times. Idris did a great job, nothing new there.

And now let's get into the things I didn't like:

-The show is %70 Wade bowling story and %30 Knuckles adjusting to earth and his backstory with Pachacamac and his tribe and his connection to the master emerald and everything else that the show should have been about. The Wade sub plot takes up so much time that we don't get to explore Knuckles. I wished that we had gotten to see him learn to appreciate and call Earth his new home instead of him just accepting it at the end. It just felt so rushed.

-Episode four wasn't awful but I didn't care for it. Also you can NOT show us the Flames of Disaster from '06 and not have Silver or Blaze show up. You can't do that >:(

-Knuckles and Maddie didn't get to have a heart to heart conversation which is what I and many others thought that was what the show was building up to. Also he never gets in trouble for running way and we never cut back to seeing Maddie or Sonic and Tails realizing Knuckles is gone, or even Sonic and Tails trying to cover for Knuckles. I get that the CGI was expensive and voice actor and actor schedules might not have worked out for it to happen, but my point still stands.

-Wanda was useless and you could have cut her out and lost nothing. Don't get me wrong, the actress is good but she feels wasted here. Her character is so annoying and serves no purpose other than to be mean to Wade. And why do we have to have the "siblings who hate each other but make up at the end" cliche? I would have liked Wanda more if she was nicer to Wade from the start and if they had a fun sibling bond with each other. Also if she was able to actually use her skills as an FBI agent to at least hold her own against the gang when they attack Nanna Whipple's house. Also the dad needed to be more comedically villainous, he was too generic.

-Like I said the villains here are fine but the Buyer's whole character is to just show up, have a cool robot fight, and die. We don't get to see him be a threat to Knuckles at all, he just appears for the climax and then is offed in a snap. And the two agents were fun but a lot of their dialogue was graining.

-And that leads me to the main problem with the series. The writing. I'm aware that the writers for the main movies didn't work much on this series, except Jeff did do the first episode. Which is why it's the best one. There is no balance between the jokes and the emotional moments. The show is so focused on trying to make you laugh every five minutes that it sacrifices genuine emotional growth for the characters especially for Knuckles. You know, the whole reason for the show existing in the first place. It suffers the same problems that the live action Ton and Jerry movie had, where the main stars weren't allowed to be the main stars of their film. All of the screen time there went to the human characters who weren't interesting or just plain annoying and mean.

And the dialogue for the show teeters back and forth between actually funny/well written and being dangerously close to obnoxious. And kids shows having jokes all the time isn't a problem. Rottmnt and the Lego Movies are both kid properties that fire off a joke every minute but they knew when to cut back and let the emotional moments shine. The jokes in the Knuckles show felt more like they were pandering to four year old's then actually trying to be funny and the emotional moments felt kind of forced.

I don't want to give any of the writers or anyone who worked on this show a hard time. I can see that everyone worked hard and had fun with this. And I had fun too. There were some good moments between Knuckles and Wade and even a few jokes that got me. But the problems I listed above are just to hard for me to ignore. If you liked the Knuckles series then great for you! I'm happy you were able to have a great time! But for me it was just ok.

Not great. But not bad either. 5/10.

Now, about this affecting Jojo and Gang. I think what I'll do is have comic take place a month after the Knuckles series. And use my AU to focus on Knuckles getting accustomed to Earth and learning to call it home. Basically my AU will do what the Knuckles series didn't.

[therummesoccupied]

IDW SONIC #68 - THOUGHTS

Warning: Spoilers Ahead

This issue was really good! From what I could gather, @spiritsonic was trying some new stuff with her art here, and her hard work really shows! She's always great, but I'm real excited to see what she gives us in the future.

After all the debate, I still do consider the circumstances surrounding this update somewhat unfortunate, but whether it was brought on by (perhaps unnecessarily) harsh criticisms from the community or not, it does look really good, and Evan seems happy with it on her various social media feeds, so I'm happy, too.

Aside from the fantastic art, this issue also had a lot of stuff I've really been wanting from IDW Sonic!

The story features a single Chaos Emerald hunt instead of just nabbing a bunch of 'em at once.

I always prefer this to stuff like Starline just bringing them all to Eggman or the Roboticized Masters collecting them off-page. Placing them one by one over time really helps drive home to me how significant these gems are to this world, and makes them feel like part of the overarching narrative instead of a simple macguffin that can just appear whenever it's convenient for the plot.

I guess what I'm saying is I like the setup phase of Chekhov's Gun just as much as the payoff.

As of this issue, we now know the location of three Emeralds - Rouge grabbed the white one in the 2022 Annual, Tails ended up with the purple one in Winter Jam, and now we've got the yellow one here.

We got some nice exploration of Sonic and Tails' dynamic in this one. It's nothing new, Sonic and Tails are naturally seen together quite a lot in this comic, but they're often in communication with other characters working toward a greater goal, or trying to solve some kind of crisis. They're after the Emerald here, but there's no great catastrophe and it's just them... spending time together. They get competitive, they banter, they pick up where the other falters - it's a really great reflection of the strong relationship Sonic points out between Silver and Blaze in Issue 64.

They get lots of little moments in this story, but I especially appreciate this one:

It's a small thing, but I think this is the first time in the comic's 5+ year run that Sonic has referred to Tails as his "little brother." When you think about it, these two really have spent most of their lives together, and this is a nice reminder of that.

What I really appreciate most in this issue, though, is the

🫒Environments.🫒

I've always felt that IDW Sonic's world was a little... homogenous, without a lot of the beautiful, fantastical scenery we see in the games.

Even when we DID get cool set pieces, they were usually direct references to the games - not a lot of spectacular, new settings made to fit the games' world.

But this one had a cool ravine with weird hexagonal pillars and old bridges for Sonic and Tails to race through!

That looked like it could be a game level! Then they get into the cave and we get this cool, glowing, underground green world with a giant salamander stalking around - this is also a really neat way of hinting at how the Emeralds affect the environment around them!

I know it's gonna be a while before we return back to the main series - the Fang the Hunter mini-series does seem fun, though - but I'm really, really excited to see where it takes us next!

[irafuwas]

The Enemy Summary: Lilia did not call the child "Silver" because of the lunar gleam of his hair or the starlight in his eyes. No, he chose the name out of spite. Content Warnings: Depictions of violence against a child, strangulation, blood, expletives, book 7 spoilers Pairings: None Length: 3.8k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

The princess’s death struck the nation like a meteor. The Knight of Dawn had killed her, contemptuously, brazenly, at what was meant to be a peace conference. Before the fae could even draw their swords, he and his troops had scattered like a bevy of doves into the golden light of daybreak. Most of the congregation rushed to gather around their sovereign’s limp body, but not Lilia. He stood at the window, staring at the backs of the retreating soldiers, transfixed by the reflection of the sun blazing in their iron armor, a yellow blot in a sea of white fire. It looked to him like an evil eye.

Dazed by the hot stupor of his great injury, Lilia hunted down the man and killed him. And then he killed the man’s wife, and then the chambermaids and the kitchen staff and the guardsmen and the stewards. He executed them impulsively; their bodies fell before him like heavy ragdolls slumping to the ground.

The glint of his blade was a bright smudge in the darkness of the castle that night. It moved through the air like an emerald wraith – at times languidly, at times striking faster than an adder. For those who’d sought refuge in the pitch-black shadows of the underground passageways, its viridity was the last thing – the only thing – they saw before it pierced them.

His path was methodical.

He stalked from room to room, listening for stifled breaths and choked back sobs, tearing apart every quivering shadow and wrenching open every closed door. He found the pageboys cowering together in one of the storerooms, their small faces shining white with a vicious fear. He told them to run, and they did. They fled crudely, tripping over the hardstone floor and entangling their wiry colt limbs into each other as they stumbled down the halls.

He waited until they left before moving on to the final room. He’d overlooked it earlier; the door was concealed within the tall bookcases that lined the knight’s bedchambers, and he’d only noticed it after one of the maids had left it ajar as she fled. He flung open the door apathetically and marched inside, scanning the room for any sign of life. A wooden object in the corner caught his eye, and a sharp unease pooled in his stomach once he realized it was a cradle.

When he peered inside it, a baby with eyes the color of the aurora peered back up at him. He had seen those eyes before, staring down at him triumphantly as a sword plunged through his sister’s chest, staring up at him from the pale face of a corpse lying in a pool of blood in the adjacent room. And now those same eyes blinked at him dully, as though he were the source of all the light in the world.

He didn’t know the Knight of Dawn had already sired an heir. No one did. He placed a weary hand on the cradle and rocked it absentmindedly as he thought. He easily could’ve walked away, could’ve turned around and left that rotting pit behind him and reemerged into the night’s black embrace, could’ve gone on to live the rest of his life wallowing in the murky waters of his deep grief. And he should have. But he knew, with a firm surety that scared even him, that his grieving peoples would soon come to claim the boy - long before the first light of dawn could reach down its shining hands and begin to soothe their wounded nation.

Lilia’s hesitation possessed him. His gaze flew between the cradle and the door and back to the cradle again. He reached down and gripped the baby’s throat. He stood there, dazed, unable to tell if he was fighting the urge to complete the act or the urge to let go. The muscles of his forearm bulged and tensed, writhing like pale snakes underneath his skin. When the child smiled at him, he ripped his arm away as though he’d been electrocuted.

After a final moment of trepidation, he plunged his arms back into the cradle. His hands had torn that castle asunder mere moments ago, and now they trembled quietly as they pressed the heavy head into the warmth of his chest.

The night held its breath as he left that place. The only witnesses to his transgression, the somber oak trees surrounding that land and the black-eyed creatures concealed in their lofty boughs, watched him silently. He tried to ignore their expectant gazes, but they dug into his skin like daggers as he raced back to camp with the child in his arms.

Later, when he stood with Baul in the heavy heat of their tent and confessed what he’d done - and what he had failed to do - the man nearly exploded.

His barrel chest swelled in contempt. His face flushed hot with a venomous rage. He loomed over Lilia as massive as a grizzly bear, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, the whites of his eyes blazing like spotlights out of his ashen face.

“Are you fucking insane!?” he roared. “That… That thing is that bastard’s son! It’s the enemy!”

“Baul, I can’t kill a baby,” Lilia croaked.

Baul scoffed. “So you can slaughter a whole castle full of people, but a baby’s too much for the Great General Vanrouge, huh?”

Lilia looked away, and Baul continued, aggrieved, “Fine. If you won’t do it, then I will.” He tightened his grip around his halberd, and the wooden staff groaned in his hand. He dipped the axe head towards the baby sleeping in Lilia’s arms.

“No!” Lilia yelled, taking a step back. “Please, just… just give me some time… A decade. Give me a decade, and then I’ll do it, I’ll kill him.” He licked the cold sweat running down his lips, his eyes flicking between the glowering man and the axe hovering before him. The cold metal shimmered threateningly in the dim candlelight.

“Sure you will,” Baul spat, retracting his weapon. “Sure you fucking will.” He stormed out of the tent, muttering angrily as he threw back the tarp with a growl. The stifling air evaporated with his departure, and Lilia took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked down at the child and sighed.

When Lilia returned to the castle town, he discovered that Baul had revealed his great failure to the rest of the world. In the wake of their general’s betrayal, he and the other guardsmen had ransacked Lilia’s room in the barracks, carelessly strewing his meagre belongings before the castle as though they were garbage. Lilia found the blanket from his cot entangled in the branches of one of the courtyard trees, fluttering sadly in the gentle spring wind. He dislodged it and wrapped it around his body, using it as a makeshift sling for the child.  

None of the guards, not even Baul, came out to speak with him. They didn’t need to – he already knew their judgement was final. He stooped over as he gathered the rest of his items, weighed down not by the tiny infant strapped to his back, but by the enormity of his decision, of his failure. Here was the home he’d spent the last three hundred years of his life defending, here was the honor and prestige he’d finally won for himself after centuries of flawless servitude and thankless atrocities, the only family and friends he had ever known – would ever know. He understood that he was a traitor, a fool, but his inanity was far overshadowed by his revulsion at what they demanded from him.

He looked up at the castle one last time, craning his head back, trying to memorize every jagged stone and turret and tower, trying to memorize the curve of the windows, the green of the flags flapping weakly in the breeze and the faded grey of the ancient masonry. He stood there until the strained muscles in his neck begged him to stop. And then he turned around and left.

His legs carried him unbidden to the edge of the forest surrounding the castle town, where he found a small house hidden in its verdant shadows. The walls were rotted, and the roof lay sunken under a tangled mass of vines and moss. He couldn’t tell whether humans or fae or wild beasts had last lived there; he only knew he was too tired and too apathetic to continue his search elsewhere.

The first night in that house, they slept on the floor. The child dozed soundly, but Lilia could not sleep. He stared at the stars peeking through the holes in the roof, counting each pin prick of light until his eyes burned. As the black-blue sky began to fade, he realized with a start that he didn’t know what the boy’s name was. He raked his exhausted brain for something – anything – he could call him over the next ten years. The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Silver. It wasn’t a name; it was an utterance. Two syllables that weighed heavy in his mouth like poison - air that passed between his lips and nothing more. It was a word he’d hiss on nights when the mist lay heavy over the forest and his mind would sink into the quicksand of old memories he wished desperately to forget, when he’d dream of his sister’s face, pale and drained of blood, her mouth frozen open in a scream that would never come out. The Silver Owl had tainted his heart the darkest black, and this was his chance to finally rid himself of their scourge forever.

From then on, Lilia kept the boy at a distance. He fed him and bathed him and clothed him mechanically, moving most days like a puppet on strings. He tolerated being called “Father”, but staunchly refused any concessions beyond that. His anger was a bulwark against the child’s affections.

Only during the winter would Lilia let the boy sleep next to him. The small body would shiver offensively at his side, interrupting his faded dreams, and he would groan and tuck the thin creature against himself before falling back into an uncomfortable sleep. He would push the child away as soon as he awoke the next morning, repulsed, as though the thing clinging to him were a disease.

It wasn’t just the boy’s neediness that vexed him. Lilia hated everything about him, hated his shy half-smile and his crescent-eyed laugh, hated how the walls around his heart he’d spent so many long years carefully constructing would groan under the terrible weight of the boy’s love. But what disturbed Lilia the most was his eyes. Many of the valley residents were dumbstruck by them – they’d murmur how, on the night of his birth, Nature surely must have plucked the northern lights from the sky and pressed their iridescent glow into his supple skin. But Lilia only saw evil in their lunar beauty. And he watched, incredulously, as the boy grew older, stronger, the infantile roundness of his face hardening around the angle of his jaw, watched the back straighten, the eyes narrow, the smile broaden, watched the child melt away and the visage of his sister’s murderer slowly and steadily emerge in its place. Some days he felt suffocated, like every inch of that small cottage was tyrannized by the boy’s meagre presence. The only thing that stilled his hand was the child’s youth. He could not kill him yet.

The days were long, but the years whipped past him like a tempest. The hot coals of his anger gradually cooled to a tepid warmth, and Lilia at last conceded to the child’s innocence. He wore the clumsily made daisy crowns and ate the burnt and misshapen cookies, he no longer denied the pleas for one more race across the meadow and one more story, accepted the tiny hand that groped across the bed for his own on cold nights when their breath hung above them like fog.

A year before his tenth birthday, Lilia began taking the boy with him on his evening walks. As they padded through the darkness of the hushed forest, Lilia would teach him the names of all the wildflowers and the trees, of the prying creatures observing them from the black shadows, of every star and moon and planet that peered down at their upturned faces. One night, emboldened by his newfound knowledge, the child thrust a single, bony finger into the air and betrayed where the North Star had concealed itself in an ocean of shimmering lights. Lilia looked up. But his gaze did not follow the line of the boy’s indication, beyond to the heavenly body shining above. No, his eyes rested on that tiny, outstretched hand. In that moment, Lilia finally understood that he loved the child.

The realization that he had surrendered his heart to his oppressor, to his enemy – to the hand that’d been gripped around his throat for the past ten years and had torn his beating heart right out of his chest – paralyzed him. (Oh, but what is a decade of pure torment to eyes of liquid moonlight! What is a man – shriveled up and broken, stupefied by his hatred and rendered ignorant by his grief – in the face of pure love!)

He tried, in vain, to suppress his burgeoning feelings with the heavy mass of his anger, but his love would burst open the fortifications of his heart time and time again, threatening to drown him in its raging waters. He fought back against it the same way he had been the past decade - with his ignorance. But as the child’s tenth birthday rapidly approached, he found that for the first time, he no longer took solace in counting down the days.

Lilia awoke the child shortly after midnight. He tugged on the boy’s arms until he finally sat up, grumbling as he rubbed at his tired eyes, only dimly aware of the world around him. Lilia sighed. He dressed the boy impatiently, his fingers trembling as he fussed with the lacing on the small tunic. While he worked, his eyes darted between his sword hanging on a nearby wall and the child sitting slumped over in front of him. He decided against taking it.

He led the child outside into the balmy spring air. The heat prickled at his skin. He inhaled deeply, forcing out the tension gripping his body as he exhaled. Somewhere in the distance, an owl let out a plaintive call, and a nightingale began its serenade in reply. The moon was a shining pearl overhead. Lilia could not bring himself to look at her face, didn’t dare defile her perfect visage with his great shame. He turned and stepped down the dirt path leading away from their home, and the boy followed.

The forest watched disdainfully as the man and the young child walked deeper and deeper into its bowels. Once, the boy asked where they were going, but Lilia did not answer. He felt too shy to speak again, and they spent the rest of the journey weighed down by a pregnant silence.

When they came to a glade, Lilia finally stopped. He turned around slowly, like a cornered beast reluctant to face its hunter.

The boy’s eyes – the enemy’s eyes – reflected the moonlight. The evil shone dimly in their argent depths.

Lilia lunged at him like a panther.

“Fath-!”

They slammed into the ground with the force of a hurricane. The boy cried out as his back struck the earth, pain shooting up his body like shards of ice. He lay there stunned. He could not understand what had just hit him. It had looked like a black storm, impenetrable and overwhelming. His mind blankly refused to reveal its identity to him. But he knew it could not have been his father that struck him, and he knew it could not be his father now pressing those cold hands around his throat and staring down at him with eyes the color of blood.

Not once in his life had the boy ever known fear. He had always ignored it, looked past it, content with the knowledge that his father would always be there to protect him from its ploys. Anything that scared him, anything that invited unease into his stomach or agitation into his heart, was dispelled in the comfort of the man’s steady presence. But now his father was the thing itself. An animal panic gripped his body, his eyes blew wide open like a spooked horse.

They wrestled. He tried wrenching the arms away from his throat, but the bony limbs felt like rods of iron under his hands. He clawed and pounded at the man’s chest, his mind racing as tried to remember every movement, every self-defense technique his father had ever taught him. When the whirlpool of his thoughts stilled for a split second, he ripped from its calm waters the lone memory he’d been desperately searching for. The boy hooked one hand over his father’s wrist and gripped the other one higher up his arm, around his elbow. He kicked a leg free and swung his foot over his father’s ankle. The hands tightened around his throat. The world blackened before him; his lungs begged for oxygen. Using the last bit of his strength, he bucked his hips and rolled over, bringing Lilia underneath him. The hands at last released their grip; he was free.

He shot away from his father like a bullet. He scrambled to his feet and feverishly gulped in the warm spring air until his lungs burned. He took a trembling step forward, trying to flee, but Lilia was upon him in an instant. The man wrapped his arms around the heaving chest and threw the child back to the ground, crashing into him as they fell. The boy writhed frantically in the cage of his father’s arms, almost slipping free, but Lilia shoved him flat on his back with a snarl. He crawled atop the boy, straddling him once more.

The child fought back feebly. His hands pawed against Lilia’s arms, his face, anything solid his trembling fingers could grab onto. Lilia swatted away the flailing limbs, trapping the boy’s arms in one hand and seizing his throat with the other. The child’s screams contorted into a panicked screech as white stars exploded before his eyes. He kicked up his legs and thrust his knees into Lilia’s back, but the man was immovable, his arms and legs pinning him down as heavy as pythons.

Lilia’s hand tightened around the thin neck; the child’s heartbeat pounded against his palm like a thunderstorm. The boy’s flesh melted underneath his fingertips as soft as dough. He squeezed until the eyes began to burst from their sockets, until blood seeped into their auroral haze and foam spilled from his half-parted lips.

The seconds passed by in an eternity. At last, the child’s body stilled, his gasps terminating with a final, strangled sob. Lilia released the neck slowly, marveling at the purple-black splotches blooming across the skin, the imprint of his hand stark against the ivory flesh. He closed his eyes and panted, exhausted.

He sat there, waiting. For a decade he had envisioned this moment, had clung to it like a promise of salvation, had dreamed of the pure relief that would wash over his body and befree him from the prison of his immovable grief. He waited, but it did not come. The enemy was gone, yes. But with it fled the black shadow of Lilia’s anger that had obscured the child from him all his life. He looked down. His eyes flew open in shock. For the first time in a decade, the first time since he peered down into that cradle all those years ago, he finally saw the boy. He finally saw Silver.

“Silver!” he gasped, recoiling, as though the name burned him. He threw himself off the body and crawled away from it on his hands and knees. He pulled himself up against a tree and doubled over as he began to vomit. It felt like this was the pure poison of his rage leaving him - like a decade of repressed anger was erupting from his body all at once, pouring out of his throat and his nose in a scalding torrent of acrid bile, burning his eyes, his lips, his tongue. He stood there heaving until his knees gave way, collapsing into the ground with a mutilated groan. As he rubbed his raw throat, he suddenly remembered the boy.

He whipped his head around in a panic and found Silver lying motionless where he’d left him. Lilia staggered over to him. The few meters between them seemed to stretch on for miles, and he tripped and stumbled as he clawed his way across that great divide, falling to his knees once he finally reached him. He cradled the limp body in his trembling arms. He kissed the boy’s eyes, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips slipping weakly across the wet mess of tears and blood. He pressed his face into the silken hair, filthy with dirt and grime from the forest floor, breathed in his soft lavender scent, drowned in the milky white flesh, ice cold against his own feverous skin. He nuzzled his face into the crook of the boy’s neck, choking back a sob as he felt a faint pulse throbbing weakly under him.

Silver’s mind reentered the world conscious only of the sharp pain in his throat and his father’s white face hovering above him. He stared at his father, and for the first time in his short life, the man did not look away. The eyes that had long haunted Lilia, had aggrieved him and insulted him, finally revealed to him their beauty. They were bloodshot and swollen, the skin underneath enflamed with irritation, but they were more resplendent to him than any gemstone.

Silver swallowed weakly and opened his mouth to talk, but Lilia shushed him with a shake of his head. As he gazed at the boy, a faint memory flashed before his eyes – he remembered the heavy head pressed into his chest, the limp neck resting in his hand, the wet mouth opened in a gasp, the shining eyes boring into him silently. Lilia shivered violently. Yes, it was just like that night, all those years ago. The days-old babe he’d stolen from that cradle was in his arms once more, born anew before him.

As he embraced the child, he decided that he would try to do better, to be better. He would try, falteringly, with the desperation of a marked man begging for a pardon, to rectify the decade of his ignorance.

He would try until it no longer hurt him to speak his son’s name.

[randomcomicsyer]

Whispered words concealed beneath cynical appearances.

P.s. a little sprinkle of Nightbringer Satan in here but not too much for a spoiler xd

"How do you feel about your birth?" you asked Satan, finding him in a moment of tranquility within his room.

Your words echoed through the silent room, drawing Satan's attention from the book he was engrossed in. The sound of a page flipping faded as he turned his gaze towards you. His peaceful emerald eyes met yours, conveying a sense of calm. With his book held loosely in his hand, he began to speak, his voice serene and measured.

"I came into being without choice, born from the searing blaze of someone else's anger. The intensity of that fury coursed through my veins, leaving an indelible mark on my very essence." A silence enveloped the room, allowing his words to resonate and find their place. It was clear that discussing this topic openly was a privilege he reserved for your ears alone. "It feels like an unseen burden that weighs me down. Every breath I take is tinged with the smouldering heat of resentment. The weight of it presses upon my chest, a constant reminder of my origin."

[the-blaze-empress]

galacticlance -> the-blaze-empress

Hello and welcome! this is my blog!!

I am Teg or Milo, and mostly I write fics! I also cosplay, and very occasionally do art! and i regularly go insane about my interests

they/crow/he, adult, philza notice x1

said interests can vary, but mostly what you'll find is some combination of the following: - emerald duo - philza - tears of the kingdom - hermitcraft - pissa

i also just post random shit unapologetically so have fun with that!

Some useful things

links: ao3, cosplay instagram, twitch, my fics tag

my inbox is always open! please talk to me

i block liberally

mutuals feel free to ask for discord!

i Dont Do sideblogs its all here baybe if theres smth u dont like block the tag (tag list below)

banner + blinkie credit in alt text

Tagging system and notes under the cut

yes I know it's insane that's the point <3

-> !! all of the following are susceptible to change !! <-

i don't generally tag for content/trigger warnings, bar unreality (#unreality), unless it is my own post (even then it's not guaranteed). if there is something you really absolutely need me to tag, ask, but no promises sorry.

i try to tag spoilers for things but again im not very good at it. generally the tag for that is #[thing] spoilers

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MCYT tags:

#deaths malewife - philza #hardcoreza - hc!phil and such related things #queerza - q!phil #tha scrunkle <3 - c!phil #oh! phil! - o!phil

#giant woman - kristin #biggy piggy - technoblade #my favourite war criminals - emerald duo

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#go piss girl - pissa #wettest cat ever - missa #mi sobrina - tallulah #potato boy - chayanne #sunnymorning! - sunny #eGGIEs - qsmp eggs in general #disaster love polygon - anyone from q!phil's polycule. who is in that polycule? it changes and is completely up to my interpretation

#dsm5 i meant dsm5 - dsmp #i learnt coding for this - osmp #hoimycraf - hermitcraft #mantequilla de cacahuetes - qsmp #scott smajor jumpscare - miscellaneous hermit adjacent mcyt #cubitos in law - miscellaneous philza adjacent mcyt #into the cubosphere - other miscellaneous mcyt

tags for other interests:

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#lelda of zelda - anything loz related

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#cerveza cristal - DND related. usually my own characters. usually flykk. please talk to me about flykk

#insert spiderverse tag here - into the spiderverse

#fucked up littol scrimblo - bishop's knifetrick watson

everything else:

#i cant cook - food/recipes

#if i had to see this then so do you - things i totally think you should see /lh

#add it to the mixing pot - cool worldbuilding ideas

[averagecontentenjoyer121]

I’ve been thinking about Sonic 3 and want to theorize in future movies, so SPOILERS for Sonic 3

So the first movie was based Sonic 1

The second on 2 and 3&K

And OBVIOUSLY 3 on SA2

And if you’ve seen 3’s after credits scene then you know Amy and MY BOY METAL are coming in 4, and that’ll probably be one of the first scenes in the movie like the after credits of sonic 2

Given the refrence to terminator and that both Amy and Metal being from CD it makes sense that 4 will be based on CD and deal with time travel

So I think 4 will mess around with Sonic going through the timeline in some way to prevent

s o m e t h i n g

I’ve seen some people think that there’s going to be some sort of hive mind style system with the Metals, given that there are SEVERAL Metals

Personally I’d love to believe that we’d see Neo Metal in live action someday, but I HIGHLY doubt it.

However on the subject of Neo Metal a GIGANTIC MAYBE could be that 4 might be based on Sonic Heroes and in turn we could get more Sonic characters like Rouge and Omega, more likely Omega.

Also, Omega and the whole E-series might be made by Stone

And more unlikely maybe we could see Cream and Big, Maybe even the Chaotix, but that’s honestly too many characters to introduce in one movie.

Maybe Cream and Big could be introduced as apart of Amy’s team fighting against the Metals or something idk

And now let’s theorize on the possibilities of 5

So if 4 goes the route of time travel shenanigans then I believe we could see Silver, and maybe Blaze in 5. What their role(s) will be idk, I just think it would make sense if they deal with time travel in 4.

Also, if silver comes to the series he’d be shown in the AC of 4 most likely, and we already have references to 06 in the form of Iblis being in the Knuckles show and Knucks using the flames of destruction ability in 3, but that could be all the films give to 06.

Also in the AC of 3 we know Shadow is still alive, but no one’s surprised by that tho. But IF they go with 06 for 5 maybe this could allow for Mephilies to be in 5, but that’s getting more in conspiracy territory.

If they Introduce Amy’s team in 4 and the chaotix and team Dark in a possible Shadow show, we’ll get into it, maybe 5 could be be based on heroes instead.

And the messings around of Neo in 5 could lead into 6 being based on 06 in some way.

In all honesty I’m not sure how likely they’d go with 06, we’ll really have to wait and see for 4 or 5 to come out.

Also, sense shadow is still alive we could get a Shadow the Hedgehog Show akin to the Knuckles show and maybe we could see references to the Black arms and Black Doom.

Also correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Shadow in the movie also made with Alien DNA and didn’t it show Black Arms like stuff in the movie.

Also if this possible show comes out before 4, like the knuckles show, and they do want to introduce all those characters from Heroes, the show is probably the best way to do this.

The chaotix could be hired to, or are just investigating the giant explosion that happened at the end of 3 and come across Shadow. which also aligns with the shadow game because they play a role in it.

We could also see Omega introduced in this show, probably made by Stone to find Shadow for some reason

Rouge could be introduced to hunt down the emeralds or master emerald by Stone, idk really know how they’d introduce her, or if they’d even introduce her to series

Idk about Cream or Big in this show they just seem less likely, but if they do Sonic Heroes for 4 and 06 for 5 then anything is likely for me, what I came up for 4 just makes more sense.

Atleast cream has more going for her because of the chao in 3 but once again idk.

Update:

Also if they introduce blaze into the series we could see alternate universe stuff introduced as well and maybe see references to others games that’ll never be put in an actual movie

And some games I don’t think we’ll ever see in the movies are generations, forces, frontiers, lost world, colors, boom, any racing game, any educational game, and both of the Wii Games.

Maybe the Wii games could be refrenced in the alternate universe thing with Blaze

[lbfromtheblock]

Never Gonna Give You Up | Sylki Season 2 Finale Fix-It (Kinda) Fic

(spoilers for season 2 finale)

I NEEDED to get this off my chest after seeing the finale.

I understand why what happened had to happen. But I wanted some confirmation first. So this is me making my peace with it.

Enjoy.

Loki looked into her blazing emerald eyes again. The hate, the suffering, the pain, the betrayal. His arms shook from the effort needed to hold back her arm and the blade she held. Bloodthirsty and vengeful, she’d honestly never looked more beautiful. And he’d never felt more sorry for her.

-“So do it then. Get your throne. KILL ME!” Sylvie spat in his face, her eyes brimming with tears, anticipating what to her would be the last, most painful betrayal her heart could take. But even as she said it, she could see the resignation in this Loki’s face, where a second ago there had been panicked but palpable affection, and shared pain. He had just wanted her to be free of this pain, and wanted her to find her freedom with him.

But now his jaw was set. He was strong, sure, but she was stronger, wilier. She knew his weaknesses inside and out. Her eyes darted back and forth, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Keep them from making her seem weak.

“Sylvie. I should have told you this ages ago but… I love you. I can heal your pain, I can take it all away. You don’t have to do this.”

His voice was warm and sincere, like liquid honey dripping. He was wily too. He knew what spots to poke. But even as her anger surged at this new attempt to manipulate her emotions, it also quailed from the touch of his hand on her cheek. Maybe…

“I have been where you stand. I know and can say for a fact that you will not find peace here. Trust me. Believe in me, and I can show you. Put down your sword. Come with me.”

His voice shook, and tears slid unabashedly down his own face now. Seeing him so vulnerable and shockingly honest made her pause. Her arm dropped a few millimeters. Her skin burned under his touch. He didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

He Who Remains behind them raised an eyebrow. This was new.

“Tell me. Give me a reason to stop. Because right now I don’t have any.”

Loki kept her gaze and leaned close until their foreheads touched. He could smell her, that familiar scent of sweat and metal and roses…she’d replaced it with some discount store soap and perfume in their current timeline. It had taken some of the ferocity away. But now, like this, at the height of her anger…it smelled like home.

And so strange all at once.

He sent her images. Pictures and snippets of what was to come. The spaghettification of all timelines if she succeeded, the pain and suffering she would cause…

But also the life she could lead if given the chance.

It was still McDonald’s. Still mundane. Almost normal. But now she came home to him. She could summon him whenever she wanted and he would be there waiting. They would spend nights in front of the tv, eating horrible food and laughing, laughing…The pure joy on his face when she brought home a stray puppy, and named him Thor…

Startled by her own moist giggles, Sylvie finally opened her eyes. He stared back, searchingly, hopefully. Like a little boy on Christmas morning.

“You can’t promise me this.” Her hands slowly curled into fists. It was so unfair. She wanted ALL of that so badly, almost more than she wanted to kill He Who Remains. Almost.

“I can. And I am. Please, Sylvie. We can be together. Just walk away.”

Loki didn’t even bat an eye as she reached in to kiss him, just like last time. He pulled her close, held her, felt every inch of her body against his, as closr as he possibly could, nostrils full of that final scent…her hair brushing against his face…

With a deft spin, he was on his back on the floor, and she was across the hall, blade already buried deep into He Who Must Not Remains. A startled gasp, but his face had a sudden twitch of satisfaction before it went slack.

Loki covered his face, wiped the newest cascade of tears from his cheeks. Pushed back his hair and sniffed in defeat. Steeling himself for what came next.

He turned, about to go back and try again, but before he could, he locked eyes with her one last time.

It was always the same. No satisfaction, no triumph. Just emptiness. A sadness. She never forgave him. She never allowed herself to just love him.

In any timeline.

But he couldn’t stop trying. He would keep trying. He had to. There had to be a way.

“You’ve tried violence and you’ve tried love. I wonder how long it will take you to realize the bottleneckedness of the situation.”

He Who Remains quipped, back in a seated position, very much alive in his chair behind his desk. Loki looked at him balefully.

“This isn’t like the fairy tales, champ. Think outside the box.”

Loki smirked, paused time and looked to Sylvie, mid leap.

“Mm. Maybe when I get tired of holding her. I’ll try something else. Until then…just relax and enjoy the show.”

And with a flick, he unpaused time, and went to his beloved once again, arms outstretched.

I’ll never give up on you.

…in any timeline.

[playertwotails]

I've been super busy lately with a work schedule change, family getting surgery (they're fine now), and a foster puppy but I'm finally gonna talk about issue 58.

Adding a cut because it gonna be long and also spoilers.

Firsts thing first..the ones I found funny

Return of the Tails bleep

Blaze made a robot cry

LETS GO LESBIANS!!!

But for real I loved this issue

Poor Tangle she's felt so bad when all she wanted was to make Whisper happy. She was just so sad for the first half. And like this mistake lines up so well with her 'no thoughts head empty just action' personality.

And just Whisper finally reuniting with her friends made me so happy (the pink one is getting SMUSHED help them!! (also SEGA name them please)) She just really went through it these last few issues (so did Sonic cause you know the bitey bath he took) but still she already lost her friends once and it almost happened again she gonna need a minute.

Once again Tails and Blaze are the only ones who have a brain cell in the group. (also I love Blaze's face in these panels she just looks so done with Sonic's shenanigans lol)

Also rip to part of my other headcanon about the chaos emeralds and how Eggman hasn't really tired to recreate a fake one like Tails did in the Adventure 2 game. But also it still holds because even Tails said it's a "cheap replica(s)". (also of course Tails still has to get a burn in there towards Eggman and him having shit tech) This still means that somehow Tails made an replica that was the size of a chaos emerald and worked well enough Sonic teleported so Tails canonically still has made a better fake than Eggman.

But my mind also immediately just jumped to " *bangs fists on table* DARK SONIC * DARK SONIC * DARK SONIC" (they probably aint gonna do it but we got fake emeralds so I'm holding out hope we get a dark Sonic arc)

Give it up to my girl Amy for being a menace and a bad ass

DO YOU EVEN LIFT THOUGH!!!! (Silver i feel like is now a little afraid of her) Also Tails just knows she did something cool cause he knows how awesome Amy is. It's also such a little kid moment of "aww i missed something cool the older kids are doing"

I just think these panels are so cute, they're really just such brothers look at them having the same facile expressions and reactions.

Eggman just somewhere in his base right now thinking "Why do I suddenly hear the boss music from Doom???"

But hell yeah we got team dark being a group of badasses lets goooo!!!!!!! I'm so excited for the next issue.