#he reminds me of scourge so much in the second one...

[whitecompri]

hei cutie ~ , I'm glad I found your blog, as a fellow Sonic fan, I'm very pleased.

And also as a fan of all the hedgehog characters in Sonic, can I make a request?

Sonic, Shadow, Silver, Scourge x On a picnic date with fem human s/o Who like to use their thighs as a pillow to rest on or rub and stroke their heads while they sleep. S/o sometimes likes to tease them when they are lying on her lap.

Pretty please....

Don't forget to take some rest

Going on a Picnic With your Hedgie

Pairing: Sonic x Reader; Shadow x Reader; Silver x Reader; Scourge x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes

A/N: Thanks for the request! It was a lot of fun thinking up each unique scenario for each hedgehog, but I liked the end result, I hope you like it too!

Sonic

Maybe it should have been a mistake to let him choose the picnic spot, but he asked so sweetly, with such an adorable look on his face, that in the end, you gave in, letting your restless boyfriend decide the location.

In the end, Sonic concluded that it was a great idea to have a picnic at the top of a hill, right in the middle of the strong winds up there. But there was no complaining—you allowed it to happen.

You paused for a moment on your way up the hill, catching your breath. Looking up, you saw the top of the hill; you were almost there, but the path to get to this point had been tough and exhausting. Your eyes narrowed when your peripheral vision caught a blue blur dashing up at full speed. A few seconds later, it raced down the hill again.

Sometimes, it was hard to keep up with his fast-paced rhythm.

Gathering your strength, you composed yourself and resumed walking up the steep terrain, stepping carefully to avoid slipping or getting your foot caught on a rock.

An unnatural gust of wind rushed past you, tossing your hair up. Looking ahead, you spotted a very impatient blue hedgehog.

"Are you going to take much longer? I could have had ten picnics already with how slow you are." He flashed a teasing grin at you.

"I'm going to have to give you some lessons on human limits when we get back home," you said, still out of breath as you climbed another tricky part of the hill.

"Oh, remind me later—I forgot the soda. Be right back!"

Before you could even blink, the sound of him breaking the sound barrier echoed across the hill. You glanced back, seeing nothing but the bluish streak he left behind.

Sighing, you shook your head and refocused on making your way up the rest of the path. After a few more strenuous steps, you finally reached the top of the hill, letting out a satisfied murmur as you reached your destination.

Your eyes immediately landed on the picnic blanket your speedy boyfriend had laid out and the basket of snacks he had prepared.

Once again, that familiar breeze hit your side. Looking to your left, you saw Sonic standing there, holding a bottle of soda.

"So? Do you like the place?" He gave you a warm smile.

"Aside from the fact that I nearly passed out getting up here..." Your eyes scanned the location, taking in how breathtaking the view was from up there. "Yeah, I love it. It's an amazing spot. Thank you, love."

"No problem, babe. Now sit down, let's eat—now that we’ve got the drinks too."

He eagerly walked over to the blanket, sitting at one end. You followed, settling down beside him.

"What did you bring?" Crossing your legs and resting on your arm, you curiously scanned the basket, already guessing what he had packed.

Sonic pulled out some simple white porcelain plates, placing them in the middle of the blanket. Then, buzzing with excitement, he took out a few chili dogs, carefully setting them on the plates. Next, he pulled out a container of fries, placing them in a deeper dish, along with a ketchup bottle beside it. Finally, he brought out a few homemade heart-shaped cookies.

"Did you make these?" Your eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Hm? I wanted to do something nice for my gorgeous girlfriend. I hope you like them... And I swear I didn’t accidentally go overboard with the flour—it was totally intentional." He gave you an amused grin.

"I'm sure they'll be delicious, even with your questionable culinary skills." You nudged his shoulder playfully, making his mischievous smile turn into a small smirk.

"That's because you haven't tried my specialty yet—Gourmet Burnt Instant Noodles." He raised a hand dramatically, as if to glorify his disastrous dish.

"Hmm, sounds divine. How about making it for dinner tonight? I have some leftover food poisoning medicine in the cabinet, so we can enjoy it worry-free."

You both laughed at the playful banter. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against yours, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Let’s eat the chili dogs while they're still warm. I made everything with care for you."

--*--

You chewed on one of the last fries, grabbed another, dipped it in ketchup, and ate it. By now, after a while, the strong wind at the top of the hill had turned into a pleasant breeze, making the whole atmosphere much cozier.

Beside you, Sonic stretched his arms above his head.

"Well, that was a great meal... Now for the best part!"

Without hesitation, he practically threw himself into your lap, closing his eyes and placing his hands behind his head, fully enjoying how soft your thighs were.

"Now this is the life," he sighed in pure satisfaction.

"I didn’t know you could actually stay still," you teased, taking a sip of your soda.

"Well, only when it's worth it." He grinned, shifting slightly to get even more comfortable in your lap.

Your hand instinctively reached out, running through his soft, blue fur in slow, soothing motions.

Your fingers drifted toward his fuzzy ears, tracing circles around them. Immediately, you felt his body tense slightly, his fur subtly bristling.

"Careful there, babe, you know that's a weak spot..." He cracked open one eye to glance at you.

"I know, that’s why I’m doing it." Your eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Oh, you’re asking for payback, princess..." He smirked, flashing one of his fangs.

You laughed, deciding to play it safe and return to simply stroking his fur. He let out a soft chuckle, relaxing again and closing his eyes.

However, at that moment, your gaze locked onto something beside you—a stray bird feather lying on the picnic blanket. A mischievous smile crept onto your lips as you set your cup aside and reached for the feather.

Taking a deep breath to suppress your laughter and avoid giving yourself away, you brought the feather close to his nose, gently brushing it against his nostrils.

Sonic’s immediate reaction was to scrunch his nose, twitching it in confusion at the unfamiliar sensation. One of his hands moved from behind his head, lazily rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. At that moment, you pulled the feather away, letting him scratch.

Just as he thought the itch was gone, you brought the feather back, swiping it quickly across his nose.

His nose twitched again, his expression contorting as he turned his head to the side, sneezing lightly before rubbing his nose against his arm. When he settled back down, his eyes snapped open, locking onto the feather in your hand and the mischievous glint in your eyes.

"My girlfriend is feeling extra playful today, huh?" His voice was low and amused. "I hope you’re ready for a counterattack..." His gaze narrowed.

"And what exactly are you going to do?" You challenged, curious to see what he had in mind.

However, your eyes widened in shock when his muzzle brushed against your thigh, and you suddenly felt his fangs graze the soft skin of your leg, sending a shiver up your spine.

"Hey! What are you���" Your gaze shifted to one of indignation as you raised your hands to stop him.

But you weren’t fast enough. A playful chuckle escaped him as he nipped you again.

"I warned you, babe..." He pulled away quickly, dodging your hands as you tried to stop him. "Now it’s my turn..."

Before you could react, he lunged at you, this time playfully nipping at your side over your shirt.

"You little—" You laughed, the sensation both surprising and ticklish as his teeth grazed your body.

"Sonic, I don’t have fur to hide your little bite marks!" One of your hands gripped his shoulder while the other supported you from behind, keeping you from falling as he got closer.

"Perfect..." He pinned you down, placing a hand on either side of your body. His face hovered close to yours as he pressed a small kiss to your chin. Then, his muzzle tilted up, and you felt the warmth of his lips on yours, the soft fur brushing against your skin in a mix of tickles and gentle caresses.

Your eyes instinctively fluttered shut, but the kiss was brief. He pulled away, stealing one last peck before gazing at you with an intense, love-struck expression.

"Now, I plan to resume my peaceful nap on your lap, babe. And if my girlfriend tries any more tricks... I’ll retaliate with more than just little bites."

You chuckled softly as he looked at you with hooded eyes, utterly smitten.

"Is that a threat or an offer?"

"It's up to you..." So, he went back to lying peacefully on her lap, closing his eyes and relaxing in that late afternoon.

Shadow

When you asked Shadow where he’d like to have the picnic, at first, he remained silent, lost in thought with his arms crossed, until he finally opened his mouth slightly to respond.

"I know a place..."

And so, now you were walking peacefully through the flower field, your silent boyfriend at your side, attentively accompanying you. He carried the towels and the picnic basket, searching for the best spot to set everything up.

Shadow was always very considerate, never letting you carry heavy things or anything like that. He also never left you behind while walking—he patiently followed your pace, wearing the same grumpy expression as always.

But deep down, he was loving every second of it and would do anything to have more moments like this with you. In a quiet and peaceful place, without worrying about others judging your relationship or interrupting your date.

"This looks good." The black hedgehog stopped in front of a small clearing, a little distance from the thicket you both had walked through. With your help, the cloth was soon spread out on the ground.

Shadow then sat down on the blanket, and you followed, sitting beside him with your legs crossed.

"I brought something for you..." With somewhat hesitant movements, he reached into the basket and pulled out a gray container. As he opened it, the wonderful scent of salmon with cream cheese filled the air, revealing that Shadow had apparently prepared them himself.

"You made these?" You smiled at him.

"Yes..." He looked away for a second. "Rouge said you’d like this recipe."

"I loved it, and I’ll tell you, if you keep cooking like this for me, I’ll end up falling even more in love with you."

Lowering your body, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, making him close his eyes momentarily and let out a quiet hum of approval.

Wanting to reciprocate, he leaned in and brushed his lips against your cheek before pulling back.

"There’s more." He continued unpacking, taking out a jar of coffee beans, a thermos of coffee, and finally, a plate with two mouth-watering pieces of chocolate cake. "I didn’t make this one... but someone insisted on making it for me to bring you."

"Care to tell me who?" You crossed your arms.

"I don’t reveal my sources..."

"I figured. But at least the cake looks good."

Shadow let out a quiet, appreciative hum, placing the plate alongside the other items.

"You can start eating now..." The hedgehog said, sitting with his arms crossed beside you, watching you intently.

"Aren’t you having anything?"

"After you." Shadow replied briefly, keeping his gaze on you.

A small smile formed on your lips as you reached for one of the salmon onigiri, bringing it close to him. Shadow raised a hand in a gesture for you to stop.

"I’ll eat later... Enjoy as much as you want first."

Growing impatient, you leaned closer to him, lowering your body to his level. In a sudden movement, you playfully nibbled his sensitive ear, making him let out a brief, quiet gasp. His ears instinctively twitched back, and his shoulders tensed.

"Why did you do that?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I’ll do it again if you don’t take the onigiri."

Shadow stared at you in silence for a few seconds. Then, making a decision, he uncrossed his arms, reached for the onigiri, and took a small bite, closing his eyes as he chewed.

He remained silent while eating, and you just sat there, frozen, admiring how your tough boyfriend now looked like nothing more than an adorable kitten. Every time his jaw moved to chew, his ears made a short, subtle twitch to the sides, making the scene the most precious thing in the world.

"Is there something on my face?" He asked quietly, running a hand over his face, trying to wipe away whatever you were looking at. You just laughed.

"No, Shadow, there's nothing but the adorable face of my boyfriend."

It was noticeable that he froze for a split second at your words, possibly blushing, then, letting out a small "hmph," he went back to eating his onigiri.

He was the cutest thing in the world.

--*--

After eating, you were sitting with your legs stretched out, supporting yourself with one hand while the other held a cup of coffee, enjoying the caffeine after the delicious chocolate cake.

Your gaze was focused on the surrounding flower field, so much so that you didn’t notice the soft rustling of fabric approaching until you felt his fur and soft quills press against your thighs.

Looking down in surprise, you found none other than Shadow. His eyes were closed, arms crossed, and his ear twitched slightly to the side, picking up a nearby sound while he breathed peacefully. He had nestled himself comfortably, using your lap as a pillow, resting his cheek against your thigh.

Unable to resist, your hands began tracing over his black and red quills, feeling how soft and relaxed they were now—a stark contrast to when Shadow was in defensive mode. In fact, running your hands through his quills was now more soothing for you than for him, and you were sure you’d end up falling asleep sitting up if you continued.

Sighing softly, you watched his face. That’s when an idea popped into your head. Turning slightly, you reached for a small white flower, plucking it from the stem and gently placing it between his quills. And suddenly, you had fallen in love with the idea of covering his quills in flowers.

Over time, Shadow began to notice that your touch on his quills was no longer just stroking. Confused, he opened his eyes and turned slightly to glance back at you.

"What are you doing?" He asked quietly.

"Decorating you." You smiled, continuing your work of placing tiny flowers along his quills.

"Hmph." He turned back, closing his eyes and settling in again. "As long as this stays between us..."

"No problem, Rouge will be the first one I tell." You teased.

Immediately, Shadow lifted his head, sitting up again to look at you. In the process, some of the flowers fell off, which you quickly picked up to put back on him later. Shadow sat beside you, facing you directly.

"No one is supposed to know about this..." He took your hand, picking up one of the flowers you held and carefully tucking it into your hair. You felt your face warm slightly.

"Relax, love, this stays just between us..."

Nodding at your words, he once again laid his head on your lap, resting a hand over your knee while pressing his cheek back against your thigh.

Not wasting a second, you lowered your head to him, kissing his forehead and trailing soft kisses along it, feeling his soft fur against your lips. Then, your lips hovered near his ears as you took a deep breath deliberately against them. He tensed immediately, a shiver running down his spine.

"Careful, [Y/N]. Don’t tease me..." He warned without opening his eyes.

Laughing, your lips neared his muzzle.

One of his eyes slowly opened, gazing at you. His hand gently squeezed your leg as a silent warning, but you didn’t stop, continuing to play with your boyfriend.

In a swift motion, catching you off guard, one of his hands flew to the back of your neck, pulling you close, pressing your face against his. Shadow turned his head at the same time, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss before pulling away shortly after.

"I warned you, and I won’t say it again... If you keep this up, I won’t hold back."

Now blushing, you let out a soft laugh before returning to delicately placing flowers in his quills again.

Silver

Since you asked him to choose a place for a picnic, Silver had been extremely excited, thinking about all the possibilities, all the wonderful places where he could enjoy nature with you.

Now, he was walking beside you, delicately holding your hand while carrying the food basket and the blanket with his psychokinesis. Silver smiled a lot and walked confidently through the plain he had chosen. The field was vast, with a pleasant grove in the distance and a mountain nearby. The white hedgehog wanted an open and peaceful place like this—it was perfect for him.

"I think this spot is great for setting up the blanket, don’t you think?" He suddenly stopped, looking around, noticing that the area didn't have tall vegetation, had soft grass, and offered a good view of the surroundings.

"It looks good to me, let’s set everything up then." He let go of your hand, using his powers to place the blanket on the ground. You knelt down, carefully adjusting it, and then he placed the basket at the center of the blanket.

Finally, the two of you sat down side by side, and Silver reached for the basket, pulling things out. He began taking out his tupperware containers.

"I made those berry pancakes you like. I hope they’re still warm." He placed the container on the ground and opened it. The sweet and appetizing scent of pancakes filled your senses, making your mouth water.

"They smell amazing. I love the way you make them." Silver chuckled.

"I'm happy that you already like them before even tasting them. I also made this." He pulled out a small plate with some pastries.

"You made scones?! I’ve always wanted to try them!" Your eyes sparkled at the sight of the treat being placed on the blanket.

"Yeah, I know, that’s why I looked up a recipe online and made them. I heard you mention them that time." He reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"You’re such a thoughtful boyfriend..." You leaned in slightly, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, making him blush lightly.

"Anything for you, my love." He smiled softly, taking out the last item from the basket—a bottle of iced tea he had also prepared. "Well, what are you waiting for? Feel free to enjoy everything!"

Silver said excitedly, picking up one of the scones and bringing it to your mouth. You were surprised by the gesture but opened your mouth, letting him feed you.

"Hmm, this is really good. You have a special talent for making sweets, Silver." He scratched the back of his neck at your compliment.

"It's nothing much, I just put a lot of love into what I make." He took your hand in his, gently stroking it with his thumb.

"Well, let’s not waste these delicious treats, right?" You reached for another of the pastries.

--*--

After eating, the two of you were sitting side by side, enjoying the peach iced tea he had made. He took the last sip from his cup, then looked at you attentively, noticing you were sitting cross-legged.

"Hey, [Y/N], do you mind if I lay on your lap?" He looked at you hopefully.

"Of course, love, you don’t even have to ask." You adjusted your position, making space for him to lie down, supporting yourself with one hand on the ground.

Carefully, he rested his head on your lap, wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling against you. Instinctively, your hand began to trace his quills gently, feeling how soft they were at the moment.

"Your hand is so warm..." he murmured sleepily, his breathing becoming slower as he drifted off under your gentle touch.

Your boyfriend was adorable like this, lying on your lap, hugging you, unconsciously hiding his face against your stomach as he breathed peacefully. However, you couldn't resist teasing him a little.

Your finger traced soft circles on his forehead, then moved to stroke the fur on his muzzle. Leaning forward slightly, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, making him stir a little, though he kept his eyes closed. A small smirk formed on your lips.

"Silver... you’re drooling..." you whispered to him.

Immediately, as if he had been electrocuted, he sat up with wide eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"W-WHAT?! I wasn’t drooling! I—" He paused when he saw your teasing smile, raising an eyebrow.

"It was just a joke..." Laughing, you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick kiss.

"You’re so mean, you know that...?" His expression softened, and a sly smile began to appear on his face.

He started to lean closer, his half-lidded eyes locked onto yours. His hands gently rested on your waist at first but soon became firmer. He playfully nibbled at your chin before trailing his lips up to meet yours, murmuring softly.

"I could make you apologize for scaring me right here..." His hands caressed your waist, one of them sliding to your back, pulling you closer to his smaller frame.

Nipping at your lower lip, he pulled away, his face now completely flushed beneath his fur. Clearing his throat, he said,

"I’m going back to napping... don’t scare me again..." He left the warning in the air before settling back onto your lap. His hand brushed against your thigh, feeling the softness of your skin against his fur.

Letting out a small sigh, he wrapped his arms around your waist once again, curling up on your lap and drifting off to sleep with his face buried in your stomach.

Scourge

When you told him to find a nice spot for a picnic, a wide smirk appeared on his face as he thought about the various places he could take you for a pleasant afternoon.

In truth, you were a little afraid of the location he might choose—who knows if it would be somewhere bizarre or outright forbidden, knowing Scourge’s personality.

However, to your surprise, your boyfriend picked a suitable and cozy spot for the picnic.

The green hedgehog stopped in front of a flowing river, looking around and analyzing the shade of the tree with a critical gaze to see if it was truly comfortable.

After huffing in satisfaction, he turned to you. "This spot’s perfect, babe. Let’s set up the picnic here."

He crouched down, grabbing the blanket and spreading it out in the tree’s cool shade before taking the basket and sitting at one corner of the white cloth. You followed suit, settling beside him.

Almost instinctively, his hand reached for your waist, pulling you closer to his smaller frame. Scourge lifted his sunglasses to look at you fully.

"You’re a princess every damn day, but today, ya look like a queen." He flashed a smirk, his eyes admiring you.

You chuckled.

“What are you hoping to gain from this?”

"A kiss?" He grinned, showing his sharp teeth.

“You could’ve just asked directly.”

Chuckling softly, you leaned to the side, pressing your lips against his, feeling the ticklish sensation of his muzzle’s fur against your skin. He tightened his grip on your waist slightly but quickly broke the kiss.

"Look what I brought for ya, babe." he said, reaching into the basket and pulling out some containers with the snacks he had prepared.

First, he pulled out two cans of energy drinks, setting one near you. Then, he took out a container with a few slices of pizza.

“Is this what’s left of last night’s pizza?” You raised an eyebrow.

"I call it makin' the most of every bite. I don’t wanna waste it. Besides, day-old pizza’s the best kinda pizza." He grinned, reaching for the last item.

Pulling out a large bag of nachos, he placed it beside him. Lastly, he grabbed a sealed container filled with dip.

"Babe, I was thinkin’ ‘bout what would be cool, an’ I found a guacamole recipe. I’m not big on this cookin’ stuff, but it didn’t take much effort. It'll go great with the nachos."

“Well, I’m glad you at least put in the effort, love.” You smiled at his subtle gesture of love.

"All for ya, babe."

He let go of your waist, opening the nacho bag and the guacamole container before dipping a chip into the sauce and taking a bite.

“So, do you like what you made?” You grabbed a nacho as well, dipping it into the guacamole.

"It actually tastes better than I expected." He chuckled, picking up his energy drink and opening it. "Hope ya like it, princess."

--*--

After finishing the nachos and guacamole, Scourge stretched his arms, letting out a yawn.

"Babe, I feel like takin' a nap."

He turned to you, lowering himself and resting his head against your crossed legs. He nuzzled his muzzle against your thigh, pressing a small kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. Then, he lay back, placing his arms behind his head, enjoying the serenity and the soothing sound of the river beside you.

"Ya love when I lay on your lap, don’tcha?" He teased with a smug expression.

“I don’t mind it at all.”

Your hand started tracing his quills, feeling each one under your fingers—surprisingly soft, probably because he was relaxed and with someone he trusted.

"If ya keep runnin' your fingers through my quills like that… I’m either gonna fall asleep…" He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower and husky. "Or do somethin’ crazy…" A wide grin spread across his face.

You just huffed playfully, letting him tease you all he wanted.

Then, a mischievous idea popped into your head. Innocently, you continued running your fingers through his quills, but one hand silently moved away, creeping toward his nose. Before he could notice, your fingers pinched his nostrils shut, cutting off his airflow.

Scourge’s eyes immediately snapped open, and he shot up, gasping for air. He turned to you, his expression first shocked before shifting into something more mischievous. He grabbed your wrist.

"Ya seriously got the guts to mess with me while I’m relaxed, babe?"

He leaned in dangerously close. You swallowed hard, anticipation building over his next move.

“W-wait—!”

You barely had time to finish your sentence before you felt your back hit the blanket, his weight pressing down against you.

"You’re such a naughty girl…"

He captured your lips once, then twice, his hands pressing against your ribs while his knees pinned you down, one on each side of your waist, preventing any chance of escape.

"Blockin’ my air like that…"

He kissed you again, then trailed open-mouthed kisses down your throat, purposely grazing his teeth against your sensitive skin, asserting dominance.

“Scourge…” You managed to whisper softly.

"Babe… Be careful with these lil’ provocations…" He chuckled, pulling away and grabbing your hands, helping you sit back up.

"Let’s enjoy the place for now…"

He kissed the back of your hand before once again lying back down on your lap, his quills brushing against your skin as he got comfortable.

"Don’t tease me again, or I swear I won’t hold back." He smirked before closing his eyes, drifting off to sleep again—leaving you completely flustered as you watched his relaxed features while he slept.

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 2)

A look into Agatha and Rio's home life, and you are reeling from having The Witch and Lady Death in your motel room

Word count: 4200

Warnings: mentions of murder, manipulativeness, light gaslighting

The same morning you get called to Westview, Agatha Harkness wakes up to find her wife, Rio Vidal, staring at her. 

“If you were going to kill me, how would you do it?” Rio asks, and Agatha raises an eyebrow. 

“Good morning to you, too,” she groans, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Rio, who is lounging in the chair in the corner. “How long have you been watching me sleep?” 

Rio shrugs. “You make it sound like I’m some serial killer who’s about to murder you.” Her eyes widen conspiratorially and Agatha snorts before plopping back down. 

“She’s getting here today, you know,” Agatha says and she can hear Rio’s breath hitch. 

She leans forward in the chair. “When do you think she’ll come see me?” The eagerness is evident in her voice, and Agatha knows how she feels. 

“Once we pull off our little ‘Welcome to Westview’ stunt tonight? I bet no time at all,” Agatha answers. 

Rio grins, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and picks up the skeleton mask sitting on the dresser. She fiddles with the strings and holds it up to her face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that Miami director books the appointment himself. Do police detectives usually include a business card to their wife’s therapy practice in their information file to the FBI?” 

“Better hope he doesn’t just pull her off the case,” Agatha remarks, ignoring the question, and finally gets up out of bed and walks past the bouquet of purple azaleas on the vanity. “He’s pretty serious when it comes to protecting her. Especially after…” 

“No,” Rio cuts her off and Agatha looks at her wife in surprise. Rio puts her mask down, stands up, and walks over so she’s face-to-face with the older woman. She reaches a hand out to put it gently around Agatha’s throat, who doesn’t even flinch. Rio smirks and drags her hand downward so it’s resting over her heart. “We’re finally getting what we want. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? For her? I’m not letting her go.”

Agatha tilts her head to the side, thinking for a second. “If I were going to kill you, I’d fill a syringe with air and inject it into your bloodstream under your toenail. The death would mimic a heart attack and the track mark would be almost impossible to find. I’d tell the authorities that you were under so much stress as a therapist that it eventually took a toll on your body,” she says slowly, clinically even, watching Rio’s hazel eyes get dark. 

She hums and looks down at Agatha’s lips. “You really know how to make a lady swoon.” Rio gives her a quick peck and leaves the room so her wife can get ready for work. 

On her way to the kitchen, Rio steps into the spare room in the hallway and takes a deep breath, feeling the tension seeping from her muscles. The table in the middle of the room is covered in vials, all Agatha’s doing. They don’t call her The Witch for nothing, Rio thinks. She picks up her own dagger and twirls it between her practiced fingers while she admires the handiwork on the left side of the room. 

From ceiling to floor, the wall is completely covered with you. Every single case file you’ve profiled for, pictures of you from now all the way back to your childhood, transcripts from Quantico and college. Rio’s favorite photo hangs front and center, the one of the scar you got from dealing with the Scarlet Killer, all rough and jagged. 

Rio would’ve made it prettier. 

Patience, she reminds herself. 

The trap has been laid. All that’s left to do is wait. 

***

You turn the entire motel room upside down, scourging for anything else the killers may have left behind: a camera or a listening device, or maybe even a clue. 

Nothing. 

And then you kick yourself for touching everything because now you can’t even test for prints. Plus, it’s a motel room so you’re not sure you’d be able to narrow it down. 

The phone is in your hand dialing Tony back before you can think. He doesn’t answer and you slam it down on the bed in frustration. 

They were here. The Witch and Lady Death were in your room. 

You draw the blinds and deadbolt the door, making a mental note to ask the front desk to change the locks. How did they get in? How did they know you were going to get food? 

A cold feeling sinks into your bones. They must be watching you. 

And what’s to stop them from coming back? This time though, when you’re in the room? 

Anyone could be next. Agatha’s words echo around in your head and you didn’t realize just how true they are until now. 

You don’t realize you’re hyperventilating until you feel dizzy and gag. Then you run to the bathroom and puke into the toilet. Wiping a hand across your sweaty forehead, your mind spins with what to do. 

You could call the police, but you don’t think they would do any good, especially after you’ve tampered with evidence. There were no cameras in this motel, you had already checked. 

Pacing back and forth, head in your hands, you try and try and try to think of what to do. 

And finally you think of something. 

You punch in the number and hold the phone up to your ear. 

It rings three times and then there’s a click. 

“Dr. Rio Vidal’s office, if this is an emergency please hang up the phone and call 911. If not, this is Dr. Vidal, how can I help you?” 

You take a shaky breath and press your fingers to your forehead to stave off the incoming headache. “Um, yes, hi, I was calling to see if I could make an appointment? The sooner, the better.” 

There’s shuffling and then tapping of keys on a computer. “What’s your name?” When you say it, you hear a sharp inhale and then a cough. “Sorry about that. How does 1 pm tomorrow sound?” 

You blink. You didn’t realize you’d be able to get in that fast, but you suppose in a small town like Westview, not many people are going to therapy. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thank you.” 

“Bye, Agent Y/L/N,” she says. You frown. You never told her you were an agent. But you figure it’s been announced that you’re coming, so you brush it off. 

You take a quick shower and then get into bed, trying to relax and maybe get some sleep. You promised Tony you’d get five hours a night, but you’ll be lucky if you even get one. 

At every groan and creak, you jump and grab your gun, sitting up completely alert. It’s always the wind or a tree branch or the building settling. 

You lay under the sheets, hand gripped around your weapon, and you don’t sleep a wink. 

When you get to the station the next morning, the first person you see is Agatha. She looks up at you, takes in your new outfit, and smiles brightly. 

The killers replaced all your clothes so you had no choice but to wear the new ones until you’re able to go shopping. You wouldn’t be surprised if they laced the fabric with something and you end up dead before lunch, but it’s snowing today and you had nothing else to wear. 

“Have a good first night in Westview?” She asks and you cautiously glance around the room. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” You ask urgently, voice low. Concern flits onto her face and she nods and stands up. She pulls you into the evidence locker. “They were at my motel last night,” you hiss. 

Agatha’s hand flies to her mouth. “The killers? Are you sure?” 

You nod furiously. “I had left to get food and when I came back, the door was open and they had packed my suitcase with all new stuff—” You motion down at your body and she checks you out again. “—and perfume and then they circled ‘lovers’ on a sticky note I had to tell me their relationship and they left the flower on my table!” 

“Slow down,” Agatha says and you realize you’ve been talking so fast that you haven’t taken a breath. She puts her hands on your shoulders. “Did you see them? Did they come back?” 

“No, not yet at least. I don’t understand, if they wanted to kill me, why not just wait until I was there? Or asleep?” 

“Maybe they didn’t want to kill you,” Agatha suggests. “Maybe they just wanted to send you a message or something. It’s pretty big news that we have a profiler from the FBI here to help stop them.” 

You frown. “So they wanted to let me know they’re not scared of me?” 

She shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what they’re thinking. But the most important thing is that you’re okay. We can send over some officers later to test for evidence, if you want.” 

“It’s no use, I tore the place apart last night,” you say, shaking your head at your own stupidity. She squeezes your shoulders. 

“Hey, don’t worry. Like you said, if they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Let’s go out there and work on catching them so you and everyone else in Westview can sleep easy, yeah?” 

You nod, feeling a little better but then you pause. “Agatha, are you afraid?”

Something flickers in her eyes before it's quickly replaced by humor. “I think they know better than to break into the home of a decorated detective such as myself,” she says haughtily and you can’t help but to laugh. She chuckles too, but then something in her face changes. 

Before you can ask what’s wrong, she leans in and sniffs up your neck. You freeze and find all the air in your lungs gone. 

“New perfume?” She mutters. 

You had put it on this morning without even thinking about it as your usual had also been taken. Thanatos. The Greek personification of death. 

Or as Freud defined it, a person’s urge to die. 

“Yeah,” you stutter. Agatha finally pulls back and her blue eyes are dilated. You find your gaze dropping down to her mouth again and you want to feel her lips on yours. 

“You said they packed your suitcase with all new stuff,” she says in a hushed voice and your heartbeat picks up. “Did they give you that too?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, and instead of looking disgusted, like you thought she would, she looks excited. 

She leans back in and presses her face into your neck and are you imagining her lips ghosting against your skin or is that really happening? It feels like your entire body is on fire. 

They trail up, light as a feather against your jugular vein, and she’s at your chin when the door slams open and you jump back. She winks and then she’s turning on her heel and walking out. It’s an officer, trying to book evidence, looking very confused. 

“Making friends, Miami?” He jokes and your face flushes before you quickly leave the room before finding Agatha and the rest of the detectives back in the room with the case information. 

You tirelessly pour over every single detail for the next few hours to no avail. You toss out theories but Agatha always finds something that doesn’t add up and you’re always back to square one. 

But then it’s time for your therapy appointment, so you drop your pen down to the table and gather the pages of your chicken scratch to throw in your bag. 

“I have to head out,” you say hastily and Agatha glances up. 

“Hot date, superstar?” She teases and the memory of her mouth on your neck burns through you. 

You shake your head. “Just uh, going to the doctor.” 

She raises an eyebrow daringly and smirks. “Have fun.” 

You give her a tight smile and then you’re in your car driving to the office. There’s people walking on the street on your route and you can’t help but wonder which of them might be the next victim. 

It’s always been hard to not get too attached to the people in the towns you work at. Looking at them, knowing tomorrow they might not be alive, it takes a toll on you. 

That’s part of the reason you get so attached. The waiting, the not knowing. It eats away at you. 

Dr. Vidal’s office is tucked away in the corner of a string of workspaces in a building, and you feel something weird in your stomach as you walk up the steps. For the third time in the past 24 hours, your scar sears with a pain you haven’t felt since right after. You have to stop and breathe deeply before opening the door. 

A woman sits at the front desk typing on her computer. She barely even looks at you and you stand at the desk for a moment before clearing your throat. 

“Um, hi, I have an appointment for one? I’m Y/N,” you say and it’s like she’s finally realized someone’s standing there. 

She hums in acknowledgement and scrolls until she finds your name and clicks. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” 

You tap the desk and go sit down, wiping your palms on your pants. It’s only a few minutes before a door opens and your name is called. 

Walking into the room, the first thing you notice is the thick smell of nature. And then you see plants everywhere. Bookshelves line the walls, full with books and pots of every type of plant and flower you’ve ever seen. Your eyes narrow, but you don’t see anything purple. 

And then you see Dr. Vidal sitting behind a large desk. You tentatively take a seat in one of the chairs across from her, squirming under her intense gaze. She’s an attractive woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun and brown eyes that seem to stare into your soul. There’s not a hair out of place on her desk; everything is meticulously organized and right where she needs it. 

You clear your throat. “Big plant lover?” You say, and it’s an incredibly awkward way to make a first impression. You’ve never been good at therapy, or with uncomfortable silences. 

But she doesn’t seem to care, finds it almost amusing. Her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek and she settles forward. “So, what brings you to therapy?” 

You don’t even know where to start. “I just got to town, and um, oh – I’m a profiler, by the way, for the FBI. I’m here working on the case with The Witch and Lady Death.” 

“Lady Death?” Dr. Vidal asks, giving you an intrigued look. 

“Oh, we figured out that there’s actually two killers. That’s what I nicknamed the other one, because apparently she’s been seen with the bottom half of a skeleton mask on her face. Wait, this is all confidential right?” 

“Of course,” she assures you, voice smooth as honey. “Anything you say here doesn’t leave this room unless you threaten to hurt yourself or someone else. So, you’re here about the case?” 

You nod, playing with the hem of your sweater. “Yeah, you could say that. I sort of have some obsessive tendencies when it comes to cases like these, and I just wanted to get ahead of them before I spiraled again.” 

“What does a spiral look like for you?” 

Chewing on your nail, your gut twists and you can feel Wanda’s knife jabbing into you. “I stop eating, stop sleeping. The work consumes me, I can’t take a break. I don’t want to take a break. There’s just this overwhelming need to catch the killer and I won’t stop – I can’t stop – until I find them. It can be dangerous.” 

She nods and writes something down in her notebook. “Why did you become a profiler?” 

“To help people,” you answer immediately. “I like reading the killers, figuring out what they’re thinking, getting inside their heads and beating them at their own game.” 

“When did you start knowing you wanted to do this? Why not just become a detective or something?” 

This one takes a bit longer to think about. “I don’t know, I just remember being a kid and wanting to…” You trail off, suddenly feeling confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I was going to say.” Something is weird, wrong even. What were you thinking of? 

“No, don’t apologize,” Dr. Vidal says, laying her hands on the desk with wide eyes. “You wanted to what as a kid? What happened that made you want to think like a killer?” 

A dull ache starts to throb against your skull the harder you try and think about it. “I don’t know,” you repeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m not thinking like a killer, I’m figuring out the way their brain works. So I can catch them.” 

She leans back and crosses her arms. “What do you feel when you think like them?” 

“What does this have to do with–” But you’re cut off by a blinding burst of pain and then glimpses of something you can’t quite explain flash through your mind. 

Snow. 

Trees. 

A clearing in the woods. 

Red birds flutter from the branches, startled by something. 

You hear your name and the images are gone. Dr. Vidal is watching you closely, breathing heavily. “What was that?” 

Shaking your head, you try to make sense of what just happened. Memories or hallucinations? “Um, sorry, I don’t know. What was the question?” 

Her eyes are dark and they remind you of Agatha’s in the evidence locker. How she had leaned down and smelled the perfume you were wearing. You shift in your chair. 

“I was asking what your coping mechanisms are for when you start to feel yourself spiraling,” she says, and you’re still a little foggy, but you’re pretty sure that’s not what she asked. 

You think you might be going crazy. “My boss back in Miami was pretty good about recognizing when I needed to take a step back. I’m trying to not get too involved and make sure I’m eating and staying hydrated and sleeping enough. And I’m here, so I think this should help.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Vidal says with a smile. “If you ever start to feel too drawn in, take three deep breaths and then do the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. Are you familiar?” 

You almost roll your eyes. That’s exactly what they told you to do during your mandated therapy. Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. It was meant to ground you and reduce your anxiety. 

“Yeah, I’ve tried it a few times, but it didn’t really work for me,” you admit and she waves dismissively. 

She quickly scribbles something down and rips out a chunk of paper, sliding it across to you. “This is my cell,” she says. “Call me anytime, day or night, if you ever need to talk. Sometimes that’s the best way to calm down. I know you’re new here, but do you have anyone else, maybe someone you’ve been working with that you could talk to if you need to?” 

“There’s this one woman I work with that’s pretty nice. She’s the main detective on the case, so I think I could reach out if I really needed to,” you say and she looks pleased. 

“Detective Harkness?” Dr. Vidal asks. 

In a small town, people are bound to be familiar with each other. “Um, yeah, do you know her?” 

She smirks. “Very well. She’s quite attractive, don’t you think?” 

The question catches you off-guard. Is everyone in this place weird? “I mean, sure, of course. Are you allowed to say that?” 

“Well, she’s my wife so I would hope so.” 

Your mouth drops open. Her lips on your skin, ghosting along your neck, filling you with heat and a need for more. “Oh, I’m so sorry for saying that, I had no idea, obviously. We just work together.” 

“Don’t be, doll. I’m sure the two of you would make quite the pair,” Dr. Vidal says, and you ignore the possible unprofessionalism at the pet name. She doesn’t seem offended at all, only fascinated. 

You shift in your seat again while trying to figure out what to say. “Well–” you start, but she cuts you off. 

“Let me guess, she’s been flirting?” 

Fuck. What do you even say? Is Dr. Vidal going to be mad, say she can’t treat you anymore? It’s not your fault, you hadn’t done anything. 

She scoffs. “You’re such a pretty young thing, I can’t blame her. You’ll have to come over for dinner with us some night.” 

“Um, is that allowed?” You ask, blinking slowly. You have absolutely no idea what is going on. Is your therapist suggesting a threesome with you and her wife and woman you’re working with? 

“Getting a meal with your support system? Why wouldn’t it be?” When she phrases it like that, it’s hard to find an error with her logic. 

You shrug. It would be nice to be able to talk freely about things. And you’re sure Agatha has told her about the case already. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” 

The question weighs on your mind as you chew on your lip and debate whether or not to tell her about the images you just saw. You don’t remember ever being in those woods. “Do patients ever, I don’t know, see things while they talk to you? Like false memories or something?” 

This gets her attention. “What did you see?” 

“Snow, and woods, and a flock of birds. I don’t know, it felt familiar but I’ve never…” You try to put it into words, but you don’t know how. 

“What happens when you try to follow that memory?” She asks and you close your eyes, but there’s nothing. 

“I–I can’t. There was like a pain in my head when you asked about what made me want to think like a killer, and then I saw it, but it’s not happening now.” You sound defeated, a testament to your frustration. 

Dr. Vidal frowns. “Do you know what repressed memories are? And I never asked you that.” 

It’s like the floor tilts under you and you stare blankly at her. You can only focus on the latter part. “No, you did, I remember…” You start to breathe heavily, panic rising in your chest, and she comes over to rub at your back. “I don’t understand.” 

“It’s possible you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by all this. I think you need to go home and get some rest. Did you sleep last night?” 

It makes sense to you now. You didn’t sleep at all, your brain is just playing tricks on you. “No.” 

She nods. “Go home. Take a nap. Let’s book a follow up, though. See if we can get to the bottom of those images.” 

You choose to come back in three days in the afternoon again and then you drive back to the motel. Your exhaustion suddenly weighs a ton and all you have to do is stumble in your room, collapse on the bed, and you pass out. 

The snow crunches underneath your boots as you trode through it. Branches claw at your legs through your pants and the wind whips your cheeks. 

It’s cold, but you can’t feel it. 

Where are you going? You don’t know, but your legs do. They take you through the woods into the clearing. 

You stand alone for a few minutes and then you hear someone – something? – approaching. 

A purple wolf. 

You crouch down to your knees and it saunters up to you. One eye is a piercing blue, the other is hazel. 

So familiar, yet otherworldly. You don’t understand. 

It opens its mouth to say something, and you’re leaning in to make sure you hear it, when –

Your phone rings and it jolts you awake in a cold sweat. You roll over in bed to find you’ve been asleep for hours. You reach for your phone when you realize that you’re completely naked. 

How did that happen? 

When you were younger, you know you had problems with sleep-walking, but you would always keep your clothes on. You file that away to talk to Dr. Vidal about next time. 

“Hello?” You say groggily, not even checking who’s on the other line. 

“It’s Agatha,” the voice says and it’s like a bucket of cold water gets thrown on you. “There’s been another murder.”

[rainychaoloveshack]

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐁𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.

you can’t fall asleep, so Shadow tries to help.

content. shadow x gn!reader, implied insomnia (reader), sickening amount of fluff (especially towards the end), mentions of shadows past and reader being upset about it

☂︎ wc. 1.2k ☂︎ a/n. second post obviously has to be shadow, yeah? might as well make my next one silver and then scourge, but i dunno. totally gonna reuse this idea for him in a way, i think it’s super sweet. <3 maybe a version where you two AREN"TTT really in a relationship yet? secret mutual pining murhehehehe

likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!!

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊   .   ┊   ┊

┊    ┊⋆     ┊   .

┊    ┊       ⋆˚              

✧. ┊         

⋆｡˚ 🌨 ˚｡⋆｡🌩˚☽˚｡⋆ 

☂

“You’re still awake?” Shadow murmurs, his footsteps causing the wooden floor to creak under him, emerging from his room with a small rub of his ear,  watching you as you take a small glass cup from the cupboard, open the fridge slightly to take out the water pitcher, and then pour yourself a drink.

You could say the same thing for him, but you might’ve just woken him up from the noise of you making your way to the kitchen. He’s never been the deepest sleeper. Always alert.

“Why’re you awake this late?” He comes over to where you’re standing, brushing against you as he urges you back to your room with a hand set right on your waist. His gloves are off, yet his inhibitor rings remain, a soft reminder in the back of your head. “Did something happen? A nightmare?”

You shake your head, taking a sip of water before making it clear to him you just had trouble falling asleep. Best not to tell him it’s been going on for more than just tonight, for a while now actually, but knowing him, he might already be aware of that fact. You never like to worry him too much. No matter how much he likes to hide it, he really does care about you. Sometimes the concern is a little much, but it’s just his own way of showing love, so it’s never bothered you.

His brows furrow as he glances at the digital clock set on the microwave, a clear 03:14 set right there for both of you to see. His eyes flick back to you, letting a small sigh leave his lips.

“Do you need me to keep you company?” He mutters, his tone seeming almost agitated, yet his body language saying just the opposite as his hand falls loosely to your hips, then drops to his side.

You shake your head with a firm refusal; you don’t want to bother him with your little issue tonight. You’ll fall asleep eventually; you always do. But Shadow doesn’t seem swayed by your refusal.

He grumbles, crossing his arms as he leans against the fridge, looking at you with that stoic expression he usually has. “So what’re you going to do then? I assume you’ve been up for hours.” No point in denying that. You nod softly, and his frown deepens with your confirmation. “See? Don’t be so dumb.”

Dumb?

Shadow’s face softens quickly, noticing the mistake in his words. It wasn’t anything too serious, yet it still bugged you in an odd way, making you cross an arm over your stomach and make a small circular motion with the cup in your other hand, the water sloshing around inside, filling the silence between you two.

Shadow grunts, clearly displeased at the sudden silence, yet understanding his mistake, and he shakes his head while looking at you, his ears flicking downward slightly with an apologetic expression on his face.

… You’ll take his apology just like that for tonight. It wasn’t like he called you a ‘dumbass’ or anything; nor did he really mean to insult you.

“Hmph.”  He huffs, his gaze trailing down at the floor for a moment as you take a few more sips of your water, letting the coolness run down your throat. His finger taps impatiently on his arm, clearly deep in thought, before his voice rings out again to you.

“Do you think sleeping with someone else would help?” Someone else? You peek over at him, tilting your head. Does he know that he can just say himself instead of that? He probably does.

Shadow turns, not meeting your gaze, and glancing towards the window at the far end of the room, noticing the moonlight shining through. Is he a bit embarrassed? Even after both of you have been together for this long?

Some things never change. Not that you mind it when it comes to Shadow. The only reason why you two still sleep separately is because you thought it would be nice to give him some privacy at times. Maybe another moving day would be in order; you'll ask him about it tomorrow.

You purse your lips to fight back the giggle sending itself up your throat, but you nod softly. His warmth would be nice tonight. As long as a quill doesn’t prick you or anything, but he’s usually so careful with you that it rarely happens at all.

“... Come on.” Shadow runs the back of his fingers against your arm, gesturing for you to put the cup down and come to bed with him, almost as if he’s pleading for you to do so.

And who are you to refuse?

Your hand drags up his wrist slowly, bumping over his inhibitor ring and feeling the fur on his palm, also at the base of his fingertips, then intertwining your fingers with his, closing your eyes, and snuggling your head closer to his chest. His heartbeats so calm, pattering right against your head.

Shadow was never one to be so physically affectionate with you, and if you weren’t so tired, the night calling your name, you would’ve teased him lightly about the gesture. But it’s not like you’re going to complain either.

Not that he didn’t want to give it to you, or that he disliked it entirely. It just wasn’t his main form of showing his love for you. He can accept a hug sometimes, but being so touchy too often made him feel awkward. It feels better when Shadow’s comfortable enough to give such acts of affection to you.

“I’ll be with you until you fall asleep.” He says quietly, the weight of the bed shifting ever so slightly as his other hand rises off the bed, hesitating in the air before he settles it right on your head, petting you softly. “Wake me up if anything.” A soft sigh leaves his lips, followed by a grumble you can feel from deep within his chest as his body relaxes under the weight of you, clutching your fingers tighter with his own. “I’ll be here.”

Your wrist brushes against his inhibitor ring, your brows furrowing and eyes squeezing tighter as you're reminded of his past struggles and pain. It sucks that he had to go through so much before you two met. It hurts. How many times have you cried over him in private, his own aching and sorrow spreading to you? He caught sobbing you once, telling you not to worry about it repeatedly as he wiped your flowing tears away. But how can you not?

Shadow notices you tense up under him, his heartbeat quickening just the tiniest bit at your sudden discomfort. “What's wrong?” He mumbles, but you brush off his concern and just sigh against him, murmuring a soft sweet nothing as you tilt your head up to press a kiss on his lips briefly, saying nothing else as you lie back down against his chest. What is there to say, really? ‘I’m sorry for your terrible past’? It would just be a reminder; one he doesn’t need tonight, or ever.

Shadow says nothing else at your display of affection, but responds physically with a soft peck of his own, right on your head. Oh, how much more lucky can you get tonight? You try to hold back the smile forming on your face, but it's pointless to try to hide your joy.

While your relationship with him might not be cuddles and roses all the time, you wouldn’t want anything else from him. You don’t. He already makes you feel like the world.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

[crusherthedoctor]

(relevant to your post about infinite) yeah at least infinite actually gets to beat Sonic and kickstart the event of forces

Meanwhile Surge get family guy death pose by a motobug (the weakest enemy ever) and didn't get to beat Sonic even once even when he was handicapped, she trip on some bolts, face planted and got a bucket shoved to her head like a Looney toon.

The only time where she was beating sonic only lasted 1 second before he went back to life, it's the most nothing thing ever since Rol's dramatic scene (iykyk)

You know how I keep saying that everyone just wants to replicate past mistakes instead of learn from them? Yeah.

They'll frame her as a parody. That's what they did with Scourge, after all. Unfortunately, that excuse doesn't really hold up if an extensive amount of focus is spent on hyping her up, having her mug for the covers (sometimes without Sonic himself, despite being the title character), and having her repeatedly be framed as a Galactus-level threat. This goes double for the comic book medium, which is frequently prone to delays and gaps in-between issues, thus dragging out stories even further in the process (see: the Lanolin/Duo drama). That's a lot of time for a so-called parody to receive the spotlight, and that's not even getting into the Forces tweet that I like to remind everyone of.

Even if Surge was a parody, after a certain amount of time and effort(?), she ceases to be one. Same goes for Scourge. And of course, humor is subjective and all, but a parody needs to actually be funny in order to work. Call me a stick in the mud, but there's not many laughs to be had over Surge blatantly voicing the writers' actual thoughts on the whole franchise. The only times I've ever been amused by this contaminated pineapple was when she temporarily became a slapstick target, and I have no doubt that this wasn't intentional on the comic's part.

As annoying as Clutch the Paper Tiger Eggman Upstager #40 was, as disappointing as it was to see how Starline played out, and as much of a headache I received from all the Lanolin discourse... I think Surge is still the worst of the IDW cast members by a mile. Everything about her encompasses everything that is wrong with the comic, including the way Sonic and Eggman are portrayed.

("What about Kit?" Lol, what about him? I have more to say about the NPCs in '06.)

tl;dr: Surge isn't voiced by Liam O'Brien, therefore who cares.

[jennrypan]

Obsessed with Scourge so use to thinking he's unlovable and incapable of loving that when he falls for someone it's a staggering and it scares him cuz he doesn't know HOW to be anything but violent and flirty, he's not romantic, he's not gentle- his tone is harsh all the time and he never smiles unless it's sarcastic, he doesn't laugh unless it's at other people and he's mocking them, his eyes..always focused, pupils tiny- he doesn't trust anyone.

Until it comes to his mother and his uncle (Barbara/Bernadette and Charlie.) No matter how much he thinks they hate him, he still softens around them, still wishes to make sure they're safe and okay- he fears disappointing them so much he was okay with destroying the universes, destroying himself so they won't have the image of him in their minds. No matter what..he loved his mother so much that when he stumbled across another version of her, he dropped his guard..let her touch him, even almost second guessed his plan cuz she looked so sad. Loved her so much that even while he was Super, even when Chaos had his mind ready to free him..he still stepped back cuz she was there, he still let her lower his guard for Sonic to beat him. (And he doesn't regret not striking her.) And when it comes to Charlie, Charlie who got arrested trying to protect him and Scourge still blames himself for, Charlie, the guy who bought him a monitor lizard egg from fuck knows where but now that reptile is the most important thing in the world to him just cuz his uncle got him (And now he has Iggy and Iggys basically his son)

Until it comes to Manic, who knew he wasn't Sonic the minute he spoke but still decided to hang around him. Manic who's chill and is considered his first actual friend, even in a short moment of knowing him, Scourge didn't mind being around him..so much so that he even warned Manic about his plan..giving him an option to join him (Ofc Manic refused) and even after that..Scourge didn't attack him, even when he was defeated..he didn't blame Manic for it. Until it comes to Amy (or fem!Shadow..but I don't think yall are ready for those brainworms ...it's really specific to me and a friend honestly 💀) someone who fought with him during his villain arc, it started slow..he didn't like her cuz she was one of Sonics 'groupies' didn't like her cuz she was too nice, he thought flirting with her would be funny..get a little joke out of it, then she punched him. She was never afraid of him, never put off by his aggression, cuz she was a fighter, she didn't mind his comments cuz she'd fire her own right back..talking to her became a highlight..insults turned to banter, banter turned into asking about each other's day, finding things that remind him of her..it was slow and sudden, his posture was relaxed around her, his voice smoother..teasing without the usual ice in it- playful.

Scourge thinks he's incapable of love, thinks it doesn't work for him..but it does. He has thick walls, they're hard to knock down..or he likes to think they are, but honestly he's not that hard to read- he wants to be loved, wants to know he's not evil..he's not like his adoptive father or his birth mother, so when someone speaks to him as if they aren't afraid of his response, as if they're okay with being around him..listening to him, he softens. When they don't force anything out of him..when they just SEE him..his guard drops, he calms down.

(The reason Fiona couldn't be his safe space was because she loved him at his worst, they suffer from abandonment issues and their relationship was only based on destruction. She loved the idea of being powerful with him, the thought that they were both so fucked up he couldn't leave, and on some level that's true. They were messed up together but that didn't help them cuz..he scared her, his anger..his hate it got intense and like everyone else, she treated him like a rabid animal that needed to be appeased which..fair 💀) she loved him on the surface level in a dependant way cuz he was so similar to her, she attached herself to him but on some level she knew he didn't love her back.

[srim01997]

The Red Princess & The Green Knight | Gwayne H. X OFC

Paring: Gwayne Hightower x Alyssan Targaryen (OC), Slight Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Alyssan Targaryen (OC), Eventual Gwayne Hightower x Alyssan Targaryen (OC)

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Character Death mentioned, Ulf

Writer’s note: Alyssan reentered the battle despite having survived a near-death experience, but she also received some distressing news.

Previous Chapter | The Red Princess & The Green Knight| Next Chapter

Chapter 13 Fire and Blood

If the Hightowers’ words were, “We Light the Way,” then the Targaryens were truly Fire and Blood.

The Riverlands burned. Flames danced across the fields and consumed the charred remains of those unfortunate enough to stand in their path. The sky echoed with the wails of the dying and the roar of a great emerald-black dragon—Ashara, ridden by Princess Alyssan. The soldiers kept their distance, their hands firmly on their weapons but their tongues silent. They knew better than to intervene in the wrath of a Targaryen, especially one aflame with a vengeance.

Her recent actions had earned Alyssan numerous epithets whispered among the common folk and lords alike: The Mad Dragon, Alyssan the Ruthless, and The Bloodthirsty Princess. The Mushroom mocking in their so-called wisdom, claimed she had lost her wits after the death of her second son, Prince Vagon. They said grief had hollowed her soul, leaving a cold, calculating monster willing to kill without a hint of remorse.

The cause of Otto Hightower’s death, meanwhile, had spread through letters and whispers. Prince Daeron himself had written to explain. Otto, once the King’s Hand, had been ambushed on the road to Highgarden, and captured by House Caswell’s men. Lady Caswell, it was rumored, had orchestrated the attack out of vengeance for her husband’s hanging—punishment for his loyalty to Rhaenyra and his defiance of the Green Council’s claim to the Iron Throne.

The elder Hightower’s fate was grim. Stripped of his titles and dignity, he was handed to Lady Caswell, who took her revenge swiftly. Stories of Otto’s severed head, mounted as a trophy, spread quickly. In retaliation, Daeron led his Hightower forces to Bitterbridge, setting the town and much of House Caswell’s castle ablaze. To spare her children, Lady Caswell took her own life, hanging herself in the castle’s gates as Daeron’s banners approached.

With her death, Lord Ormund Hightower took her surviving children as hostages, ensuring House Caswell would remain obedient. Meanwhile, Prince Aemond, the one-eyed scourge of the skies, arrived at Harrenhal soon after. The castle was an easy prize, its Strong defenders offering little resistance—an affront to the prince.

Simon Strong, too old and feeble to stand against Aemond, met his end in single combat with the prince, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground before the final blow. The rest of House Strong, from its women and elders to its youngest heirs, were slaughtered. All save one: Alys Rivers, whose life Aemond spared, claiming her as his bedmate. Rumors of the witch’s strange allure spread quickly through the camp.

The imposing halls of Harrenhal now teemed with Green soldiers, awaiting further orders from their commanders. Alyssan sat with Gwayne, who rarely left her side. The knight trusted neither the lowborn soldiers nor the Green turncoats, especially Ulf the White. A bastard dragon rider prone to boasting, Ulf's arrogance grated on the others.

Draped across Alyssan’s shoulders was a deep emerald cloak—a gift from Gwayne and a subtle reminder to all of her allegiance as his wife. The camp remained tense but relatively quiet until Ulf, his arrogance unchecked, approached the command circle where Alyssan sat.

“You’ve got red hair, Princess,” Ulf sneered, his voice heavy with mockery. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you were like me and the prince over there—a bastard.”

The insult barely left his lips before Gwayne launched himself forward, his fist connecting with Ulf’s jaw. The two men grappled, trading vicious blows until soldiers swarmed in to separate them, dragging them apart before bloodshed turned to murder.

Alyssan rose, stepping between them. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword as she fixed Ulf with a cold, piercing gaze.

“Do you know the difference between us, Ulf?” Her voice was sharp, each word dripping with disdain. Her lilac eyes burned with fury. “I am a trueborn Targaryen princess, born alongside King Aegon the Second, sharing our mother’s womb. Though my hair is red, my blood is fire and my heritage is unquestionable. You, however…” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You are a bastard—a pretender who dares to act as though he is equal to royalty. I suggest you hold your tongue before you lose it to the jaws of my dragon.”

Ser Criston Cole intervened, his voice urging peace as he separated Ulf from Gwayne. The scuffle ended, but Alyssan turned to her husband, her touch soft as she rested her hand on his bruised wrist.

“Gwayne,” she said gently, her thumb brushing over the reddened knuckles of his hand. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little,” he replied gruffly, his pride still simmering beneath the surface. “You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

Alyssan leaned down, placing tender kisses on his battered hand. Her lips brushed over each mark with a softness that made Gwayne’s heartache.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” she murmured, her eyes meeting his.

With a sly grin, he pointed to his cheek. She obliged, pressing a kiss there. Then, with a teasing smirk, he tapped his lips. Alyssan rolled her eyes but leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that deepened, the tension of the evening melting away between them.

As their embrace grew more fervent, Alyssan whispered, “I’m cold.”

Gwayne smiled against her lips, his arms slipping around her as he lifted her effortlessly. “I’ll warm you up, my princess,” he murmured, carrying her toward the bed as the chill of Harrenhal faded into the heat of their passion.

The young Hightower knight jolted awake, gripping his sword instinctively as a faint noise beyond the door stirred his senses. His heart pounded as he scanned the darkened room, his gaze softening briefly when it landed on his wife. She lay beside him, her delicate face peaceful in sleep, exhaustion evident after their earlier... activities.

Gwayne exhaled, his calloused hand brushing gently across her soft cheek. The touch stirred her, and her lilac eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep.

"I'm hungry," she murmured, her voice laced with lingering drowsiness.

"I’ll find something in the kitchens for you," he said, rising and pulling on a green cloak. Before stepping out, he ordered the guards stationed outside their chamber to remain vigilant, ensuring her safety while he was away.

As Gwayne traversed the damp halls of Harrenhal, the ruined castle’s eerie atmosphere pressed heavily on him. The sound of rain dripped through cracks in the scorched stone, remnants of its destruction by the legendary Balerion. Though soldiers patrolled the grounds, Gwayne couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of unseen eyes watching him.

“Can’t sleep, Ser?” a lilting voice broke the silence, making him tense. He turned to find Alys Rivers, her head tilted in a gesture of mock curiosity, her dark eyes glittering with something unreadable.

“My wife is hungry,” Gwayne replied curtly. “And I presume my nephew has fallen asleep, you wouldn’t be wandering the halls like this.”

Alys smirked. “Come, I’ll heat some milk for her. Pregnant women often have larger appetites, after all.”

Her words made him pause. "How do you know she's with child?"

“The whispers told me, Ser Gwayne,” she said, her tone almost conspiratorial. “She may not realize it yet, but the babe is there—your blood, not your nephew's.”

Though wary, Gwayne followed her to the kitchens, watching as she stirred milk over a low flame. Her movements were practiced, almost maternal, as she poured the warmed liquid into a wooden cup and held it out to him.

“Rest assured, there’s no poison in it,” Alys said with a knowing smile. “I am a mother, not a monster. But...” she trailed off, her smile turning melancholic. “It’s a shame you won’t live to see them grow.”

Before he could respond, Alys vanished into the shadows, leaving him standing alone in the dim kitchen. Shaking his head to dispel the unease, Gwayne cautiously sipped the milk. Satisfied it was safe, he carried the cup back to their chambers.

“You were gone a long time,” Alyssan said, her red hair cascading over her shoulders as she waited for him at the edge of the bed. “What kept you?”

“Nothing,” he replied, handing her the cup. “Drink this—it’ll help you rest.”

She accepted it with a small smile, sipping the warm liquid before setting it on the nearby table. Her gaze turned somber as she spoke, voice trembling.

“I dreamt of Vaegon... I saw him lying in his cradle, looking up at me. My poor boy... he didn’t deserve to die.”

Gwayne enveloped her in a firm embrace, his voice steady and comforting. “It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could to protect him that night. Please, forgive yourself.”

Tears streaked her pale cheeks as she leaned into his strength. He gently lifted her into his arms, carrying her back to bed. Settling beside her, he rested a hand tenderly on her stomach, a protective gesture that softened his usually stern demeanor.

“I’ll have the maesters examine you when we return to King’s Landing,” he murmured, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her abdomen. “Until then, rest, Alyssan. Whatever the future holds, we’ll face it together.”

Nestled in his arms, her breathing evened as sleep claimed her again. Gwayne lay awake, his mind churning over Alys’s cryptic words and the fragile hope that perhaps a new life was beginning amidst the ashes of so much loss.

The following morning, raised voices echoed from the courtyard, stirring Alyssan and Gwayne from their slumber. The sharp exchange seemed to involve Prince Aemond and Ser Criston. Gwayne quickly donned his tunic and descended to investigate, leaving Alyssan behind to dress.

In the courtyard, he saw Criston storming off, clearly agitated. Aemond stood composed, his hands clasped behind his back, his single violet eye fixed on Gwayne with a calm intensity.

“Uncle,” Aemond greeted, his voice cool. “Or perhaps I should call you brother-in-law now.”

Gwayne raised an eyebrow, silently urging the prince to continue.

“I need you and Princess Alyssan to return to King’s Landing at once. The Red Keep requires capable protection while Ser Criston and I handle the situation in the Riverlands—separately.”

Gwayne gave a brisk nod and turned back toward his chambers, finding Alyssan fastening the clasps of her traveling attire. He moved to assist her, his lips brushing against her shoulder in a fleeting kiss.

“The one-eyed prince has commanded we return to King’s Landing,” He murmured.

“Why so suddenly?” She asked, glancing at him with curiosity.

“He wants the Red Keep guarded while he and Cole address the unrest in the Riverlands. It seems they’re splitting up.”

Alyssan frowned. “And what of that woman? He hasn’t grown attached to her, has he?”

Gwayne chuckled softly. “He’s a prince. If he enjoys her company, it’s fleeting. Besides, he’s already bound by his agreement to marry a Baratheon.”

Accepting his explanation, Alyssan secured her sword before mounting her dragon with Gwayne's assistance. The journey from Harrenhal to King’s Landing was uneventful, though the air of the capital remained tense. Whispers about King Aegon’s injuries—and the rumors that his manhood was so badly burned it was now useless—had rendered the court oddly subdued. Even the typically brazen behavior of the maids seemed curbed in his presence.

Inside the Red Keep, Alyssan awaited Gwayne in their chambers, her mind preoccupied. When the door opened, Maester Orwyle followed Gwayne inside, carrying his usual instruments.

“Gwayne, I am perfectly fine—” Alyssan began, but the maester interrupted with a polite bow.

“If I may, Princess, I would like to perform a thorough examination.”

With her reluctant agreement, Orwyle went to work. After some time, he looked between the two and finally spoke, his tone bright. “Princess Alyssan is with child, Ser Gwayne.”

Her lilac eyes widened in shock, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach. “I-I’m pregnant?”

Gwayne dropped to his knees, his hands cradling her abdomen as if he could already feel the life stirring within. His face lit with unrestrained joy. “I’m going to be a father again! And Arron will have a sibling!”

Alyssan, still processing the news, gently stroked his hair. “I hope this time they’ll have your eyes, Gwayne.”

They shared a kiss, entirely forgetting the maester's presence. Flustered, Orwyle quickly excused himself, not wanting to intrude further. Alone once more, Alyssan leaned her forehead against Gwayne’s as the sound of small footsteps reached them.

Arron, their red-haired son, ran into the room with his nursemaid, Anna, trailing behind. The boy hugged Alyssan tightly, his little arms wrapping around her neck as she buried her face against his soft curls.

“You’re going to have a sibling, Arron,” Alyssan said gently. “I know it’s confusing, but it doesn’t mean we love you or Vhaegon any less. You will always have a special place in my heart.”

The boy frowned in the way only young children could, clearly unsure what to make of the news. His uncertainty was interrupted by the arrival of Queen Alicent. She entered the room, her expression carefully composed.

“Where is Aemond?” She asked, her gaze shifting between them.

“He’s handling matters in the Riverlands,” Alyssan replied, choosing not to mention Aemond’s rumored attachment to the Harrenhal woman. It was ironic, she thought, that the prince who despised bastards might take one as a mistress.

Alicent turned to Gwayne with a questioning look. He stepped forward, his smile warm. “I bring good news, sister. Alyssan is with child.”

The queen’s eyes widened in surprise. She murmured a polite congratulations and quickly excused herself, leaving the room before either could react.

Alyssan looked to Gwayne, perplexed. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Alyssan. She’s simply caught off guard.”

“She shouldn’t be too shocked,” Alyssan replied dryly. “Her brother married her daughter, and now they’re having another child.”

Gwayne chuckled, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “Let’s rest for now. Who knows what tomorrow holds?”

“We’ll need all the strength we can muster,” She agreed, her voice softening as she nestled against him.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

In the ****years after Aegon the Conqueror, two dragons soared above King’s Landing—Syrax and Caraxes. Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen had returned, ready to reclaim what was rightfully hers.

TBC.

[tracingpapier]

post-mecha sally au loredump ! long post warning :P

me being nerd about my au !! finally posting this lmao

SO it obviously takes place in pre-genesis wave continuity. obv the comics were kinda falling apart towards the end of the mecha sally arc (lawsuit hell etc etc) so i'm not the biggggest on how they were wrapping up that arc. this is more or less a big ol rewrite.

i think i would want the mecha sally arc to end with a big ol' super sonic battle... sal is an important character and i think the mecha arc deserves to go out with a big bang! (<- says the biased sally fan) so, i imagine eggman is pushing mecha sally to her absolute breaking point. he's got her supercharged on rings, but in a state that she just physically cannot keep up. this would give us some really cool visuals to work with; her robotic body just literally fraying and falling apart as she and sonic are fighting B). as much as he wants to, sonic can't afford to pull his punches. so the audience gets a really satisfying, no holding back fight. in his regular state, sal's really giving him a run for his money. it's looking like she's got him, despite being on the brink of just falling apart herself... but at the last second, he goes super! (someone airdrops him the chaos emeralds or something. work with me here) he's able to use his powers to subdue mecha sally/save the day etc.

after being returned to her organic form, sal takes everything really hard (yay drama!). she knows, logically, that she wasn't in control of her actions; she doesn't blame herself, per say, for her actions which she was roboticized. but being forced to watch herself hurt her friends against her will was still really traumatic nonetheless. additionally, she has to get used to living with her physical changes after being "upgraded" too (pardon the old ass art). it took her a bit of time to get used to the feeling of channelling ring energy, and also a bit of time to get the hang of summoning her ring blades at all.

she really struggles to look her friends in the eye afterwards. after things have returned to the status quo, she runs off for a bit herself and ends up staying with fiona, who, in this au, has broken off from scourge and the destrutix and minds her own business as an anti-hero/chaotic neutral character. the two have a rocky past, but have a really particular/peculiar bond. sal knows that she can turn to fiona without ever worrying about being judged for her actions.

after taking some time to recuperate and manage her emotional state, sal returns to mobotropolis to finally make amends with/reconnect with her old friends. she resolves to master her ring blades and to improve her fighting skills. her fighting style is super intense, very all-or-nothing. she gives it her all until she literally can't fight anymore. this kind of lends itself to her ring energy/power blades. she needs a constant supply of pure (ring) energy to keep them summoned, which she must have preemptively on hand, so any fights she gets into need to be resolved quickly.

sonic's the one who takes charge of her training. he's definitely one of the most powerful freedom fighters, but he's also the one she trusts the most. he's more than happy to help her (and just to have her back, frankly), but sometimes sparring with her can be a lot. especially when it reminds him so much of fighting her in her mechanized state.

sally resolves to herself that she'll never be captured and used as a pawn ever again. never again.

[davekat-sucks]

The thing that kills me with the "katnep are siblings" theory, is that Karkat did the troll ectobiology. He sent the beta trolls first and the dancestors second to Beforus, and then the opposite in Alternia

That makes Signless/Disciple have more chances of actually being related than Karkat/Nepeta. That is, assuming that BeforusKarkat and BeforusNepeta fucked.

Reminder that people still unironically think that Dirk&Roxy and Jake&Jane are related.

Kankri and Meulin get a pass because Meulin is in love with Kurloz. We learn nothing much about what they think about the other nor about how they feel about their adult selves being in love. That even extends to the Beforus ancestors. It's all a confusing mess when it comes to ectobiology and troll slurry. Like does that mean all the Beta Kids in general are siblings when John created them because they were born on that meteor itself? Or are they not because of the separate DNA each one is made from? Does it paradoxically make Karkat the father of the Beta Trolls he leads? So is he now considered an legal adult now and nobody can ship him with someone young because he is labeled as a dad? Most just go for the easy way and say "Don't think about it." At worst, people cherry pick which people are considered siblings. So things like Scourge Sisters for Vriska and Terezi, won't be a literal familial relationship for some.

[everybody-loves-purdy]

How would you rank the warrior cats villains?

I’m going to do two lists here I’m going to rank them from favourite to least favourite, and then rank them based on how objectively good villains I feel they are

I can’t fit every warriors villain or this list will go on forever but I’ll rank everyone notable (so not characters like Dodge and Stripe) and I won’t count cats I would consider henchmen (such as Bone and Darkstripe). And characters who have had a redemption arc I won’t include here either, this list is reserved for those with no regrets and went to the grave satisfied with their work (so no Skystar, Blackstar or Breezepelt here). Also cats that fit under the “antagonist” banner rather than “villain” won’t be included (I.e Berryheart, Tigerheartstar, Bramblestar).

I think I’ve got all the characters that can qualify for this list but if you feel I’ve forgotten anyone please let me know!

Alright all that out of the way, on with the list:

Fav ranking (Most to least)

Darktail. He’s just so cool, this guy is my second favourite warrior cat only behind Brightheart, he’s terrifying villain and an excellent character.

Scourge

Tigerstar 1

Hawkfrost. Fanon is probably influencing me more than canon here.

Mapleshade

Ashfur

Sol

Sleekwhisker

Brokenstar

One Eye. I honestly don’t remember much of him but I feel like he would rank higher if he was fresher in my mind. He should have lasted more than one book.

Fury. Wasted potential, cool backstory and appearance though.

Slash. Utter disappointment of an end of arc villain.

Thistleclaw. You know why.

Objectively best to worst

Darktail. I know I have a bias. And I know people are going to disagree here. But this guy brought 3 clans to their knees. He drove SkyClan out, ShadowClan literally stopped existing all together because of him. He has the highest known kill count of any warrior cat. And that’s just people he’s ended the life of himself, it’s not counting the many others who have died as a result of his actions. He’s physically strong and intimidating as well as a major manipulator and extremely sadistic. He uses kittypets as cannon fodder, he drowns cats to execute them, he ripped out his deputy’s eye just as a warning. There is just so much to say about this character that I won’t fit in here but he truly is excellent. And to top it all off, he actually achieved his goal, he got his revenge against his father. This current arc would absolutely not be happening without him.

Ashfur. Close second. I only say second because he failed in his goal to keep Squirrelflight to himself and all the other stuff was just kind of collateral damage. I also can’t get over the lack of explanation for how he actually achieves most of what he does. Oh well he almost destroys heaven and hell (by digging a tunnel, ok) and that definitely counts for something. His powers are scary and despite things being a little off the rails he’s still a scary and effective villain. Him as the imposter? Excellent and chilling.

Tigerstar 1. Close third.What can I say he’s a classic and serves his role excellently, what a fantastic first overarching villain for the franchise.

Mapleshade

Scourge

Brokenstar. Almost destroyed ShadowClan in his pursuit for conquest.

One Eye (again, I definitely need to read this guys book since I don’t remember too much)

Hawkfrost. Tigerstar lite

Sol. Very pathetic man but still managed to manipulate cats. He didn’t ultimately end up doing that much but still.

Thistleclaw.

Sleekwhisker. She barely qualifies for this list tbh, she’s definitely just another Kin henchman until River of Fire. Maybe one day she’ll come back and be great but what we have is just isn’t sorry. Conceptually she’s super interesting and cool but canon never quite delivers.

Fury. A massive waste of potential so now she’s just kind of forgettable.

Slash. I have to actively keep reminding myself he exists.

[semper-legens]

60. Bloodborne: The Lady of the Lanterns, by Bunn, Kowalski, and Simpson

Owned?: Yes Page count: Unknown/not numbered My summary: A boy shoots the monster that his mother has become. A hunter and her apprentice walk the streets of Yharnam, trying to keep the scourge at bay. A priest holes himself up inside his church, blocking his ears to the call to fight. Two children hide in their homes, waiting for their father's return. And through it all, the lady of the lanterns continues her dread song… My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

I've made it no secret that I really like Bloodborne. It's my favourite Soulsborne game, largely because it is the only one I have played. But regardless. A couple of times, I have talked on this blog about the Bloodborne comics, which at the time numbered exactly four. Well, I was in Forbidden Planet the other day, and it turns out that number has been raised to six - two new comics, this and Sunday's post, have come out since. So of course, I had to read them. And what did I find? Well, despite my disillusionment with the fourth Bloodborne comic, I found this one to be a highly engaging set of stories, loosely themed around the titular Lady of the Lanterns. Or, in other words, the Winter Lantern enemy from the game. Turns out they're just as hard to deal with in a graphic novel format. Who knew, right?

So this comic is a collection of shorter tales with a small narrative throughline - that of the hunters Gretchen and Abraham, and the children Lucien and Vivian, who are waiting for their father to come home with food. When we first meet him, Abraham is a scared child, wandering the streets after his mother became a beast. He manages to kill the beast with Gretchen's help, and she takes him on as an apprentice. Later, we see him fighting alongside Gretchen to help the people of Yharnam. Lucien and Vivian's father has implored them to stay inside, but Vivian is hearing the call of the lady of the lantern. She turns, and a hunter they've taken in needs to put her down - and Lucien runs into the street, surviving for a while before running into his dying father. He is taken on by Abraham as an apprentice, despite Gretchen's misgivings. This is told through snapshots and fragments of their lives as they affects the people of Yharnam in general - the story of a sheltering priest, of a wandering man, of an old hunter. We only catch glimpses of these main characters, in a manner that reminds me of how the game tells its story.

And speaking of, I really like the more serialised format here. It fleshes out Yharnam nicely - a casualty of the Soulsborne format is that we don't really get to see what Yharnam was like as a functioning city, nor learn much about its people. That's fine for the narrative that the game is telling, but I very much enjoyed this glimpse into what Yharnam and Yharnamites are usually like, much like the second volume of these comics. Knowing that there are more 'normal' people out there than the handful of hunters and doomed souls that we see in-game is heartening, even if their stories will by necessity end in tragedy. Not many people get a happy ending here. But the important thing is that they tried, and is that they fought, and is that they lived and did their best for each other, even when the very literal monsters were clawing at the door. That means something. And it's good to see here.

Next, more Bloodborne!

[corruptlight]

We're Together Again

SWTOR story (my legacy) because I cannot sleep LMAO also I just found this cool looking Lightsaber gif so I wanted to show ya.

The Jedi twins feel the shuttle land and silently walk out, feeling the dark side of the force emanate from Yavin 4. Something pulled at the younger sister, however, the same pull she felt in the past on other planets.

It reminded her so much of her eldest brother, though an adopted Pure Blood Sith, she didn't see him as anything but her brother. However, the topic ran deep because he was snatched away when she was 8 and the Sith that stole him murdered their father.

"Are you alright, Sylvi?" Her twin asks, known as the Hero of Tyhon and Slayer of The Emperor, his brow was furrowed while looking at her.

"I... I'll be fine, Trygve." Sylvi assures half-heartedly, which doesn't ease her brothers concern. Behind them stood Lord Scourge and Zenith, one was on high alert while the other stood as an unmoving pillar.

They wordlessly walk the rest of the way to the planning area for the coalition force. Sylvi spies the meeting and planning table where Grandmaster Satele Shan stood with her son Theron Shan (though it was a complicated situation) and Darth Marr with Lana Benkio. A handful of Republic and Imperial soldiers stand on their perspective ends with an unknown Sith Lord speaking to them with a Twi'lek by his side in the middle.

"...It's safer for us all if the Emperor stays in this state. It is my duty to deal with the Emperor, Revan will get the galaxy killed because he does not see he isn't strong enough."

Trygve knows who it is, working with him and Darth Imperious, who was meditating a meter away from the group. The male twin kept the identity of the sith from his sister, at his request, making him slow down as Sylvi raises an eyebrow at the sith.

Upon sensing a new presence behind him, the sith turns to look at the woman, only to silently gasp at who it was.

"Sylvi..." The sith breathes out, in utter shock and feels tears brim to the corner of his eyes.

Though all grown up and mature both knew who it was upon being so close and looking at each other.

"Víðarr..." Sylvi whispers, a single tear running down her cheek.

After a second, they both pull each other into a hug and hold each other so tight, as if they might vanish, never to return to each other. The Twi'lek steps away towards Trygve as the Hero of Tython pulls the now standing Imperious into a side hug.

"Hey, kiddo." Trygve whispers as the two watch the reunited siblings.

The two pull apart but keep a hand on the others shoulder, with their other hand on the hand.

"Later, little one." Víðarr murmurs to Sylvi, and the sister, in what felt like a life time, smiles genuinely with a hint of snark.

"I could kick your ass, my lord." She tells him while making fun of the lord title Víðarr now possessed.

"Uh huh, sure, oh wise, Barsen'thor." Víðarr jokes with a mocking bow.

"While I am one for you two reuniting, might I suggest we pick this up after we deal with their mad ancestor." Imperious, or Ingrid, suggests while gesturing to the Shan's.

"Yeah, don't forget torturing me to try join him." Theron remarks, making Sylvi huff in amusement.

"Yes, now we're altogether again, what's the plan?" Sylvi asks, knowing that now they were together Revan had no chance.

[savage-rhi]

Immortal Shield Chapter 36: Gods Bane III

**DM or comment if you want to be tagged in updates on tumblr

**To read previous chapters, hit this link

Tagging: @seradyn​

Chasing Noctis down was a feat Ardyn didn’t anticipate would be such a hassle. For every moment Ardyn came close to stopping him, there was always an obstacle to be met. Whether it be debris, a random object, or crownsguard getting in the way, Noctis was a step ahead. Ardyn at this point was unsure if this was the doing of Bahamut or his weary grand nephew at this rate. Maybe both. It was quite difficult to tell who was controlling the reins of the kings body. Ardyn sensed the turmoil nonetheless while he continued his pursuit. There was a battle residing within Noctis that couldn't be seen on the outside.

Ardyn was growing impatient. The scourge fired up his irritability and increased it by ten fold. He kept reminding himself however that something had to give. There were limitations to the human body, even if a God was attempting to hijack it for nefarious means. Ardyn had to keep going. He had to settle the score. He had to help Noctis.

Help Noctis…Gods above, Ardyn never thought he would be contemplating such pitiful sentiment. There was no way he could have foresaw anything akin to this experience happening months ago upon his resurrection day. As he traversed down a narrow hallway--with Noctis’s body flailing while he snarled mid run like a rabid beast-- Ardyn remembered the conversation he and Caelan had in the Scepter regarding his stance on involvement with his descendants. There were so many aspects of their conversation coming full circle. If he wasn’t so hellbent on ripping the soul of Bahamut apart, Ardyn might’ve laughed.

“You dare call me the coward earlier?!” Ardyn shouted. He stretched his right arm out. A shadow ball of energy launched itself from the palm of his hand, missing Noctis’s head by a inch as he turned a corner, nearly slipping in the process.

“Look at you running away! Now you know what it’s like being a mere man with everything to lose you damned god! So much for your talk about teaching me a grand lesson on pittance!”

"Adagium, thou test my patience and my wrath. I have control yet again. No more running."

Ardyn’s eyes widened as Noctis suddenly came to a halt. The kings screeching voice was a gravel mix of his own and the draconic Astral. Ardyn nearly slammed into Noctis, only to be punched backwards at the last second. Ardyn flinched, his head jerked to the right and the Sword of the Father came crashing down into his left shoulder. The blade dug deep, cutting through flesh and muscle fibers. The searing pain had Ardyn scream aloud while he broke free from the grasp of the weapon. His blood flung across the carpeting and wall. Noctis prepared to unleash an upper slash, only for Ardyn to counter with a horizontal before the attack could be completed. Ardyn cut through Noctis’s midsection, not enough to spill guts, but Rakshasa had made the wound bleed profusely.

"It was a mistake entrusting fate to thou and thy kin in the past. I will ensure New Eos never seeds the likes of your blood."

“There won’t be a New Eos!” Ardyn shouted in between attacks. “Not if I kill you first!”

"If thou kills me thy slay the King of Light. Thou purged his blood twice for the selfish desires of healing and death. Monster thou is. More so than I."

“Healing people was never a mistake! And I never wished to be a kin slayer! You played both Noctis and I for pawns in your grand scheme to be rid of the scourge! You destroyed my brother’s soul and took away my beloved! You gave me no repentance, only suffering! Don’t you dare deny it!” Ardyn yelled. His daemonic aura pulsed violently around his body to counter the emerging light that was overtaking Noctis’s form. Rakshasa and the Sword of the Father continued to strike one another with equal ferocity to their respective masters. Their fight became chaotic and unpredictable, eventually sending them both from the hallway and into the large audience chamber of the citadel, agility and power evenly matched.

"Do thee truly wish to repeat the same mistakes? Thy is at fault for many said consequences, not myself."

“The only mistake I see here, is you screwing with the wrong bloodline!” Ardyn bellowed, managing to break out of his deadlock with Noctis. He kicked the king square in the chest, sending Noctis barreling down the chamber. Ardyn performed a series of warp strikes before Noctis had a chance to land on his feet. He made several decisive cuts throughout Noctis’s body. The arms and where the major tendons lay, the upper and lower thighs, and the right side of his torso behind the hips. Each attack strategic to ensure he wouldn't outright kill the boy.

When Ardyn finished, he disappeared into a cloud of black smoke and moved away. Noctis hit the floor with a loud crash. Several agonizing yells escaped his lips while Bahamut tried to force the body back onto its feet. The draconic deity was met with great struggle. Violent shudders and disorienting movements left Noctis with every gesture of his flesh as Bahamut tried to force his will upon the king.

"No!!!"

Bahamut shouted through his host, managing to rise onto feeble knees. Noctis’s entire right arm quaked with burning pain from the slices to the tendons Ardyn performed. He could barely grip the Sword of the Father, the hilt trembled in hand even with the assistance of the left.

“Now I’m free at last. Free to end you…”

Ardyn grunted, he collapsed onto one knee while using Raksasha to steady himself and his other leg. His left shoulder throbbed. The warmth of Ardyn's blood traveled down his skin, sending a shudder down his spine. He could feel the will of the scourge beckon him to approach Bahamut, and so he did just that. Ardyn forced himself to his feet, struggling for a time and then began his descent towards his opponent. Growls and inhuman rasps left his mouth while he grit his sharp teeth, his left hand gestured outward. Ardyn felt a powerful energy rise to his palm, seemingly being drawn from every nerve ending in his body. It was as if the scourge was manifesting into a singular point and was preparing itself for a final strike. That was the best way Ardyn could describe it to himself. He had never felt anything like this before during his time of affliction.

“Ardyn, wait!”

He suddenly came to a halt. Ardyn's hand remained outstretched as he looked over Noctis’s body and saw a familiar face come into vision from one of the grand hallways and into the audience chamber. A face that reminded him all too well of Aera. One that haunted Ardyn and had him incredibly enraged after he slayed her in cold blood.

“Lady Lunafreya--!” Ardyn swallowed, his black and gold eyes carded over her in a matter of seconds. She winced, her right hand grabbed a hold of her swollen belly while she ran with her trident. It dawned on Ardyn that she was with child. He let out a gasp, fully realizing the danger not only she was putting herself in, but that of her infant being here in this mess. He could already see it now, how Bahamut would exploit something so precious to get ahead. Ardyn understood because had he been in the Astral’s position, he too would’ve contemplated such a heinous plot. Yet unlike him, Ardyn knew Bahamut had the will to ensure his hostage wouldn’t get out of this alive.

“Stay back, don’t play the hero! It’s too dangerous!” Ardyn shouted.

“Ardyn, we have to put Noctis to sleep it’s the only way for the scourge to---!” Lunafreya’s voice hitched while she screamed out. Bahamut, through Noctis, drew up enough strength to teleport behind Lunafreya. Her trident disappeared. The blade of Noctis's sword was pressed firmly to her throat, already drawing blood. Her eyes were painted with shock, her breathing quickened further making the sharp stings of the blade to her flesh more prominent.

When Ardyn focused long enough, he could see the usual colors most humans could comprehend blend into shades that were unfathomable. It was akin to a reptile picking up a heat signature. He could hear Lunafreya’s pulse and see the erratic beat of her heart. Goosebumps traveled down his arms and legs upon sensing the little one's palpitations. It seemed to be reacting strongly to the stress of its parent. Ardyn felt his own heart break, whatever empathy he had tried in vain to hide from most leaked through as he pleaded and screamed at his adversary.

“Your quarrel is with me! Let her go!”

"Move an inch, and she perishes, Adagium."

Ardyn froze in place. The rage that pooled into his eyes would’ve broken the will of any other mortal man, but the Astral didn’t blink through his host. He could feel the might of the scourge urging him on. If such a thing could speak in tongues, Ardyn imagined it telling him that Lunafreya and the life of her child were worthy sacrifices to destroy Bahamut. However, he couldn’t go through with it. No matter what madness coursed through his entire being, or how corrupted his soul had become, Ardyn had a cardinal rule he’d never break no matter how lost he was: he’d never harm a child. Even if it cost him. Memories of Verstael’s cloned babes ran amok through his mind, and how despite convincing Verstael it was a more cost effective investment versus picking off stragglers in Gralea for experimentation, Ardyn never himself laid a finger on the infants. Nor the other kids who happened to catch the eye of the research chief. He had no doubt his indirect actions cost the lives of many kids, but it was easier to digest than if he killed them with his bares hands.

"Lay down Raksasha, and give thyself to me. Only then, will thy guarantee Lady Lunafreya’s safety and the life of the unborn."

Ardyn’s grip around the hilt of his blade tightened. He slowly and with caution--never taking his eyes off Noctis--knelt down and placed the crimson sword at his feet. Ardyn could feel on a primal level the blade calling out to him much like the scourge. Rakshasa desperately sent off vibrations to indicate Ardyn needed its protection. He ignored it, and carefully rose back up.

"Approach me, Adagium."

Ardyn grimaced, picking up on the slight amusement the Astral displayed through Noctis’s voice. He hesitated, then took the first step and then the next. Soon enough, Ardyn was walking right into the hands of the dragon king, ignoring every plead and instinct he had telling him not to do it. He paused in his steps, shaking his head at Lunafreya, for she attempted to gasp out loud and tell Ardyn to stop. Once she settled, Ardyn pressed forward until he was less than five feet away from both Lunafreya and Noctis.

“Here I am,” Ardyn gestured his arms out, further proving the point that he had no ace up his sleeve. No trick or other plan to pull at the last second. This was as vulnerable as Ardyn could get. The aura of the scourge began to behave erratically, pulling in the opposite direction as if it were afraid to be in the presence of Bahamut. A far cry from before when the Astral was in a weaker position.

“Let Lady Lunafreya be at peace, and you shall have your vengeance upon me.” Ardyn said firmly. “I yield to you.”

"The wisest choice thou has made in--!"

Before Bahamut could finish the last of his words, an electric shock traveled through Noctis’s right leg while the sound of a gun fired off. He had been shot. With the wounds Ardyn had already inflicted upon him during their battle, Noctis dropped the Sword of the Father. The weapon clanged to the floor as Lunafreya quickly bottled out of his grasp. Snarling with an inhuman growl, Noctis turned to attack whoever bested him only to be met with a body sprinting at him full force.

“I’m so sorry, bud! You gave me no choice!” Prompto exclaimed, tackling Noctis to the ground. The two struggled with Prompto attempting to seize Noctis and prevent him from moving.

“C’mere!” Ardyn murmured harshly upon arriving to Lunafreya’s side. He cautiously placed a hand on her shoulder, the other at the small of her back to support her body, and moved her away from the scene. Despite his left arm hurting like hell and beyond, Ardyn coaxed Lunafreya to lean on him while she collected herself.

They didn’t have much time. Ardyn didn’t anticipate Prompto could hold his own for long against Noctis at the rate things were going, but he needed to find out what the queen was alluding to before Bahamut tried to play dirty.

“Are you alright?”

Lunafreya nodded.

“I’ll be fine. Ardyn, we need to get Noctis to sleep.” She took in a deep breath and continued. “I received a vision---that Noctis must rest in order to keep Bahamut trapped in the Astral Plane. If he remains awake, Bahamut will come forth through him. You---the scourge---it’s the key.”

“The key?” Ardyn shook his head. His daemonic features flared a bit as he rapidly fired off.  “The key, what key?”

“The key,” Lunafreya once more drew in a deep breath. Her legs trembled while her right arm rubbed small circles into her abdomen, trying to soothe the kicks from her infant. “To destroying him. For good.”

“That’s impossible! You can’t permanently kill a god! You should know that more so than anyone else!”

“If it were true as you say, then why are you here? Why else would you fight so hard to defend any of us?” Lunafreya furrowed her brows. The pleading look she gave to Ardyn not to doubt himself had him going through an avalanche of emotions. “You know--somewhere deep down--you know I’m right.”

Ardyn glanced up from Lunafreya and back to the commotion with Noctis and Prompto. The former managed to grab a hold of Prompto by the throat, hoisting him into the air while crushing the retainers wind pipe. The gagging sounds that left Prompto as he desperately tried to claw his way out of the vice grip had Bahamut chuckle through Nocits.

"Foolish boy."

“Take this!”

"...!!!"

Ardyn performed a warp strike from behind, hitting the hilt of Rakshasa right against the back of Noctis’s neck upon summoning the blade. Noctis dropped Prompto within seconds, his eyes began to turn dull and near lifeless while he fell unconscious upon the floor. Taking advantage of the opportunity for a break, Ardyn leaned against one of the marble pillars near. He slouched some, gathering his strength so he’d be ready for another round with the Astral. Ardyn dropped Rakshasa. The blade disappeared for the time being.

Prompto scrambled away from the scene and immediately got up. His right hand held his throat while he coughed several times.

“Prompto, are you well?” Lunafreya’s voice was filled with concern especially when she saw the finger indentations upon his flesh.

“I’ll--I’ll be crystal!” He gave a thumbs up.

“Get Noctis onto his back!”

“Wait--! B-but why?”

“I’m going to perform a sleeping ritual to keep Noctis faint!”

“If you do that, it might hurt you!”

“We have no time, Prompto! We’re going to lose Noctis if we don’t act! We have to help Ardyn!”

Ardyn turned his head, his gaze fixed on both Prompto and Lunafreya while they descended upon Noctis’s body. Prompto grabbed his legs, while Lunafreya grasped a hold of the kings arms. They carefully flipped him so he was resting on his back against the floor. Prompto ran out of the audience chamber to bring more aid while Lunafreya stood at her husbands feet. She took in a deep breath as both her hands firmly grasped onto her trident that she summoned.

Closing her eyes, Lunafreya began to murmur which then grew into a long winded chant with little to no breaks in between. A bright golden light encircled Noctis. Rune like sigils appeared out of thin air, dancing around in a similar fashion the royal arms would perform upon summoning. Ardyn hadn’t seen anything like this for a long time. He knew if Aera were alive, she’d be proud to see her descendent performing such a feat.

Ardyn couldn't believe Lunafreya was pulling a stunt like this given her condition. He imagined Caelan in her shoes. Carrying a babe and trying to fight off a powerful entity. There was no way he could’ve sat back and watched. A part of Ardyn knew that if Noctis was himself, he more than likely would’ve had the same contemplation. Having a woman carry a child was already asking for too much as far as he was concerned. Ardyn shook his head, knowing this wasn’t Noctis’s fault yet he couldn’t help but feel the king wasn’t pulling his weight.

“What am I to do while you chant?” Ardyn hollered. He limped over, standing ten feet behind Lunafreya. He could hear her slow down the enchantment, letting out a hushed but firm whisper.

“Get ready to fight.”

She said it so simply, her voice devoid of emotion that Ardyn felt a chill go down his arms. Lunafreya picked up where she left off. No other questions need be said. Ardyn gestured out with his right arm. Rakshasa answered to his inner call and he prepared. Ardyn breathed deeply, tensing his body up while the scourge flared all throughout his limbs. He became engulfed in shadows while the horns upon his head grew longer. There was a murderous determination that began to spread deeply in his golden hues as Ardyn looked ahead.

The light and runes Lunafreya conjured suddenly snuffed out. She let out a gasp. This wasn’t supposed to happen! She thought to herself. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She remained still, eyes glancing around the room before a sudden burst of white light erupted from Noctis’s body. It was blinding as Lunafreya covered her eyes with her hands and arms. Following up the white light was a cerulean blue that moved through the air like a serpent uncoiling, eventually giving shape to Bahamut.

The astral projection of the great god flared it’s four wings out, his arms following suit. A rageful bellowing cry exited Bahamut and reverberated through the layers of armor he wore.

"I will not be condemned by an Oracle and a monster of my own making!"

Ardyn felt his legs sprint, and midway through his run he jumped. His body flew into the air while he gripped the hilt of Rakshasa with all his strength, raising it above his head. Time began to slow for him as the scourge bubbled and pulsed around his body, and as Ardyn yelled out an inhuman cry, Bahamut’s hands desperately tried to reach the center of his chest to keep the blade from piercing his armor. The moment Rakshasa came into contact with the Astral, both Ardyn and Bahamut disappeared in a thick mist of light within the audience chamber, leaving Eos behind them.

The first thing Ardyn registered was his body feeling weightless. He blinked several times, and then the familiar gravity of the Astral Plane resonated. He remembered this place very well. The hues of purples, blues, and white collided and mixed like oil and water; with stardust moving against the atmosphere like low tides trapped within a current. There was a deep serenity to this realm that couldn’t be matched by what creature comforts Eos had to offer. That is, until Ardyn looked ahead and saw his adversary.

Bahamut wasn’t large and imposing like he normally was the few times Ardyn had stared him down face to face. The draconic figure stumbled, gripping his own sword tightly and every so often would use it as a crutch. The gesture was akin to watching a feeble old man relying on the use of his walking stick to get by. Ardyn couldn’t help but huff, immediately capturing the darkened gaze of his enemy.

“Not so holier than thou anymore. are you?” Ardyn couldn’t help but rub salt in the wound.

"I am prepared to offer thou a truce."

“A truce?!” Ardyn made a face, he shook his head. A part of him wanted to laugh hard until his sides hurt, the other was mad beyond all reason. “After everything you’ve done to me and the world, you expect us to break bread!? What could you possibly offer that would have me not yearn to slit your throat?!”

"I wish to purge Eos and begin anew. This New Eos, will be free of darkness. All will be of foison and light. Thou has sacrificed much for this desolate world. I am prepared to bless thee with a gift. Perish among the flock, and be reborn anew in my universe. 2,000 years thy has been the Adagium. Thou will receive 2,000 years of sustenance and peace. Thou will never know pain, will never know sadness, will never meddle in the affairs of gods again. Thy will is strong. I know thou to be a man of vision. Hence why thou was chosen to be the vessel of the blight. The bloodline runs strong from it’s predecessor, myself. I who hath sown the seeds of Caelum before the sun cast its gaze upon Eos. Made in my image and honor they would be."

Ardyn’s jaw slightly hung agape. He felt his pulse thud deeply in his chest, radiating through his neck as he registered the weight of Bahamut’s plead, and the deeper truth the Astral alluded to. There had always been a familiarity the dragon king held that Ardyn couldn’t put a finger on. The eyes. The eyes were striking like that of most from the Lucis Caelum lineage. Like that of his brother. It clicked. The progenitor of his entire family, starting since the beginning of Eos, was none other than the god that condemned him numerous times to a hell he wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

Ardyn bit his bottom lip, his head bowing while he gripped Raksasha to self soothe. He didn’t want to know anymore than that.

"I wish to give thee another gift."

Ardyn forced his daemonic eyes to stare back into the shielded hues that reminded him so much of Somnus.

"I will give back what has been taken. Thy Oracle of the past, in exchange for present traveler at thou’s side. Equal and befitting. Thy Oracle be reborn anew with thou."

Something inside of Ardyn snapped. He was filled with an unquenchable rage at being offered something so barbaric. The faces of both Aera and Caelan arrived in his mind. There was no way Ardyn could do that, trade one soul for the other. Both people were of equal importance to him in different eras of his life. They were not pawns for his gains. They were his loved ones, his chosen family. Something this Astral would never live to comprehend.

Ardyn launched himself towards the Astral with the strength of twenty men. Rakshasa clashed with the Bahamut's primary sword. Soon both entities summoned their respective Royal Arms, and the phantom weapons which acted as extra limbs for their masters, clashed into an oblivion like no other while Ardyn and Bahamut were locked in combat. Metal grinding against metal. Blood for blood traded. They fought until it felt that centuries passed in seconds, and seconds passed in lifetimes. Everything began and would end here. Both of them knew this.

During the confrontation, Ardyn managed to break through some of the dragon’s defenses. There was an exposed piece in his breastplate, aimed straight for the heart. Every nerve, cell, and atom in Ardyn’s body compelled him to strike this spot with the scourge.

Bahamut cut into his right leg, throwing Ardyn off balance. Soon after, the other was incapacitated. Ardyn fell to his knees, and Bahamut’s eyes widened with victory as he rose his primary blade high into the air, and began it’s fall upon Ardyn’s neck. There was nothing the Adagium could do to stop it, for time was not on a mortals side in this place unlike the Astrals.

"This will end it!"

The edge of the blade met Ardyn’s neck, however it didn’t cut through his flesh, only grazed. A small river of blood fell down Ardyn’s scourge infested body. Bahamut began to quake. Quivering gasps the Astral while shock gave birth to primal fear. The likes of which Bahamut never had experienced during its entire existence among the stars. The dragon king forced himself to look down, seeing Ardyn’s left hand had pieced through the opening of his breast plate, and was inside of his form. The hunger of the starscourge began to radiate and pulse, slithering through the very structure of Bahamut’s being and enveloping him into a particle cloud of darkness.

“Whatever hell you arrive in, I want you to remember this...” Ardyn sneered, looking straight into Bahamut’s cold blue eyes while he witnessed the orbs roll into the back of the Astral’s skull. “Even gods die like men!”

Ardyn shut his own eyes, unleashing a bloodcurdling yell as the scourge pooled out of his body and straight into Bahamut’s like a virus. Every pain, rage, and sadness, Ardyn  had kept bottled inside since his resurrection flooded the entirety of the draconian. Centuries of sacrifice and heartbreak left with the scourge as it zapped away what little life force Ardyn had left from the battle. Ardyn could feel Bahamut violently rip apart in agonizing seconds. The armor covering the Astral’s body rusted away into stardust while the body became a vanquished void that dispersed upon the scourge finishing up it’s meal. Then there was nothing. Nothing but Ardyn and the cosmos.

Ardyn, still on his knees, collapsed. He curled up into a ball, closing his eyes. It was finally over. He couldn’t believe it. It was finally done. He smiled which gave birth to laughter. Joy he hadn’t experienced in centuries radiated through the core of his soul.

The dragon king was vanquished permanently.

Everyone he had ever loved and cared for, was truly avenged.

This bloodline, at least this side, would end with him.

He was dying.

Yes, he could feel it. The quiet calm he had discussed at length with Caelan. The one he remembered after losing to Noctis. It seemed his time was at its end too.

"So soon?"

While catching his breath, Ardyn felt the cold chill of a familiar entity. He forced his eyes open, but felt too weak to hoist his head up. He stared at the feet of the Glacian, Shiva. Her skin pale as fresh snow. He couldn’t be bothered to stare up at her eyes nor take in the rest of her form.

“I thought…you were all in stasis.” Ardyn said weakly. The toll of purging the scourge from himself and into Bahamut was causing him to lose consciousness. He desperately tried to find the strength to keep himself awake, wanting answers for the sudden intrusion of another Astral. He prayed he didn’t have to fight another. There was no way he could hold his ground.

"We are still sleeping, and we dream of a time we may return to Eos. I’m merely a fragment of the whole who is Shiva, the Glacian."

“What tidings do you bring me?” Ardyn tiredly croaked out.

"Truth."

“Truth?” Ardyn repeated, his brows furrowed with confusion. His eyes remained shut but active. He quickly glanced underneath his eyelids, following the echoing sound of Shiva’s holy voice while she encircled around him. Her freezing touch followed suit.

"Three years ago your time, we Astrals sensed the stirrings of Bahamut’s rage rise through the stars. He was regenerating faster than any of us. 10,000 cold times must pass before we rise again amongst mortals. We collectively knew we wouldn’t be able to stop Bahamut from purging Eos into obliteration with Teraflare. Only the starscourge could ensure Bahamut would never again pose a threat to Eos or it’s children. The starscourge is a natural phenomenon of the cosmos. Just as humans are at the top of the food chain of Eos, we Astrals are part of one too. The scourge offers us the true death. Bahamut feared it so much, he wished to control it through his chosen when it arrived in this universe. It was his deepest wish, to weaponize the scourge for his own means under the guise of purifying Eos."

“The true bane of the gods.” Ardyn murmured, trying hard to keep up with the information he was being thrown.

"Yes. Bahamut feared it being used against him. Hence why he was cold to you and your kin after you were chosen. Much like your brother Somnus fooled the people of Lucis into believing magic could only come from the Lucis Caelum bloodline, Bahamut too fooled you into never tapping into the scourges full potential to turn against him. He broke you and many others until you had no will but to carry out fates cruel plan."

Ardyn let out a shallow breath. He had never felt so many mixed emotions before. They rivaled that of the ones he experienced earlier, learning Bahamut had given birth to his dynasty.

“So…was it you who brought me back from the land of the dead?”

"Yes. Myself and the others. Ifrit paid a higher sacrifice than all of us. Giving up what he had regenerated in five years to ensure your life force returned untainted. He will have to wait an additional 10,000 cold times before arriving with his brethren."

“Huh,” Ardyn shuddered, bundling up more. It certainly explained some of his traits. Of all of them, Ifrit was the last god Ardyn thought would help him in that manner considering their less than mutual past. A question beckoned him to refocus.

“Why did it have to be me?”

"We couldn’t descend from our slumber and take on Bahamut, so we awoke you from your sleep. We placed the darkness back inside of you, but free of thousands to lessen the pain. You had bore the curse of the scourge for centuries. There was no other human we could think of that would be strong enough to carry this heavy burden."

Ardyn tiredly forced himself to unravel, lying flat on his back while his hands stretched outward. Several deep breaths exited his body as sore muscles became numb and sensation a foreign concept. His eyes continued to dance behind his lids, caught between the realm of sleep and that of life.

“So, what happens now?” He muttered. He was so damned tired. Ardyn wasn't sure how much longer he could last.

"You will be given two choices."  

“Choices?” He repeated quietly.

"Yes. You can live out the lifetime you were robbed of. Forge new paths, much like you have done while wandering Lucis before your fates arrival. Peace."

“And the other?” Ardyn heard the glacial chuckle. He shuddered, not knowing if it was sincere or out of malice.

"You may return to your eternal rest, and in dreams you will run against the particles of eons come and gone with your loved ones, and all who have or ever will be lost. You will forget the world in which you awoke. It will be as if it never was. Peace."

Ardyn could see it. The field of wheat and the tree in which Aera and he called their favorite spot in all of Lucis. He could smell the earth. Fresh petrichor permeating in the air. He saw the faces of not only Aera, but Somnus awaiting for him underneath the shade of the oaks mighty branches. He saw his parents. He saw friends whose names he had forgotten. His mentors. People from his era, smiling at him with the warmest of welcomes. He was seen and he was wanted. He was missed.

Ardyn was crying, his smile never ceasing to leave as Shiva crouched down at his side and her cold fingertips cupped either side of his face.

“I’ve decided.” Ardyn said happily.

Shiva nodded, pressing her lips to his forehead.

"You chose well, your grace. Farewell, Ardyn Lucis Caelum."

[iamfabiloz]

this is a very mentally ill request of me... however.... scourge thinking about quince mayhaps?

YEAAH!! Sorry this took me a bit I reread a million timez to make sure it’s okay I hope u like it scourge :]

The street lights flickered on and off like lazy fireflies, the warm glow lighting up the dull city streets. Stringy telephone pole wires quivered as pigeons clung to them, flapping their gray feathered wings to steady themselves. A few dim white lights burned from the inside of Twoleg structures, little spots of brightness among the gray. 

A cold wind ruffled the back of Scourge’s neck as he looked above at the pink dawn sky. Gloomy, gray clouds were beginning to form on the horizon, and the black tom could taste the humidity hanging in the air. Soon, rain would fall down upon the BloodClan cats and they would drink heartily, happy to have fresh, clean water instead of lapping from dirty puddles. He had instructed Bone and Brick to collect as much water as possible in garbage cans, and other Twoleg containers. His cats would need them in order to last them ‘til the next shower. 

The sound of Twoleg cars speeding and yowling interrupted his stream of thoughts. Scourge wrinkled his muzzle. Those things were quite infuriating. He didn’t mind when they rolled by occasionally on the stony gray road, but when multiple zoomed past they were always incredibly loud. They always would bumble about noisily, the Twolegs inside their bellies looking out through the glass windows with their hairless faces. 

The BloodClan leader stood perched upon the roof top of a tall brick building; it provided the best vantage point for Scourge to survey his territory. It also was a nice place to get away from everyone else, somewhere he could truly be alone with his thoughts. He gazed down at the narrow alley below him. 

Cats were shifting around in one of the dumpsters, picking at saggy black garbage bags for extra pickings. One skinny ginger tom hooked his claws into a bag’s corner and ripped at it fiercely. A stream of half-eaten chicken and rice spilled out at his feet. The tom and the other cats beside him greedily descended upon the food, hissing excitedly. Scourge twitched his ears, approving of his their resourcefulness. 

Suddenly, a tiny mewl sounded from below him. Scourge turned to look at where the source of the sound had come from.

A little black and white kitten was scampering along the sidewalk, crying pitifully out for its mother. The tiny tom didn’t look old enough to be on his own. Scourge tensed, ready to spring down and help the kit, but a gray she-cat suddenly burst from behind a corner and ran over to the lost child. She scooped him up in her jaws and purred reassuringly. The kit’s mother, Scourge thought, feeling something contort inside of his chest. Though he was quite a few feet away from the pair, he could see the cat’s smoky gray fur clearly. An unexpected pang jabbed at his heart.

It reminded him so much of…her. For a split second, an idiotic idea wormed its way into Scourge’s head. Maybe it was her. Maybe she had come looking for him? It could be possible. 

But then the she-cat turned her head and Scourge’s fragile hopes sank. 

The she-cat had a completely different face; her nose bridge was thinner, one of her ears had a pale scar on the inside, and she had a small white spot on her muzzle. 

It wasn’t her. It wasn’t his Mama. 

The she-cat then turned the corner again, disappearing from view with her kitten. Her gray tail whisked around the block and Scourge shut his eyes tight, almost painfully so. Another gust of wind brushed his dark fur.  

He missed his mother. He missed Mama. 

He thought of her warm gray pelt and amber eyes that sparkled lovingly. He thought of her licking his scruffy head soothingly when Socks and Ruby had played too roughly with him. He thought of the soft nest he had shared with her, the Twoleg blankets velvety beneath his paws. He thought about rolling around in the backyard grass with her, the wooden fence looming overhead.

She had been the only cat who had truly cared for him when he was young. The only one who had comforted him when he felt down about his littermates. The only cat he trusted with his life. 

The memories of his kithood were all drenched in misery, all expect for his beloved Mama. She was the bright spot he kept coming back to, no matter how hard he tried to move past her and focus on his vengeful future. Her words kept echoing inside his head. 

Those savages are a scourge on the name of all good cats.

Scourge shook out his fur like he was shaking out a flea. 

Would she be proud of me now? For leading BloodClan? For killing the cats I’ve had to in order to keep the peace? Scourge wondered, heaving a low sigh. Or would she think I’m a brutish savage? Scourge hissed quietly, scraping his reinforced claws on the stone beneath him. I mustn’t think like that. She isn’t here to see how my life has turned out. Her opinion on what I’ve become doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t. 

But despite Scourge repeating the thought in his mind countless times, he still felt a trickle of doubt. Anger stirred deep within his belly and he stared hard at the  brick wall across from him, trying to distract himself from his immature uncertainty. The cats who had feasted upon the chicken and rice were curled up in the bins, bellies full from a good meal. Scourge tried to force himself to feel an inkling of satisfaction, but nothing but emptiness squeezed his his insides. He sighed unpleasantly and finally let his prying thoughts win, but only for a moment.

Despite being a full grown tom and leader of a an alley full of strong, scrappy stray cats, whom he had worked so hard to build up, a small part of him, bigger than he’d like to admit, longed to be a kit again. To be Quince’s little son again. To be Tiny. He thought of the possible timeline where he wouldn’t have been thrown in the river by the Twolegs if he stayed. He would have grown up with Mama all to himself, with no Socks or Ruby to bully and berate him. No littermates meant that Quince would never like them more than him, she would love him, only. 

Being a kittypet would mean never going hungry, never feeling the chill of winter against his fur, never having to worry about all the things he did now as an outdoor feline. He thought about curling up in a fluffy kittypet nest, Mama grooming his pelt like he was a kitten again and telling him that it was all going to be okay. 

A guttural growl rumbled deep inside his throat, but he kept on imagining fake scenarios after fake scenario in his mind. 

Play fighting in the garden. Looking out the window of the Twoleg den at the world outside. Eating bowls of kitty kibble and drinking creamy milk. Basking in the sunlight beaming from the open window, Quince chortling as the exposure turned his black fur a shade ginger. 

Mama and him napping near the fireplace, their pelts warmed by the flickering orange flames. 

He would’ve lived a soft life, a happy life with his dear mother. 

Would it be worth it? Scourge mused, flicking his tail uneasily. The kitten that had once been Tiny, mewed a resounding yes. But adult Scourge frowned deeply and shook his head. 

No, he thought. He could never go back to that life. It wasn’t possible, it could never be. I don’t want it now anyways, Scourge thought, trying to reassure himself. I wouldn’t be the cat I am now if I had stayed. I wouldn’t be me. Without all the hurt and hardship I’ve endured…I would still be Tiny. 

He wasn’t that meek little kitten anymore. He was Scourge, feared leader of BloodClan and son to no one. All he had was himself and his cats now. Bone and Brick were his loyal lieutenants and he had a place here with them. He couldn’t just throw it all away to live a day dream. He still had plans to complete, orders to give out. He had a duty to himself and to all his cats in the alley. 

Quince had been part of his past life, the one that didn’t exist anymore. Though a minuscule part of him would always want to be a kittypet again and live a comfortable life with his Mama, he knew it was a foolish fantasy, one that would never be fulfilled. There was no use dwelling on it now, it would only slow him down. Though he reassured himself of that fact, his heart twisted with misplaced emotion, and he struggled to push it down again. 

The Twoleg cars along the street honked and beeped in booming unison, drowning out any further thoughts on the matter, and for once, Scourge was grateful for it. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[no--envies]

The destruction of the Tiger Seal and Wei Wuxian’s death

A really popular theory in the fandom is that WWX died destroying the Tiger Seal, either because of an explosion of all the energy it had accumulated or because trying to destroy it affected him to the point that he couldn’t control the resentful energies anymore. This theory often implies the destruction of the Tiger Seal was a relatively fast process and that WWX started to destroy it when the sects besieged the Burial Mounds, because he didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.

However, the novel explicitly contradicts this theory:

It wasn’t as though Wei Wuxian, after forging such calamity, had refused to destroy it. However, creating the thing had been difficult enough; destroying it was every bit as difficult, and demanded an incredible amount of his time and energy. Moreover, by then, he already vaguely sensed that his own situation was precarious, and sooner or later, everyone would turn on him. The immense power of the Yin Tiger Tally meant that no one dared touch him while he was wielding it—thus, Wei Wuxian kept it, for the time being. He only split the tally into two, so that anyone attempting to use it would first have to put both pieces together. Furthermore, he decided never to use it without thinking carefully through the consequences.

In all, he only ever used it two times, and both times, it shed rivers of blood. The first was during the Sunshot Campaign, and after the second time, he finally found the determination to destroy it. One half, he completely obliterated. But before he was able to finish disposing of the other, the Siege of the Burial Mounds descended upon him. He had no control over the events that followed.

(Chapter 30, Fan Yiyi translation)

This passage is very clear: WWX had completely destroyed the first half of the Tiger Seal before the siege happened. At the time, he was in the process of destroying the second half, but then he died and couldn’t do anything about it anymore. It’s also stated that destroying the Tiger Seal required an incredible amount of time and energy, which was one of the reasons he hadn’t decided to destroy it earlier.

Given the amount of resentful energy the Tiger Seal contained, it’s not surprising that both creating it and destroying it were such difficult processes. Even a much less powerful object like the bell WWX had made for JL took a long time to create:

Wen Ning, “Young Master, is this what you’ve been making for the past month or so, when you were shutting yourself in the Cave on days upon end?”

Wei WuXian, “That’s right. As long as that nephew of mine carries this bell around, not a single creature whose level is just a bit too low can even think about getting close to him. You can’t touch it. It’ll probably leave you affected for some time as well if you do.”

(Chapter 76, ExR translation)

If a bell that could only protect a person from the weakest creatures took a whole month to create (I assume because a lot of energy needed to be stored in it), how much longer would it take to destroy an immensely powerful artifact like the Tiger Seal, which could even surpass the power of its creator and didn’t recognize a master? We’re talking about something that was forged from a piece of metal that had accumulated resentful energies for centuries and WWX himself admits making it into a usable tool was a long and difficult process. Even destroying just a half probably required a lot of time to gradually dissipate all the resentful energy that was stored in it. Since we know the siege happened three months after the bloodbath of Nightless City - and considering WWX probably had other things to do in the meantime, like strengthening the defenses of the Burial Mounds for the attack he knew would come sooner or later - he had enough time to successfully obliterate one half of the Seal and start destroying the other one. Before he could completely destroy the second half, the sects arrived to besiege him and he had to focus on protecting himself and the Wen remnants.

Moreover, the process of destroying the Tiger Seal didn’t only require a lot of time, but an incredible amount of energy as well. By the time the siege happened, he was probably already exhausted. This would explain why he received a backlash and lost control of his army of corpses, since we know demonic cultivation is affected by the mental state of the one practicing it. Besides, seeing JC - the person who was once like a brother to him - lead the siege meant to kill him and destroy everything he was fighting for didn’t help his mental state at all. All of WWX’s guilt and grief at the time were already a lot to bear, but knowing that his former shidi hated him so much that he took part in the siege as the leader must have shaken him quite a bit. We don't see him sad often, but one of the few times we do is when he gets reminded of JC's role in his death while he's watching a group of kids impersonating them in a game based on the Sunshot Campaign (chapter 32).

I think WWX did what he could to protect the Wen remnants, but his exhaustion combined with his unstable mental state made him lose control of his demonic cultivation and receive a backlash, which led to him being torn to pieces by his own ghost army and dying in a really gruesome way.

The fact that he died because his cultivation method backfired and he was torn to pieces by the corpses he could no longer control is stated in the novel multiple times:

“Rejoice, rejoice! Say, which hero dealt the finishing blow to the Yiling Laozu?”

“Who else could it be? His disciple-brother, Chief Jiang Cheng of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect! [...] Sect Chief Jiang killed his own disciple-brother and destroyed his lair for the good of us all. The Burial Mounds are gone!”

[...]

“But that’s not what I heard. I thought one of his evil tricks backfired and he was shredded to pieces by those ghosts of his. Some say that they bit and tore at him so viciously that by the end of it, his body was no more than a slurry of flesh and bone dust.”

(Chapter 1, Fan Yiyi translation)

After a moment of silence, Wei Wuxian said, “What else have you heard?”

“Jiang Cheng, Clan Chief Jiang, brought people to encircle and besiege the Burial Mounds. He killed you, sir.”

“I have to clarify this. He didn’t kill me. I died because one of my techniques backfired.”

Wen Ning finally lifted his eyes and looked at him directly. “But, Clan Chief Jiang, he clearly—“

“It’s impossible for someone to walk on a lonely, single-log bridge safely and soundly for an entire lifetime. It couldn’t be helped.”

(Chapter 43, Fan Yiyi translation)

Jin GuangYao, “It is true that body sacrifice cannot be proven, but whether or not he is the YiLing Patriarch can. Ever since the YiLing Patriarch had received the cultivation backlash and been torn to dust by his ghouls on the top of the Burial Mounds, his sword was collected by the LanlingJin Sect. But, not long afterwards, the sword sealed itself.”

(Chapter 50, ExR translation)

Some of the things that were said about the first siege - like that JC had dealt the fatal blow to WWX - were untrue, but since the backlash is something WWX himself confirms we can safely take it as a fact. Also, a lot of people were present during WWX’s death and witnessed it with their own eyes, so they knew how he died. JGY, who described WWX’s death as him being “torn to dust by his ghouls”, was probably one of them since the Jin Sect was on the frontline as one of the main forces.

In my opinion, WWX started destroying the Tiger Seal not long after returning to the Burial Mounds. What finally made him decide to eliminate such a dangerous artifact from the world was the bloodbath it had caused at Nightless City. He had originally resolved not to use it unless it was really necessary, but he ended up activating it when he wasn’t clear-headed at all, in a moment of extreme desperation and grief after his whole world had crumbled, his beloved shijie had died and everyone condemned him and blamed him for everything that had happened. He wasn’t proud of all the people he had killed and didn’t want something like that to happen ever again, so he finally resolved to destroy the most powerful weapon he had, which until then he had kept as a deterrent to discourage others from attacking him, since he sensed that sooner or later the cultivation world would turn against him.

He knew perfectly well that destroying the Tiger Seal would leave him in a more vulnerable position (though he still had his demonic cultivation to protect himself and the Wen remnants), but he chose to do it anyway because he knew it was the right thing to do. Such a terrible artifact couldn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands under any circumstances, and he knew his own fate was sealed since the sects had already labeled him as the scourge of the cultivation world and sooner or later they would come to besiege him. Instead of perpetuating the cycle of violence, WWX chose to willingly put himself in a more precarious position, but it wasn’t the destruction of the Tiger Seal itself that killed him. It was a series of circumstances that his decision partially contributed to.

[olderthannetfic]

I have a real stupid question/challenge for you, if you want. (you can also tell me to shoo, i won't be mad lmao)

I have a friend who insists that I'll fall in love with BTS if I give them a chance, based on the fact that I love montero and lemonade. they don't listen when I tell them that 1) just cuz I appreciate a few beautifully-crafted, pop-flavored hip-hop albums, doesn't mean that I now like pop; and 2) I have a raging hate-on for manufactured boy bands that dates back to the new kids on the block era. I'm not mad about them anymore, just can't find it in my limited attention span to engage with manufactured pop groups, even when they're quite good in every measurable way.

I've listened to the big singles and they didn't hook me. i appreciate what they're doing, but it just doesn't appeal to me. 🤷

so, I guess my question to you is, do you know any good BTS songs that might change my mind? anything bluesy or reminiscent of old-school 80s rap? any super 90s throwback tracks? idk, I'm doing my best to be open minded :|

--

BTS has a massive discography, and I dislike plenty of individual songs. I guarantee there's at least one song you'll find tolerable, though whether you'll become a BTS fan is another story.

I have little patience for New Kids, though I do like some bouncy dance music. BTS have a pretty high degree of artistic freedom, considering everything. The packaging is slick. The inside is considerably less hollow than usual. If you've been listening to their recent English-language hits... uh... they have their good points, but I really don't think those are representative of BTS overall—except insofar as they represent their intense desire to win a Grammy.

I'm not great at telling what's like what, so IDK which of their songs best fit your criteria necessarily, but I'll pick a few for you to try. As a listener, I'll think some hip hop sounds familiar, but it's only when I see other people's reviews that I understand what era it's reminding me of. (TBH, what I personally did was make a spreadsheet of everything they'd done, including random soundtrack songs and solo work and just try everything in order.)

--

I might start with the BTS rappers' solo work. Try RM's second mixtape, mono. I like listening to this as soothing background music at night.

Suga goes by Agust D as a solo artist. His song 'Agust D' is one of my favorites. The lyrics to many of their songs are quite clever too, though of course, as a non-Korean speaker, I have to rely on other people's explanation. (The basic content here is "I may be an idol, but I'm still twice the rapper you are".)

J-Hope tends to sound kind of... well... goofy. I like his voice in Baseline.

He did cover Chicken Noodle Soup, which is certainly old, but I don't actually like the original version of that song.

The Cyphers are great: Cypher Pt. 2, Cypher Pt. 3, Cypher Pt. 4.

To get a sense of their wordplay and why it's cool, check out this video where a Korean guy explains Ddaeng.

--

If you want to know who they think their influences are, they outline a bunch of them in Hip Hop Lover.

Dionysus is one of their big showstoppers that I like a lot better than, say, Permission to Dance.

Louder Than Bombs is a favorite of mine.

--

I'm not usually super into the vocalists-only songs, but maybe you'd enjoy some of them. Some people find House of Cards bluesy. Not sure how much I agree.

--

I guess a couple of their older albums are considered particularly oldschool, though maybe that's because of that ultimate scourge of old albums the skit. (Kill it with fire!) Also, I like a lot of the sound, but their fashion at the time, gaaaaah! You can see some images of the full horror on this lyric video to We Are Bulletproof Pt. 2. I like N.O a lot and Satoori Rap. That latter celebrates regional dialects, which is neat.

And one of their better-known songs and one of my personal favorites is Baepsae, an anthem of youthful discontent that makes use of a Korean saying and turns it on its head.

--

And hey, if you loathe all that, you can go listen to Tiger JK as a palate cleanser. RM features on a couple of his songs like MFBTY's Buckubucku and Timeless off of Drunken Tiger X.