#sorry that this post rambles and repeats a lot it's hard to empirically describe what i mean

[lord-squiggletits]

Something about being an IDW OP fan is that even in positive works about him I feel like his problematic aspects are brought up way too often even in an appreciative way.

Ignore the haters of IDW OP/other characters I'm using as an example bc I'm talking about how fans talk about their own faves.

Like with Prowl fans, they know he's problematic but they pretty much just go "yeah he's an asshole what about it" or just don't acknowledge it at all and write/draw what they want to see. Some might allude to ACAB stuff but they don't do a disclaimer on every post about him with "btw I know cops are bastards and war crimes are evil I just think he's neat"

Pharma stans make content about him, whether apologism or just fun haha chainsaw doctor, without having to constantly be like "medical malpractice is bad and all but" or "He kills people and that's definitely important to talk about but" they just write about Pharma being a tragic/evil character and that's that

Megatron fans definitely are willing to talk about him being problematic, but again that element of self consciousness isn't there and ppl write headcanons and fics and stuff without Megatron having to turn around in the narration and go "oh I'm evil I'm so awful no one should be like me" as a sign to the audience that the author doesn't condone Megatron's actions and thinks colonialism is bad

I'm sure I could come up with other examples but like it's just weird to me that even among ppl who like IDW Optimus (and I'm not immune to this either), there's like this self-effacing attitude where ppl can't just say "I like him" or "It was cool when he did this" without almost ALWAYS preceding it with some sort of "He is a cop but" or "He's kind of a jerk but" or "I would hate him IRL but" as if there's some sort of Transformers fandom panopticon saying that you're not allowed to talk positively about IDW OP without first mentioning all of his flaws/problematic aspects. People sort of speak about him as if he's enjoyable or well written DESPITE being problematic, or that enjoying him has to be justified bc him being problematic automatically makes him repulsive. As opposed to merely talking about IDW OP as he is, and the problematic parts of him are thinks you can talk about or not talk about just depending on your mood and what angle you want to approach. No, every post or conversation has to always allude to how "IDW OP is an asshole, but he also has positive traits" or "I know he's problematic, but hear me out."

Hell even tho I'm seeing a little more fic about IDW OP or OPs with more IDW elements, it still feels as if most writers put him in situations where he goes "yeah I'm sorry I'm problematic and did bad things" as if he has to confess his sins publicly before being allowed to be a person. Or that the author feels the need to write him as such to reassure the audience "No actually I know ACAB just because I like IDW OP doesn't mean I'm not progressive look here I'm writing a story about everyone calling him an asshole for being a cop and OP kisses Megatron's ass because revolutionaries are actually right and it's only state propaganda that maligns them as violent and capable of wrong."

Idk I just think that among people who enjoy problematic characters, there are still a lot of fans who are either immature or self-conscious in their enjoyment of problematic characters. Where they DO have that enjoyment but they feel the need to make public disclaimers constantly or write their stories in a moralizing way to demonstrate how well they know that character is problematic. To contrast, I think true "problematic character" enjoyment comes when people can just LIKE A CHARACTER and it's a morally neutral act where they don't feel the need to make demonstrations about how transgressive it is and how their taste in fictional characters definitely doesn't reflect their real life morality.

It's just saddening bc even tho these days, there are lots of people who like IDW OP and there's fewer people being assholes about him, it still feels as if content about him is self-conscious of the fact and won't let him exist as a character/funny guy in your brain/vessel of themes and plot and instead it's some sort of Hays Code-esque thing where every time he appears on screen at least one person has to call him a cop bastard so the audience knows the fanfiction isn't copaganda.

But what if instead IDW OP fans and fan content had the same energy as other problematic character fanbases like Prowl or Megatron and we could just go "yeah here's a story about my favorite guy" without making a whole disclaimer about it

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Κατακηλέω (νοσταλγία deleted scene)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Κατακηλέω: to charm, cast a spell over (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Narses/Reader but you know how that is

Summary: This is a deleted scene that happens between chapter 16 and 17, it centers mainly around Narses.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: The usual, plus a graphic depiction of burning alive (or my best attempt at writing it anyways)

A/N: Yeah idk what to say here lol, I put this together mainly bc @xbellaxcarolinax​ made a point of there being little Narses on the story, and bc she was interested in a chapter more centered around him. I write a lot of rambles that I don’t post cause I don’t think people wanna read ‘em, but here it is one of em, in deleted-scene form lol. Hope you like it, and thank you! <3

Also yes I have Michiel Huisman as Daario in my head as a faceclaim for Narses, idk what to tell ya, I suck at describing characters so of course you had no way of knowing that, and I’m sorry.

Taglist: (I’m sorry if you don’t wanna be tagged in these kind of chapters btw, just lemme know and I’ll keep you on the main story ones only, or just the main story and Ivar PoV ones, whatever works for you) @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson​

“It scares you, doesn’t it?” Freydis starts suddenly one night, and you lift your eyes to her but don’t say anything. So, she continues, “The reminder of what you could do.”

“If you mean-…”

“You know what I mean. You could lie, and I keep wondering why you don’t.”

“Lying is what you would do, is it not?” You snap, head tilted to the side.

The blonde’s smile turns smug, as if she just made you give away a card. Instead of saying anything regarding that, she shrugs,

“You have traveled a lot, lived a lot,” She states, moving carefully and taking a seat next to you, seemingly choosing to ignore your eyes following her. “Will you tell me you are unaware of what men are able and willing to do for a woman’s love?

She stops whatever it is she was going to say next when an elderly woman enters the apothecary, her blue eyes following the woman’s moves. You are reminded of that night when she shared her thoughts by a window and was interrupted -eyes and ears follow the witch-, and realize why she holds her tongue.

Instead of waiting for the other woman to leave, she stands up and asks you to follow with but a gesture of her head.

Certain steps take you both to the same elevated patch of cold and foreign grass that saw you lay on your knees and pray to whatever Gods heard you to give you an answer.

And so, Freydis continues on,

“Look at all Ivar did to get you to be at his side. Imagine what he would do with the promise you could love him,” Manic blue eyes meet yours as Freydis stops you with a hand on your arm. You pointedly look down at it and back up at her face, feeling a tightness in your chest, dread mixed with disdain. “Imagine what he would do if you pretended to love him and threatened to take it away.”

There’s only one answer you can give her.

“Get your hand off me.”

If you were your mother, you’d have a sword in your hands and a snarl on your lips. But you never wanted to fight like a man, and so you only let the cold of this land seep into your voice and harden your expression, your voice.

She remains frozen for a few moments too long, and you once again pointedly look at her hand and back into her eyes.

��I don’t like repeating myself,” You state, and only then does she comply, her eyes searching yours. You return your arm to be comfortable covered by the warm cloak, and turn to keep walking. “I do not want to hear another word of this, you hear me? Not another damned word.”

“Does that mean you’ve given up? You’ll let him keep you here?”

“I said not another word.”

Freydis swallows whatever her words are to be next, and nods her head, accepting your order as if she thinks you gave her a choice.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Freydis speaks again.

“You choose to protect him now, is that it?”

Her dainty and delicate voice loses none of the edge and the certainty, even as her eyes betray something more human.

“You are a smart woman,” You concede instead of answering her questions, and tilt your head to the side, “But a smarter one would know when to hold her tongue.”

“You don’t hold yours.”

“I never claimed to be smart,” You reply easily, before bowing your head in goodbye. “Goodnight, Freydis.”

She knows it is a dismissal, and a rude one at that, but she only returns the gesture. You could swear a strange sort of pride shines in the girl’s dark blue eyes as she takes her leave.

____

And now you sit alone overlooking that same cliff and you cannot get her words out of your head. You wish you could hate her, berate her for her games and call her names, say she is nothing but a liar, a whore.

But it is not so simple, is it? You seduced a man into giving you his army, did it so well Freydis trusted you to seek Freyja’s favor and do the same with the King, knew you had what it took with only but a look at you.

You promised your love to Narses only for the faint possibility that he could drive the Byzantine Christians off your lands, that he could bend his army and his strength to your will and give you the kingdom you deserved.

And you did to Narses everything that Freydis would have done to Ivar. You kissed, lied, and promised yourself; for the sake of a game.

Because when all you are told you can be is a warm pair of legs to wrap around a man, a pretty little jewel for him to keep and parade around, a quiet and beautiful maiden to stand beneath who the Gods deem you belong to; you learn to play games, all women do.

You wrap your legs tight enough he begs for mercy trying to escape your spell, you show them how even jewels draw blood if squeezed too tight in a fool’s hand, you let beauty carry you near him and your voice be a whisper as it reaches his ear. You play games.

But, as you sit on the cold grass overlooking Kattegat’s horizon, the sea and the sky meeting far away and reminding you strikingly of dusks and dawns spent on that temple overlooking the ocean and awaiting for those ships; you think about how no women speak of what happens when the game ends.

Because it always ends. It is a world of change, after all, a world of wheels turning and of days and nights and of seasons unending. It goes on and on, and the world changes, the games end.

Maybe you don’t hear women speak of what happens when it ends because few survive it. Those that do, maybe, just like you, refuse to speak of it, refuse to give voice to the pain and the shame that comes after playing with a heart not your own.

Refuse to admit the regret.

“You’ll do it?” He asks, eyes shining, “You’ll be my wife?”

“I would love to marry you,” You lie, you lie, you lie; and it burns your heart, “But I don’t want to bring our children into a world that will push them into the dirt for the Gods they follow, Narses.”

And just like that, promises, vows, oaths, fall from his perfect lips like he cannot help it. And you believe him, because if you hold your breath and dive past the smoke into the memories of your past, you can recognize that the way Narses looks at you now is the same way your father used to look at your mother.

You remember Sieghild’s teachings about Freyja, about her ways of persuasion and seduction, and wonder if, even if you are foreign to her, the Goddess looks over you. You wonder if she would smile or frown at your games.

You fall down on the grass, keeping your hold on Narses’ hands to tug him down with you. Narses falls with a laugh, legs and arms holding him up above you, dark green eyes shining as they look down upon yours.

It is remarkably easy, to surrender to his kiss. You close your eyes, letting your fingers go up into his hair, and allowing your lips and tongue to dance with his.

When his impatient lips move down to your jaw, your neck; you let him, craning your head back so he can have more access to your skin. If you clear your mind, you can almost feel nothing but pleasure.

When you tug particularly hard on his hair as Narses bites at your collarbone, you feel a breathed laugh leave his nose.

Lifting himself up in strong arms on each side of your head, Narses looks down upon you. His words should not hurt like they do by now, as you are so familiar with them you know what they will be before he even opens his mouth.

He steals another quick kiss, and whispers, “I love you.”

As a lover, as his future wife.

You smile through the pain, and answer, “I love you.”

As a friend, as the protector of your people.

As an instrument of war.

You are reminded of the safety of Narses’ embrace, however suffocating; and you can almost taste your name on his lips, bloodied as they were the last time you saw him alive.

“You are in the Elysian Fields, I know,” You start telling the wind, hoping it can carry your words to him, “Or maybe these Varangians’ Gods are fighting with ours to take you with them to Valhalla. Either way, I hope you can hear my voice one last time, my friend.”

You laugh brokenly to yourself, lowering your gaze to the grass under your body, caressing the dark tresses of nature.

“I know I don’t make much sense, I-I never did to you. Ramblings about Fate and empires fallen and tales of Gods and heroes; things that you had no interest in hearing. And yet you still looked upon me like something…something out of a dream, Narses,” You tell him, pain clawing at your heart, reopening wounds you thought you closed long ago. You smile sadly still, and reminisce, “You used to tell me I was your dream, and…I wish I could tell you that you were mine, I truly do. But I can’t.”

And regret fills you, the useless and heartbreaking gift of hindsight showing you that the path you took led only to pain and war. Narses was sent by your choices, by your games, by your mistakes, to die; and you…you were sent here. To what?

You dare think not even the Gods have an answer to your present, or future. But you do have answers to your past, and if someone deserves to hear them, it is Narses, wherever he may be.

“Returning to Eleusis choked me with the smoke of all the fires lit before I left and during my time away. I…blinded myself with ambition and I thought the only way I could fight was through you,” You explain, honestly, brokenly, the only way you know how to, “I knew that if I had the heart of Thebes’ Strategus, I could get what I wanted. I just had to have enough guile, enough lies, enough poison; to trick you into giving me your heart.

You offer the wind a hollow chuckle, bitter and angry and oh so filled with regret you can feel your heart poisoned with it.

“And I did exactly that. Maybe Aphrodite and Peitho blessed my lies, maybe Sieghild was right and Freyja watched over me,” You look over Kattegat’s horizon, facing the truths of your past when you don’t know what you want out of your future, “Either way, I used you, I hated myself but I still did it and…I got what I wanted.

As the agony of the flames crawls over your legs, scorching your skin with the inferno, blinding your eyes with the smoke, flogging your throat with your screams; you turn your gaze to the sky, blackened and barren as it is, and plead the Gods you have fought and bled for to grant you a moment of mercy, a painless death.

And flesh being charred smells awful, making your poisoned lungs heave for unattainable retrieve. You hold a moment of clarity in your mind to beg for Sieghild’s forgiveness, that you left her in this world alone after she sacrificed so much for you. You hope her Gods let you visit her in Folkvangr.

With one last ragged and angry scream, you let your strength leave you, your agony leave you, your regrets leave you.

When you awaken you find yourself in too much pain to accept this is the Underworld. Before you open your eyes, a moment of panic and dread fills your heart at the thought that the Christians left you alive to torture you, but you hear familiar voices, smell familiar fragrances.

Sieghild’s hand over your forehead, gentle and loving in ways she rarely is, makes a small smile tug at your dried and bleeding lips.

“I know you are awake, open your eyes,” She chastises, gruff even when relief clogs her voice. You do, and her smiling inked face settles your quickly beating heart, makes you forget the pain for a moment. “I love you, you stubborn child.”

You allow yourself a smile, closing your eyes again and focusing on breathing for a few moments, before whispering, “I love you too, minn móðir.”

The shieldmaiden chuckles brokenly, pressing rough lips on the crown of your head. After a few moments of silence, she sighs.

“By the way, you mad woman, you did it.”

“Did what?” You ask raggedly, wincing as you lift your head to accept the cup of water she offers.

“Listen, little one,” She instructs, and when you do, you hear the rustling of armor plates, the heavy steps of soldiers outside your door. The Viking woman shakes her head in almost disbelief, “The Strategos, that boy, he saved you from the flames.”

“Narses?”

“His soldiers came with us, we have nearly a thousand men here.”

“I did so many things wrong, Narses. I lied and manipulated and pretended, and maybe because the Gods are cruel, or maybe because reaping what you sow is an empty promise; I succeeded, and I got what I wanted. I knew I wouldn’t win, not against the Empire, not against the Christians, but…I wanted them to remember me, to remember our names and our Gods and our ways. To remember we don’t die silently.

And even if it hurts, you admit to yourself that you would do it again. You wish you could have loved Narses the way he deserved, you wish you could have been honest, you wish you could have found other ways to fight for your kingdom; but…you understand why you did it, and feeble and useless as it is, you want to forgive yourself for it.

Where there is war there can never be love, right? And you wanted war, you will not lie to yourself and say you truly wanted peace all along.

No, you wanted to see those Christians that came to take your home bleed at your feet, you wanted Attica to be free again, and Laconia, and Macedonia, and Arcadia, and many others. And you would wage war for your freedom for a thousand years if needed.

You would promise Narses your hand again if it came to it. You know you would, because the person you were when Attica was yours…she would have done that and much more for a chance at freedom. Now, you know better. Now, you let yourself be softer. Now, the world is a lot bigger than it seemed back then.

Now, things are different. Maybe you are, maybe the world is, maybe your heart is. Maybe Ivar is.

You smile at the barren horizon that doesn’t seem so foreign and intimidating now, and whisper, “I could do it now, I know. I would end up dead when he knew the truth, that’s for certain, but the victory would be mine, our people’s, by the time Ivar could catch up with my lies. I could, Narses.

“We need Stithulf’s support. We will ally with him, and even if you scream and fight it is what will happen.”

But you are shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.

“As Anassa of Attica I ca-…”

“As the commander of your forces, as the man you’ll marry, I’m telling y-…”

The hostility, the command, in his tone startle you to attention, and you narrow your eyes as you step closer. You don’t reach his shoulder, but the years have taught you there’s few things a man fears more than a woman that refuses to fight like a man but still fights.

“If you try using that to silence me, I fear you will not live long as my husband.” The threat drips from your lips like wine, but Narses doesn’t cave for once, and he drags a hand over his face.

“You always fight me, why do you…why can’t you be…?” His words die in a sigh, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Why can’t I be someone I’m not? Would you love me if I were anything other than me?”

“Sometimes, I wish you were,” He sentences, a hand over his eyes as he grunts out the words. Your heart drops, and so does your guard. He sighs again, and a hand reaches up and cups your cheek, unaware your whole body tightens to a coil the moment he touches you. “Sometimes, I fool myself into thinking I still see the woman you once were in you. The woman that wanted a life surrounded by Eleusis’ warmth, the woman that cared not for war, for vengeance.”

You grit your teeth, and step back, closing your eyes tightly as you croak,

“That woman was never all I was. I wanted Eleusis, I still do, but that doesn’t mean I never wanted revenge, Narses. Those Christia-…”

When you feel he finally drops his hand from your cheek, you open your eyes and watch his hand clench into a fist.

“Why do I have to love a woman like you?” He hisses, turning his back to you and slamming both hands on the weak table in front of him. “I’ve asked the Gods why, you know. Why I have to love a woman arrogant and ambitious and…Hera help me, a woman that is not mine. Never was, never will be.”

“I-…What are you saying?”

“Do you think I’m enough of a fool to think I can make you my wife? If the Fates don’t stop me you will,” A humorless chuckle leaves his lips, “Lord Hades might split open the earth and drag you to the Underworld before I get to call you my wife.”

“Don’t say those things.”

“It is true! I was not Fated to have you, even if the Gods know I was Fated to love you,” He shakes his head, teeth gritted and eyes failing to meet yours, “We both know what made you say yes to me, and it is what is keeping you from saying yes to Stithulf. It was never love.”

Shame chokes you, keeps the next words form leaving your lips. Your lips tremble and your eyes cloud with tears as you look at his tense back, nothing but regrets shining in your eyes.

“Are you-…will you l-leave?”

Will you leave me? Is the question you dare not ask, because you do not have the right to believe he should want to stay at your side, not after everything.

You still don’t want him to leave you alone here.

But the Thebesian takes a deep breath, straightening his back again and turning to you. The same anguished softness you saw so many times in his eyes still shines in them now, and he shakes his head.

His voice when he replies feels like warmth, like safety and nostalgia,

“I will always be at your side. Until Hades summons you home, I’ll be at your side.”

You look into his warm eyes, and with shame still burning your chest, you ask,

“Why? The Gods know I do not deserve it. Why do you stay?”

The answer leaves his lips with the same certainty it always did, with the same hope and the same truth,

“I love you.”

You like to believe you would have loved Narses, you like to believe you would have been content remaining as Eleusis’ Priestess. You like to believe you could have birthed him children for you to teach the way of the Gods and he to give the fame of his family.

Problem is, you fear now, with the taste of this strange freedom still fresh and sweet on your tongue, you don’t think you could have ever lived with the binds of what Narses wanted to make out of you. A priestess, whose ambition is forgotten when he wills it so; a woman, whose eyes will need to lower from his; a wife, to be quietened when he speaks.

And you don’t want that, to be what Narses wanted you to, what Galla wanted you to, what Freydis wants you to, what Ivar wants you to. You want to be you, and you want to fight, and be compassionate and revengeful, and be soft and relentless, without needing to choose one or the other.

You want nights of stupid arguments and infuriating talks, you realize around a broken chuckle, you want foreign languages and even more foreign customs, you want…you want Ivar. In all his vitriol, in all his bloodthirst, in all his awkward gentleness and in all his armored heart, you want him.

Tears of regret and the path not taken fill your eyes, and you find yourself sobbing out a small laugh, “But the person that lied and tricked you, that could do the same to Ivar…she died amongst the flames, left me in her place, I think.

The Priestess is dead.

Taking the small knife Ivar gifted you what seems like a lifetime ago, you hold a lock of your hair in front of you, and cut off the wind-blown and tangled strands, holding a short tress in your hand that weights like a decade of apologies and promises made.

“I’m sorry. For everything I did and everything I didn’t do,” You promise him, closing your eyes and almost seeing his smiling face before you, his eyes shining and his sun-kissed skin weathered around a smile. “In another life, I may have loved you like you deserved.”

You open your palm, and let the strands of grief be carried off by Kattegat’s winds way across the sea.

And in another world, on another land, a dead man takes a breath.

____

So, hope you liked it, hope that last sentence got you wonderin’, and hope you have a nice day/night!

Thank you so much for reading, see you Tuesday with the scheduled update: chapter 18 :)

[spinblue]

On Sonic during forces into IDW Comics, and a tiny insight on after

this is barely even a headcanon? I just wanted to get out all my thoughts on Sonic’s thoughts from these events, since it impacts my Sonic a lot. 

Honestly, it’s like my usual rambles just like times ten so if you choose to read, I’m sorry in advance aowineaw But gosh, it’s dumb long and was more just to get it out of my system than anything and is completely good to ignore tbh. 

—

Also, keep in mind that everything I describe here is just my default view on what happened. If you rp any character core to this and want to talk about things going down differently — I’m all for that too! 

—

Sonic wasn’t excessively physically tortured during his captivity during Forces. His imprisonment wasn’t dramatic or really anything. For the most part, he just sat in a cell with his arms and legs shackled. 

However, it’s not like it didn’t negatively affect Sonic. If you had to describe Sonic in one word — after fast — you would say free. Sonic is the embodiment of free will, and that very core part of him was taken from him, and he couldn’t do anything about it.  

It’s not like Eggman would have allowed him to go out and stretch his legs, and after his entire life of being able to run whenever he wanted for as long as he wanted, this was a harsh change to adjust to. He was just so restless.

Because not only was he stuck against his will in one place ( and this was the fastest thing alive, living embodiment of freedom, unable to so much as walk ) — but everyone was out there fighting for their lives and he couldn’t help.

Eggman made sure he was kept up to date on the progression of his expanding empire. He showed video feed of destroyed villages, trampled forests, and of so many people scared, hurt, and losing all hope.

It made him angry. Angrier than he has gotten in a long time. Angry enough to turn into Dark Sonic on a normal day — however, Eggman was smart. The cuffs used to chain Sonic also drained his chaos energy, and Sonic was kept weak. Alive and well enough to not fall into sickness or anything, but weak. It didn’t help that Sonic didn’t get a single restful night during his captivity ( not due to anything Eggman did directly, but Sonic just couldn’t let down his guard for even a second ) and he would do whatever he could to escape, trying to gather enough momentum/strength to break the walls, break his cuffs, anything. It left him more battered and bruised than anything Eggman himself directly did.

—

Being imprisoned for so long took its toll on him — though he didn’t allow himself to feel it at the time. After all, once he was rescued he was immediately taken into the thick of things, and he had an entire war to help win. 

Plus, he was Sonic the Hedgehog. He wasn’t the resistance leader — Knuckles got that role covered and Amy took on whatever extra was needed ( and boy was he relieved for that. Because for once people weren’t turning to him for guidance and instructions. he wasn’t the one in charge of millions of people doing what they can do take their planet back ) But, he was still The Hero ( people still looked at him for hope. for inspiration. for the opportunity they waited so long for ) He felt the pressure to act like nothing was wrong, that six months — half a year — of imprisonment was not enough to bring him down. And that they were all going to be okay and that they’ll finally win and bring an end to this whole mess. ( and somehow push past even when people were dying all around him. when so many have already died while he was sitting in some cell. and what kind of hero? what kind of hope? was he when all he could do is watch as so many good soldiers civilians died to protect him )

And you know, the easiest way to convince others of something is to convince yourself, first. Sonic fell into his role so wholeheartedly that he repressed the past six months. Pretty much instantaneously, too. Not giving himself any time to really process anything even after the war.

—

Despite his best attempts at repressing things, it wasn’t like he was just magically unaffected by what happened to him. 

It was in the little ways he changed after the events of Forces. 

He, more than ever, just couldn’t sit still. Before his imprisonment he’d be up for relaxing and be perfectly fine doing things cloud watching, but it was bad for a while after they won the war. He immediately left afterwards during the end credits of the game, after all. He made his rounds to say catch ya later to his friends, and then took off. And just, kept running.

He would be running, taking care of stray badniks, and then go to the next town, and repeat. and repeat. and repeat.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but this was his way of making up for his six months of doing nothing. Of being so useless while people out here suffered through six months of war.

Not only was he itching to run, but he was itching to help. So he just couldn’t get himself to rest properly when there is still so much to do. So many people to save.

He went on like this for a long while. 

—

Eventually he crashed. And he crashed hard. 

It was messy, and it felt like all the tiredness that he’s been ignoring all this time dumped onto him at once. He also slept for almost two days afterwards. He woke up plenty of times during those two days, but would sooner or later drift back to sleep because he was just so tired.

Afterwards, that weariness was still heavy in his bones ( and at this point he half believed it would never leave him ) but he felt more relaxed, at least. Less like he was in a fast fall down with only seconds away from impact, and more like a slow ( a bit harsh ) trek up. Honestly, it didn’t feel like much of an improvement to Sonic at the time, but it was still better. And he desperately needed better at the time.

—

And that brings us to the start of IDW. 

Sonic running around and saving towns from badniks ( though nowhere near as frantic as he was at the start ) 

Sonic, again not consciously, but still he pulled away from his friends for a bit after the events of Forces. He was just so focused on doing what he could do help, of feeling the oppressing need to do more, that he forgot to check in with people like he usually would have. 

But after his crash one of his first realizations was that he misses his friends. He made the decision to try and track them down, but he ran into Tails before that. And then it lead him to bouncing back around his friends so it worked out in the end. 

Seeing his friends again cheered him up, far more than he would have expected it to. It also reminded him that he wasn’t in this alone — something he would have normally never forgotten, but things just got so cloudy for a while there. 

Hearing about Tails’s worry of Sonic being defeated again struck something in him, and it made him feel guilty for being the cause of his little brother’s distress like that, but it also made him strengthen his resolve to do better. To do better for Tails, the world, and himself. To be the Hero that everyone always proclaims him to be.

Too bad instead he causes an apocalypse. 

—

Before I let this dumb long post r e s t, I just want to say one more thing about why Sonic just was so adamant on Eggman being Mr. Tinker for good, and why Sonic thought letting Metal Sonic go was a good idea. 

Because it’s more than just the fact that Sonic believes in second chances ( though that also is a large and important factor ) Sonic truly believe that there is good in everyone, after all. And he will always want to bet on that bit of good in even the most evil villain. 

But, it was also just because Sonic was tired. That deep seated exhaustion that hasn’t left him since his imprisonment just flared and all of a sudden Sonic just wanted everything to end. 

He wanted to stop this constant back and forth. He didn’t want to fight Eggman anymore, he doesn’t want the world to be in constant peril every few months. 

He was so, so tired, and finally — finally a chance for things to change for the better was in grasp. For the first time in a long, long time, Sonic could see a future where there wasn’t constant danger looming over their heads. 

Because if Eggman truly was reformed, then there was no threat of an Eggman empire. ( once they stopped Metal Sonic, anyways ) 

And, with Eggman gone, it was the best chance for Metal to change, too. Because with Metal stripped of everything that made him dangerous, what threat was he? The only ones who could have fixed him was Tails or Eggman himself ( who at the time Sonic still believed to be Mr. Tinker ) Metal could go out and really experience the world himself, and again, because Sonic believes there is some good in everyone, he just figured that bit of good in Metal would finally be able to surface. 

Too bad Metal tracked down Eggman instead.

It was dumb, and way too idealistic of Sonic, but gosh did he want peace so bad. And when that small chance of obtaining it appeared, Sonic just latched onto it with all he could. He wasn’t thinking about it being too good to be true. He wasn’t thinking about all the things that could go wrong. He just wanted that peace. 

—

But as we all know it didn’t end up the way Sonic hoped, and it’s safe to say Sonic majorly screwed up. 

He’s going to be dealing with that guilt for a long time, and that faith that he so willingly gave will be withheld just a tad bit more. 

It’s been one misstep after another for Sonic, and he’s struggling to find his footing again. Because he’s trying. He really is. It’s just, not going the way he wants it to and he doesn’t know what else he can do???? 

He wants to stop letting people down.