#would be like getting defeated by the shadow

[luvether]

MUCH LOVE, YOUR GUARDIANS ! In which they go from bodyguards to companions who you would crawl back home to, as they go through the thick of thins of what it’s like to love you intentionally and ardently.

jiaoqiu and moze x gn!reader (ft. feixiao) fluff and heavy (?) angst content. petty jealousy and overprotectiveness. mentions of self-deprecation, self-sabotage, low self-morale. heavy yearning. hurt with comfort. heavy found-family dynamic, platonic and romantic implications. politics. might be ooc. massive spoilers for the events on version 2.5. [12.6k wc]

sequel to a guardian or two ノ trying to dabble back into angst. tagging @bladism <33 love you and sorry for the atrociously long fic!! hoping to revive the jq and moze tags for this one (art by zassyoku_DD on twt.)

IN THE YAOQING, WHEN YOU THINK OF HAVING LUNCH you think of a small table crammed with four people, the strong scent of spices pricking your nose—making it all runny, the ruddy-cheeked Feixiao slurring between liquor lips, her vice arm wrapping unapologetically around the reluctant and defeated healer and your secret alliance with the shadow guard as he sneakily takes the button mushrooms in your bowl when Jiaoqiu is not looking, too busy being the General’s victim to her drunken affairs.

You and Moze exchange knowing glances, it was a deal that was recently established since he had lost a bet and dreaded reciting poems in the next festival.

Moze grumbles about a poem recital in front of strangers? You came to his aid.

You disliked the mushrooms Jiaoqiu gives you every lunch? He comes to your aid.

“You should come to the Luofu with us during the Wardance Ceremony.” A drink-addled comment gets thrown into the mix of everyday lunch atmosphere. You had almost missed it completely, had it not been for Moze who nudged you and you realized it wasn’t the delusional voices in your head speaking your wanton.

“Going to the Luofu for the Wardance Ceremony?” You echo Feixiao’s statement with perked up enthusiasm, food caking the insides of your cheeks, trying to push the words between your chewing.

“Finish chewing before you start talking.” There’s a mischievous smile on Jiaoqiu’s lips, tail flicking left and right in glee. He always finds every reason to tease you, this moment was no different. You shoot him a fond glare, pausing to finish a piece of rich meat in your mouth, licking the flavor between your teeth.

“Are you certain you want me to follow you to the Luofu?” You ask again, just in case it was Feixiao's drunk thought overtaking her senses.

But she straightens at the content of your tone, sobering. The expression on her face expresses her clear agreement.

“Why not?” She rests her cup on the table, her fingertips teetering towards the pitcher to pour more. “You have not visited the other Xianzhou ships before, it will be a good change of pace for you.”

A bright smile graces your lips, then it collapses. “I appreciate the invitation, but I cannot ignore the mountains of paperwork on my desk. I barely have time for leisure, much less go on a vacation somewhere.”

“Have you forgotten?” You turn your attention to Moze who speaks casually from your side, arms crossing over his chest. "You are looking at the Yaoqing’s lacking General, lacking in worries, regrets and…”

“Lacking in rivals.” You finish his sentence with a chuckle.

Moze’s lips tip upward, almost a smile.

“No one would dare say anything if a certain scribe vanishes from work and accompanies the General to the Luofu.”

Jiaoqiu adds. “Besides, we want you to come with us.” There’s a fond smile on his face.

“That’s three rebuttals against one.”

The atmosphere lifts at Jiaoqiu’s nostalgic tease, it all reminds you of the first time Jiaoqiu and Moze became your bodyguards, how time flies.

You chuckle then, “alright.”

“Now that it is settled,” Feixiao cheers. “Let us rejoice with—”

Jiaoqiu grabs the pitcher before your sister does, a sharp look of warning on his smiling face. “General Feixiao, please refrain from drinking anymore. And Moze,” He turns his head, you both stiffen. “Stop being an accomplice and let them eat their mushrooms.”

Moze tsked and a laugh bubbles in your chest, nothing can escape Jiaoqiu’s eyes now can it?

Despite the constant bantering that quickly fit into your routine with the three of them—you were extremely grateful for their existence in your otherwise very lonesome life. Aside from the excitement of the trip, you had been ruminating about their departure since you accidentally overheard them talking about it when you were slumbering.

The next couple of days, your enthusiasm never ceases until it’s the day to depart for Xianzhou Luofu.

The ship is already waiting by Yaoqing’s docks when you arrive, as your feet guide you there you double check your items before boarding: extra clothes, personal bathing essentials, wallet, notebook files, some medicines…yup. Everything you need for the trip has been accounted for, and even if you had forgotten something, you are certain the Luofu will provide you with it. You had heard a thing or two about Luofu’s dozing General from Feixiao herself, their generosity to foreigners have even touched the strings of your heart.

You are enthused about your first journey, being able to meet other people and seeing other sights outside of the usual IPC-styled architecture the Yaoqing has to offer.

You hear someone call out your name from a distance, you lift your head and see Jiaoqiu waving at you, already nestled on the ship’s seat cushions. He softly pats the space beside him,

“Come sit beside me.”

A Verdant knight allows you entry and you approach the smiling healer, doing as he had asked of you after loading your bag on the overhead bin. You allow your body to sink within the cushions with a contented sigh slipping between your teeth. Your arm touches Jiaoqiu’s and you cannot help but lean in and flop your head on his shoulder, soft strawberry cowlicks tickle your cheek and he reaches out to brush wild strands from your forehead.

“Didn’t get enough sleep?”

“I just had to finish files for a couple of IPC shipments that will be arriving in Verdant harbor.” This earns a light-hearted chuckle from the pink. You feel his weight on your head, his cheek pressed onto your crown.

“I thought you got an assistant?”

“I did.” You answer. “I need to make sure things are accounted for and queued in the proper order before I hand the management over to her.”

“Well, aren’t you a kind boss.”

“When was I not?”

Jiaoqiu grabs his red fan, small puffs of wind settle softly on your face due to his fanning. “I didn't say you were anything but.” Then a brief silence, his tone containing fondness.

“You are slowly trusting others again,”

You lift your head, unaware of how your face is close to his. From here, his butterscotch eyes are a gentle pool of honey and orange.

His lips tip up. “I’m proud of you.”

Your heart soars. Jiaoqiu winds his arm around you, tail flicking and his fan continues to draw air. “If you want to sleep, sleep.”

Your weight is leaning heavily on his, he doesn’t seem to mind it, his fingers coming to rub soothingly, almost lulling you, constellations of sleep blinking beneath your eyelids.

“But I wanted to wait and see the stars outside.”

“I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“Promise?” You yawn, this makes Jiaoqiu cradle you closer into his inviting warmth.

“Promise.” He says. “Now get some sleep. This will be a long trip.”

It has already been a couple of days since your arrival to the Xianzhou Luofu. Feixiao had left immediately to go sightseeing, leaving you, Jiaoqiu and Moze to announce your arrival to the Arbiter Generals at the Seat of Divine Foresight.

Meeting General Jingyuan was such an enlightening experience, his deep baritone faint in your ears, his gentle mannerisms and just as enthusiastic tone when talking about grueling papers constantly on office desks or wanting to travel more, it allowed for smooth conversations between the two of you, having so many things in common.

You had liked conversing with the General,

A certain two did not.

But your two ‘bodyguards’ knew better than to let their moods sully on such a simple thing.

It wasn’t strange for General Jingyuan to show a warm and respectful disposition towards you—he has, after all, heard of your astounding achievements in the Yaoqing, despite the nasty comments thrown at you, you prevailed, and Jingyuan admired that aspect of you, especially with your label as the Merlin’s Claw kin and the lack of swordsmanship practice.

Moze and Jiaoqiu understand that, because they hold the same amount of admiration towards you and your efforts.

But what they considered ludicrous was when you three had bumped into a Knight of beauty whilst trying to find for a certain General with white ears—you haven’t seen Feixiao in a long while and during your ventures of trying to find her, Argenti greeted you and you both clicked.

It was merely a curious exchange at first, trading words of greetings, introductions with a mix of interest for the other. Moze lags behind the group, preferring to keep to himself during this conversation which was understandable, he’s a man with few words much less sharing friendly words with Argenti—who was the complete opposite of Moze—radiant under public lights, forthright in his syrupy cadence, his eyes sparkle just as bright like ruby rose petals and succor violin strings.

Jiaoqiu could do nothing but smile politely at the interaction, happy that you are conversing more with others outside of your little circle.

But then Argenti picks up your hand, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

The friendly gesture made Jiaoqiu crack like stone and Moze stiffen.

The whole atmosphere takes a polar turn of frigid that feels harsh on your skin.

You’ve noticed it only briefly. Now, Jiaoqiu’s smile is no longer polite—but it’s still there, it just seems more…malicious and cynical than friendly. Or how Moze’s neutral stare sharpens as it follows the crimson hair of Argenti as he bids you all farewell.

When the knight turns the corner, Jiaoqiu places both his hands flat on your shoulders, a conflicting look in his amber eyes.

“I implore you to reconsider your choices.”

Your brows crease in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Jiaoqiu’s right. He’s bad news.” Moze inquired from your other side, adding spices to the already boiling pot. You can only flicker your gaze back and forth between the two, unsure why they are saying this all of a sudden.

“But Mr. Argenti seems sweet to me.”

You merely stated the obvious, Jiaoqiu jostles you softly like you’ve gone insane.

“The reputation of the Knights of beauty are fastidious. They don’t have time for such affairs since they travel all over the galaxy to pay patronage and share the gospel of their God all across the cosmos, so don’t even think about it.”

Think about it? Affairs? “Have you both eaten something funny today?” You ask instead, shaking away from Jiaoqiu’s firm grip.

Maybe they just ate something weird, their behavior will lessen in a couple days time, that is your initial conclusion on this matter. However their petulance only seems to metamorphosis the more days spent in the Luofu.

A day or two passes, and your run-ins with Argenti are few and far in between.

Two times, you’ve only bumped into each other two times after your first encounter. The Xianzhou Luofu is surprisingly a small place and with the current festival ongoing, it’s easy to bump into a familiar face among the streets.

But everytime Argenti perks up at the sight of you, calling you his ‘dear Yaoqing friend’ the air surrounding Jiaoqiu and Moze seems to freeze over, and you were semi-glad Argenti doesn’t take notice or offense to such looks pinned on him.

He’s quite the character.

You sigh again for the millionth time today when you parted ways with the red-head. You turned around, “Jiaoqiu.”

“Yes?”

“If you won’t stop glaring at him, the passersby will assume he jumped you in an alley and robbed you of your riches.”

“You’re just seeing things.”

“No, I’m quite sure of myself. What’s with the face, Jiaoqiu. Did he do something to you that I am not aware of?”

Jiaoqiu’s manners exude reluctance, his mouth open then close, as if unsure of what to answer you. “...Not in particular.”

You tilt your head. ‘Then w—” Before you can finish your sentence, the fox rips a part of his pastry and gently pushes it between your lips to hush you.

“Try this for me.” He says instead. “Is it to your taste?”

You lick the flavor from your teeth, nodding your head. At your response, Jiaoqiu pushes the remaining pastry on your hand and pats your head.

“Take it, I'm not really into sweet things.”

“Okay…”

As you watch him, you’ve taken note of how either of the two behave, which was a new experience on your part, you have not seen this side of them before. Like Jiaoqiu’s tendency to hide his nasty displeasures beneath his red fan, occasional amber eyes scrutinizing and ears twitching.

Or Moze that seems to have the tendency to either vanish into thin air mid conversation when something displeases him, tug his hood down and refrain from any eye contact or he would glare down at you with those magenta eyes of his, just like right now.

“Where are you going?”

You startle as the tall, brooding man materializes in front of you. You pause, looking around for any imminent danger for him to act like this.

“I was just gonna check out the stalls I haven’t stopped by in Aurum Alley.”

He blinks. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You defend yourself quickly, too quick. “I wanted to buy something but haven’t found the right place to custom make it, this is my second time trying to look around.”

Moze ponders upon your excuse, he melts immediately after thinking it through. “Okay.” He uncrosses his arms, shaving his stubbornness away. “I’ll accompany you,”

“Wait a second.” Your brows furrowed in confusion. “You…you cannot come with me, and aren’t you supposed to be in an important meeting in the seat of Divine Foresight with Jiaoqiu and the Madam General?”

He responds by shaking his head. “It’ll be alright, Jiaoqiu’s enough to handle it and I’m not fond of the limelight either way. It’s also protocol to—“

You try to sidestep him, he moves to block you again.

You scowl at him. He ignores you.

“It’s protocol to keep watch over you here more so than normal since this isn’t the Yaoqing, there might be others here that are out to get you.”

“It’s a festival, Moze.” You narrow your eyes.

He nods his head. “A great distraction for people to come and take advantage of the situation. So try—“

“To enjoy the celebration—“

“To stay alert since it is a celebration.”

You cannot help but sigh. “Let loose a little, will you?” You start. “If it makes you feel better, I’m heading there with a companion. They’ll be able to look after me while you are busy, better?”

Moze’s frown seems to deepen, not necessarily easing his worry like you’d hope. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Argen—”

“Absolutely not—“

Before Moze could finish his demand, you take his hand in yours. The complaints on his tongue die and his heated stare is on you. The folds of his worried expression only creases further, you had to squeeze his gloved hand.

“I have always been grateful for your companionship, so never think otherwise that I’m trying to cast you aside.”

“So why can’t I…” Moze bites his tongue when you shake your head again.

“Well if I mention anything then it wouldn’t necessarily be a surprise now will it?”

When his response is nothing but silence you finally drop his hand, trying to swerve around him yet again to leave. “Thank you for your generous services, Mr. Shadow Guard. Then, I’ll see you—“

A firm grip on your hand stops you dead on your tracks. You turn your head to look at Moze, there was a complicated expression on his face, his brow pinched more than usual, frown deeper and velvet pupils simmering.

“…Moze?”

He snaps out of it in an instant, “I do trust you, It's just I’m—” He blinks, reconsiders his words, then releases your hand. “Nevermind. Have fun, come find us if anything happens.”

You watch your companion turn to leave, his familiar purple hood disappearing around the corner. You cannot help but sigh, now you feel guilty for pushing him away like this.

“There you are.” Argenti greets you from behind as he taps your shoulder.

“Hey, Argenti.”

He takes notice of the look in your face, tilting his head. “What’s with the morose expression, my dear friend?”

“Oh.” You turn away. “Sorry, I just brushed away a friend just now and I feel terrible about it.”

Argenti hums, patting your head gently. “I see. Well, if it eases your worry, I am here to announce that I have found a stall that can help you make your requests. However, they are not in Aurum Alley.”

You perk up. “That’s great news.” You smile. “Thank you, can you show me where they are?”

“Of course,” Argenti smiles at you, “The craftsman I stumbled upon usually hangs around Exalting Sanctum, come with me.”

Before you take a step, you dare to look over your shoulders at the place where you saw Moze disappear, then turn to follow Argenti down the road.

When Moze returns back to Jiaoqiu and Feixiao with a sour expression on his face—they didn’t need to piece together the cause of such sullenness for the assassin. A laugh cannot help but slip from the lips of their General as she quips,

“You know, if the both of you are jealous due to lack of attention just say so. I can’t have two of my retainers looking especially like kicked pups in front of the Luofu’s and Zhuming’s generals.”

Jiaoqiu cannot help but grumble. “Don’t tease us like that, General.”

It was a brief feeling, and the first that you’ve felt in years: the fear in your skin, grief in your chest and the pain woven in your brain. Smoke dresses your veins and you choke on the exhaustion, knees hitting the bloodied grass beneath you.

Your heart is pounding in your ears and instead of the familiar Luofu inn—you remembered being back in that particular field of massacre, bodies of your people falling like weeds as Borisins cut them down, one by one, their screams of pain piercing through you.

More specifically, the bloody screams of your parents as they pushed you to continue running. Don’t look back, their words echo. Keep running my dear, don’t turn around— when their screeches are accompanied by painful gasps and squelches of bodies being torn apart like lacy ribbons, You dare to turn around.

“Mother! Father!” You scream so hard it makes you dizzy. Fat tears spill down your cheeks, a pitiful sob wrenching from your throat. “Please don’t leave me, I don’t have anybody else. What am I supposed to do, I don’t want to be alone, I’m begging you—!“

Your eyes snap open.

You awake from that nightmare with a billowing gasp.

The night is tame and your room is quiet, but your heart is a drum in your chest. When you sit up, the remnants of tears are all that remains of the tragedy of your youth.

Mom, dad. You cannot help but let out a shaky exhale, curling into yourself to stop the tremor that chills through your whole body. It’s okay, you’re no longer in that field.

Restlessness sinks into your bones after that, so instead of laying awake in your bed you were leaning against the open window. Luofu’s night air appears colder than what you were used to. You tap your finger against the surface of the wood beneath you.

You hear a brief noise faint in the ears.

You close your eyes.

“I know it’s you, Moze.”

There was silence, then a low hum that belonged to one person. “You’re awake still.” The tides of umbra shadows linger, materializing his familiar tall build leaning against the wall just outside your open window.

You shoot him a smile. “I am unable to sleep tonight.”

It takes a while for him to respond. He turns around, approaching you and ducking his head to enter through. “Are you alright?” He asks when his feet hit your wooden floors.

“Just, thinking a lot.” You say. “That’s all.”

“Nightmares?” Moze asks.

“Nightmares.” You confirm.

You can feel the man frown before you can see it. Though by then, you decided to lift the lighthearted mood with a question, “How about you, why are you still here?”

Moze decides to play along with your whims, “I decided to attack the General tonight, but as always, she managed to dodge it all.”

Ah, that.

You dare not question Moze’s and Feixiao’s weird little bonding the moment you found out about this arrangement. Apparently they’ve been going on like this since Feixiao first saved Moze from the disciples of Sanctus Medicus. To him, Feixiao is both his benefactor and enemy, the relationship they both have concurrently was fixed upon a promise, a declaration and a sense of respect for one another.

You stir from your own thoughts when you feel someone tug the ties of your attire.

“Your hanfu isn’t aligned properly.”

You look up at his steady velvet eyes. Moze’s in front of you now, murmuring his excuse as his fingers flatten upon the fabrics, tugging and hoisting and pulling until it’s finally centered and his irk is satiated.

You watch his fuss beneath your softened gaze, you reminisce on such a simple gesture. “Hey, Moze?”

He diverts his attention, looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, you know, for sticking around.”

You feel his fingers flinch from your statement. The frown on his face shows his puzzlement.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just that.”

“Are you gonna do something that would cause us to be separated?” You wanted to laugh at how serious his tone had become, hardened and alerted. The levity doesn’t sink into him, for he had pinched your chin, drawing your attention back to him.

“Answer me, please.” He pushes a little, not roughly but not gentle either. The moonlight strokes the crevices of his pinched expression, a sprinkle of salt and pepper of seriousness.

Just when you are about to retort, he adds in with a quickened breath.

“I don’t want us to be separated.” He says ardently. “You are too important to me.”

You are vaguely aware of his other hand still lingering by your waist, the one that was constantly tugging and pulling your hanfu in place. Outside the Luofu’s night air, you feel nothing but warmth, your heart is quickly filled with a flood of wanton and fullness,

And belonging.

You felt like you finally belonged.

The fear that you had felt mere minutes ago completely washes over, reassured by Moze’s blunt responses. You take a step closer to him, winding your arms around his neck and burying your face on his shoulder, the man stills at your unexpected behavior but is quick to recover, purchasing his hands on your lower back, soothing the skin there by rubbing his thumbs.

Reignbow Arbiter. You murmur to yourself. Whatever happens, please protect them. Protect my sister, protect Moze and Jiaoqiu. Do what you must, please, I beg of you. I don’t want to be alone anymore.

And for a split moment, you are weighed down by the reality that your prayers are merely just a gust of wind for something as almighty as the divine that ruled over the cosmos. It happened oh so suddenly that fear almost shatters your entire body into two.

“Hoolay has escaped from the Shackling prison!” A guard’s words echo through you that moment.

“He has taken a Yaoqing messenger with him, his name is…”

Moze inhales, messy in appearance after just coming back from the Shackling prison. The words thick on his tongue and fist clenched.

“…Jiaoqiu was taken by that escaped Borisin Warhead.”

You watch the starskiffs pass by your vision, the wind that gently gossips upon your skin felt so numb. You grip the rail before you, inhaling a breath, Jiaoqiu’s taken. You exhale, resting your head on your arm. He’s taken and no one knows where he is.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

You hear Feixiao approach you, you don’t lift your head to look at her and she settles on the space beside you, diamond blue-eyes accompanying you gazing at the numerous skiffs before you.

When you’ve gotten used to her presence, she turns, “How are you holding up?”

You cannot help but chuckle. “I’m not the one who needs comforting.”

She hums. “I know.” Her eyes are back on the starskiffs. “I am not familiar with offering words of comfort either, but I know you. I’ve known you for a very long time, don’t try to hide your emotions from me.”

You don’t answer her, you don’t for a very long time. So when you do, your voice cracks. “I’m scared. So, so scared—“

“Look at me, please?”

You finally lift your head. When your eyes settle onto Feixiao, she’s a watercolor of vanilla and blue. You didn’t realize you were crying until she started wiping the strays rolling down your cheeks.

You disliked crying, it makes you feel so weak—so open. However, you press Feixiao’s warm palm on your cheek, letting her comfort you because your fear is spiking yet again, memories of your dead parents rising to choke you whole.

“We’ll get him back, that I can promise.” Feixiao’s forehead is against yours.

You can only nod, squeezing her hand. “I know you will. You three are so strong, the strongest people I know.”

She finally releases you, not before pressing a delicate kiss on your temple. “I love you,” she tells you like she’s sealing a promise on your skin. “I’ll be having an audience with General Huaiyan and Jingyuan. Moze and I won’t be back for a while until this situation rolls over.”

You see the uncertainty clouding within Feixiao’s eyes. “Will you be alright being alone for a few hours?”

Your sister has always been so concerned for you, she’s been like this since you were young and you’re grateful that she cares about your well-being.

You shake your head with a smile as a response. “I’m no longer a child, Madam General. I can handle myself, so go do what you need to do.”

You don’t leave your place, raising a hand and waving as Feixiao leaves you to your own thoughts. Your smile falls then, ruminating on the current situation with a heavy heart.

“Jiaoqiu, Feixiao and Moze.” You mutter out to the wind and the virring skarskiffs passing beneath the bridge. “Please be safe.”

As you finally let your prayers fly in the wind, you step down the bridge and decide to focus your mind on other matters—you decide to stroll around Exalting Sanctum to check up on the craftsman that promised you your items.

Under the dim alley of Exalting Sanctum, Jiaoqiu stills with quiet breaths, his sharp eyes hovering between the disguised Warhead and Mok tok.

Even if he’s stringed up by them, he’s certain that General Feixiao had gotten the message of the prison break as well as his capture. His only course of action now is to stall for the Cloud knights, he’s giving time for Moze and General Feixiao to capture Hoolay.

“Since you’re so confident that the Cloud Knights have closed the ports, Jiaoqiu, I’m giving you a chance to go and see for yourself. Go to the ports, come back, and tell me what you saw.”

What is he thinking? Jiaoqiu scrutinizes as he steps into the bustling streets of Exalting Sanctum. His butterscotch eyes lift up to the sky, then around the streets, he’s certain that Warhead isn’t giving him freedom, the piercing gazes of suspicious foxians watching closely on his behavior is enough for him to thread carefully.

If he interacts with anyone aside from checking up on the ferryman, he fears there will be consequences. Jiaoqiu’s steps are paced, weighty and enduring. His mind is a blur of colors, but he manages to reach the port, his voice hushed as he talked with the so-called ferryman who’s responsible for the Warhead’s escape.

Jiaoqiu had thought the Xianzhou had closed the ports, but it still remains open. What's going on?

He inhales, he can feel someone watching him. The prodding looks make the hairs on his tail stand up. He exhales, climbing up a flight of stairs and turning the corner—

“Ah, there you are, young one. I was wondering where you were, and where’s your red-headed companion?”

“It’s just me today.” A familiar voice, “May I ask for the progress of what I ordered?”

Jiaoqiu’s breath is paper thin and his bones stiffen, what are you doing here?

He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s you, his amber eyes zone in on you in an instant. At first, he felt relieved. You seem to be faring well even after the events that had happened in a span of a few hours—and then after relief, he felt dread.

Jiaoqiu can still feel eyes following his every move, he cannot go to you. But what if you saw him? What if you approached him and demanded to take him?

What would the Borisins do to you?

Jiaoqiu should’ve left when he had the chance instead of just standing there—because after your conversation with a craftsman, you had turned on your heel and your eyes had stopped on him.

No, Jiaoqiu mutters to himself.

He sees the arraying emotions washing over your face, the look of shock, relief, then yearning.

“Jiaoqiu is that…you?” Your tone is laced with a certain type of sob that rips his heart into two. His fingers twitch on his side, the desperation to embrace you is almost palpable—your actions will have consequences.

He stops himself shortly.

Jiaoqiu turns his head, and leaning at the far corner is a stranger, a foxian, his shadowed expression sharp on him, scrutinizing and calculating.

“Jiaoqiu!” He’s snapped back to reality when he hears you approaching him, hurried paces against the stony ground. He cannot be seen speaking with you.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Your voice is strained and vulnerable, eyes glassy. “Where have you been, how did you—“

When you reach over to touch him, Jiaoqiu turns and slaps your hand away, harshly.

The two of you pause for a full minute, shocked at the action.

Jiaoqiu? Your eyes dissect him slowly, his butterscotch eyes are sharp, narrowed, expression complicated and folded with a million emotions. What’s happening?

“Is something wrong?” You ask him slowly. For a very long moment you only stared at each other. Jiaoqiu looks like he wants to reach out to you, to apologize for slapping your hand away—for his fingers ache to touch you.

But at the same time he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. He keeps shifting on his heel, like he’s ready to walk away from you. But why?

Is someone watching him?

You turn your gaze, looking around the crowd but Jiaoqiu’s voice stops you,

“Stop it.” he hisses at you, “Go, get out of here.”

”..Okay.” You can do nothing but exhale. “Okay uhm, then I’ll get someone here, perhaps a Cloud Knight—“

“No!” Jiaoqiu yells at you and you flinch.

“Don’t—just don’t do anything. Forget you saw me and go back, please.”

Forget you saw him, he says. This is the first time you’ve seen Jiaoqiu this agitated, not even your first argument was he this icy, so harsh on you—you’re trying to understand why he’s acting like this but you cannot come to a conclusion.

You want to abide by what he says, you really do, but Jiaoqiu’s right here. If you left now, what would those borisins do to him—would they kill him like how they killed your parents?

The very thought of it sends a chill through your spine, your heart seizing in fear. So when Jiaoqiu turns around hastily, dread crawls up your body just watching his back as he walks away from you.

You know Jiaoqiu’s trying to protect you. You know it, but at the same time you cannot let him go.

You close the distance, enough to grasp the straws of his sleeve fabric—but the response is almost instantaneous, Jiaoqiu circles your wrist and tugs you to a dim alleyway impatiently. He’s aware of the heated gazes of the borisins but he tries to get away enough to push you up against the wall, to take all your attention.

Jiaoqiu’s aware of your wide, tear-stained eyes and shaking body. “I’m sorry, Jiaoqiu. I just can’t, let me expl—“ your words stumble between your lips like a drunk as you try to explain yourself but he simply flattens his palms on your mouth, and his voice is low, hurt and in pain.

From here, his butterscotch eyes that were once a gentle pool of honey and orange are now hardened like a resin, angry.

“When I tell you to run, run, little scribe.” Jiaoqiu forces his voice to leave his throat, a shaky exhale of statements. “I promised you, I promised General Feixiao that I would protect you, I would do anything for that. Your life is worth more than mine.“

You shake your head fervently, struggling from his hold but Jiaoqiu holds you closer, head falling unceremoniously on your shoulder, his soft ears tickling your cheek.

“They’re listening.” Jiaoqiu murmurs, shifting his hands to hold the frame of your face closely. “I need to go back to them.”

“They’re gonna hurt you at this rate.” You hiss. “Just come with me, Jiaoqiu, and then—“

“Then they’re gonna hurt the people here!” Jiaoqiu’s ear twitches as he bites back. “We are not to draw any form of attention to ourselves, don’t be selfish—“

“So what if I am?!” You grasp his hand, pressing your cheek against the heat of his own palm. “I don’t care if you call me selfish, I—“

Your words stumble, he can feel fresh tears on his skin.

“You’re breaking my heart, Jiaoqiu.” you sobbed. “I just want you to be safe with me, with sister and Moze.”

Jiaoqiu closes his eyes.

He is reminded of that crammed table that could slot four people. He remembers the spicy scent of food, the banters, the laughs.

Jiaoqiu engulfs you in a tight hug, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” he pauses. “I know where you’re coming from, you told me your story before, haven’t you?”

His lips brush the side of your temple, as if sealing a promise.

“I love you.” He tells you, and agony is in your heart. “I’m sorry, so so sorry, but I can’t leave with you, not when I know people will die if I escape and especially not when I know Hoolay will be the key to cure the general’s illness. Go find Moze as fast as you can, I'll try to stall those wolves for you.”

“Jiao—“ but he’s pulling away and disappearing from your view, taking the warmth with him. You could hardly stand on your own two feet, barely registering what had just happened.

You foolish fox…you push yourself off the ground, stumbling out of the alleyway with your eyes sweeping across the area.

But he’s gone, just like that.

You bend down, your balled fist slamming hard against the wall in frustration.

Jiaoqiu, an image of him enters your head, the patterns of torment in his eyes. You turn around and sprint for it. Please, stay alive.

But the world is not in your favor.

As soon as you distance yourself from Jiaoqiu, it isn't long before you feel eyes following you. You have been ever since you left the alleyway. Your heart hurts, and you aggressively wipe your tears on your sleeve.

For that Warhead to force your companion to do all of those things, you feel anger simmering beneath your arteries. How dare he—how dare he force Jiaoqiu to say all of those?

You quicken your steps then, someone was after you. Maybe that’s why Jiaoqiu wants to get away from you despite wandering around freely, because he was kept under close watch, he didn’t want them to draw their gaze on you.

Foolish, so foolish. You should’ve taken notice of the bloodthirsty eyes around Exalting Sanctum. Your breathing is heavy, you try to turn a corner—

You bump into someone.

They hold your shoulders steadily.

“Easy there, are you alright?” Gazing down at you was a man in Cloud knight uniform, you physically relaxed at the familiar attire. You step away from his hold, swiping the back of your palm on your cheeks.

“I’m alright, I apologize for bumping into—“

You stop. You feel murderous intent.

You settle your gaze on the Cloud Knight before you, he had foxian ears and a scar running down one of his eyes. Despite his gentle and raspy tone, his expression is cynical, but most of all,

His scent was so achingly familiar to the scent of the people that massacred your parents.

This is not a Cloud Knight.

“Is something wrong?” The man asks you.

You shake your head with a polite smile on your lips, your fingers nitpick at the wild thread from your pants, brushing the hidden knife tucked into it. “No, it’s alright. I just argued with someone unnecessary. I’m sorry for being such a sight—“

You merely wish to aim for his neck, to immobilize him so you can stumble out of the quiet corridor you were on and to mesh with the crowd. Just as your fingers reach for the weapon and to swipe—you hear bone crunching, your knife falling to the ground and your scream is choked by his hand, clamping down and gripping your jaw and cheeks, his claws dig deep and they feel sharper against the pillow of your skin.

“Pathetic human.” the foxian clicks his tongue. “So much vigor for such a weak attack.”

Hot blood trickles down from the open wound on your wrist, it hits the pebbles ground like rubies.

“If you want to chastise me for my measly attempt, at least say such a thing out of your disguise.” You breathed heavily, gaze sharp and angry. “You have no right to say that to me when you’re the one hiding like a whelp, you damn wolf.”

“A sharp-tongue, just like that pink fox.” Mok tok says it so disdainfully, his claws cut your skin, he leans in close to you, inhaling. “You smell of him too, as well as two other scents on you. So you’re close-knit.”

Jiaoqiu, your mind utters. What did you do to Jiaoqiu?

The borisin laughs at your unfortunate situation. “Now because of both your stupidity, your life will be nothing but fodder for our cause. Sing praises, little human, you have no one but that fox to blame for your misfortunes.”

“Of course, a lowly beast like you would think like that.” You try to bite back your scowl. “Blame him? How shallow do you see me, blaming someone whom you’ve shackled and taken hostage?”

“You speak as if your opinions hold absolution. Well, relish in these short-lived quips. Our lord wishes to cause chaos within the Xianzhou streets, it won’t take long and you will be nothing but another body to clean up and placed on a star skiff after this farce.”

You close your eyes. White, hot anger threatens to brew out of you like a storm, but you can feel the bones in your legs weakening, the dripping blood causing you to feel lightheaded—is this how you’ll die?

You slump against the stone wall behind you, your vision starting to blur.

“Feixiao.” You mumble, biting your lip one last time. “She’s strong, her alone will be enough to cut down a thousand of you. I swear upon my name, she’ll make sure you borisins will taste nothing but bitter defeat. You and your lord will not leave this ship and see freedom till your last dying br—“

Your words were hindered as something sharp swipes through your throat. Your pulse dies and everything goes pitch black.

For a split moment, his heart hurt and his eyes snapped open to nothing.

The ache is almost indescribable, almost painful as Jiaoqiu jolts awake from a nightmare, hand flying to his throat. He didn't realize he was mumbling in distress until he heard the chair beside him creak clumsily—like someone had jumped up from being seated for so long.

When his nose picks up the scent of Dreambranch incense, Jiaoqiu momentarily realizes where he was.

He lets out a breath. “I wasn’t aware you were here, Moze.”

“Jiaoqiu you…” Jiaoqiu can almost hear the reluctance in his tone—and if he had his vision, he would have seen a complicated expression on the assassin’s face, the familiar furrowed brows and deep frown.

“Don’t sound so uptight. I’m fine, I just had a nightmare is all.” the lighthearted tone quickly withers after remembering the dream that had made his fingers tremble.

“Moze, has…”

Moze is quiet by definition, but the absence of even a breath from him is all too unnerving. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch, picking up on the way the chair creaks at the weight of being occupied, then a heavy breath.

Bitter is in Moze’s tone. “…little scribe has still not been found yet.”

Jiaoqiu smiles resentfully.

After the whole dilemma with Hoolay and the Wardance ceremony, he had just narrowly escaped the jaws of death when Moze had found him in an alleyway half-dead. He had lost track of the days that passed as he recovered slowly within Luofu's commission.

Everyone is slowly recovering from the aftermath, him, Feixiao and Moze—severely injured from fighting Hoolay and the remainder of the wolves that thrashed the streets.

All but you.

After everything was settled, General Feixiao had ordered knights to track your whereabouts. But not a single person had found you or possibly,

your body.

Jiaoqiu does not like to think of the latter choice.

But it’s been days, and the seed of hope within him is slowly withering.

After fixing his clothes, he peels the blankets which prompts a curt response from Moze.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to take a stroll, I feel restless..”

A gentle yet firm hand lands on his shoulder. “You mustn't.” Moze says. “That dragon lady just injected Draconic Ichor dewdrops to you last night, your tissues haven’t fully replenished, you’re not allowed to move as you please, at least not right now.”

“You’re confined to the alchemy commission just as much as the general and I.” Jiaoqiu quips back. “And yet you’re here in my room, defying clear orders from Miss Lingsha.”

It was unspoken, but Jiaoqiu is aware of the times Moze slips out the commission at night, searching for you until the dawn peaks and people start to flurry back onto the streets.

He’s aware of Feixiao talking with the authorities within the Luofu, talking with higher ups and people to help with the search, to find people who would help find even an inkling of you somewhere.

And just like him, those two are just as aware of the times Jiaoqiu sits alone on the bed, a smile on his lips as Lingsha or Bailu leaves the door when he says he was feeling okay. unaware—but aware to two of his companions—that he’d pray helplessly for your safety every day, praying that you’d show up at some point. He prays, promises that he’d never place mushrooms in your bowl again, so you can finally come back to him.

It wasn't spoken aloud, but actions were made clear on how the Yaoqing general and her two delegates had missed you like no other.

They loved you, after all.

The hand on his shoulder drops, and Jiaoqiu turns to the direction where he knows he’s facing the assassin. He’s still unsure with his own movements and gestures, being in such a state—he’s conflicted of what to feel, but his visual impairment doesn’t affect him as much as his growing dread of your absence and his heavy heart did.

“If you plan to take a stroll, then i’ll accompany you.”

Jiaoqiu’s smile is soft, feeling the looming presence of his companion by his side, easing him towards the door in a clumsy gesture.

“I owe you, Moze.” He tells him when they exit the commission.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Moze replies. “Just, keep yourself healthy so you can continue to be by the General’s side.”

“Of course. Isn’t that already a given due to my position?”

“…You’re making that face.”

Jiaoqiu’s ear flick at his directness.

He pushes out a chuckle, “What face?”

“Like you just failed the General.” The familiar thump thump thump of Moze’s footsteps pause, the pink-haired healer does the same.

“It’s not your fault that they’re missing.”

“Is that so?” Jiaoqiu wonders. From the distance, he can taste the sea waves, the ether trickling its whisper on his ears and kissing his skin cold. “Do you remember what the General told us months ago when we were first called to her office?”

Moze stays quiet. Jiaoqiu continues, “the General had told us that there was an attempted assassination on her kin.” He grits his teeth. “She told us that she was worried, that one day, the most precious person in her life would face a tragic end because of her—“

“Jiaoqiu—“

“The little scribe.” Jiaoqiu sighs, shaky. He feels pathetic, saying all of this in front of Moze. He’s supposed to be the eldest, the wisest, but given the circumstances, there’s nothing but loathing and self-deprecating thoughts in his mind.

Helplessness has found a home in his chest once again, he hasn't felt this way since being a healer on the battlefield.

“There’s no excuse for this.” Jiaoqiu turns then.

“It was direct orders from the General to protect them, I exposed them to Hoolay and now we don’t know if they’re safe or not. I…I failed that order. If only—“

And faltering, “if only I walked away just before they saw me—“

Warmth. Just before he finished his sentence, he felt arms embracing him.

For a moment, he was stunned. Moze hugging him? That’s quite an unlikely situation, then he smells that scent—the scent of wind and vanilla and herbs, as well as the feeling of smaller sinewy arms around his shoulders.

“Is that how you felt, Jiaoqiu?” It was General Feixiao.

“...Did you also slip out of the alchemy commission, General? Ignoring the doctor’s orders again I see.”

“Compared to you, I have almost recovered.” Feixiao’s embrace only tightens much to Jiaoqiu’s surprise. “But you, I heard from Miss Lingsha that you’re healing very poorly despite the treatments you’ve received. They had thought it was because of the toxins still in your body, but I thought of another reason. You feel responsible for what has happened.”

“It’s just a trivial thought of mine, I never wished to concern you with my own health and problems, General.”

“Don’t say nonsense, a healer doesn’t heal himself.” Feixiao mutters on his shoulder. “And I thought an embrace can help ease you, Miss March had said so.”

“Ah, the spirited one from the Astral Express.” Jiaoqiu dithers. “Thank you for the kind offer, General but I’m alright—“

He stiffened once again when he felt another pair of arms around him, piling up on Feixiao's embrace. He is unsure of what to do with his hands, so he pats either of his companion’s arms.

“This isn’t necessary.”

“It is.” Moze says it seriously, dutiful.

Jiaoqiu would have let this slip, if it weren't for the fact that his back is starting to ache from all the weight pushing him down. His companions are—after all—all bulk sinews and muscles from exercise, compared to his leaner stature.

“It isn’t. If anyone were to see this, they would think the Yaoqing—“

“Sorry, am I interrupting a beautiful sentimental moment between comrades?”

Jiaoqiu pushes both Feixiao’s and Moze’s arms when another tone quips up from the distance.

The smell of fragrant roses hits his nose, the subtle feel of the atmosphere shifting at the arrival of that knight whom you have accompanied half the time during the Luofu.

“This is the first time greeting you, knight of beauty.” Feixiao is the first to speak, kindness in her tone. “May I know the agenda of your visit?”

“I have come here to fulfill a request from a friend.” Argenti’s tone dips into genuine sorrow. “As well as to say sorry, for what has happened.”

The clack of armor against the cobblestone, the rustle of something he isn’t quite sure of, then Argenti’s syrupy tone again.

“Your young companion has had a surprise to offer to you three. They had sought me for assistance for it, and it’s only today that the craftsman had finished it. I thought of delivering it on their behalf.”

”What is it?” asks Moze. Argenti steps up and offers a hand, Moze reluctantly extends his, hitting his palm with something soft, almost heavy.

“I heard it’s Xianzhou tradition to give things like this to someone special.” His smile is soft. “It’s to signify good luck and blessings.”

Moze is quiet. “…They did this?”

And the knight nods, giving the other tassels to the two. This was the surprise you’ve been in secrecy for the longest time, Moze notes clutching the red tassel tightly between his palms. It’s a gift, for them.

“Thank you for delivering this, knight.” Feixiao offers her gratitude. She's the only one that is engaged in the conversation, Moze is otherwise quiet—and Jiaoqiu’s too busy trying to trace a pattern on the tassel thread to say his own tidings.

But Argenti is understanding, after a few more words said, the knight of beauty excuses himself, leaving the three to their own thoughts.

When silence is all that envelopes, Feixiao turns towards her companions.

“Do you want me to place the tassel on your person, Jiaoqiu?” The pink-haired healer smiles at the gentle brush of his general’s tone, giving his tassel to her so she can hang the accessory around his belt.

“I can do it for you too, Moze.”

“Okay.” Moze leans forward. “I’ll place yours, General.”

The tassels are caressed by the gentle breeze of the distant shore of Lunarescent Depths, the meaning of its thread weighs heavy.

“They are alive somewhere, that I am sure of.” Feixiao said it like a promise than an assumption. “We won’t return to the Yaoqing until I am sure of that.”

“I am with you, General.” rasps Moze.

“Where will I be if not by your side as your doctor?” Jiaoqiu chuckles. “Even with my current state, I wish to give it my everything.”

Suddenly, hurried footfalls on heavy cobblestone gave way to a new arrival.

Both Jiaoqiu and Feixiao’s ears twitch at the sound. Moze’s sharp eyes darted towards a Cloudknight who was approaching them, out of breath.

“General Feixiao!’ the Cloudknight heaves a breath, his hurriedness draws all three to his manners.

“What is it?”

“The Yaoqing scribe—your companion has been found.” The air stills and Jiaoqiu inhales a sharp breath, the Cloudknight continues through heavy breaths. “The IPC representatives have claimed that they found your scribe, they had just entered the Alchemy commission.”

It’s a miracle, one peels at your consciousness. Thank your Reighbow arbiter for such wonderment, you were given a second chance, the second sores a bruise on your skin.

Your carotid arteries are surprisingly intact, you only manage to harbor a few broken rib cages, wrist bone and clavicle, the third draws a muddy filth until you find yourself awakening from a tormented scene, clutching the expanse of your bandaged-wrapped neck like you’ve lost its anatomy—for a short moment, you thought you have gone without a neck.

Your eyes bruise beneath the sun, sticking it towards the open window of Luofu’s Alchemy Commission, the wind gossips, and the duvets hug your thin frame.

You inhale the medical-scented room, you're alive, exhale, you're okay.

“Feixiao.” your dry mouth utters the first words. “Jiaoqiu.” you push yourself up, dragging your feet towards the edge of the bed, toes hitting cold planks.

“Mo—” then, the door bursts open.

Your eyes snap up and a lamp lights in your pupils.

Moze was standing there, in the flesh.

“Moze—” and you startle in surprise when the gaps between the two of you immediately cease, large arms engulfing you whole. Which was unexpected, because Moze is not one to initiate physical contact with anyone. But to the assassin—feeling you in his arms, the dresses of breaths you let out and the warmth that wools you reassures Moze that you are here. You truly are here in his arms.

“You’re okay.” came his shaky response, he gathers you closer, your beating pulse resting on his cheek. “You’re fine now.”

A couple more footfalls came, Feixiao and Jiaoqiu had arrived.

Feixiao calls your name when her eyes land on you, the synonyms a delicate stroke on her tongue, then her warm palm finds a home on your cheek.

You gaze at her, watching her ocean eyes crinkle with relief, her ears tilted back to show just how troubled she was. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry, sister.”

She leans forward to bump her forehead with yours, levity in the air. “Don’t be sorry.”

When Moze and Feixiao finally pull away, your eyes drag towards the last person in the room who hasn’t uttered a single word yet. You see a smile on his lips but it does not reach his eyes.

“Jiaoqiu,”

“Little scribe,” his voice betrays his calm disposition. “You’re okay.”

“I am.” you start. “Please come closer.”

You see his reluctance before he approaches you—slightly slower than normal—reaching his arms out before finding your bed, sitting on the edge of it. His actions sent an ache through your heart.

“How are you feeling?” Jiaoqiu asks. “We heard your wrist was broken and your throat slashed…”

“The medicine that the healers from the IPC gave me helped and my wrist is healing. But you, Jiaoqiu, I heard that your eyes…”

Jiaoqiu gives you a smile and you finally confirm that it is in fact true.

He cannot see anymore.

Even if he’s visually unavailable, Jiaoqiu knows you. And he knew you were crying, his fingers reaching out to you, trying to feel where you were. You meet him halfway, clasping your fingers with his and pressing your cheek against the palm of his hand. His thumb swipes across your wet skin and his forehead taps against yours.

The whole situation weighs on your chest—your endangerment, the severe injuries those three received, the aftermath and the reunion, you cannot help but finally crash down from everything. You wrap your arms around Jiaoqiu, a heavy sob wracking through your whole body and he holds you impossibly close. You feel Moze’s and Feixiao’s hands rubbing circles on your back, soothing your cries.

“Please don’t cry, I’m—we’re okay.” Jiaoqiu softly croons, running his thumb up and down the wet skin of your cheek.

“So are you,” his face crumbles and he bites back his own sobs. “Thank you so much for being okay and coming back to us, thank you so much.”

When your heavy cries fade into weak sniffles, Jiaoqui holds the frame of your face so delicately, wiping away the remnants of wetness, leaning down to rub your nose with his. “Better?” and in response, you grunted.

Everyone takes a seat near your bed. Moze reaches out to give you a handkerchief and you gratefully take it. Afterwards, you fall back into conversation, asking them what had happened during your absence. Feixiao is the one to elaborate to you the aftermath of the borisin attack, their recovery and the resume of the Wardance.

You crack a smile, “I was really excited to see that ceremony.”

“We can all go there together.” There’s a faint smile on Moze’s lips. “That knight will take part from what I heard and there will be other contestants across the universe.”

“After our recovery, since everything has been handled by General Jingyuan, I will be able to join you three and partake in the ceremony.” Feixiao speaks. “It will take about a week before the Wardance will conclude, then we can all return to the Yaoqing.”

The Yaoqing, your gaze drops to your hands, your smile thinning.

“...I have something to tell you three.”

This garners their attention, with a breath of courage you mutter out, “When the Luminary Wardance concludes in Luofu, I won’t be returning to the Yaoqing.”

You look up, your face serious. “ I’ll be joining the Intelligentsia Guild.”

Hours prior to your return to the Alchemy commission, you find yourself in a room that has been rented out by the IPC.

Someone knocks on your door and you grit back an exhale.

“I believe I’ve already sent my regards to you lot. I am grateful for your aid but I never imagined I would be bombarded, entangled in some miscellany with the IPC, much less..”

You turn your head, glare landing on the tall man with dark purple hair. “Much less from such a distinguished figure from the renowned Intelligentsia Guild.” You let out a tired sigh. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Let’s not speak in riddles and pleasantries then.” Despite your bite, Ratio’s tone remains firm and gentle. “You are already aware of our intentions and I’m merely here to remind you of it.”

“As I said it once and I’ll say it again. I’m a pathstrider of the hunt, I have no interest in joining other factions.”

“I suppose a little stubbornness will suffice, however your missing the point of my argument. Your companions, I heard those three Yaoqing folks—including you—were severely injured during the attack of the borisins. If the IPC hadn't found you when they did, I’m afraid you would have been dead, long ago.”

“So this is the game you’re playing. I heard the Intelligentsia Guild was heavily sponsored by the IPC. I have dealt with people like you during my time in the Yaoqing office and I’m not a fool to fall for your petty schemes. This talk is more catered to your interest much more than mine, am I right, Doctor?”

Dr. Ratio sighs. “I must admit, I was sent here under orders from Madam Yabuli. But I also have my own curiosities about you.”

“Your achievements in the Yaoqing are far more popular than you think. The IPC has recognized it and so have I. There’s an open spot in the Intelligentsia Guild that we can offer you, the Candelagraphos, it’s a printing department of the guild. Your scribe work has gained acknowledgement outside its capital and thus would make a good addition to us.”

Your fist is clenched onto the blanket, “So it’s more of a one-sided investment for you and your guild.”

“Incorrect.” Ratio says. “Going back to your companions, one of them holds the ancestral bloodline of the borisins, and the other has had his vision critically impaired—” Your chest twists at what he said. “—If you join the guild, you can gain access to a lot of information to help them that you can use at your own personal discretion.”

Ratio stands, setting a glass of water and medicinal herbs at your bedside. “That’s my offer to you.” He nods. “I do hope you think this one carefully, at your state, this is more of an opportunity than a disadvantage. I will provide assistance and vouch for you. For now, please rest.”

He turns. “You will return to your family tomorrow.”

Instead of resting like what Dr. Ratio had said, your heart is a bouquet of conflict. You spent the entire day tossing and turning, thinking about his offer, thinking about the possibility and opportunity you can get,

Thinking about leaving them, your mind pauses at the notion. You thought about it again before dismissing it. Their impact on you is so significant that you cannot envision living a life without Feixiao, Jiaoqiu and Moze. They helped you stand on your own two feet, would you still be able to stay afloat when they’re no longer by your side?

Then clarity sinks into your artery.

Jiaoqiu’s permanent injuries and Feixiao’s chronic illness. You can find something to help them, and thus as the sun sinks its color on the horizon line, you made the decision to accept.

You had explained your situation and decisions to your companions. Your hands had turned clammy as they listened to you intently.

Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch. “...You want to join them and use your experience as the Yaoqing’s scribe to research more about our conditions?”

“I thought about it and I don't see any reason to give up on this opportunity.” Your gaze drags to each of them slowly, dissecting the emotions on their faces.

“I have an idea of what you are gonna say, and I am aware of the dangers of joining them. But this is a choice I made, Jiaoqiu and Moze—you both have been my protectors and companions for a short time but it felt like an eternity. Ever since that day at my sister’s office, I never expected for such a bond to happen, nor did I expect to care so so much about you both. If I could go back and do it all again—I won’t change a single thing. Now it’s my turn to help you out.”

Your eyes flicker to Feixiao. “Sister.” you start. “You have been protecting me for all my life, please allow me to do the same for you. I’ll search for a cure for you and Jiaoqiu with my own abilities, please.”

Silence, and you waited with battered breaths, slightly terrified of their reactions. After all, if you join the intelligentsia guild, you would be leaving them.

Then you hear a breathy chuckle, you look up and all three of them are smiling at you.

“Is this what you want to do?” Feixiao asks.

You nod your head and her grin widens. “If that is what you wish for, then who am I to deny such a thing?

Moze lets out a breath, nudging you softly. “We will leave it in your extremely capable hands, Yaoqing’s scribe.”

“We are nothing but proud of you.” Jiaoqiu’s smile is so, so sweet. “Never forget that.”

“I have always been worried about you and your future. If this is the path that you chose for yourself, then go for it, I wouldn’t dare block you from doing something you want to do.” Feixiao reaches out to caress your cheek. “Then, should we spend the next few days together? This will be the last time all of us will be able to hang around each other.”

Your eyes are on your hands, your vision blurring as you try to wipe the wetness from your lashes. “Yeah, okay. That’s a deal.”

The day continued, but most of it was spent being in each other’s company, talking about anything and everything under the sun like you’d always do. The epilogue of the day started when Miss Lingsha knocked on your door, asking for Jiaoqiu to do a quick check up. Everyone had decided to end the day there, not before bidding you a good night’s rest.

By the time you all were able to finally leave the Alchemy commission, the Wardance ceremony had finally commenced. The four of you enjoyed watching the contestants battle to your heart’s content. The atmosphere dressed with the thrill of the crowd, at some point—when a Belobogian fighter was pitting against one of the robots of the IPC, you notice Moze looking at you from the corner of your eye.

“Is something the matter?” You catch his stare, but his velvety irises were intent on something on your face.

He points towards the side of his mouth. “Sauce.”

“Oh.” You immediately raise your hand to wipe—your sleeve comes with a drag of the familiar orangey sauce of your skewer. You thanked Moze and he nodded at you in greeting.

Five seconds pass.

“Want to try?” You raise your berrypheasant skewer to him. You cannot help but laugh at the quiet enthusiasm Moze showed, you cup a hand beneath when he leaned down to take a bite.

You grin at him as his expression glowed at the sweet taste.

It's easy to get lost in the flurry of joy and before you know it, the Luminary Wardance has been concluded and it is your final night with them before you go your separate ways. The night is gradual and Jiaoqiu finds himself conscious on his bed. His face wrinkles on a wince, feeling a burn crawling up his pulse and his chest caving in on himself—chronic pain, he remembered a doctor telling him post-discharge. Due to Lupitoxin and the aftermath of that tumbleweed I’m afraid you will be experiencing episodes of chronic pain.

The healer could do nothing but bite his lip to ease his pain rolling in waves.

Through the pain that hummed in his ears, he heard footfalls nearing his room. It’s the kind of pattering that happens when rain hits a soft cloth, the type that almost anchors him from his splintered head.

His heavy breath hitches when there’s a delicate rapping of knocks, then someone approaching his bed. He recognizes the familiar pattern of footsteps and turns his back to it.

“Are you awake, Jiaoqiu?”

A second too late. “Is something the matter?”

Silence greets him. He feels someone tug his blankets, lifting his duvets so you can occupy the space beside him.

Your head touches his back, Jiaoqiu clenches his hand.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Jiaoqiu asks.

“Yeah.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Jiaoqiu, does it hurt?”

“No—” he slightly chokes on his reply. “I’m fine—I just need a few minutes, it will fade. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologize—”

“Then, can I hug you for a few minutes?” you ask. “Just for a few minutes—”

Before you can finish your own sentence, he has turned around and pulls you in his arms. Jiaoqiu smells like medicinal herbs and fragrance from incense.

You bury your face on his chest. He feels your hand clutch him tightly. “I…I wish I can stay for a little while longer and help—”

Jiaoqiu hushes you. “Why are you faltering now? Didn't you promise me that you would go to the guild to find a cure?”

“I know I did. I still want to go, but I wish to go to the Yaoqing first and be of assistance to you even for a short while. Leaving like this…”

“I will be okay, that I can promise you. Yes, it will be difficult but I don’t want my health to be a detriment to what you want to do.” Jiaoqiu’s warm breath is on your neck. There is a gentle rhythm to his palm running up and down on your back. “This isn’t our last goodbye, so don’t fret your head about it. By the time you come and visit, I will be better. Now sleep, you need the rest for the journey tomorrow.”

“Can I hold your hand while I fall asleep?”

Jiaoqiu chuckles heartily. “Silly.” He finds your hand, the furnace of warmth dancing beneath his palm. “I’ll allow it tonight. Now rest.”

Sometime during the night, like an invisible string—Moze appears, materializing within the room, his eyes gentle at the scene. You awaken to his familiar footsteps and the light rustle as you smell him burning another incense, stirring from your slumber and fluttering your drowsy gaze at the assassin.

Just as you part your lips to utter his name, Moze presses a finger to his lips.

He draws closer, pulling the blanket over both your shoulders and dragging a chair to rest beside the bed.

When your eyes lock with his, he mouths ‘keeping watch, go back to sleep.’

Your eyes crinkle and your heart flutters at his simple way of affection. You are aware of him coming sooner or later, according to your sister’s words, Moze would secretly slip into Jiaoqiu’s room. She believes he does this because he knows of the chronic pain and would light up the fragrant incense on the windowsill to make sure Jiaoqiu slept with a calm mind.

Then and there you’ve realized how different it is for them to love, to comfort. Not only love for you but love for each other. Feixiao and the two had a bond that was furnaced into iron—they were each other’s saving graces and security for as long as you remembered.

You can feel the weight of Jiaoqiu’s head next to yours, his arm loose around your waist. With your free hand you extend it towards Moze.

He looks at it, unsure of what you wanted.

“It’s chilly.”

“I just pulled the covers on you, are you still cold?”

“Your hand can warm me up nicely.” You say softly, “please?”

Moze’s palm without his glove is full of calloused surface, dried scars and roughness against your own. “Thank you,”

A beat of silence, then you see Moze lean forward. He runs his thumb across the bandages of your wrist.

“Your wrist.” He enunciates first. “Does it still hurt?”

Your lips curl up, shaking your head. But Moze does the honor of pressing his lips against your bandages, as if to ease you. Your consciousness slips to the comfort of Moze’s forehead on your knuckles, as if apologizing for being unable to protect you.

I’m sorry. His gestures suggest.

You squeeze back. Fingers brushing delicate strands of his grey hair, it’s okay.

When the night vanishes and the day breaks, Feixiao enters, then stops when she sees all three of you huddled together still sound asleep. The room barely nurses the sunny-egg yolk morning, creeping slow gold through the hard flooring.

Feixiao’s chuckle is thick with mirth. She grabs an extra blanket in the cabinet and quietly covers Moze’s frame slumbering stiffly on the chair, allowing a few more moments of respite between the three of you.

A few hours later, it’s finally time for departure and you stand on the Starskiff Jetty, your bags already loaded onto the skiff. Moze was the first to close the distance, giving you a very long hug as if to satiate the yearning he’d have if you leave. His muscled arms only seem to tighten as the seconds drag and you’re more than welcoming of this side of him.

“Take care of them and yourself.” Your whisper brushes his ear and you feel him hum.

“I’ll handle things over here,” he presses his lips against your temple. “You take care.”

When you pull away, you turn to Jiaoqiu. You’re the one that stepped into his open arms, claiming his shoulder as your homage for a split moment.

“I’m going to miss you.” His voice comes with a tremble. When he pulls away, his hands lay purchase on the chub of your cheeks. He runs his fingers through every angle, crook and dip like he’s memorizing the shape of your face.

You clasp his fingers and press a kiss to the back of his hand. “Me too.”

Jiaoqiu lifts his head, nodding at Moze. “I’ve packed you some Xianzhou food—with the help of Moze, of course. Thought you’d want to eat some one last time.” You turn and Moze hands you a bag of stacked lunch boxes. You cannot help the smile that creeps up your lips at the endearment.

“Thank you so much.” You dare try to sneak a peek inside one of the containers. The familiar aroma of Jiaoqiu’s homemade foods fill your bones in heavy nostalgia.

In one of the bowls, you’ve noticed something.

Your eyes snap up, “There’s no mushrooms.”

There was elation that crossed the fox’s expression, the tips of his lips curve upward and his tail swishes behind him.

“Just like you wanted.”

Your laughter is filled with sentimentality, you try to hide your sniffle, it does not escape him. “This is a first. I swear I'll miss eating your mushrooms though, even if I hated it.”

Jiaoqiu chuckles, reaching out to hold your face one last time. “I’ll take note of that then.”

Lastly, you turn towards Feixiao. A gracious smile settled on her lips.

“Sister.”

“Come here.” Her embrace is almost your last straw. You bury your nose on the crook of her shoulder, reminiscing her scent. Feixiao must’ve noticed your faltering disposition, for she had landed her hand on your back, dragging her palm up and down.

“Don’t cry.” She tells you.

“I’ll miss you, so so much,”

“I know.” She pulls you tighter. “I know. I’m gonna miss you too. You’re always welcomed into the Yaoqing anytime you wish to visit, and remember to write to us, okay?”

Feixiao rubs her cheek against your own. You nod and she spares you another grin. “Here.” She reaches for something. “I want you to have this.”

“What’s this?” You hold the tiny scroll in your palm.

“It’s a letter.” At her reply, you look up. “Open it when you’re on the ship.”

The time has finally come, and from behind Dr. Ratio calls your name. You turn to him, then back at them. Now that you’re gonna be separated, there’s hesitation rooted in your feet.

But your companions offer you encouraging smiles and you finally take a step away from them. With one last glance from behind and a—farewell, I love you—you enter the IPC starskiff. From your seat, you watch Feixiao, Moze and Jiaoqiu enter a different ship boarded for Yaoqing.

You press your hand against the glass, watching as their skiff breaks away from the same road as yours. Now that you’re here, there’s a creeping loneliness that settles on your chest.

“You think you’re gonna be okay?” Ratio comes by to check up on you and you nod your head, wiping the tears that rolls down your cheeks.

“Yes, sorry. I’ll be okay.”

You watch his eyes soften, crushed by a mortar and pestle. “The first goodbyes are always the hardest, there’s no need for apologies. It’s gonna be a long trip to the guild so help yourself with anything the ship provides. The IPC is the one funding it after all.”

“Alright, thank you doctor.”

When the Xianzhou Luofu disappears from your window view and the ocean of the vast galaxies span across vision, you finally tear away from it. You land your wet eyes on your clasp palms, the scroll that Feixiao gave you delicate in your hands.

You inhale, exhale, then open the letter—when the top comes off with a pop, something topples onto your lap and your eyes twinkle. Inside contains the same hand-crafted tassel, the only difference is that it is engraved with all your names,

You flatten the letter onto your palms next and it reads,

Even if such a perilous challenge comes your way, you were always the type to persist. We have always been aware of it, and in our eyes you are a strong and resilient person. We know you’ll do amazing wherever you go, you always have been, and we are so proud of you.

We’ll be alright, just as you would be.

May fates bring us all together one day, and when you come back to visit, let’s all have a meal together like we always do.

You are the pride of the Yaoqing, safe travels our dear scribe.

Much love, your guardians.

When your eyes rove the last characters of the letter it starts to blur. Your heart is honeyed by their words. You press your lips against the paper before lifting your gaze to the universe outside.

Goodbye, Xianzhou. You say your greetings to your home, no longer somber in the heart. Because at the end of the day,

You know you’ll all be okay.

THE END.

[axikitksauce]

Okay so-

>There is a large population of anthromorphic animals who don't have any special powers. Sometimes they're mostly just implied, and sometimes we see them. Most of the main characters have weird abilities, but that's kinda just the plot making the important people more important. I think most of them are weird mutants.

>Sonic is just fast, and the chaos emeralds dont seem to have anything to do it. Unless there's some weird obscure prequel I don't know about, his speed is just something he has and we never find out how he got it, so the implication is that he's born with it. However, Sonic ALSO seems to be talented at using the Chaos Emeralds in a way that nobody else is. In sonic 1, he's able to use them by ACCIDENT. In sonic 2 and 3K, he can use all seven to go super, and tails acts as a contrast: he can't go super with the regular chaos emeralds, and needs the extra power of the "super emeralds." Knuckles can, but he comes from a clan whose whole deal is guarding the emeralds. Sonic just seems to be a natural. In SonicAdventure 2, he uses Chaos Control with a counterfeit emerald. That fake chaos emerald was built to give off exactly enough energy to pass as a real one for like five seconds before breaking, and sonic used it to perform one of the longest-distance chaos-control teleports we've seen, having never used chaos control before and basically only seeing shadow use it like twice. SO THERE'S THAT

>Knuckle's clan had prophesies about sonic. There's an ancient mural in one of their temples depicting the final boss fight of Sonic Adventure 2. SO there's also THAT. The same thing happens in Sonic Adventure, with the final boss, Perfect Chaos, being forshadowed by an echidna mural. In this case, though, it's a little less mind blowing - in story, it makes chronological sense for the echidnas to have met chaos, made a mural of it, and then have that mural be ancient by the time chaos meets sonic.

What's interesting is that chaos is ALSO naturally talented at transforming using the Chaos Emeralds. We've technically seen the emeralds used without all seven present just once in sonic 1, but Chaos is the first character we've ever seen get any amount of power out of just one emerald - it's even more impressive that that power is a transformation. I just realised that perfect chaos is ANOTHER Dragon Ball Z Reference. God Dammit.

Chaos' final form is absurdly large and powerful. In terms of size, it's a far more drastic transformation than sonic's ever come close to, but in terms of power, Super Sonic is equal to it. Years later, (but also at the exact same time. it's a time travel thing) Sonic will defeat Perfect Chaos without using any Chaos Emeralds at all. I don't know if there was ever a canon explaination for this power boost. He can just do it now.

Considering that the echidna tribe's purpose was to guard the master emerald, (which not only had Chaos sealed in it for years, but ALSO has the power to give or take energy to and from the other emeralds, while being a giant chaos emerald ITSELF) *GASP FOR BREATH* It seems likely that the purpose of these murals, depicting extremely powerful users of the Chaos Emeralds, would be to remind the Echidnas of why they're doing what they do.

And SHADOW...

...is heavily implied to be based off of the prophecies about sonic.

Doctor Gerald Robotnik wanted to create an "ultimate lifeform," and seems to have come to the conclusion that that meant recreating one of the prophecies from the Echidna's murals.

For a start, we KNOW that we was trying to recreate chaos, because his attempts are enemies in Sonic Adventure 2 and Shadow The Hedgehog. This might also explain why draft 1 of his "ultimate life form" was a big fucking lizard that can kind of use Chaos Control. It's weird to leap from a big lizard to an anthro hedgehog, but it would make sense if he was basing the projects off of the creatures he saw in the echidna's murals.

(Ironically, as eggman's grandfather, he also indirectly "created" one of the other people depicted in those murals. good for him.)

We know that he developed technology to use the Chaos Emeralds as a power source, and the Ultimate Life Form project was basically just the process of converting that technology into an organism. He genetically engineered organs that could allow a living thing to harness the emeralds' power.

(There's even a page from gerald's journal basically reading "man, would a living creature capable of directly controlling chaos emeralds be fucked up or what?" It's funny, but it also implies once again that sonic's ability to use their power IS NOT NORMAL.)

The technology was perfected when he created shadow. Shadow shows up using chaos emeralds in a way nobody else seemingly can. He can use "chaos control" to stop time and/or teleport, and can do it with just one emerald.

At first, it seems like he's much more talented at using the emeralds than sonic is, but as SA2 goes on, it turns out that the only thing really holding sonic back was that he just didn't know that he COULD do anything with the emeralds except for using all seven to transform. Like I mentioned... he just tries chaos control with a FAKE EMERALD and it works. Shadow doesn't even pretend that he isn't impressed by this.

When Sonic and Shadow go Super and team up for the true final boss, Shadow tells sonic during the fight: "I think I've discovered what the Ultimate Life Form is. It might be you!"

This is a... weird line. But it's commonly taken as confirmation that the concept of the ultimate life form was based on the Echidna's prophecies, with Shadow realising that Sonic is the creature from those prophecies, making him the truest realisation of the concept of the "Ultimate Life Form."

He also says that in space. Just sayin words. in space. Making noise. In space. That's odd. There's a possible ending in Shadow The Hedgehog where shadow gets gaslit into thinking he's a robot.

So basically... Sonic is inexplicably fast, but he's ALSO inexplicably the prophecised chosen one who can use the chaos emeralds like nobody else can, and I don't know why! I think nobody does! Shadow was (IMPLICITLY) an imitiation of sonic as he appeared in the prophecies, and was genetically engineered to have comparable skill with the emeralds.

I think I got everything right....

I don't know if shadow has super speed or if they're just roller blades though, sorry.

A lot of this is popular fan speculation and I dont know everything, but this is what i got. When it came to fan theories, I tried my best to present the evidence first and explain how people drew conclusions from it, rather than just say "shadow is an attempt to copy sonic" like it's a straightup fact. But maybe I did that. I dont' know. im eepy. Keep in mind that this is canon to the games, and the comics and cartoons make up their own shit with nobody stopping them. Also, not all the games are canon to each other, and I have no idea where shadow came from in the sonic boom universe. And some games are fully canon but have been retconned through time travel. god help us all.

Can someone with sonic autism explain some lore to me, please?

[riboism]

haunted ═╬ act I: the arrival

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ wordcount: 5.2k

↳ series masterlist

A wave of relief swept over you as the crisp, refreshing breeze of late October kissed your cheeks. The train ride to Cromer Ridge had been a seemingly endless ordeal—stuffy, suffocating, and filled with doubts that gnawed at your tenacity. Every mile of the journey was shadowed by second-guessing and an almost unbearable longing to turn back. Yet, deep down, you knew there was no returning to the life you had left behind. Starting over was daunting, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your spirit. But you also knew it was time to release the past, to embrace the opportunity for renewal. Though your unfamiliar surroundings felt discouraging, you steeled yourself to take the first step forward.

Your first task upon arriving at your new home was clear: find a job. The urgency of the times was palpable, and the job board near the platform was already surrounded by a crowd of weary, determined faces.

A sigh escaped you as your shoulders slumped in quiet defeat. The list of available positions read like a declaration of exclusion. Coal miner. Machinist. Bricklayer. Though the words “No women inquirers” weren’t printed, the message was clear. And who would hire you anyway? You were a woman, expected to secure financial stability through marriage—or, if desperation struck, by selling yourself in ways too degrading to voice. Your only skills were the domestic trifecta of sewing, cooking, and cleaning—skills instilled in you by a mother who saw no greater purpose than preparing you for marriage, a means to lighten the financial burden of an unwanted daughter.

Just as hopelessness began to settle in, something caught your eye. At the far end of the board, a single yellowed flyer flapped in the breeze, its ink faded and edges curling. It seemed forgotten, avoided even, as the crowd conspicuously steered clear of that corner. Curious, you stepped closer, your heart inexplicably quickening. The faded words were difficult to make out, but you pieced them together as best you could:

Live-in housekeeper needed. Inquire at the Park Estate.

⸺

“Excuse me, sir, can you tell me how to get to the Park Estate?”

The lively chatter and rhythmic clinking of shot glasses halted. One by one, the tavern’s patrons turned their attention toward you, their eyes narrowing with suspicion. The bartender froze mid-motion, his dishrag suspended above the bar as he gawked at the wide-eyed newcomer who had dared to ask such a question.

“What business do you have there?” he asked, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust.

“I’m inquiring about a position there,” you replied, the words tumbling out sheepishly as the weight of the room’s gaze settled on you. “The one posted at the rail.”

A ripple of murmurs coursed through the crowd.

“Someone really oughta take that flyer down.”

“I heard that’s how he gets his victims—lures them up there with promises of work, then poof, they’re never seen again!”

“You know, he harvests human limbs for the black market! That’s how he keeps that eyesore of a castle funded.”

“Did you hear what the butcher’s wife said? She swears she saw Count Park skulking around town weeks ago, creeping like a ghost!”

“No way. He wouldn’t dare come down here. He knows he’s unwelcome. That’s why he stays up there, feasting on stray cats and whatever he can find.”

The whispers swirled, growing darker with every utterance. The stories painted a picture of a man—or perhaps a creature—that was nothing short of monstrous. The rumors about Count Park were wild and fantastical, their macabre details echoing the haunting bedtime tales your grandmother once told of strange creatures lurking in the shadows, snatching disobedient children to devour.

The bartender hesitated, his brow furrowed. You didn’t know it then, but you’d made a mistake by asking about what the townsfolk referred to as the “Dead End of Cromer Ridge.”  Park Estate was no ordinary home; it was a brooding castle perched on the edge of town, shrouded in mystery and whispered fear. No one dared to venture close, and few could even confirm whether Count Park was still alive. Some said he’d gone mad with grief after the death of his wife, his isolation breeding festering darkness. Others insisted he had dabbled in Satanic rituals, turning himself into a vampire—a bloodthirsty creature doomed to stalk the night.

Every tale was more grotesque than the last, but one truth remained constant: the very mention of his estate sent a chill down the spines of the townsfolk.

After a long pause, the bartender finally relented. “Straight down, take a left at the old sign, and head west. It’s a steep climb—I doubt it’ll be easy to make it up there.”

You murmured your thanks and quickly exited, trying not to let the hushed gossip of the patrons unsettle you. But as you stepped into the cold evening, a sense of unease lingered. The townspeople weren’t just unfriendly—they seemed haunted, consumed by fear of the Count. And their fear had a way of clinging to you, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

⸺

The bartender hadn’t exaggerated—the hill was brutal. Each step felt heavier than the last, your calves burning as fatigue clawed its way into your limbs. The path grew darker with every stride, the last rays of sunlight vanishing beneath the horizon, leaving only the oppressive gloom of night. In the distance, the castle loomed, stark and unwelcoming against the dusky sky. Its jagged silhouette seemed carved from shadow, a brooding presence that radiated unease.

As you drew closer, doubt began to fester. A small voice in your mind whispered to turn back, to abandon this unsettling journey. Something about the air felt off—thick and heavy, as though it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken warnings. Perhaps the townsfolk’s sinister murmurs had worked their way into your head, or perhaps it was the creeping dread that came with nightfall. Yet, no matter how many reasons you found to retreat, one undeniable truth remained: you’d come too far to turn back.

The promise of a warm bed, of shelter from the biting chill, was enough to propel you forward. Where else could you go? Who else would take you in? Pushing your unease aside, you pressed on, even as every instinct screamed otherwise.

The moment your foot touched the porch, an icy shiver raced down your spine. The boards groaned beneath your weight, the sound sharp and accusatory in the oppressive silence. The castle’s windows were boarded up, their blackened edges like gaping scars. The wind howled through unseen cracks, coaxing eerie creaks and groans from the ancient structure, as though it were alive and watching. The bushes lining the walkway were disturbingly pristine, their neatness at odds with the house’s decayed and foreboding aura. If not for their immaculate care, you might have thought the place was abandoned.

Your breath hitched as you reached for the door. The metal hoop of the knocker was freezing against your palm, and for a moment, you hesitated, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. With a trembling hand, you lifted it and knocked, the sound reverberating through the still night like the toll of a bell. A death bell, perhaps. 

You stood there, waiting. Seconds stretched into an eternity, the silence amplifying every stray sound—the rustling of leaves, the creaking of old wood, the faint whisper of the wind. Your nerves began to fray, and just as you were about to knock again, a sudden noise made you whip around.

A crow landed on the railing with a thud, its black eyes glinting like polished onyx. It tilted its head, staring at you with an unnerving intensity, as though it were delivering a silent warning: Turn back. Leave now.

But you couldn’t. It was too late. The journey here had already cost you too much, and the thought of retreating to nothing—a cold, inhospitable town, a life of uncertainty—kept your feet rooted in place. Even as dread coiled tighter around your heart, you remained, the weight of your decision pressing heavier than ever.

You jolted as the grand doors creaked open, the deep, groaning sound echoing in the stillness. The noise rooted you to the spot, your pulse hammering in your ears. Until this moment, you hadn’t stopped to consider who would be behind the door. What sort of person lived in a place like this? Why was he so hated? What if the rumors were true—what if he was dangerous?

Your imagination conjured a monster—sharp yellow teeth bared in a sinister grin, hollow eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, leathery, pale skin stretched tight over angular bones. His voice would be guttural and broken, a sound that carried only misfortune and dread. You sucked in a breath, bracing yourself for this creature to appear.

But the door stopped after only opening slightly, leaving just a sliver of darkness visible beyond. No figure emerged, no silhouette loomed. Silence followed, heavy and expectant.

“Hello?” you called, your voice trembling.

There was no response. You hesitated, glancing back down the shadowy path you’d climbed. The idea of retracing that perilous journey in the dead of night frightened you. Desperation flared within you, pushing you to speak again.

“I saw your ad on the job board. For a housekeeper? I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” you began, the words spilling out quickly. “I-Is the position still open? I’ve been cooking and cleaning all my life. I can stitch a warm coat in two days, and hats, gloves, and scarves in less than one. I noticed your bushes—they’re well cared for. I know a lot about gardening; my father taught me—”

The door suddenly widened, cutting off your nervous rambling. A rush of frigid air spilled out, carrying with it the faint scent of damp wood and aged stone. You hesitated, then stepped inside, expecting warmth to greet you. But instead, the chill intensified, the air biting at your skin like icy needles.

The man who had opened the door had vanished, his presence already dissolved into the shadows. The heavy doors groaned as you pushed them closed, their weight demanding your full effort.

Turning back around, you finally took in the house. In the dim flicker of candlelight, the interior revealed itself in pieces, like a dream shifting into focus. The grand entryway was vast, yet suffocating, the kind of place that seemed to watch you back. The floor was a checkered sea of black and white marble, cracked in places and dulled by time. A massive staircase dominated the space, its dark oak banister coiled like a serpent rising toward the upper floors. The air smelled faintly of wax and mildew.

Dust clung to every surface, turning once beautiful furniture into ghostly relics. A cracked mirror hung crookedly on the far wall, its gilded frame tarnished and webbed with cobwebs. A dark red, velvety tapestry drooped sadly from its mount, its colors faded and threads unraveling. Scattered across a long wooden table were odd, forgotten items: loose buttons, dried ink bottles, and what appeared to be a single leather glove, stiffened with age. Despite the grandeur, the house felt as though it had been abandoned to the passage of time, its opulence rotting away in quiet decay.

You held your chest tightly, your pulse quickening as you tried to quell the unease clawing at you.

“Eighteen dollars a month.”

The voice came from above, low and rich like the stroke of velvet against bare skin. It was smooth, refined, and utterly at odds with the house and its rumors. You snapped your head up, your eyes darting toward the staircase.

There he was. A figure stood at the top of the stairs, his silhouette cloaked in the shadows. He was too far away to make out clearly, his back turned to you as he rested one hand lightly on the banister.

“You start tomorrow,” the voice continued, steady and composed, though tinged with something you couldn’t name. “Do not wake me. Your quarters are down the hall to your left.”

With that, he was gone, disappearing into the upper darkness as quickly and silently as he’d appeared.

You stood there, rooted in place, the chill of the house seeping into your very bones. The unexpected smoothness of his voice lingered in your mind, disarming in its elegance. And yet, it wasn’t enough to shake the oppressive weight of the home, with its decayed grandeur and shadows that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking.

Your quarters, tucked away at the far end of the hall, were modest compared to the rest of the house—but that was to be expected for the help, you supposed. The space was sparse yet functional, its simplicity offering a quiet reprieve from the unsettling grandeur outside its door.

A soft white bed stood against the wall, its quilt worn but clean, promising a much-needed rest for your aching body. Beside it, a small desk sat neatly, complete with an oil lamp and a sheaf of blank paper, an unspoken invitation to write letters you weren’t sure would ever reach anyone. A large armoire dominated the opposite corner, its dark wood polished to an eerie sheen, its brass handles shaped like twisting vines. Though you had packed light, the armoire’s cavernous emptiness made your belongings seem smaller still.

You settled into the room cautiously, smoothing your hand over the quilt as you perched on the edge of the bed. Despite its simplicity, the room felt...off. Perhaps it was the silence that hung so heavily in the air or the faint chill that lingered, despite the walls being thick and the windows shut tight.

Your mind churned as you tried to make sense of everything—the decayed opulence of the house, the cryptic demeanor of the Count, and the strange, fearful gossip that followed his name. What kind of man was he, truly? You realized with a sinking feeling that you still had no idea what he even looked like. The thought nagged at you, stirring up an unease that clung to the edges of your thoughts like cobwebs.

The strangeness of it all—the place, the person, the situation—was unnerving, and yet, there was a small part of you that whispered it was too late to turn back now. The journey had been long and unforgiving, and there was no guarantee of shelter if you left.

Your body, however, had little patience for your anxious mind. The weight of the day bore down on you, and your fatigue eventually overpowered your worries. You stretched out on the bed, its softness wrapping around you like a cocoon. As your eyes fluttered closed, the strangeness of the house loomed over you, lingering in your thoughts like a shadow.

But soon, the stillness of sleep claimed you and the unsettling mysteries of your new life were left to haunt the night.

⸺

You awoke just as the first rays of dawn slipped through the cracks in the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the room. To your surprise, you felt well-rested, the ache of yesterday’s journey soothed by the quiet stillness of the night. The house, with all its looming shadows and unsettling whispers, had not disturbed your sleep.

Sitting up slowly, you stretched your arms overhead, feeling the stiffness melt from your shoulders. A yawn escaped your lips as you rubbed the lingering drowsiness from your eyes, the warmth of the quilt still clinging to your skin. For a brief moment, the morning felt almost normal—peaceful, even.

But as your feet touched the cold floor, that fleeting comfort dissolved. The air in the room was still and heavy as if the house itself had been holding its breath while you slept. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been watching, waiting.

Shaking off the thought, you steeled yourself for the day ahead. Whatever the peculiarities of this house or its master, you had work to do.

In the cold kitchen, you set the tea kettle over the fire, the soft crackle of the flames breaking the otherwise oppressive silence. As you watched the water begin to simmer, a thought crept into your mind: should you prepare a cup for the Count? It seemed polite, perhaps even expected, but then you remembered his firm instruction not to wake him.

Maybe he simply valued his solitude—or his sleep. You could understand that; mornings were a sanctuary for some. Still, the uncertainty of your role gnawed at you. What kind of man didn’t even outline what he wanted from his housekeeper? You glanced at the kettle again, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

You reassured yourself that time would bring clarity. By nightfall, surely, you would understand his routine and expectations. For now, you took comfort in the steady rhythm of small tasks, grounding yourself in the familiar while the unfamiliar loomed just beyond your reach.

As you moved around the kitchen, its grandeur dulled by the thick coat of dust, the scale of your work became painfully clear. The counters, once polished to a gleaming finish, were now layered with grime. A tower of mismatched dishes teetered precariously in the sink, their surfaces streaked with stains that told of long-neglected meals. The pantry was nearly bare—just a few stale loaves of bread, an old jar of jam, and some long-forgotten tins tucked into the corners.

You sighed, shaking your head as you rummaged through the cabinets. At least there were some spare biscuits, and with the tea brewing steadily, you’d make do for now. A trip to town for supplies seemed inevitable, though the thought of braving the peculiar townsfolk again didn’t thrill you.

After nibbling on the dry biscuits and sipping the hot tea, you wandered through the halls, taking in your new surroundings. Even as the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon, the house remained shrouded in shadows. The wooden panels nailed over the windows blocked most of the light, forcing you to rely on the flickering glow of the few lit candles. The air felt thick and heavy, the faint scent of mildew lingering in the corners.

The living room, if you could call it that, was a chaos of clutter. Melted candle wax had pooled and hardened on the floorboards, books lay scattered across the furniture, and a once-elegant rug was curled at the edges, its patterns obscured by dust. A broken clock leaned precariously against a wall, its glass face cracked and the hands forever frozen in time.

You crouched down to scrape some of the hardened wax from the floor, the task already feeling endless. A sigh escaped your lips. Yes, there was much work to be done—more than you had expected.

But as daunting as it seemed, you reminded yourself of the warmth and security that this place, for all its strangeness, provided. Rolling up your sleeves, you resolved to tackle the disarray piece by piece, determined to bring some semblance of order to the house. Whatever secrets this place held, at least you’d have the satisfaction of a clean floor beneath your feet.

⸺

The afternoon had slipped away, and your work felt far from done. The kitchen and dining room had consumed the better part of the day, leaving your back aching and your hands stiff. The thought of tackling the grand living room and foyer loomed over you like a heavy cloud. You’d been busy with the senseless tasks of cleaning and reorganizing, but there were still errands to run. The idea of facing more work in the house was enough to make you pause. 

You slipped into your warm coat, wrapped a scarf tightly around your head, and stood at the door, pausing for a moment. You glanced up the staircase, half-expecting to see a glimpse of your master. But there was only silence. No movement, no sign of him. Perhaps he was still asleep. 

With a loud sigh, you grabbed your purse and stepped out into the chilly air, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. The path down to town felt long, but it was a welcome distraction from the house and the work that awaited you when you returned.

The journey down the hill felt longer today, your never-ending thoughts slowing your steps. You passed the same familiar buildings, the same curious eyes peering at you from behind the small shops and homes, but today, there was a different sort of tension in the air. You knew the townsfolk still whispered behind your back, their words like echoes of a story you couldn’t quite grasp. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the task at hand: groceries. Yet, their comments continued to swirl in your mind.

“Don’t meet her eyes, she carries his curse within her,” one of the shopkeepers muttered under her breath to a customer as you walked past. You caught only fragments of their conversation, but the few words you did hear made you shudder in place. 

Their whispers were distinct—filled with warnings, judgments, and fear. It was as if the townspeople saw you as a shadow of the Count, carrying with you a dark energy that left them uneasy in your presence. Their words wrapped around you like a curse, as though you, too, were tainted by something malevolent. They spoke of you as if you were a mirror of the Count’s darkness, forcing them to avert their eyes and steer clear of your path altogether.

You pushed yourself forward, determined to finish your task. The items you needed weren’t difficult to gather, but the weight of their gaze made everything feel heavier. You hurried, and by the time you reached the shop’s counter, you realized you had forgotten a few things, the very basics that had slipped from your mind in the rush of the day.

With a sigh, you made your way back to the estate, the basket of groceries now even more cumbersome. The long hill back up to the house made your legs ache, but it wasn’t just your body that felt worn—your mind too felt numb, with feelings of anxiety and uncertainty making it impossible to think about what to do for dinner. 

When you returned, the sun was already making its way down, and the house was as silent as before. You set the groceries down in the kitchen, eyes wandering over the untouched spaces, the dust that still lingered.

You quickly got to work, preparing a simple dinner for yourself and your master. The faint smell of burning wood and the steady crackle of the fire filled the air, offering you little comfort as you set the table for one. The clink of the dishes was the loudest sound in the room, your own heartbeat keeping time with each dish you placed.

As you adjusted the final details on the table, you heard the soft creak of the door. The flames flickered unexpectedly, casting dancing shadows across the room. A chill swept over you, settling in the pit of your stomach as the temperature seemed to drop with his arrival.

You turned, and there he stood, filling the doorway with a presence so striking it almost stole your breath. His gaze locked onto you, and the cold that had crept in from the draft seemed to melt away, replaced by something much warmer—an almost familiar tension that pulled at your chest, making it harder to breathe.

He wasn’t what you had expected. His appearance was nothing like the monster the townspeople had whispered about. There were no signs of age or decay, only ethereal beauty—as if he was sculpted by some divine hand. His skin was pale, smooth like porcelain, with a soft glow that seemed to catch the dim light from the candles. His dark, glossy eyes were like deep pools, glinting with a mystery that held your gaze far longer than you intended. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones added to the sharpness of his face, giving him a sense of quiet nobility, yet there was something undeniably otherworldly about him.

He lingered at the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—shock, maybe, as though he hadn’t expected you to be there. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you, and the weight of his gaze made your shoulders tense. Your fingers found the hem of your apron, fidgeting as you tried not to squirm under his scrutiny.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he seemed to catch himself. His posture straightened, and his expression softened, the sharpness of his gaze retreating behind a veil of composure, as though he’d realized he might have given too much of himself away.

Your heart pounded as you thought of what to say. Gathering your courage, you managed a small, polite smile. "Good evening, sir," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I—I prepared some soup and fresh bread. I thought it might be to your liking."

He approached you slowly, each measured step echoing in the room, the sound of his heels against the wooden floor making your chest tighten with anticipation. As he drew nearer, the air seemed to shift, heavier with every step. Just as he reached your side, he stopped abruptly, his gaze dropping to the dinner you had so carefully prepared.

"Thank you," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, resonating like a soft hum that seemed to linger in the stillness. There was a pause before his eyes flicked back to you, and his next words came softly but firmly. "What is your name?"

The weight of his presence pressed against you, and your nerves heightened as you whispered, “Y/N, sir…” You kept your voice low, unsure whether to meet his gaze or keep your eyes lowered. The tension prickled at the back of your neck, your hands clasping tightly before you.

He didn’t sit immediately but instead lingered at the head of the table, his long fingers idly tracing the wood of the chair. When he finally spoke, his voice was commanding yet smooth, every word material.

“I apologize for meeting you so late,” he began, his dark eyes briefly glancing at you before settling on the untouched bowl before him. “I work well into the night and, as such, must sleep during the day.” His tone carried authority, leaving no room for argument.

He picked up the spoon, stirring the soup languidly, the movement unnervingly slow. “You’ve done well so far,” he remarked, the faintest trace of approval in his words. “The dining room is spotless. It has been far too long since I dined in here. My work consumes my time, leaving my poor estate neglected.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as it flicked back to you. “Cleanliness is paramount. My work demands focus, and I will not tolerate distractions. I trust you will uphold these expectations.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hope to please you and exceed your standards.”

His jaw tightened subtly, and for a moment, you worried you had misspoken. But he continued, his tone precise. “As I said, I cannot tolerate distractions. You are not to enter my workspace or my chambers. The entire upstairs is off-limits. There are valuables there that require privacy and care.” He hesitated briefly, his mouth parted slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “There is little up there that requires your attention.”

The restriction struck you as strange, but you nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“Your duties,” he continued, his tone crisp, “include daily cleaning, maintaining the estate grounds, and running errands in town as needed. For groceries and supplies, bring back receipts, and I will reimburse you with your pay.” He paused, his voice growing softer but no less firm. “There are also a few rules you must follow.”

“Yes, sir?” You straightened slightly, bracing yourself.

“Firstly,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “I am not to be disturbed during the day. My rest is crucial, and interruptions will not be tolerated unless it is a matter of life or death.”

“Yes, sir,” you said quickly, nodding.

“Second…” He cleared his throat, “Do not touch the wooden planks. The windows are boarded up due to a previous mishap, and unfortunately, there aren’t many architects nearby to fix it.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“And finally,” his voice dropped lower, carrying an ominous edge, “do not venture outside after sunset. The forest is dangerous—predators prowl in the dark. You would do well to heed my warning.”

A chill coursed through you at the severity of his words, the weight of his warning making it clear he meant every syllable. “I understand,” you murmured.

He gestured toward the table before finally lowering himself into the chair. “You’ve done well today,” he said, adjusting the napkin in his lap with methodical care. “I trust you’ll continue to prove yourself capable.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, your voice steady despite the unease curling in your chest.

He picked up the spoon again, swirling the soup without taking a bite. The hesitation made you anxious—had you made the wrong choice of meal? Your mind raced back to the town, chastising yourself for forgetting to stop at the butcher. You watched as the vegetables spun lazily in the broth, but his expression remained impassive.

“That will be all for tonight,” he said abruptly, his tone cool. He set the spoon down, folding his hands over the edge of the table. “You may take your dinner to your quarters.”

“Goodnight, sir.” You nodded, retreating with careful steps, the weight of his presence lingering long after you exited the room.

⸺

You eased your tired body onto the mattress, but sleep eluded you. The encounter with the Count played over and over in your mind, every word, every glance dissected in the stillness of your room. There was something peculiar about him—his aloofness, the subtle weight in his voice, the way he seemed to measure his every movement.

What exactly did he do? He hadn’t mentioned it, though whatever it was must be lucrative, given the grandeur of the estate. Yet, that same home felt hollow, like a gilded cage rather than a place of comfort.

Your thoughts wandered to his appearance—so striking, so unexpected. He was undeniably beautiful. How could someone so captivating hide away in such a bleak and isolated castle, so far removed from the rest of the world? And why was someone who seemed so young living alone in such a vast and lonely estate? Where was his family?

And then there was that look he gave you—just for a fleeting moment, but enough to unsettle you. It was as though he was disappointed upon seeing you, his dark eyes carrying a strange mixture of pain and defeat. You couldn’t name it precisely, but it lingered in your mind, an odd tension you couldn’t shake.

Everything about him was odd—the house, his demeanor, his rules. And yet, there was something magnetic about him that kept your thoughts tethered to him, even as your body begged for rest. It would be no surprise if you dreamed of him too. His image lingered in your mind like a shadow cast by moonlight—too vivid to ignore, too enigmatic to understand. You closed your eyes, trying to banish the thoughts, but his face remained, carved into the fabric of your imagination as you fell deeper into sleep. 

taglist: @a1sh1teruu @filmnings @professormingisglasses @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @yunyunrin-reads @seonghwasstar @innocygnet

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act II: the count ➜

[thesleepyhollows]

Understanding Arkhamverse scarecrow.

I’ve been wanting to make this post for awhile. I think with the release of Arkham shadow we might finally have all the necessary pieces to understand the life of Jonathan crane, his motivations and his descent into obsession.

This scene gives us a lot to work with.

Let’s start with this. It seems like unlike some versions of crane who see fear as a tool. The true face of control and power. Arkhamverse Crane sees fear as everything. This has been observed all throughout the series. From him discussing how fear drives every human action in Arkham asylum to this line in Arkham knight just before he’s defeated.

Something else I noted in that clip was Jonathan immediately trying to rationalise and analyse his reaction to his toxin using fear.

Now we’re not quite sure what this original chemical of his does. Only that its intention is to trigger the shadow within people. We can assume through both his and Batman’s reactions that it aims to do this through a similar process to the future fear toxin. Bringing out and facing people with their deepest fears. Hoping they may become them.

Though that leaves the same question. Why jump to fear. He’s clearly talented in chemistry. Surly there would be more direct ways to bring out people’s demons rather than only focusing on a single part of the shadow. Well I believe that shows us even before this realisation Jonathan had some experience and issues with fear. It’s also why his greatest fear seemingly is just. Fear itself. The helpless fears given to us from evolutions and experiences long before our time. Inherent fears.

However we also shouldn’t disregard his fixation on the shadow itself. Why does he seemingly want to get people to become their worst selves. As seen in his tapes with Harvey. Why is Jonathan crane like this?

Well I think there may have been a time where he saw someone consumed by fear. Destoryed by it.

This could draw an interesting parallel to the story of Amadeus Arkham whose story started when he watched his own mother be consumed by her mental illness before ending up consumed by it himself. I think this parallel could make a lot of sense given that I’d argue although the joker plays a more personal threat scarecrow is the main villain of the Arkham series.

So allow me to tell you what I believe to be the story of Jonathan Crane in the Arkham series. Assuming that the brief backstory we got in his Arkham asylum character bio isn’t considered canon.

A parent or other caregiver suffered from great anxiety and paranoia that caused them to do great harm. Maybe overtime perhaps in one tragic incident. Jonathan internalised this and began to grow interested in the mind. Maybe it started with good intentions. After all he does claim to be helping people in Arkham shadow. Maybe that was a lie and he’s been twisted for a very long time. Who knows.

He began work at Gotham state university and we know how that ended up.

Though it’s worth noting he clearly was brilliant. So much so that this incident unlike most versions of the character did not get him fired because his classes brought the university so much revenue. Instead he left on his own accord to take over as head of rehabilitation at blackgate. An odd choice given the amount of institutions bidding over him. They were likely offering more, far more than the job he took. Though I think his motivations for this were split. Partly is of course the obvious motivation of easy access to test subjects that couldn’t easily speak out. We can see in the previous game that he was running controlled tests likely of the chemicals we see used in Arkham shadow and his subjects were willing participants.

Now either not enough people were choosing to participate or the effects were becoming so potent it risked drawing unwanted attention to his work.

The second reason connects to my proposed backstory. Maybe he was curious to explore how fear connects and causes crime and violence via the shadow. The chain reaction that begins WITH fear.

We then see the events that happen in Arkham shadow and we find out alongside Jonathan that he’s been inhaling his own chemicals during testing. Smart move there buddy. This sends him into a psychotic spiral and forces him to confront and become his greatest fear. His shadow. Fear itself. We can see that this truly set in given how messed up he looks the following day. Not to mention his actions becoming erratic. No longer thinking to hide his crimes until after he severely injures Harvey and huffing his own chemicals right in court.

Afterwards? We’re not sure. Of course he goes on to become the scarecrow then the events play out as we see throughout the rest of the Arkham games. He gets mauled by killer croc during the events of asylum and his previously smug and joyfully sadistic personality get destroyed alongside his face. The experience clearly changed him quite drastically as a person. Although clearly it didn’t shake his core ideals and beliefs about the all consuming nature of fear.

How pitifully ironic that this idea became true in the end. As he’s injected with his own toxins his mind collapsing and giving way to permanent insanity and terror. Fear really was everything Jonathan had left in the end.

[the-sinful-voice-witch]

Here's my SONIC 3 input:

Ehem, first: KYAAAAAAAAA SHADOW AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MARIA KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA POST CREDIT SCENE KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

And now... To hell with the theories I wrote years ago after the second movie because I didn't write a single thing right 😂😂😂, well no... I got one wish coming true at least, Keanu reeves as Shadow 😍😍😍 .

Now I'm going to comment about how the thing with Shadow and Maria was handled and I'm going to theorize a bit again about the next movie... See if this time I get something right🥲🥲🥲 well anyway the old posts are still in my profile if anyone wants to read an alternative storyline and now... Spoilers under the cut:

I should be mad given how adamant I was about this but I'm not because thankfully everything made sense and it was well written though I can't help to feel a bit disappointed... I'm a shadamy fan what did you expect 😂😂😂? But no shadamy for us because it wasn't Amy the one who changed Shadow's mind but fortunately unlike that disgraceful time in Sonic X this time there was no tag along human involved, it was Sonic himself who did it and in this context it was perfect. You see the movie version of Maria wasn't even a sick girl, she was a healthy cheerful kid that... To me had a personality that felt like a combination of Sonic's (movie version) and Amy Rose's (current Amy in general because we don't know yet about her movie version) personalities like for real all the silly things she does is something Sonic or Amy would do, is like if Sonic and Amy had a kid she would have this version of Maria's personality 🥰🥰 and girl... Unlike the original, Maria doesn't even get to say any last words to Shadow before dying because this time the shooting instead caused an explosion that killed her instantly 😭😭😭 somehow that made it even worse! And she wasn't sick! She had all live ahead of her and G.U.N motherfuckers took it away! SHE PLAYED THE GUITAR 😭 Shadow remember her playing! This was a massive heartbreak...💔💔💔💔

Anyway... Shadow hurts Tom thinking it was another specific person (also feel bad about him, he actually tried to stop the idiot from shooting and considered Shadow a kid like Maria), that triggered Sonic into wanting revenge and somehow Shadow in a way feels validation on his vengeful feelings and accepts his fate wanting Sonic to finish him but Sonic obviously won't give him that satisfaction and instead teaches him about focusing and validating healthier feelings: Even though Maria and Longclaw aren't here anymore the love we had still remains and Shadow then remembered the conversation he had we Maria watching the Stars, even though the star is gone it's light remains and that's how he changed his mind so yeah no Amy no Shadamy but how can I be mad at this?🥹🥹🥹🥹 It was perfect. So even though there's no Shadamy... at that doesn't mean there's no Amy because.... THIS HAPPENED IN THE THE POST CREDIT SCENE: 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

OMG I CAN'T BREATHE! THAT ENTRANCE!!! YESSSSS MY GIRL AMY ROSE IS OFFICIALLY PART OF THE MOVIES KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SHE IS SO CUTE SO CUTE🥹🫠🫠❤️ I LOVE HER!!! I HATE WE CAN'T SEE HER FULL OUTFIT😖😖😖😖

Finally finally FINALLY ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥, well she finally here so is time tooooooooo THEORIZE!!!😂😂😂, she if I get something right this time:

Well first Amy wasn't the only one showing up in that scene... We also have the introduction of Metal Sonic and that means everything makes sense and is connected my guess is that next movie could be a mix between the Sonic game in which Amy and Metal Sonic were introduced and the game Sonic heroes.

So, in the games Amy and Metal Sonic were introduced together and Amy was waiting in a specific place because the tarot cards told her and then se meets Sonic and metal Sonic, last one kidnappes her, Sonic saves her and then she falls in love with him and in the Sonic heroes game Metal Sonic shows up again and Sonic team along other characters team has to defeat it, then what exactly happened in the post credit scene? Multiple Metal Sonics attack him and he is struggling because he is outnumbered and then Amy Rose steps up and using her hammer as a boomerang saves him.

We have some changes, obviously Amy has her movie version of her current games version and not the look she had when she was introduced in the games though they might show us that look in a flashback or an eater egg, then this time instead of facing one metal Sonic we have a group of them and instead of Sonic rescuing Amy it's her who helps him being already a fighter, I'm going to assume she knew where to go thanks to her tarot cards like in the game what I don't know is if she is simply there because the cards guided her and after seeing what was happening she wants to help or if she has an specific mission. Another guess is that she is not going to fall in love immediately, I think Sonic will be the first one crushing for the sheer factor of Amy being the second Hedgehog he ever met but the first female hedgehog and she probably has seen other hedgehogs before 😂😂😂 so with the personality he has in the movies I think he will be: "I wanna look cool to her but I'm being a clumsy fool, earth swallow me please" 🫠🫠🫠like... Movie Sonic is a freaking teenager actually acting like a teenager, Amy will like him too but she won't be as obvious as she used to be and she won't be that clumsy because she looks like she's probably used to interact with other alien furros.

As for Metal Sonic, seeing his robotics clones is like he is taking Shadow's place in Sonic heroes who is you don't remember had multiple robotic clones of him, probably none of those clones were the original Metal Sonic also his existence makes an excuse for Omega to exist and wanting to eradicate all eggmans robots as revenge for setting him aside when obviously he is the superior robot 😂, we love you Omega 🥰🥰 also at the end of the movie we know that Shadow is alive as you remember he was still super Shadow and was hit by the explosion in the space and that must have knocked out all the chaos emeralds and spilled them around the universe and that will be the reason for ROUGE my dear waifu to appear! She probably found one and as the treasure hunter she is she will want to gather all of them as a result we have all the pieces we need for TEAM DARK! I don't think we're going to have team rose, we'll have to accept Team Sonic and Team dark, I think that's enough for a good Sonic heroes references along metal Sonic who obviously will be the final boss becoming a giant robomonster at the end.

I'll add an extra, I expect Knuckles to tease the hell out of Sonic because of his crush on Amy only to get the tables turned on him when they meet... The sexy bat thief ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 and Tails complaining that they're gross 😂😂😂 and obviously I want Amy to show interest In Shadow and I want Sonic jealous... I'm not asking too much 🤡🤡🤡

End of theories, hope you like them, see you in another post 🤪🤪😂😂

[fruitypi]

Okay so I can't stop thinking about one scene in sonic movie 3

⚠️Spoilers btw⚠️

So after Shadow almost killed Tom and the Wachowski's siblings are left alone. Sonic was full of grief and anger. He wanted justice.. or rather revenge. He knows he can't defeat Shadow with the power he had. He tried that already. He needed master emerald.

He just had to get to know the location of it.

The argument begins. Knuckles— being the only to know the whereabouts of the emerald— recognized, that Sonic's logical judgment was currently off service and refused to give up the location, he keeps telling his brother he doesn't think straight (haha, get it? Bcuz he's ga-), that emerald will not be used to hurt others again.

And now to the most important part;

Instead of going with the scene further, they decided to make a cheap joke; "haha, Knuckles actually gave the emerald to Wade! He's such a goofhead!" And I must say it was really underwhelming for me.

When the characters visibly started to get shaken by emotions, the music tensed and the whole scenery was filled with an upcoming fight scenario I really thought this would be a very emotional scene and when it just turned into a cheap joke I was really unimpressed.

I know, this is a kids movie and all, but now imagine how cool this scene would be if it looked like this:

The diplomacy failed. Sonic growled as he started at Knuckles, pure anger in his eyes. The echidna didn't look more calm, his hands curled into fists. Tails still tried to talk them out of this, but it's no use. Sonic lunged towards his older brother with every kick and punch he managed to think of. With his incredible speed, it seemed Knuckles was attacked by at least 3 people. The dust quickly surrounded the three, making the oldest's situation even worse due to limited visibility. But as the battle continued, one thing started to become apparent.

The echidna wasn't fighting back.

He was cutting every attack short, but didn't hit back, taking every hit he couldn't dogde, but didn't counter. He was angry, mad even at his brother for trying to get the information out of him. This stung him deeply. In the end, however, it was his family. His tribe. Something to be protected, not fought with. He didn't want to hurt his brother, so he wasn't hitting back.

After many dragging minutes the dust finally settled. Two brothers stood in the middle of the clearing, both breathing heavily.

Now you can do your Wade joke!

Am I the only one who hoped for something like this? I mean it was such an emotional scene just two seconds ago. Joke just.. didn't feel right at that moment. Also the scene with Shadow after this one would make more sense imo.

And that's all I have to say, have a nice day!

[randomheros]

So yall remember that time in Archie comics when Antoine worked as a prosecutor?

I'm sad that we're never gonna get a comic of Shadow teaming up with Antoine to sue G.U.N for financial compensation for past emotional and property damages...

[mariocki]

Anthony Ainley guests as medical specialist Josef Kerston, a doctor but also (shock!) a villain, in The Adventurer: The Bradley Way (1.4, ITC, 1972)

[arolesbianism]

Y'know Im not even gonna pretend to get ppl complaining abt the new skill trees because it makes Wilson less unique or whatever. Like there's plenty to complain abt with the skill trees, but you have to understand that the actual abilities Wilson gets from them are still unique, and still quite powerful in some cases. He rly isn't losing anything he hasn't lost by getting a skill tree in the first place, and in particular he could have a lot of use for certain speedruns and at worst is situational, which in itself means he's gained a unique role as a character. He doesn't need another new rework now or anything, the only rework Id want is a rework of the skill trees in general, Wilson is genuinely going to be just fine don't worry

[bulletbilltime]

I'm so sane. Only sane people think about "Life is Strange but isekai'd into Paper Mario TTYD". I'm so sane I swear.

[lumalalu]

why on earth do you even want a fe4 remake if you dont want anything to change just go play the original game.

[isaacathom]

i possess great power (the ability to make myself cry with relatively little warm up by thinking about my ocs)

[ozzgin]

Ghost Harem x Exorcist!Reader

I don't know, I just found the idea of an exorcist who keeps attracting the ghosts they're trying to purify very funny. content: gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW

You would argue you're rather good at your job.

Whenever you receive a call from a victim in need, you show up. Additionally, you never leave empty-handed. You're known to always complete your job. If a house is possessed, whatever ghost or devil is tormenting the poor inhabitants will be swiftly removed.

Normally, these spirits and demons would be purged; sent back to their hells, or off into some unknown afterlife. That, of course, was your initial aim.

Except these damned ghouls end up following you instead. Sometimes you don’t even get to perform the proper rituals: it’s enough to step foot into the cursed place, and they will pounce without delay, attaching themselves to you like starved dogs.

You’ve tried everything. The latest priestess you visited erupted in laughter upon hearing your misfortune and suggested the unholy creatures must be in love with you.

Love? A ghost? Nonsense. Most likely they are waiting for a moment of weakness, so they can devour your soul. That's what you tell yourself, pale with repugnance, gawking at the devilish curse standing before you and touching themselves. Their translucent visage is relaxed into a perverted grin.

Suddenly, a foreign weight presses itself into your shoulder. From behind you, a slender creature throws itself at the offender.

"Away! Keep away from my beloved," they bark, waving their long sleeves in disbelief. Its face is covered by a sealing talisman.

"Let the human sleep," another voice croaks from the shadows. "(Y/N) has a long day tomorrow."

You shriek as something slithers out of your shirt. A serpent-like monster speeds across your sheets with a chuckle.

"I just hope it's not another suitor. It's getting kind of cramped here, you know?"

The priestess' laughter rings against your ears, and you sigh, defeated. Maybe you can put them to work, at the very least.

Oh, they'd be more than happy to service you. In any way possible.

[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist]

[rowarn]

HYBRID!AU PART 2

part one | part two | part three

(: anyway here's what you've all been begging for. a part 2 but it was getting so long...almost 3k words. and so....there will be a part 3.......but for now i hope this satiates you!!!

cw: hurt/comfort, aftermath of hurt???, self-deprecating thoughts, insecurities, mentions of blood and scratching, mentions of past mistreatment, petnames and headpats tho &lt;3

The next time a human approaches you, you’re unable to stop the growls that escape your throat when you hear the pspsp as he tries to approach you. When you hiss, the man scoffs and stomps away muttering a soft ‘stupid cat’ under his breath. 

No one approached you for a long while after that. The only way you knew how much time had passed was when the restaurants all threw their leftover food from their workdays. Eating out of the trash was always utterly humiliating, especially when you got caught. 

Most people ignored you when they saw you sitting on the sidewalk, getting some sun since it didn’t shine into the little alleyway you hunkered in. Some people would scoff and give you disgusted looks, as if you were a stain on their shoe. 

At this point, you were used to humans acting like you were scum of the Earth. After your experience with Simon, human’s behavior towards you no longer surprises you. Though it hurt, you didn’t understand why you were so unlovable. 

But then one evening, when the sun was just beginning to set and the temperature was steadily dropping, you were huddled up in what little bit of sun-warmth you could get until it became dark. Your arms were wrapped around your body as you shivered, trying to ignore the way your tummy growled from being empty – the store employees had chased you off before you could steal anything from the dumpster. 

A large shadow cast over you and when you looked up, you saw a slender, athletic man. His presence immediately set you on edge and you felt a growl bubbling up in your chest.

“Hey now,” he chided softly, pretty brown eyes crinkled as he squatted in front of you, “None of that, little kitty.”

You scowled up at him. Even crouched down the way he was, he was larger than you.

“Do you have a name?” he asks kindly. 

You pause at that. Soap had given you a name. But did it really count as one if your previous owner hadn’t even agreed to it? Still, it was the only thing you really had left of your former companion. 

You softly mutter the name you’d been given and the man nods before holding out his large hand, “Kyle. Would you like to come home with me?”

That sends off alarm bells in your head and before you know it, your claws are ripping into his hand and you’re scurrying into the alleyway to cower in the corner. 

You hear the man faintly sigh before he stands, knees cracking as he does. You don’t hear anything from him for a few minutes before his heavy boots walk past the alleyway and fade. 

You don’t even understand your own reaction. Of course you wanted a home to call your own. But you don’t think you would be able to handle it if he turned out to be the same as Simon. You wouldn’t be able to get attached to a human only to be abandoned on the streets like you were last night's trash. Perhaps it was just easier to reject all human companionship than risk being heartbroken all over again. You had only recently stopped crying yourself to sleep over the memory of your home. 

You think that will be the last time you see the man, surely he wouldn’t want anything to do with a cat-hybrid who was mean, but just a couple days later, he’s back. He stands beside you, one bandaged hand gripping a shopping bag. You feel a pang of guilt at the sight of his bandaged wound. He slowly places it beside you, staring at you expectantly. 

“This is for you,” he says awkwardly after a second of you staring blankly at him, “It’s some food and water.”

Your stomach growls at the mention of food and as much as you want to peek in the bag, you can’t bring yourself to admit defeat like that. He might think you’re accepting him as your owner if you accept his gift! 

But you’re not! You refuse to end up hurt and sad like you had been with Simon! You would rather just live on the street than go through that hurt all over again. You couldn’t stand to give your trust only to be betrayed and mistreated again.

You only wanted someone to love you but apparently that wasn’t in the deck for you and that was okay, you told yourself. No matter how much it hurts to admit.

The man, Kyle, sighs softly when you simply ignore him, the sound almost melancholy. It makes your heart ache in your chest. He casts you one last glance but you keep your gaze down before he walks away, disappearing out of sight at the end of the street. 

With his piercing gaze off of you, you turn to the bag and begin rooting inside it. 

A couple bottles of water and some hybrid-safe packaged food. Nothing that needed refrigeration but also much better quality and variety than what you had been given by Simon. 

You remember how it felt to watch Soap eat delicious meats and fruits and veggies while you got bland, colorless slop. Sure, it was healthy for hybrids but everyone knew it was disgusting. Clearly Simon didn’t care – he was just feeding you so you didn’t inconvenience him by starving to death in his house. 

And though Soap would sometimes share his food with you, it wasn’t the same.

This food was yours. Kyle had gotten it for you.

You pull out one of the packages, a neatly wrapped sandwich with all the organic ingredients listed in bright colors. It makes your heart ache just a little bit as you take your first bite, all alone on the sidewalk, quietly wishing Soap was there for you to share it with as payment for all the food he had shared with you. 

Kyle makes it a habit to visit you day after day, sometimes bringing food, sometimes just bringing himself. Most of the time, you ignore him but he doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest, only quietly promising to visit you again soon when he bids you goodbye. 

It starts to become lonely when he leaves.

You don’t know when it begins, but you find yourself waiting for him. You sit out in the open, mindlessly combing your tail, where he can see you if he approaches. You find yourself thinking about him and if he’ll bring something for you to snack on – he found these delicious fish flavored chips that you were practically addicted to. Though, you didn’t say anything about your liking of them, he kept bringing them so you think he knows. 

Some days, Kyle’s visits were quick and fleeting and other times he sat there for a while. He had given up trying to talk to you much since you made it a point to ignore him but you were happy that he hadn’t given up yet. 

You know you would have given up by now. But the fact he persists leaves you with a warm, soft feeling in your chest. You’ve never had someone try so hard for you before, Simon certainly never cared to try.

Kyle wasn’t so bad after all, you found yourself deciding. He was quiet but not standoffish. He didn’t try to touch you after you had swiped at him one time when he went to pat your head. He was kind, always complimenting you with ‘pretty kitty’ and ‘sweet kitty’. And best of all, he didn’t ignore your existence like you had grown used to when living with Simon. 

Waiting for Kyle to show up became the most grueling part of your day. Minutes felt like hours and any tall man who passed by had you perking up to see if it was Kyle. The urge to get closer to him grew day by day, you wanted him to pet you, you wanted to talk to him. 

Maybe living with him wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just the thought of a happy life made you purr to yourself. 

You vowed that you would talk to him today, maybe see if you could take him up on that offer he had made that first day you met. 

But he never came. As the sun dips behind the horizon, you find your hopes getting squashed. He always came before dark. 

With a heavy heart, you curled up in the little cardboard box you had been calling your shelter. It was easy to tell yourself that the ache in your heart was because you wanted to see him and not because you were scared he had given up on you.

The next day, the same thing. You waited all day only for him to not show up. Then the next day. And the next. 

A week passed with no sign of him and you tried your best to pretend like it didn’t hurt like hell. 

Maybe he really had gotten sick of waiting for you and decided to find a hybrid who would actually talk to him. You couldn’t blame him, you suppose. But it still made that heavy pain settle in your heart like when you had been thrown out by Simon. 

One morning, you were awoken by a loud voice shouting down the alleyway, “Alright, come on out, cat.”

The sound of the voice had you sitting up, eyes wide as you looked around. At the entrance, a man stood with his hands on his hips, a hefty utility belt around his waist. 

He sighed when he saw you staring blankly at him before he came over, hoisting you up by the arm.

Your growled and hissed, ears pinned back as you fought against his grip. He dragged you out, taking you towards a big black van that had the words ‘hybrid-control’ printed on the side. 

You swiped at the man with your free hand, sharp nails slicing into his skin. He cried out in pain but didn’t relent in his hold.

“Stupid fucking cat,” he snapped, “Fuckin’ hate havin’ to pick shits like you up.”

“Excuse me,” a sudden, frantic voice called out, “What are you doing?”

The man holding you turned to look at Kyle, an annoyed look on his face, “Got a complaint about a stray hybrid livin’ around here. Came to pick it up.”

“Oh that’s not necessary,” Kyle said, reaching out to pull you from the man’s grasp, handling you much softer than the stranger, “This hybrid is mine.”

The man looked like he wanted to argue but glanced down at his bleeding arm and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, man. Your funeral. Just get it off the street.”

When the van drove off, Kyle turned to look at you apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t want to claim ownership over you like that but–”

“Where were you this week?” you find yourself pouting, crossing your arms over your chest petulantly.

Kyle looks shocked before he smiles kindly, “I was away for work. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.”

Your pout only deepens, “It’s not like I missed you or anything…”

“Of course not,” he laughs but you both know he doesn’t believe you, “How about I show you my home, hm? It’s not too far from here.”

You agree without complaint, letting Kyle lead the way down the busy streets until it grows quieter and quieter.

The neighborhood is startlingly familiar as he escorts you to his home. It doesn’t take long for you to realize it’s the same neighborhood Simon and Soap live in. 

You weren’t exactly sure how far their home was but you couldn’t stop yourself from frowning at the memories.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, “Don’t like it? I know it’s a little boring here but it’s near the base so what can you do?”

“It’s not that,” you quickly said, considering telling Kyle what was on your mind but you instead settled for, “I-It’s nothing.”

You were worried if you told him about your previous home, he might think there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want him to think you were undesirable and put you out on the streets all over again. You silently wondered when you became so insecure. 

He hummed and opened the front door for you, “There’s a room at the end of the hall that’s an office right now but it’s all yours once I get it set up with a bed and everything.”

“My own room?” you ask softly, fluffy ears perked up.

“Of course,” he smiles, “This is your home now.”

You feel tears prick your eyes but you quickly look away before Kyle can see them. It felt so nice that he actually considered it your home too and not just his. Simon always made you feel like you were barely welcome and only there because he put up with you until he couldn’t stand you anymore.

“Oh before I forget,” he said, grabbing a box off of the table, “I got you this.”

He showed you the contents, a cute, dainty collar with a metal tag in the shape of a fish with your name engraved on it. 

“Why do you have a collar?” you asked, tilting your chin up so he could fasten it around your neck.

“I had hopes that you would let me take you home one of these days,” he laughed, a boyish, kind sound that made a smile grow on your own face, “I wasn’t going to give up until you were safe and sound with me, love. I knew this was going to be your home one way or another.”

You spend the whole day wandering around the house and exploring, nudging against every surface to spread your scent on it. You hadn’t done that much in Simon’s house, too scared you’d get reprimanded for dirtying up the furniture or something.

But Kyle didn’t care in the slightest. He simply smiled when he saw you nuzzling the pillows. He even trimmed your nails so they weren’t nearly as sharp anymore. 

It was nice living with him.You quickly realized how different your life felt with Kyle than how it felt with Simon.

Kyle was kind and friendly, calling you by your name and petnames and not just ‘hey you’ or ‘cat’. The affection in his tone was palpable and just hearing how sweetly he spoke to you made you purr uncontrollably. 

And he didn’t once raise his voice at you or chase you off the couch when you were napping. He gave you the softest pats on the head and let you snooze on his lap without a single complaint. 

He never forgot to feed you and always gave you the most delicious things he could find. He ate at the table with you and told you all about his day, making an effort to talk to you and learn about the things you liked to do while he was at work. 

You were happy to finally have a home to call your own. But deep down, you missed Soap. You missed his energetic happiness and how affectionate he was with you in a way that only hybrids could be. He was the only true companion you had ever had and he had left his mark on you. You wondered about him every day, especially when you heard the front door open and you half expected him to come running in with a thrilled grin on his face, ready to regale you with tales of outside.

You passed their house one day while on a walk with Kyle, something he took to doing as an activity with you (he didn’t want you to get bored or stagnant just sitting inside all day), trying your best to act like seeing the home you used to call your own didn’t make your heart ache painfully in your chest. 

“There’s a hybrid that lives here, you might like him. His name’s Soap,” Kyle said when he saw you pausing in front of their home, “Owner is Simon Riley. I work with him, kind of a standoffish guy, you should probably steer clear if you run into him. He’s not the most friendly.”

“Yeah…” you found yourself mumbling, barely even registering anything Kyle had said, a frown etched on your lips before you looked at Kyle, “Can we go home?”

“Of course. Let’s get you some food, pretty kitty,” Kyle cooed affectionately, patting your head before leading you back home. 

You casted a glance at the home you used to call your own, you were startled to see Soap standing in the window, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and hurt written all over his face. The sight alone made your own eyes sting. He had never looked at you like that before. He looked so heartbroken.

Kyle cooed softly to get your attention again, leading you down the sidewalk and away from the house. Soap’s figure in the window faded from view and you felt your head spinning.

Soap and Simon’s scent faded the further you got away from it. But once you entered your home with Kyle, your scent and his mixed together in a way that it never did with Simon’s. You couldn’t help but purr, the pain and anxiety in your heart fading.

But still, your mind lingered on the distraught face of the best friend you left behind.

do not modify or repost to third party sites. reblogs appreciated!

[its3nvy]

"Wear the hat, ride the cowboy" Billy the Kid

Summary: After drawing the wrong kind of attention at the saloon, Billy comes to your rescue. Having to pretend to be his for the night, which leads to a ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy’ situation ;) 

Tags/warnings: mdni (18+), porn with no plot, angst, size kink, riding cock, overstimulation, fingering, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, slight knife kink

Note : This is my first time ever writing smut and I haven't edited it a lot so this should be fun. (Tell me if it's good or not pls)

tags: f!reader, smut

word count: 3.7k

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Curiosity led you to the local saloon one evening, where Billy often engaged in poker games. The air inside was thick with the smoky residue of cigars, and the occasional clinking of glasses underscored the distant melody of a forlorn piano. As you pushed through the creaking doors, your presence hung in the air, drawing the gaze of rough patrons whose eyes bore into you with a kind of familiarity you had never known. Unaccustomed to the bold gazes and suggestive comments that swirled around you like a threatening storm, you sought refuge at the bar. A man behind it was taking someone’s order.

You looked around, your eyes finally found Billy's familiar frame, surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke, engaged in a high-stakes poker game.

“Hello, darlin’,” a drunken man stumbled toward you.

“Hello, sir,” you gave him a small smile, trying to avoid his intense stare.

He leaned against the bar to keep his balance. “Come on, darling, don’t be such a prude. Talk to me.” His hand reached up, attempting to caress your face.

From afar, you saw Billy, his eyes—usually mischievous and full of life—met yours with a fleeting recognition. Without uttering a word, he rose from his chair, his cowboy boots echoing a heavy cadence on the worn wooden floor.

The drunken man's intrusive advances persisted, his slurred words creating an uncomfortable tension. "Don’t play hard to get, honey. I can show you a good time," he insisted, his hand becoming more insistent. Ignoring the drunkard, you turned back to the bar, hoping for intervention. The man persisted, his persistence turning aggressive. As his hand encroached upon your personal space, a shadow fell over you. 

Billy's presence loomed, his gaze colder than the steel of his revolver. Without a word, he grabbed the man's hand, his grip firm and unyielding. “Leave her alone," Billy's voice cut through the clamor of the saloon, his words echoing with a subtle menace.

The tension escalated, a palpable undercurrent surging through the room. The patrons, sensing the imminent storm, shifted uneasily. Billy's eyes held yours, a silent reassurance amid the brewing chaos. The drunk man, now confronted by the notorious gunslinger, stumbled backward, a mixture of recognition and fear contorting his expression. With a final warning glare from Billy, he slinked away into the crowd.

Billy turned towards you, his eyes softening as if to assure you that the storm had passed. 

"What in the hell are ya doin’ here?", he murmured, his tone both gruff and concerned as he reached you, seizing your hand and guiding you to the quiet side of the room. "I needed to go out, Billy," you replied, your voice carrying a note of defiance and desperation.

He hissed, a trace of irritation etching lines across his rugged features. "You can’t. You gotta go home. These people here are dangerous," he warned.

"And you don’t think me leaving alone would be dangerous?" you shot back, your gaze a defiant challenge to the protective facade he wore like impenetrable armor.

"Shit," he conceded, his irritation mingling with a begrudging acceptance of your undeniable truth. "Alright, I’m finishing up my round, and then we can go," Billy relented, his tone an admission of defeat. "But you play along with me, ok? If they don’t think you're claimed, they'll see you as fair game," he said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that cut through the smoky haze, demanding an unspoken oath.

“Ok,” you huffed out.

He pulled you towards his table with a rough yet oddly comforting grip, a silent acknowledgment that, for a fleeting moment, you were to be sheltered from the men surrounding you as long as you stayed with him. "Wait," he murmured, his hand lingering on yours. With a swift motion, he removed his hat, worn and weathered from a life on the precipice.

You extended your hand to stop him. "Billy, you can’t," you insisted, your voice barely more than a whisper, laden with the implications of his gesture. “You know what this means.”

"That’s the point," he declared, his crooked grin returning like a bittersweet promise of protection. As he placed his hat on your head, it became a proclamation, an unspoken claim made before the watchful eyes of everyone present, and a promise of a heated night that lingered in the air like an unspoken secret.

"Now, c’mere," he commanded, pulling you towards him as he settled into his chair, drawing you onto his lap. You bit on your lips, a mixture of anticipation and fear, the heat rising to your cheeks as the proximity between you tightened like a coiled spring. This was the first time Billy had been so close, and the magnetic pull of his presence ignited an unfamiliar fire within you.

He looked up at you as you bit your lips, his gaze a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that hung thick in the air.

As he resumed his poker game, you felt his breath against your neck. "Pass me the whiskey, doll," he asked.

You leaned against the table, inadvertently pulling your hips tighter into his pelvis, sensing his hardness between you. His hands reached out against your hips, gripping you and keeping you still. "Careful," he warned against the shell of your ear, his breath raising goosebumps along your neck, a sensation that heightened the electrifying energy between you.

As you handed him the glass, he took a swig, and then, with a deliberate slowness, leaned down against the side of your neck, planting a lingering kiss. "Thank you, doll," his gravelly voice murmured, the aroma of whiskey lingering in the air.

Billy's fingers grazed lightly along your waist, sending a cascade of sensations through your body. His gaze met yours once more, a silent invitation lingering in his eyes. It was then that you became acutely aware of the speculative glances from the patrons, their curiosity fueled by the undeniable connection unfolding before them.

The weight of Billy's hat on your head felt like both a shield and a beacon, marking you as his amidst the prying eyes of the saloon.

The night passed on and as the final hand of poker concluded, Billy rose from his seat, still holding you close. "Wrapping it up for the night, boys. See ya tomorrow," he declared, his voice a mix of weariness and determination.

He grabbed your hand, guiding you out with a certain urgency. The saloon doors swung open, thrusting you back into the harsh glow of moonlight. As you stopped in front of his horse, he turned around and said, "What the hell were you thinking, coming here alone? You know how they treat women here."

His words cut through the night air, a mixture of concern and frustration etched on his rugged features. The distant sounds of revelry from the saloon formed a dissonant backdrop to the charged atmosphere between you.

You met his gaze, a swirl of emotions reflecting in his eyes. "I just wanted to have one free night, Billy. Just one," you replied, your voice carrying a note of desperation. Billy's jaw clenched, a silent acknowledgment of the dangers lurking in the shadows. "This ain't the place for that, especially not for someone like you," he muttered, his grip on your hand tightening as if to emphasize the point.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, revealing the hardened resolve etched into his expression. "I can't have you wandering into places like this, doll," he continued, a trace of vulnerability underlying his gruff tone. "It's too damn dangerous."

Billy sighed, a heavy exhale that seemed to release the tension in the air. "Let's get you home," he said, his voice softened. With a final glance back at the saloon, you moved towards his horse. As you approached, he placed his hands on your hips, lifting you onto the horse with a gentle yet firm touch. You instinctively grabbed his forearm for support, your eyes locking in a shared moment of intimacy. 

The ride home was a silent journey through the cool night air, the rhythmic hooves of the horse creating a steady cadence. You sat in front of Billy, the warmth of his body enveloping you, his strong arms encircling your waist as you traversed the dimly lit trails. 

As the horse navigated the uneven terrain, Billy's embrace tightened slightly, offering both stability and reassurance. His chin rested on your shoulder, his warm breath tickling your neck, and in that intimate proximity, the weight of your unspoken desires lingered like an invisible thread weaving through the darkness.

Arriving at your doorstep, Billy helped you dismount, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes met, a complex tapestry of emotions woven between you. He spoke, his words a whisper carried away by the night breeze, "Be more careful, doll. This world ain't kind, especially to those with a heart as tender as yours." He placed his hand against your cheek, caressing it lovingly.

"Billy," you responded, the ache in your voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and longing. He placed a loving kiss on your forehead, his touch a hushed plea for silence. "Go to sleep, doll. I'll come by tomorrow morning," he whispered, giving you a kiss on the forehead, turning away.

"Billy, wait," an urgency surged within you, desperate to find a reason for him to stay. You took off your hat, intending to return it to him, a feeble attempt to anchor him in the moment. “Keep it. I prefer it on you,” he remarked, a bittersweet acknowledgment that stirred emotions too complex to unravel.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward him, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around the hat, a palpable tension filled the space between you. His intense blue eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Closing the distance, you reached him, and, without hesitation, pressed your lips against his. The kiss was a desperate plea, an attempt to convey the emotions that words couldn't capture.

Billy's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of the hat, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"Fuck, doll," he groaned, your foreheads leaning against one another, his hands gripping the fabric on your waist. You looked up into his eyes, witnessing the inner battle reflected in his gaze as he grappled with the decision to restrain himself or not.

You approached your lips to his cheek, giving him a slight peck, when you heard him whisper, "Fuck it." His lips crashed to yours, hungry, hot, and demanding, stealing your breath in a heated rush. His hand came up, cupping your jaw, angling your head to deepen the kiss as he slicked his tongue inside your mouth.

“Come, let’s go inside, yeah?” He asked. You nodded at him, as he gave you a quick kiss, ushering you inside, “good girl.” And in an instant, he’s moving toward you, wrapping his arms around your body and pressing you to his chest. You press your lips to his and moan at the taste of Whiskey. His tongue slides over yours in slow strokes that make your cheeks warm, but it’s when his teeth nip at your bottom lip that a whine escapes. 

His rough, calloused hands drop to the cusp of your neck, gripping your hair just tight enough to make you hiss. You arch into his touch as he starts to explore your body, mapping out every dip and curve. 

“Billy- Please… do something.” He moans a response into your neck as his lips slip down to leave love bites along the column of your throat. 

Eager to feel you, Billy tried to pull at the strings of your corset, but to no avail. It was too complicated to remove in the dark, and with the emotions aptly blinding him, Billy had no patience to try.

In the dark, you heard a flick of a knife, and you felt a cold tip of the blade against your skin before Billy’s voice comforted you, “Be a good girl and don’t move, ok?”

A rip ran through the air as Billy sliced your corset in half from the back. You stayed perfectly still, trusting him completely to cut the clothing off of you without harming you at all. The moment Billy had cut your corset, he dropped it to the floor and pulled your top off with it.

He immediately lets his hands drop to your breasts, nipples already pebbling from the cool air. He pinches and pulls at them for only a moment before he’s trailing kisses down your stomach.

Bilily stops just above your hip bones, “May I?” he asks, blue eyes peering up at you. “Yes. Billy, please.” You beg him, voice thick with desperation. He chuckles and then rubs his hand over your throbbing clit. He slides one, then two thick fingers into your dripping pussy. A whimper bubbles from your swollen lips as he pulls back to spit on your heat. His fingers curl, digits stretching and scissoring inside you. Your head feels like it’s spinning, arousal leaking from your cunt and down Billy’s fingers. 

Your hips are unable to escape his assault on your g-spot when he pins you down, and you let out a moan you hardly recognize as your own. “Shit, you’re so wet.” His teeth catch his bottom lip as he smiles down at your fucked-out form. 

Billy’s hand never slows, even as he grinds his palm into your poor clit. You cum not long after, waves of pleasure crashing over and drowning you in euphoria. Your body is trembling as you come back to Earth and Billy is there, watching you from between your thighs. He places a kiss on your sensitive clit before he stands back up, towering over you. 

“Please. Fuck me, Billy.” You say through heavy breaths. He feels his head spin at the sound of your voice. 

“Whatever you want, doll.” 

Billy lays you across the couch and crawls over you, leaning back to release his aching cock from the confines of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of him, pre-cum drips from his flushed, red tip.

He fists his cock at the sight of you below him, lips parted and breasts heaving. Billy leans his body over yours, trapping you between him and the cushions below you. You can feel the muscle covering his torso press against your tummy. He ruts his cock through your pussy, the head catching on your clit deliciously. You both moan at the feeling and link your fingers together. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. I’m gonna make you all mine”, Billy coos down at you, searching your face for any hesitance. You nod at him, earning you a keen smile and a quick kiss. “It’s gonna hurt, doll, I’m sorry.” Squeezing his hand, you hold your breath when he lines himself up with your entrance.

You gasp when his tip slips into you, already feeling like he’s split you in two. Salty tears start to well in your lash line at the burn of Billy’s cock stretching you out for the first time. He’s much bigger than you anticipated and you dig your nails into his skin. 

“I know, I know. Just breathe.” He tries his best to comfort you, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your cunt around him. His heart stings at the sight of you crying for reasons other than pleasure, but he can’t help it when his hips buck, pushing himself another inch deeper.

Billy knows he should feel guilty for liking the way you screw your eyes shut, the way your cunt flutters around him even though he’d worked you open already. He’s not even halfway inside you and your legs are trembling around his waist while he holds himself back from pushing in balls-deep. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in his chest at the effect he has on your body. 

Billy’s hand leaves yours and drops to your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb. Your mouth opens into an “O” shape and your sloppy cunt grants him another inch.  He can feel the velvet of your walls drawing him deeper, euphoria building in your veins. With every circle drawn, Billy pushes in further and further until he’s finally buried to the hilt. He stills for a moment, letting your cock-drunk mind play catchup with your body. “I’m gonna move, is that ok, doll?”

He pulls out, making you whine at the empty sensation, then, he’s driving his hips forward again. You loop your arms around his neck as he attacks your insides. Any words you have die on your tongue as Billy sets a rough, passionate pace. His tan skin, covered in old and new scars, feels slick against yours as his cock splits your mind in half. You can feel Billy everywhere, you can taste him, touch him, smell him, see him. He’s completely overwhelmed your senses and given you nothing to think about other than him.

The air around you is humid and thick, the scent of sex swimming through it. Billy slips in and out of you with ease, the clear strings of your slick and his pre-cum coat your pussy lips like a gloss. You let your gaze fall on him, watching how his brows furrow with concentration while he molds your insides into the shape of him.

Billy lifts your hips in the air to get an angle that allows him to hit even deeper, pumping his cock into you so hard that the air is forced from your lungs. There’s no one else you could want, no one else who could ever make you feel like this. 

“Shit Billy. I’m so close.” You moan, a familiar warmth starting to coil in your tummy. He nods and slots his lips against yours for one final kiss. His tongue explores your mouth as his dick strikes your g-spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. You cum hard as every nerve in your body is set aflame. His hot, sticky cum floods your walls and leaks from around his cock. 

Silence lies thick in the air aside from your heavy breathing and the soft kisses you share. Billy leans back to peer down at where you’re connected and shakes his head at you. 

He picks you up and places you over his hips, leaning you back. “Can’t waste this, doll.” He tuts at you, gathering the cum leaking from your abused pussy on his tip and pushing it back in. Throwing an arm behind his head, a fucked-out grin crosses his features as you sink down on his cock, letting him rub against your most sensitive spots. A strangled moan sounds in the back of your throat as he slowly pushes back into the deepest parts of your cunt.

His tongue darts out to lick the sweat off of his cupid’s bow, large hands moving to slide down your hips to grab at the fat of your ass. He guides you up and down on him as you babble and cry.

“I’ve got you, doll.” His words send a shiver down your spine and you brace yourself on his broad shoulders. Your cunt flutters around him, “Fuck Billy’-” you cry out.

Billy groans at the sight of a white ring around his shaft, made from a mixture of his and your cum. “So tight… taking me so fuckin’ well.” He bucks his hips, tip grazing your g-spot just right, just enough to make your eyes roll up into your head. “C’mon, doll.”

He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, then captures your lips with his. He swallows every moan and hiccup as he pounds into you, only slowing when you clench impossibly tighter around him. Stars are dancing in your vision and pleasure is burning in your veins. You hear him swear again, he lets his head fall back onto the cushions and plants his boots flat on the floor. You nearly scream as he fucks back up into you. He’s growling something in your ear, but his words sound so far away. 

“Cum on my cock, doll. C’mon, do it. Do it for me.” Billy babbles in your ear as he loses his rhythm, now just slamming his hips into yours with all the force he could muster. Your arms are clinging to his neck and he has you trapped against him. White, hot pleasure hits you like a ton of bricks as you squirm on Billy’s lap. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he pumps his hot, sticky cum into your womb. 

He lays back on the couch, letting you rest against his chest.  With a tender touch, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your hair. His lips lingered for a moment. As he pulled back, his fingers began to stroke your hair slowly, each caress a testament to the unspoken passion that simmered between you.

“From now on, that hat stays on you, doll. Let everyone in town see you belong to me."

send me billy thoughts or requests pleaseee :)

[jaehaeryshater]

The King Come Over and his bride Ygritte Firekissed

art by : @shripscapi

Edited to add: I was hoping that people that did not like this ship could still appreciate the art as I gave them two separate pieces, but people have been coming into my inbox on all platforms, so let me encourage you to block the Jongritte and Ygritte tags on tumblr or twt, as well as me so you will not have to see it if this is you. I also would encourage you to create your own AU as it is very fun. My AU is based on Jon becoming King before leaving the Freefolk, so following his psychology as a character, Ygritte is his only choice as consort as long as she’s alive. You can make your own with Val if you want, but I do not owe anyone to pay for commissions of their preferred characters.

Look at my King dawg we’re definitely getting through the Wall!!!

For the last month and a half, I have been working closely with Liesl to design concepts for Jon as King Beyond the Wall and Ygritte as his Queen. Personally, I’m not invested at all in Jon becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms despite him being my favorite character. He’s not very connected with the South and I don’t feel that it’s his birth right or anything, even being the son of Rhaegar. I am significantly more interested in him becoming King in the North, but my interest in Freefolk culture has led me to be far more invested in the idea of him rejecting Southron society as a whole and becoming King Beyond the Wall (this isn’t necessarily mutually exclusive to being King in the North later on).

The motivation for Jon becoming King as opposed to Mance stems from a theory that has been around since AGOT has come out: that the Others will only treat with/negotiate with a Stark. In the prologue of AGOT, when the Others are speaking among themselves before killing the Watchmen, what if they were confirming with each other that Waymar Royce was not a Stark and that they could go ahead and kill him? All in all, it doesn’t really matter if this is true, but rather that this is a plausible rumor that could easily have been passed down among the Freefolk which could lead Mance to conclude that Jon as a leader would give the Freefolk the best chance of survival. It’s not very hard, at least in my opinion, to imagine an AU like this, since survival is the most important thing to the Freefolk during the events of ASOIAF. But is it plausible that under these circumstances that Jon would abandon his Night’s Watch vows? I think so if he can be led to believe that only Stark blood could defeat the Others, but that is not the only factor. Jon Snow is insecure about his bastard status, plain and simple. He’s always lived in the shadow of his Robb, though he loved him. He’s wanted Winterfell, though he didn’t want to nor had any intention to take it from Robb. But he’s known since he was a small boy that he could never Winterfell and that would never inherit anything because he was a bastard. Jon also has thoughts, at least in passing, that Ned loved Robb more than him. He perceives Ned as having been more proud of Robb, of looking at him differently than himself. He’s seemingly always believed this, but there is a sort of confirmation of Jon’s feelings when Ned allows him to join the Night’s Watch without much preparation on what the Watch is actually like. Fully me making assumptions here, not something Jon has explicitly thought, but it’s unlikely that Ned would have sent Bran off at 14 to the Watch without much warning of what it was like, had Bran not become paralyzed. While we never get this exact thought process from Jon, in my opinion it fits into his psychology and insecurity. All this to say, if Jon is offered to be a figurehead, King, a title equal to his brother, but without taking anything away from the Starks or from Robb, that would almost certainly scratch that itch in him. It would be of his own merit, and there would be people behind him that don’t care that he’s a bastard, don’t see him as less than, and are willing to accept him for who he is. Not to mention that it also lets him feel like a hero and as if he is saving something far more precious than himself. And it probably doesn’t hurt that he would be able to remain with Ygritte as well.

We know from the descriptions of Mance and Dalla, as well as from being told directly by the former, that the King and his wife dress like all the other Freefolk, in thick furs. While the Jon and Ygritte arts from above are not particularly ostentatious by Southron standards, they are in obvious contrast to how Mance and Dalla are dressed. My idea was that Jon, having lived South of the Wall in a Lord’s keep all of his life, brought his own ideas to the Freefolk and added a distinction between a King and all other men. Nothing like in King’s Landing, all changes are inspired by his experience at Winterfell. I tried to think of what was achievable by the Freefolk, that would be difficult enough that it can’t be easily replicated for everyone else, but also keeping in mind of what could be done relatively quickly seeing as the Freefolk are focused on migrating South and saving themselves from the Others. The cultures I took inspiration for the clothing from are the Byzantines, Russians, Incans, Aztecs, and Mongolians. I wanted more “open” and flowy clothing, as opposed to more closed off and excessively modest clothing of 1300-1500s Europe that most of Westeros is based off of. Ygritte is still wearing furs, but they are dyed and there is weirwood embroidery in symbolism of the Old Gods and flame embroidery to symbolize her being kissed by fire. Her jewelry are simply clay beads that have been powdered blue. I didn’t want to give her any jewels as I felt it would be too difficult for the Freefolk to cut them directly and just overall would be against the spirit of the Freefolk. However, getting the blue on the clay like that still would be expensive and take a lot of time. I tried to keep the main color scheme surrounding gray as obviously that’s House Stark’s color. Jon’s clothes are similarly nice, with my main concern being him looking intimidating. I want the furs around his shoulders to be black because I wanted to call back to his time in the Night’s Watch without him keeping his psychical cloak, because I’m sure the Freefolk would not want him to do that. The furs are massive and make his shoulders look far larger, in an effort to make him look more intimidating, especially on a battlefield or in negotiations. He also has weirwood embroidery and his sigil is on the front of his outfit (my original idea was for him to have a flag with his heraldry on it, in which case the sigil would have looked far different, with a full length direwolf). There’s a white wolf on one side and either a crow or eagle on the other side (up for interpretation, both are relevant to Jon and one is one of the animals that can be used a symbol of the Freefolk) and the flame in the middle to represent Ygritte, but also defeating the Others as fire is the way Jon originally tried combating them as a steward at the Wall. The sigil is more than about Jon, after all, as it’s for the entirety of House Whitewolf, the House he founds. I thought the name fit far more in to Freefolk culture than something like Whitestark or something along those lines. Ygritte was supposed to have sewn on the sigil herself, and was very adamant about it, and that is meant to be why the thread is uneven and more visible than it ought to be. She’s not very good at the craft!

As I indicated before, crowns are not something common to Freefolk. That would be something else Jon would implement. Ygritte’s crown is very much like a hat, very casual. The beads are nice but obtaining them wouldn’t be unheard of, and holly most likely would not be particularly hard to come by. The reason I gave her a crown with holly is that during Christmas in the Tudor period and even before during pagan celebrations, people would go out into the woods and find holly and ivy to decorate their houses with. Holly was a symbol of masculine energy and ivy feminine energy. If you found more holly, it was meant to indicate that the man would rule the household for the year, and if you found more ivy then the woman would rule the household in the coming year (this was a way to “tell the future” not a rule lol). I liked the holly better for Ygritte so I’m just saying the Freefolk had the opposite belief. Jon’s crown is made of weirwood, which was important to me as I feel like his connection the Old Gods is also important as it is something that him and Freefolk both use to guide them. It ties them together. That being said, a weirwood crown is often used for Bran so I did not want to use a design that was too similar to the one used for him. Bran’s weirwood crown usually is made of weirwood branches, however, and not weirwood bark or logs, so I feel like it’s different enough. The frozen weirwood sap, as far as I know, is also unique to this design. There’s also some ivy to parallel with Ygritte’s holly.

The remaining bits and bobs I wanted to explain are the blue rose and then the face paint. The blue rose is obviously something associated with Lyanna Stark, who is widely accepted to be the mother of Jon Snow. I originally wanted to give him a rose somewhere, whether he was holding it or it was in his embroidery, but I forgot to ask during sketching, and then it was too late. But Ygritte holding the blue rose isn’t just about Lyanna. It’s also about Bael the Bard, a most likely fictitious person (or at least, the tale is fictitious, though I personally choose to believe it’s real) that went South of the Wall posing as a bard. He impressed the Lord of Winterfell so much that he granted Bael anything he wished; all Bael asked for was the most beautiful flower in Winterfell. This was granted for him, but the next morning he had stolen the Lord of Winterfell’s only child, a girl, and had left the flower in her bed in her place. He hid in the crypt with her for a year and they had a son together. Bael eventually went back North of the Wall and eventually Winterfell, having no other heir, passed to Bael’s child. Under this story, Jon is descended from Ygritte’s idol (maybe idol is stretching it, but she really likes him), Bael the Bard. Not only him, but all the Freefolk including Ygritte, according to her story. Following the story’s premise, Jon also poses as Bael and Ygritte as Winterfell’s daughter, with Jon joining her home under false pretenses and “stealing her”, as she calls it. So the blue rose has significance regarding both the Starks and the Freefolk. The face paint is inspired by tattooing done by cultures indigenous to North America. Indigenous Americans are not the only groups to use facial tattooing, the Vikings were famous for it as well, but Viking facial tattooing had more patterns based on shapes rather than lines and dots. I didn’t like the shapes so much, but the chin tattoo was one was that observed in all sorts of different cultures. Usually the chin tattoos with the line were on women in indigenous America, but I found some on men in other outside cultures. The dots I didn’t see outside of Native American culture and the claw marks on Jon’s cheeks I found mainly among Vikings. Because these all are an amalgamation of different cultures, we did them as face paint instead of tattoos because it seemed disrespectful otherwise. Not enough research went into it to be a proper representation of any one culture so paint was a better bet than a permanent body modification that is sacred to a number of cultures. The only thing that was meant to be a tattoo was the chin tattoo, which like I said, actually is from an amalgamation of cultures. Among the Freefolk (in this AU), dots on the cheeks are widespread, one of cultural mainstays of their people, and are generally a sign of peace, whereas the claws are meant to look intimidating and is applied to look like blood (Ygritte applies it for Jon) and is specifically used for military leaders. I really wanted to drive home the point that the goal with Jon’s whole look is to look fearsome.

I have so much more to say about Jon as King Beyond the Wall, how he negotiates with the Wall, the different rules he sets in place, how he sets up being King as a hereditary title once his daughter Bael is born, etc etc, but then I’d be here all day and approximately one person total read through all this. Oops! Ask in my inbox if you have any questions because I would love love love to answer them. All in all, shripscapi (Liesl) is so talented and she worked incredibly hard for me. She was extremely accommodating and changed as much stuff as I wanted. She never complained about the million times I decided something was not quite right and she sent me so many updates. I would recommend working with her to just about anybody. It was very cool what she was able to achieve and I got it in time for the holidays so I can enjoy my winter themed pfp on twt. So thank you from the bottom of my heart Liesl, and I hope everyone showers her with compliments because she deserves it. I also hope that people that don’t enjoy Ygritte very much can still appreciate the art and the concept of Jon as King Beyond the Wall. Hopefully I’ve gotten across how much I love and care for these characters to a chronically online degree and nobody accuses me of mischaracterizing them because that would make me!!!! very sad!!!

Bonus Jon with weirwood leaves: