#does ‘May you find your rest where no shadows are cast and no eyes may see you slumber.��

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the brave)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Keep in mind how the canon timeline and plot may be altered to suit this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18 + (for blood, gore, death, violence and suggestive themes)

- Previous part: sins

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The days bleed into one another as the small group travels deeper into the wilderness, avoiding the main roads to evade prying eyes. The terrain grows rougher, with thick forests and uneven paths that force them to move slower. Jaime feels every ache in his body, but he keeps his complaints to himself. For once, his sharp tongue is tempered—not by fear, but by something far more unsettling: you.

You walk ahead of him, leading the way with Winter at your side. The direwolf pads silently, his coat blending into the pale underbrush. Every so often, Winter glances back at Jaime, his icy blue eyes filled with suspicion, as if he’s waiting for the slightest excuse to tear him apart. Jaime smirks faintly at the thought but knows better than to provoke the beast.

You’ve grown quieter as the days pass, your icy demeanor softening slightly into something more tolerable. You still don’t speak to him unless necessary, but the edge of your anger has dulled. Jaime doesn’t know if it’s because of exhaustion or sheer indifference, but he finds himself craving any scrap of interaction with you, no matter how small.

Brienne, ever the vigilant guardian, remains stoic and watchful, her eyes constantly scanning the woods. She speaks little, her focus unwavering as she ensures their path is safe.

The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor, when you finally call for a stop.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” you say simply, gesturing to a small clearing nestled between thick trees.

Brienne nods and begins unpacking their limited supplies. Winter circles the clearing once before settling near you, his menacing gaze never leaving Jaime.

As the fire crackles to life, the three of you sit in a loose triangle around it, the silence thick and oppressive. Jaime leans back against a tree, his hands still bound but resting in his lap, his smirk faint as he watches you tend to Winter.

“You’re remarkably silent tonight, my lady,” he says after a moment, his tone light but tinged with genuine curiosity.

You glance at him briefly, your expression unreadable. “Maybe you should follow my example,” you reply coolly.

Jaime chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Ah, but silence doesn’t suit me. You should know that by now.”

Brienne sighs heavily, clearly tired of his antics, but doesn’t intervene.

“Tell me,” Jaime continues, his gaze lingering on you, “does it ever get easier? The grief?”

Your hand stills on Winter’s fur, and for a moment, the firelight reflects something raw in your eyes. “Why do you care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, though still guarded.

“I don’t,” Jaime admits, his smirk faltering slightly. “But I’ve seen enough grief to know it doesn’t fade. It just… changes shape.”

You don’t respond immediately, your fingers brushing absently through Winter’s fur as the firelight dances across your face. Finally, you speak, your voice low but steady. “It’s not something you’d understand, Lannister.”

“Maybe not,” Jaime replies, leaning forward slightly. “But I do know something about loss. About guilt.”

You meet his gaze then, your eyes cold and piercing. “Don’t talk to me about guilt. Not after what you’ve done.”

Jaime exhales, leaning back against the tree. “Fair enough,” he says quietly.

The silence stretches again, broken only by the crackling fire and the distant rustle of leaves. It’s Brienne who finally breaks it, her tone calm but firm. “We should rest. We’ll need to cover more ground tomorrow.”

You nod, rising to your feet and moving to check your gear. Winter follows, his presence a constant shadow at your side. Jaime watches you go, his chest tightening with something he can���t quite name.

As Brienne begins to settle in for the night, Jaime speaks again, his voice softer now. “You know, I always respected your father.”

Brienne looks up abruptly, but it’s you who turns first, your gaze hard and unforgiving.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice like steel.

Jaime doesn’t stop. “Ned Stark,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your eyes. “He was… honorable, to a fault. A rarity in men like us. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Your fists clench at your sides, but you don’t respond, your jaw tight.

“Do you think he’d approve of this?” Jaime asks, gesturing faintly to the group. “Of you traveling with the likes of me?”

Your voice is cold when you finally reply. “My father’s approval doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead. Because of men like you.”

Jaime swallows hard, your words cutting deeper than he expected. “You’re right,” he says after a long pause, his tone quieter now. “And if I could change it, I—”

“You can’t,” you snap, cutting him off. “So stop pretending like you care.”

The camp falls silent again, the animosity thick enough to choke. Jaime doesn’t speak after that, his gaze fixed on the fire as his own guilt festers inside him.

As the night deepens and the fire burns low, Jaime lays back against the tree, his eyes on the stars above. Your words echo in his mind, a constant reminder of the weight he carries.

And though he doesn’t say it aloud, he knows you’re right. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting it.

The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Jaime sits near the smoldering remains of their morning fire, his hands still bound but his posture relaxed, watching Brienne as she meticulously checks her gear. You had left earlier with Winter to hunt, leaving the two of them behind.

Jaime finds the silence unbearable.

“Do you ever take that armor off, Brienne?” he drawls, tilting his head as he studies her. “Or is it part of you now? Perhaps it’s hiding something you’d rather keep a mystery.”

Brienne stiffens but doesn’t look at him. “You’ll find no amusement here, Lannister. Keep your mouth shut.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Jaime presses, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re so stern all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting? Or is that how you woo the men of Tarth? With that charming scowl?”

Brienne finally looks at him, her blue eyes cold as ice. “You’ve made it clear you have no honor, Kingslayer. I see no need to engage with you further.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, but you already have. That’s the thing about you, Brienne—you care. Even when you shouldn’t. It’s admirable, really. Foolish, but admirable.”

Before Brienne can respond, a sound cuts through the stillness—a faint rustle in the underbrush. Brienne’s hand immediately moves to her sword, her keen gaze scanning the forest. Jaime stiffens, his smirk slipping as the noise grows louder.

Then they appear.

The Brave Companions emerge from the trees, their mismatched armor and cruel faces unmistakable. Vargo Hoat leads them, his twisted smile revealing his rotting teeth. The sight of him sends a chill down Jaime’s spine, though he hides it well.

“Well, well,” Vargo says, his voice grating as he steps forward. “What have we here? The Kingslayer himself, traveling with a lady knight. A curious pairing, no?”

Brienne rises to her full height, her sword drawn in an instant. “Leave, now. You’ll find no easy prey here.”

Vargo laughs, a sound that sends a ripple of unease through the forest. His men spread out, circling the clearing like wolves. Jaime counts at least a dozen, all armed and dangerous.

“You’re outnumbered,” Vargo says, his grin widening. “Put down your sword, woman, or we’ll take it—and your head—with it.”

Jaime watches the scene unfold, his mind racing. Brienne’s grip tightens on her sword, her stance unwavering, but even he knows the odds are against her.

“Brienne,” Jaime says quietly, his voice devoid of mockery for once. “Don’t be stupid.”

She doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the men before her.

Jaime’s heart pounds in his chest, but not for himself. His thoughts turn to you, somewhere out in the forest with Winter. For the first time in a long while, Jaime finds himself praying—not to the gods, but to fate itself.

Stay away. Don’t come back. Don’t let them find you.

“Take him,” Vargo orders suddenly, gesturing toward Jaime. Two of his men step forward, their weapons drawn.

Jaime doesn’t resist as they grab him, though his smirk returns faintly. “You’ll regret this, goat,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

“We’ll see,” Vargo replies, his grin never faltering.

Brienne moves to intercept them, her sword flashing in the fading light. She takes down one man with ease, her movements precise and deadly. But the others close in quickly, overwhelming her with sheer numbers.

Jaime struggles against his captors, his chest tightening as Brienne is forced to her knees.

“Stop!” Vargo commands, and his men freeze. He steps closer to Brienne, his twisted grin widening. “You’ll fetch a fine price, woman. Perhaps even more than the Kingslayer.”

Jaime spits at Vargo’s feet, his voice sharp. “Touch her, and I’ll make sure your death is slow.”

Vargo laughs, clearly unfazed. “You’re in no position to make threats, Lannister.”

As the Brave Companions begin binding Brienne, Jaime’s thoughts return to you. He can only hope you’ve gone far enough into the forest to escape their notice.

Stay away, he thinks again, the words almost a plea. Don’t let them find you.

But the forest is silent, offering no assurances.

Jaime stumbles slightly as they march, his wrists raw and unsteady now that his hands are free from the chains that had bound them. His steps are slow and measured, but his gaze keeps darting to the dense tree line, scanning for any sign of you—or worse, Winter.

He doesn’t want you here. The thought of you stumbling into this chaos, of seeing you captured or worse, is unbearable. The sharp bite of fear twists in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

Behind him, Brienne trudges silently, her hands bound tightly, her face bruised but unbroken. The set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes tell Jaime that she hasn’t given up. Yet the odds are stacked against them, and even her famed strength feels like little more than a flickering candle against the storm that is Vargo Hoat and his band of butchers.

Vargo rides alongside them, his crooked smile ever-present. The sound of his grating voice breaks through the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor.

“Kingslayer,” Vargo calls, his tone mocking. “You look troubled. Perhaps you miss your father’s castle, eh?”

Jaime keeps his expression neutral, though his gaze remains fixed on the trees. “And what of it, goat? Are you taking me to him? I imagine Tywin Lannister would pay handsomely for his son’s safe return.”

Vargo lets out a harsh laugh, the sound as unpleasant as nails on stone. “Safe return? No, no, no. That is not our plan. Your father’s gold may be great, but there are others who will pay more for you—and her.”

Jaime glances over his shoulder at Brienne, who glares at Vargo with pure hatred.

“And who might that be?” Jaime asks, his voice tight.

“Lord Bolton,” Vargo replies, his grin widening. “He is very interested in the Kingslayer and his lady knight. He will reward us greatly for delivering you both to Harrenhal.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. Roose Bolton—a man whose reputation for cruelty and cunning rivaled even his father’s worst enemies. The news twists the knot in his stomach even tighter.

“Ah,” Jaime says, forcing a faint smirk despite the unease coursing through him. “So I’m to be handed over to a man who skins his enemies alive. Charming. I suppose this is my lucky day.”

Vargo chuckles again, clearly enjoying Jaime’s discomfort. “Lucky, yes. You will see what Lord Bolton has in store for you soon enough.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his mind racing as he considers their fate. The chances of escape seem slimmer with every step, and his thoughts inevitably circle back to you. Were you far enough away when the Brave Companions attacked? Did Winter sense the danger and keep you from returning?

“Kingslayer,” Vargo snaps suddenly, his gaze locking onto Jaime. “You keep looking at the trees. What are you so distracted by? Hoping for rescue?”

Jaime forces a laugh, though it rings hollow even to his own ears. “Rescue? Hardly. I’m just admiring the scenery. It’s not often I get to see the wilderness in all its… muddy glory.”

Vargo narrows his eyes, unconvinced. He leans forward in his saddle, studying Jaime with a calculating look. “You’re hiding something,” he says slowly, his grin fading into suspicion.

“I’m hiding nothing,” Jaime replies smoothly, though his hands clench involuntarily at his sides. “But if it keeps you entertained, feel free to keep guessing, goat.”

Vargo sneers, his gaze lingering on Jaime for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the path ahead.

Behind him, Brienne speaks for the first time since their capture, her voice low but firm. “If you have a plan, Lannister, now would be the time to share it.”

Jaime glances back at her, his smirk returning faintly. “A plan? Do you think I’m hiding an army in these woods, waiting to spring us free?”

“You’re always scheming,” Brienne retorts, her blue eyes blazing. “Don’t play coy with me.”

Jaime exhales sharply, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “The only plan I have,” he says quietly, his gaze drifting back to the trees, “is hoping she stays far away from this.”

Brienne frowns. “Don’t speak of her aloud.”

Jaime spoke no more. Instead, he focuses on the path ahead, the rhythmic crunch of their steps blending with the rustling of leaves.

As they march deeper into the forest, Jaime’s mind refuses to quiet. He can’t shake the image of you standing with your bow drawn, Winter at your side, ready to face down anyone who threatened you. The thought should bring him comfort, but instead, it fills him with dread.

Because if you came back, if you appeared now, Jaime knows there’s nothing he could do to protect you. And the thought of losing you—of watching you suffer because of him—feels like a fate worse than death.

The camp is eerily quiet, the only sounds the crackling of a meager fire and the occasional rustle of the trees in the cold night breeze. Vargo’s men lounge around the clearing, their mismatched armor shining faintly in the firelight. Jaime sits to one side, his hands resting on his knees, Brienne not far behind him. His body aches from the forced march, but his mind is clearer than ever, his senses heightened by the dread that hangs in the air.

Something feels wrong.

The first scream shatters the stillness.

It’s a guttural, panicked sound, cutting through the night like a blade. Everyone freezes, heads snapping toward the trees where the noise originated. The firelight dances on the faces of Vargo’s men, their expressions shifting from irritation to alarm.

“What was that?” one of them mutters, his hand already on his sword.

Before anyone can respond, a figure is dragged into the shadows with terrifying speed. The man lets out a blood-curdling scream, his body thrashing wildly as he disappears into the dark.

“Get up!” Vargo shouts, his voice alarmed as he jumps to his feet. “To arms!”

The camp erupts into chaos as the men scramble for their weapons, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Jaime watches, his heart pounding as he catches a fleeting glimpse of pale fur and glowing blue eyes in the shadows.

Winter.

“Seven hells,” Jaime breathes, his chest tightening.

Another scream pierces the night as a second man is attacked, his cries abruptly silenced by the sound of tearing flesh. The Brave Companions draw their weapons, but their fear is palpable, their movements clumsy.

“It’s a wolf!” one of them shouts, his voice trembling.

“No wolf is that big!” another yells back, his eyes wide with terror.

Winter moves like a ghost through the trees, his white and silver coat blending into the shadows as he strikes with lethal precision. Jaime can barely keep track of him, the direwolf’s speed and ferocity unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Vargo snarls, drawing his curved sword as he scans the darkness. “Kill it! Kill the beast!”

Before anyone can act, an arrow whistles through the air, striking one of the men in the throat. He gurgles, collapsing to the ground as blood pools beneath him.

“Archer!” someone shouts, pointing wildly toward the trees.

Another arrow flies, finding its mark in a second man’s chest. He stumbles backward, clutching at the shaft before crumpling to the ground.

Jaime’s breath catches as he realizes what’s happening. It’s not just Winter—it’s you.

A third arrow claims another victim, the chaos escalating as the Brave Companions break formation, rushing blindly into the woods in search of their unseen attacker.

“Stay together, you fools!” Vargo roars, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Jaime’s eyes dart to the treeline, his heart racing. He knows you’re out there, somewhere in the shadows, and the thought both thrills and terrifies him.

Another scream echoes through the forest as Winter attacks again, his massive form taking down another man with ruthless efficiency. The clearing is now a mess of blood, bodies, and panicked shouting, the Brave Companions falling apart under the assault.

And then he sees you.

You step into the clearing, your bow in hand, your face illuminated by the flickering firelight. There’s a fierce determination in your eyes, your movements swift and precise as you draw another arrow.

“Y/N!” Jaime calls out before he can stop himself, his voice cutting through the noise.

Your gaze flicks to him for the briefest moment, your expression unreadable. But it’s enough of a distraction for Vargo to strike.

He lunges forward, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you back with surprising speed. Your bow clatters to the ground as you struggle against his grip, your face twisting in anger.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice raw with fury.

Winter lets out a deep, guttural growl, his eyes locked on you as he moves to attack.

“No!” you scream, your voice desperate. “Run, Winter! Go!”

The direwolf hesitates, his massive form still and tense as he watches you.

“Run!” you shout again, tears glinting in your eyes as you thrash against Vargo’s hold.

Winter snarls once more, his gaze flicking between you and the Brave Companions before he turns and disappears into the trees, his silver form vanishing like a ghost.

“No,” Jaime mutters under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He steps forward, but two of Vargo’s men grab him, holding him back.

“Enough!” Vargo snaps, his grip on you tightening. “The wolf is gone. And now we have her.”

Your breathing is ragged, your face pale but defiant as you glare up at him. “You won’t get away with this,” you say through gritted teeth.

Vargo laughs, the sound cruel and grating. “Oh, my dear, I already have.”

Jaime’s chest burns with fury and frustration as he watches you struggle, his mind racing for a way to intervene. But with his hands unbound and his guards distracted, he knows his moment will come.

For now, all he can do is watch as Vargo drags you with him.

The clearing is chaos. The fire crackles weakly, casting jagged specters over the carnage of bodies and blood. Vargo Hoat holds you firmly by the arm, his sickly grin widening as his men begin to realize just who he has captured. You continue to struggle against him, your breath ragged, but the defiance in your eyes burns brighter than the flames.

“Well, well,” Vargo sneers, his voice grating like steel on stone. “We’ve caught ourselves a Stark. A fine prize indeed. Imagine the price your brother will pay to get you back.”

Your struggles intensify, and in one sudden, vicious movement, you lunge forward and sink your teeth into the side of Vargo’s neck. The sickening crunch of flesh giving way is followed by a howl of pain as blood pours from the wound.

“You little bitch!” Vargo roars, shoving you back with such force that you stumble. He lifts his hand and strikes you across the face with a brutal slap that echoes through the clearing.

Jaime’s breath catches, his body going numb as you fall to your knees, clutching your cheek. Fury surges through him, hot and unrelenting.

“Get her in line!” Vargo snarls, his eyes wild as he presses a hand to the bleeding wound on his neck. “Or I’ll do it myself!” His next words drip with malice, his voice lowering. “Maybe a night in my tent will teach her some manners.”

Brienne struggles against the two men holding her, her teeth bared in a feral snarl. “You dare harm her, and I will kill you, goat!”

Vargo laughs, a twisted sound filled with cruelty. “You’re in no position to make threats, wench. But perhaps you’d like to join her. I hear the women of Tarth are… sturdy.”

Jaime’s patience snaps.

“That,” Jaime says suddenly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade, “would be a very bad idea.”

Vargo turns to him, his eyes narrowing. “And why is that, Kingslayer?”

Jaime steps forward, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his smirk carries a dangerous edge. “Because she’s a Stark, you imbecile. Do you have any idea what Robb Stark will do if he hears you’ve so much as touched her? Let me enlighten you: he’ll behead every single one of your men. And you? He’ll save you for last. Maybe he’ll even let his direwolf eat you piece by piece.”

Vargo’s expression falters for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he sneers. “You think I fear the boy king in the North?”

“You should,” Jaime replies coldly. “The Starks are known for their vengeance. And trust me, you don’t want to find out just how far they’ll go for one of their own.”

The men around Vargo exchange uneasy glances, the weight of Jaime’s words sinking in. Even the most hardened among them seem to hesitate, their weapons lowering slightly.

Vargo hesitates, his eyes darting between Jaime and you. Finally, he lets out a growl of frustration, shoving you roughly to the ground.

“Fine,” he snarls, spitting blood onto the ground. “But keep her quiet. And if she causes any more trouble, she’ll regret it.”

Jaime moves to your side, kneeling as he places himself between you and Vargo. He doesn’t reach out to you—he knows you wouldn’t welcome it—but his presence is a silent reassurance.

“You’ll regret it if you touch her again,” Jaime says evenly, his voice low but filled with venom.

Vargo sneers but doesn’t reply, turning away to bark orders at his men. The tension in the clearing lessens slightly, though the atmosphere remains charged.

Jaime glances at you, your face pale but your eyes still burning with defiance. Blood trickles from your lip where Vargo’s slap split the skin, but you refuse to show weakness.

“You’re insane,” Jaime mutters, his tone somewhere between admiration and frustration.

“And you’re pathetic,” you snap back, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. “Don’t think this changes anything, Lannister.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Brienne is finally released, her captors stepping back as she moves to stand beside Jaime and you. Her gaze flicks between you, Jaime, and the others, her grip on her sword tight.

“We need a plan,” she says quietly, her voice calm but urgent.

Jaime nods, his mind already racing. He doesn’t know how they’ll escape this mess, but one thing is certain: he’ll ensure you make it out alive, no matter the cost.

Because for the first time in years, Jaime Lannister feels something he thought he’d lost—a flicker of honor. And he’s not about to let it die here.

The camp has grown quiet, the earlier chaos fading into an uneasy stillness. The Brave Companions, though brutal, are not fools; they’ve doubled their watch, their muttered conversations filled with unease as they huddle around the dying fire. The woods seem to press closer, the shadows deep and impenetrable, a eerie reminder of the blood spilled earlier.

Jaime sits near the edge of the clearing, his back against a tree, his body aching but unbroken. His hands, though unbound, rest loosely on his knees, and he watches as Brienne, bruised but defiant, is seated under close guard across from him. Her eyes flick toward him briefly before returning to her captors, her posture one of quiet vigilance.

And then there’s you.

You sit a short distance away, your arms wrapped around your knees as if trying to keep yourself steady. Your face is pale, the faint bruise from Vargo’s slap barely visible in the dim firelight. Winter is nowhere to be seen, and Jaime wonders if the direwolf is still close, lurking just beyond the camp’s edge.

When you glance toward Brienne, your expression tightens, your gaze lingering on the bonds that hold her before finally shifting to Jaime. For a moment, you simply study him, your eyes narrowed in thought. Then you speak, your voice quiet but firm.

“Are you unharmed?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know you cared, my lady.”

You scoff, the sound cold and unimpressed. “I don’t. But you need to remain intact. If you’re not returned to the capital, my sisters won’t be returned safely. That’s the only reason I asked.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, of course. My worth as a bargaining chip. Good to know where I stand.”

Your expression hardens, and you look away, your focus shifting to the forest beyond. “Just answer the question, Lannister.”

“I’m fine,” Jaime replies, his tone more serious now. “Though I can’t say the same for your goat friend. You left quite the impression on him.”

You don’t smile, though there’s a flicker of satisfaction in your eyes. “He deserved worse.”

Jaime nods slightly, his gaze steady on you. “That he did.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you. Then Jaime speaks again, his voice quieter now.

“They’re taking us to Harrenhal,” he says, his smirk fading. “By any luck, Tywin will be there. Along with your dear friend Roose Bolton.”

Your head snaps toward him, alarm flashing across your face. “Bolton?”

Jaime tilts his head, watching you carefully. “Yes. Apparently, Vargo thinks Lord Bolton has some interest in us. I suppose he sees an opportunity to curry favor with both sides.”

Your brow furrows, your mind clearly racing. “Bolton is my brother’s bannerman,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion and disbelief. “What business would he have with Tywin Lannister?”

Jaime shrugs, though his eyes don’t leave you. “That’s the question, isn’t it? But if I were you, I’d start asking why one of Robb’s trusted men is even speaking to my father in the first place.”

The realization hits you like a physical blow, your eyes widening as the pieces begin to fall into place. You mutter something under your breath, too quiet for Jaime to hear, before clenching your fists at your sides.

“I have to warn Robb,” you say suddenly, your voice low but urgent.

Jaime watches you carefully, his smirk returning faintly. “And how do you plan to do that, my lady? You’re a prisoner now, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You glare at him, your jaw tight. “I’ll find a way.”

Brienne, who has been listening silently, finally speaks, her voice steady. “If what he says is true, your brother must be told. The Boltons have always been… different. But this would be treason of the highest order.”

“Treason?” Jaime interjects, his tone almost amused. “Such a quaint word. Let’s call it what it is: survival. Roose Bolton knows how this war will end. He’s simply choosing the winning side.”

You rise to your feet abruptly, pacing a short distance away as your thoughts churn. Jaime watches you closely, noting the hesitation in your movements, the fire in your eyes.

“I won’t let him betray my family,” you say finally, your voice firm.

Jaime leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “And what exactly will you do, Stark? You’re in no position to stop him. Neither am I, for that matter.”

You stop pacing, turning to face him with a glare that could cut through steel. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lannister. You might not care about honor or loyalty, but I do. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family.”

Jaime holds your gaze, his smirk fading as he sees the resolve burning in your eyes. He feels a flicker of something unfamiliar—respect.

“Well,” he says quietly, leaning back against the tree once more, “then I suppose you’d better start planning, my lady. Because if we reach Harrenhal, it might already be too late.”

Your jaw tightens, but you don’t respond. Instead, you return to your place by the fire, your eyes fixed on the flames as your mind works tirelessly.

Jaime watches you in silence, the weight of your determination settling over him like a storm cloud. And he finds himself wondering if perhaps there’s still a way out of this mess—if not for him, then for you.

[glassladyoftheopera]

In Stars and Time as a Musical Follow Up: Costumes

Okay, a topic I may have enough thoughts on to make a full post about; costumes! (and a little bit stage craft in some places.)

This is mostly about what people would do if they wanted to actually put on a live version of this, versus treating it like a concept album. I am however going to mostly ignore cost restraints outside of like, truly ridiculous stuff.

So first, some general notes.

The color palette: we will still have all of the costumes and sets be in grayscale, with the red used in the 'say it's name' and Act 5 sequences probably mostly being done through lighting. We will not have the actors use skin paint though. I'm not that mean. The audience can buy the idea that the world is meant to be black and white just fine without it.

Materials: I would avoid overly synthetic looking fabrics to maintain the 'vaguely fantasy medieval' vibe, but I wouldn't worry about using actual natural fabric. Comfort and cleaning are higher priorities.

Ensemble: Not much to say about them! Just that the production would have to be careful to make sure everyone is in truly neutral grayscale and not let too warm / cool of grays slip in.

Okay, let's talk characters.

Siffrin is tricky basically every option for interpreting the cloak has it's own pros and cons. Having sleeves means better movement options for the actor, but they only show up in a handful of images in the game. Full poncho means we get Full Triangle Vibe, but it would hamper movement a lot. Cloak with a pinned closed front means we see more of the rest of the costume more often, which I wouldn't mind, but it does break up the classic triangle silhouette. It's honestly still my pick though. Then there's the eye patch. I know some shows just give characters eye patches, and as long as you're careful staging the dances it will probably be fine? But I assume semi-mesh eye patches for performers are a thing, so I'd try to find one of those. Lastly, hat. It probably couldn't be as absurdly big as in game without casting major shadows we don't want on Siffrin's face, so they'll need a slightly narrower brim and we'd keep the hat pinned in a more back position.

Mirabelle's outfit probably wouldn't need to change much, but her little fingerless gloves would need some reinforcement at the top to keep them from falling down her arms. There's also the matter of her needing to have her sword with her most of the show; it might need to be a little smaller than a true rapier, but Shakespeare shows have duels and such so we can make something work.

Odile wouldn't be particularly difficult to costume as long as you don't make her sweater / jacket too heavy and put some straps on her shoes. Fake glasses aren't hard too bad, but some rigging in the back to keep them on will be helpful.

Isabeau I'm sorry but your sleeves have to be a little less gigantic, it will get in the way of the audience being able to read your gestures / get caught on stuff. They can still be long and loose though. Also, in real life the stripes on his pants being that wide could be an issue in terms of reading where he is on stage with the set / looking kind of goofy, so I might make them just a bit thinner.

Bonnie... I do not know how to make your weird pillow hat work in real life. For most game accurate version you'd have to make it completely from scratch. Something like a beret in terms of construction but... big. And probably held up internally with stuffing and wire. The alternative would probably be a big sunhat, and if you want to include Bonnie getting a new hat just slightly redo that scene to find something else that's similar.

Heck yeah its time for Loop! Now, we're definitely not doing a full star head, that wouldn't let the actor do any of that good emoting. But! I think a lower face mask could still work. You might have to hide the actor's mic under there to make sure they could be heard, but it's definitely possible. They would definitely need a custom wig for spikiness, plus a star-like head piece to top it off. Now the rest of it... I mean, you could go full body suit. I'd probably do that as the first choice, though maybe adding a wispy loin cloth or tie around the middle for modesty depending on your performer / venue. But! Different productions could get really creative with it, as long as the base still has them black and covered with stars and there's the star in their chest. Add in some specific design quirks that are only elsewhere found in Sif and The King's costumes, but just tiny little detail type things? Chef's kiss.

Speaking of the King! He unfortunately does need to be Very Big, but thankfully Broadway shows can pull that off! Something similar to the Wizard head in Wicked could work here, where only some parts of the set piece move (mechanically or via puppetry) and the actor is a voice over. The hair could be a mix of practice and projections. The tears that show up in the fight would probably also need to be projected. The hard thing would be getting it to disappear quickly enough. Maybe the last bit before the loop resets is always in front of the curtain? Could be cool. A less well funded production would probably have to either use mostly projections or re-work to use less moving parts.

Last up Euphrasie! Since she has a long dress getting her some extra height wouldn't be too hard, and she doesn't have to dance or anything so that helps. But! She does need to do the Act 4 finale dramatic kneel down, which is harder to work around. If we cast a tall actor and just use lifts in her shoes, it could work. She wouldn't be as super tall as she would be if we used hidden stilts, but I like the image of her cupping Sif's face, it goes all the way back to the comics, I gotta keep it.

What about y'all? How would you dress everyone? Any little details you'd want to see? And tricks to deal with the problems I thought of? Have fun!

[who-needs-words]

[takes a deep breath]

I hope chester isn’t our Jon. I hope the person who emailed Sam isn’t our jon

[runs away before the fandom murders me]

[lilacmingi]

NIGHTS LIKE THESE

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you are under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem reader

Word count: 890

Note: It’s 4 AM and the need to write a soft imagine about playing with Seonghwa’s hair was too strong I HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM THIS WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 300 WORDS BUT I GOT CARRIED AWAY

Seonghwa lied on his stomach, stretched across the expanse of his bed, his Nintendo Switch clutched between his hands as he played Animal Crossing, winding down after a long day of promotions. You sat beside him, watching as he moved his avatar across his camp, the miniature version of himself stopping to greet villagers and give them gifts to level up his friendships.

It was peaceful. You relished in moments like this where the both of you were completely silent, basking in each other’s presence while doing your own things, or doing nothing at all.

Your eyes drifted from the screen to the top of Seonghwa's head. He had recently grown his hair out and you were loving it. Since he had showered earlier that night it was flat and in it's natural state, the light from his desk lamp hitting the shiny brown strands and giving him a natural halo. The sight was tempting and had your fingers twitching in your lap.

Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you reached forward and carded your fingers through his soft tresses, the silky strands feeling like ribbons between your fingers. Seonghwa visibly relaxed under your touch, a soft sigh leaving his pretty lips.

"That feels good." He murmured.

You chuckled softly, lifting a strand and twirling it around your index finger, watching the way it uncurled when you released it.

Does he know how beautiful he is? You wondered, taking a piece of his hair and separating it into three strands to braid.

Your fingers worked diligently while you watched Seonghwa's Animal Crossing character cast his fishing lure out into the ocean, waiting for the shadow of a fish to approach. Once the chunk of hair was fully braided you released it, running your fingers through it and separating the twisted pieces, combing your nails through his hair a few times to get all the strands back in order.

A gasp came from your boyfriend just a few seconds later making you jump slightly, momentarily concerned that you had hurt him.

"Babe, look! I caught a Mahi-Mahi! It’s my first time ever and this is one of the rare ones.” He showed you the screen, his tiny character presenting the fish proudly.

The way Seonghwa’s eyes glimmered with joy at his catch made your heart turn to mush. He may be a grown man in his mid-20s that can tear up the stage and put on a show-stopping performance, but at the end of the day he’s a gentle, kindhearted individual that finds happiness in things like playing Animal Crossing and assembling Star Wars Lego sets.

“Wow.” You marveled. “And this one’s rare you said?”

“Mhm.” He nodded excitedly. “Its worth a lot too so I think I’m gonna sell it. I need a few hundred more bells to buy this lamp I’ve been looking at for my house.”

“Can I see it?”

Seonghwa’s face lit up at your request. “Yes. Hang on just a second.”

You continued to run your fingers through his hair while he fiddled with the controls, going to the shop so he could show you the lamp he wanted so badly.

“Here it is. It’s chrome silver.”

You chuckled softly, finding his love for glossy chrome silver endearing.

“That’s right up your alley.”

“That’s why I have to have it.”

You continued playing with his long hair and watching him play Animal Crossing until his actions became slower and more sluggish. Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had been fighting sleep, the drowsiness brought on by your gentle ministrations. He could no longer force his eyes to stay open and exited out of his game, turning the Switch off, setting it aside on his nightstand before rolling onto his back and resting his head in your lap.

“Had enough Animal Crossing for the night?” You inquired, combing his bangs away from his face so you could look at his features.

He hummed in response. “You made me sleepy.”

“Oops.”

His eyes closed briefly, his dark lashes resting delicately on his cheeks. The pads of your fingers traced the side of his face making him crack a small smile, his eyes opening to look up at you.

“Sorry.” You apologized quietly. “You’re just so pretty.”

He fought back a shy grin, turning his head to compose himself and calm the butterflies that tickled his stomach. His gaze met yours once again and he was overwhelmed with a sense of adoration.

“Kiss?”

The one word request was simple and one you couldn’t possibly refuse. You started to lean down only for Seonghwa to raise himself up to meet you halfway, your lips meeting somewhere in the middle. Your eyelids slid closed upon contact, a warm feeling seeping into your chest at the sensation of Seonghwa’s plush lips moving against your own, their softness making your head spin. Your hand moved to hold the back of his head, fingers unconsciously sliding into his silky hair to grab a handful of it. He released a soft sigh into your mouth, parting ways and lowering himself back down to your lap. His hand moved up to cup your cheek, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip.

“I love you.”

A gentle smile graced your features. “I love you too, Hwa.”

“Can you play with my hair again?”

“Of course.”

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

[bugsfavoriteclown]

Jester!Buggy x Royal!R

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: Yandereish? Genre: Romantic, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy AU

———————————————————————

Jester!Buggy who pledges himself to your kingdom completely, devoting his entire being to pleasing your court in hopes of one day gaining your trust, desperate for power to be in his favor for once in his life.

Jester!Buggy who swipes as many valuables as he can from your castle halls without getting caught. Pocketing and taking them out to the market to pawn off to smugglers and citizens at varying prices.

Jester!Buggy who hates everything about you. He can’t stand the fact that you have his entire life in his hands and would overthrow you in a second if he was given the chance.

Jester!Buggy who hides his disdain for you through the jokes he makes. The only part of his job that he likes is that he can openly mock you and how you rule the country and hide it behind the mask of entertainment.

Jester!Buggy who has been planning your assassination since before he even began working for you. Who almost needs to have that same feeling of control you do, just to see what it's like. Who plans to coerce you into a vulnerable position where he can demand things from you instead. Who wants a taste of what it's like to be on the top of the caste system for once in his life.

Jester!Buggy who does like the fact that he can request any type of outfit to be paroled specifically for himself. He’s glad he can at least be granted a variety of clothes that he gets completely for free.

Jester!Buggy who slowly starts to feel himself soften whenever you smile at one of his jokes. Who almost chases the joyful gleam in your eyes when you find something he said funny. Who loves that you always call him back to cheer you up when you're sad as if he's the only one capable enough.

Jester!Buggy who starts to sneak into the castle's kitchens and steals small treats and snacks for you to eat when you have a break in the day.

Jester!Buggy who finds that he actually looks forward to performing in your court. Who feels a sense of pride at the thought that you brag about your wonderful, talented jester to other rulers in other kingdoms.

Jester!Buggy who starts stealing from other kingdoms when you take him with you during your visits. Who goes back home and either sells them or uses them as a replacement for other things he's stolen.

Jester!Buggy who starts to fear for your safety when Alvida, and the other bandits he's been selling to, begin asking why he hasn't been coming back with any new information lately. Demanding that he bring them back something they can use for the upcoming ambush they've been meticulously planning or they'll take it upon themselves.

Jester!Buggy who wants to warn you so badly but can't because he doesn't want to put any suspicion on himself out of fear of losing his job and position beside you. Who's too afraid to explain to you why he knows so much about the conspiracy being organized against you.

Jester!Buggy who, instead, goes to visit Shanks, one of your most valued knights, and begs for him to keep a closer eye out because there may be some type of scheme cooking up in the shadows. Who knows he’ll take what he says seriously without outing him for any of his past crimes.

Jester!Buggy who feels better about not having to fear you getting hurt, but is now starting to feel jealous at how often he sees you and Shanks walking together in the gardens. It pisses him off even more knowing that this is exactly what he asked him to do and so he can’t really be upset about it.

Jester!Buggy who continues to visit you during your breaks, but now also comes to see you at later times in the night because he’s memorized your sleep habits. At first, it was so he could pick the right time to rob you blind, but now he uses it to find good times to see you without it being a disturbance.

Jester!Buggy who starts getting noticeably more possessive over you when he spots Alvida and the rest of her posse near the castle walls one night as he’s on his way to see you.

Jester!Buggy who approaches Alvida and threatens to get her and the others executed if they keep snooping closer to you. But they only laugh as they know he doesn’t have that power and can’t stop them on his own, only making him angrier at the entire thing.

Jester!Buggy who has to find creative ways to play off his clinginess because he’d be damned if they got a hold of you in any way. Who is now always seen accompanying you as you wander from room to room in the castle, playing it off as him trying to learn more about you so he can entertain you better.

Jester!Buggy who offers to go to the markets for you and to help escort you on stage when you have to speak to the public, all with a knife up his sleeve and eyes roaming the crowds.

Jester!Buggy who uses the extra cash he has on him to hire mercenaries to keep watch on anyone he deems suspicious. Specifically Alvida and everyone else associated with her.

Jester!Buggy who starts to reveal to you the kind of person he actually is. Who starts displaying his more violent disposition and knack for murder, all things you weren’t aware of when you had first hired him. Who's ready to kill for you and makes that aspect painfully clear.

Jester!Buggy who does kill for you after someone tries pickpocketing you during your stroll through the country. Who noticed something was off immediately and stabbed the perpetrator before they could get any further with your things.

Jester!Buggy who begins to almost worship you. Who treats you far more gently than anyone else around him and is ready to drop anything on your whim. Who feels his body begin to react in ways he never thought possible whenever he sees you upset.

Jester!Buggy who would do anything to be closer to you, but can't ever seem to find the appropriate time to do so since you're his boss, and he was only ever meant to be your toy. Who is only supposed to enter the room on your terms. Who wasn't intended to be anything more than a worker.

Jester!Buggy who pledges himself to your kingdom completely, devoting his entire being to pleasing your court, but this time in hopes of pleasing you as well. Who would be anything you wanted him to be if you demanded it of him. Who would do anything if it meant he'd be able to spend more time with you.

[rreskk]

ASLEEP

Summary: Trevor has a habit of acting upon his urges. You woke the moment before he could, and you made him deal with the mess himself.

TW: Smut

Pairings: Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1489

Trevor dragged his legs across the wooden porch and opened the door with his prominent hips, eyes immediately searching for you in this needy, horrifically restless state. His heartbeats were rapid and he was experiencing a haze of sobriety for the first time in a while. It was taking a toll on him, explaining the random bursts of deprivation where the meth would “cure” it.

 He grumbled when you were absent from the main room until he peeked his head through the bedroom doorway, seeing you sprawled out on his bed, asleep. He promised to be back hours early so he couldn’t blame you for sleeping, yet he was crossed. His brows furrowed and he dragged his heavy legs towards the bed. You were sleeping so effortlessly. It made him think you weren’t excited for his return despite spending time together the morning prior. Spending time, he really meant arguing but he refused to see the fault being him.

“Hey.” He murmured into your ear, gaining no verbal response. Instead, you snuggled further into his mangled sheets and breathed out with ease. Your face, light and peaceful, without his comfort.

Trevor placed a finger and outlined your shoulder, caressing the barely exposed skin but calming down at the physical touch. Unconscious or not, he really needed to be praised with your attention. Even if he doesn’t deserve it.

“Hey.” He repeated and properly loomed over you. His frame shadowed and blocked out the light from his lamp, hiding the small details on your face, making the warmness turn cold. And you remained dead.

This was not aiding his pining aches. Trevor fantasised about you rushing to his side with the click of his fingers, like a nurturing maid; a motherless mother, an emotionally-available whore, a bitchcraft witch to cast spells upon the desires he wants. Yet, right now, you were doing nothing.

“C’mon…” He tugged onto your shirt like a little boy, “I’m back. Wake up.”

Still, the trailer was silent and deadly. He was alone with his thoughts again.

Trevor whined softly before greeting his impulses – a habit he does when vulnerable – throwing off the sheets that covered your static body, displaying the lazy clothes that clung sheepishly around your curves and limbs. You were too much of a heavy sleeper to recognise a hand following your backside, giving you a small squeeze, fondling around your hips, worshipping your stomach through the thin T-shirt.  

“Sugar, angel,” Trevor addressed while lining his lips against your jaw, “I really want you right now. Wake up for me, I need you.”

He hoped you’d at least hear him through your sleep, just enough convincing to tear you from that slumber, but his impatience was running low and he couldn’t stop himself. Like a pathetic dog, so lost without his owner. So lost that he crawled over your body and gently positioned your knee upwards. If you weren’t going to wake up, he’s just going to use what he can get. Even if that was the most bare minimum pleasure.

His hands toyed around with his waistline and slowly edged it down and around his thighs. Then he hovered over your knee, his bulge safe behind the tight whites, holding back the source of his desires where it itched and ached. Trevor was so hard, grunting when he swiftly pressed his crotch against your knee, moving his hips in circles, grinding towards the bone,  getting the real feel before deciding it was too little for his preference. Your knee, though bony, had no warmth or skin to provide a replicate of your sex.

With his mental humor cutting short, his fingers intertwined with yours and waited for a minute to ensure you were not faking the rest. Trevor’s eyes drifted to your goddess of a face, finding himself smiling at how lucky he was to have lured such a beauty. Although you may have fell asleep to avoid the bitterness of the fight, you still looked like a blooming flower, a diamond in the rough. He fell forward and praised your neck with kisses, his crotch unconsciously falling into your knee again, hitting the right spot where he gasped into your skin.

“Oh, fuck.” It slipped out from his tongue, hurting so good.

The bone struct the burning heat and he grinded into it repeatedly, treating you like a free palace to roam.

Trevor whined into your ear as he hump dried your knee intensely. He was so self-indulged that he was apathetic at your awakening. His eyes fell onto your open ones and he could only moan out your name in greeting.

You struggled to process what he was doing until he pulled up the rugged T-shirt where your breasts fell into his palms, perfectly fitting as he groped, played, squished, pinched the size. The rough pressure made you groan softly. Allowing him to captivate your breasts.

“Mmm…” He communicated through small phases of moaning.

“Are you close?” You whispered, treating him like a low-life subhuman.

Trevor was not afraid of eye-content and nodded proudly. His white briefs were heavy with arousal and you could feel the damp pre-cum from the fabric grind into your knee. It left wetness smear across the skin. Hot smear.

“That’s right,” You smirked, “C’mon. You can do better. Can’t you?”

“Mhm…” He winced.

“Let me help.” Thinking you were going to portray the fantasy he’s been dreaming of, harsh reality betrayed the expectation that buried his mind. Trevor threw his head back and cried with pain and pleasure, feeling you kick him with the knee, the brutality behind your actions making him shrivel up on bed beside you, cowering his crotch for protection and comfort.

“Fuck, fuck!” Trevor said through gritted teeth and closed eyes.

“That’s what you get for waking me up.” You scoffed and proceeded to grab the bulge for yourself. It sat in the palm of your head, soaked and used. You gripped and recognised the shape of his boner twitching. It shrivelled into your hand, like a deer in headlights.

His whole body went into shock when you gave him the abuse. Trevor wobbled out your name with his quivered lips, hoping you’d take mercy on him.

“Ohh, poor baby… You just want to cum. You wanna use me without my consent?” You continued to mock.

“M’no. No. No – “

“Do you know what happens to dirty animals like you?”

“Mommy, I’m sorry.” Trevor urged.

“Oh, so now you call me mommy. You think treating your mommy like that is nice?”

“I’m sorry!” He cradled your hand that held his crotch tightly, thumb caressing yours.

“Mommy’s not going to help you, Trev. You gotta make yourself cum, yeah?” You murmured.

His face fell at this proposal and he shook frantically, “No. C’mon, no. That’s not fair.”

“You need me?”

“I really need you. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Where were the calls or messages?” You challenged.

“I – “

“You don’t deserve to be helped. Mommy will watch you instead. I’ll make sure you’re getting exactly what you deserve.”

“Ohhh…” It seems as though Trevor accepted his fate.

When you released his crotch from your white-knuckled fist, he immediately went to work in front of you, his briefs torn from his hips and exposing that ugly mess of a cock. He was already in the middle of an orgasm when inserting freedom, sloppily jerking himself off in front of your eyes.

His Adams-apple trembled in his throat and he glanced to the ceiling, cum draping them sore hands that were sweating with arousal and emotional stress. At this point, he forgot you existed and focussed on relieving himself.

“Fuck, fuck… God!” Trevor’s waist fell into spasms when another orgasm was quickly approaching.

You were amazed to watch him experience so much at once. You knew of his short activity rate, but now you were seeing it when it comes to masturbation.

“Ah, fuck… I’m gonna fuckin’ cum again – “ He said, looking directly at you, “Watch me, mommy. Watch me.”

“I’m watching baby.” You reassured with a smirk, head resting against the bed railing.

This was the push he needed. Trevor arched his back and came again. However, this time, it was strong. His cock twitched dramatically as he oozed cum, dampening the sheets underneath but also his thighs. His skin being dressed by this warm and white sensation.

“Ohhhh!” You heard him moan loudly and through the night.

His body fell back and he exhaled with defeat. You stayed silent while he maintained the usual composure but it never returned.

Trevor only whined for you again, calling you “mommy” and shuffling close to your body as if you were attached like glue. It was weird yet you enjoyed the submissive nature when he grew needy. Always when he was sober.

“Good boy.” You whispered and kissed behind his ear.

The man shuddered but said nothing, only embracing your body.

[cielcreations]

"Special Card" (SoliTango/Rancher Duo)

Idea based off @hybbart's Deepfrost Cast AU (aka, the AU where Solidarity is a guide for Decked Out)

"What's this card?"

"What card?" Tango replied, not looking at his communicator, opting to continue to make sure everything was okay (because god forbid if even one piece of redstone gets messed up).

"I don't know, I just never seen it and it appeared."

"What does it say, Hypno?"

"The title just says 'Canary'. There's nothing else-"

"Ah, so you're the first to get that card to show itself." Tango smirked, standing up straight, "Tell you what Hypno, that card is free. Consider it a... playtest for your next run."

"Seriously?! Wait, what does it do?"

"That's for you to find out. But I will give you a word of advice-" Tango smirked more to himself, "-make sure to take care of the canary. Go ahead, spend the rest of your Frost Embers and get out of there, Cub is next."

"Alright! Thanks, Tango! I'm excited!"

The call ended when a message popped up in chat; Hypnotizd was slain by nothing, they survived Decked Out!

Tango chuckled, "I'm surprised you chose him. I for sure thought you would choose Scar."

There was a flutter behind him.

"Alright, alright, have fun. I'll go prepare for the next round."

***

Hypno rode down the minecart as he once again entered Decked Out. When he reached the end, the doors opened, but no compass was given.

"Oh god, hey, Tango, I think-"

Before he could finish, Hypno watched as the canary card fell down where the compass should be. He gasped, stumbling back as a yellow glow came from the card, snuffing out all the light, a silhouette appearing where the card once was. When the card landed on the ground, it instantly vanished, the silhouette slowly taking shape. Two large wings appeared from it's back as it stood up, a large fluffy jacket resting on the male silhouette. They reached into their jacket, taking out a small cage with a yellow light.

The lanterns, torches, and all other lights returned, showing a tall dirty blonde man, staring down at him brown eyes with blue diamond pupils, blue eye shadow resting on his top eyelid, blue freckles and glitters decorating his nose and cheeks that Hypno could see, as a gas mask covered half his face.

"....Woah..." Hypno simply said, in awe, "...Are... Are you the Canary?"

The dirty blonde nodded, bowing a bit. He then took out another thing from his jacket, avoiding the necklace around his neck before he took out a recorder. He handed it to Hypno, the man pressing play.

"Congratulations!" Tango's voice came from the recorder, "You have managed to obtain the Canary card! Now, the Canary is a special thing! He will lead you to the artifact as well as the exit as safely as he can! However, that is not all! You see, the Canary increases the amount of treasure that may be hiding in the dungeon, he decreases your noise volume which means it's harder to generate Clanks, and the Hazard speed decreases! Oh yeah, the Canary is a powerful card.

However, make sure to take care of him. He will be your guide to the exit. One way or another."

Hypno's eyes were wide as he then looked at the Canary, "You do all that?!"

The Canary blushed a light blue, closing his eyes, as if laughing silently. He then bowed and turned around, the doors opening. Hypno stood up and began to follow the Canary, the dirty blonde humming. As they walked, the Canary held out the cage, Hypno noticing the yellow light moving back and forth, acting as the compass, all while the Canary hummed a small tune.

"Uh, nice song. Does it have a name?" Hypno tried to make small talk.

The Canary seemed to ignore him, choosing instead to continue the song.

"Right.... Well, do you have a name?"

Again, nothing, just more singing.

"Okay..." Hypno smiled awkwardly, "Well, I guess we don't need to have small chitchat to find the artifact... Oh, uh, can you tell me how you can track more treasure? Or do you just track down artifacts and the exit?"

The singing stopped and the Canary turned to Hypno. He grabbed the recorder and pressed play, Tango's voice repeating.

"Hey, I was just-"

The Canary held up one finger before pausing the recorder. He pointed to it, as if to say "listen".

"-the Canary increases the amount of treasure that may be hiding in the dungeon-" The Canary pauses the recorder before blinking at Hypno.

"...Oh, you just increase the amount, can't find it?"

The Canary shook his head.

Hypno nodded, "Okay, I get it now... Can you find the exit anywhere?"

The Canary nodded.

"So, if I wanted to look for more treasure, would you come with me?"

The Canary seemed to smile under his mask and nodded.

Hypno chuckled, "Alright, I'll just tell you when I'm ready then!"

The Canary nodded once more before turning around, humming a song once more as he led the way towards the artifact. They sat in silence, Hypno occasionally seeing some coins and running to get them before following the dirty blonde once more.

Eventually, the Canary stopped and Hypno nearly ran into him.

"Oh-" Hypno stopped, "You okay?"

The Canary held the cage up, opening the door. Hypno watched as the light flew out and sunk into the ground in front of them. When it returned, it circled around an artifact, Hypno gasping and running over to grab it. The light flew back to the Canary and into the cage, the dirty blonde closing the door of it.

Hypno picked up the artifact, "Jar of Speedy Slime! Not too bad! I think it's worth at least-" He looked up, gasping.

The Canary brushed off his coat and, before he could look up at Hypno, the man ran past him in fear of a Ravenger.

"S-SORRY CANARY! I THINK I CAN FIND THE EXIT ON MY OWN THOUGH!"

Hypno went to run out of the door, but the corridor closed. He gasped and turned around, ready to meet the end of a Ravenger's horn. Instead, he saw the Canary standing in front of the Ravenger, looking down, the light in the cage spinning in loops.

"Oh? Wait, are you friends with the Raven-"

Hypno gasped, the heartbeat echoing in the dungeon as fast as it could. All the corridors closed, screeches of Vexes echoing with the slowly crumbling dungeon. The Ravenger lifted itself on it's back legs as it let out a roar, the light going haywire.

"C-Canary?"

The Canary spread his wings out, looking up, the blue diamonds turning to a blood red as he glared at Hypno. The arrow on his necklace turned upside down as the light exploded in the cage, yellow birds circling the room akin to ravens circling their prey.

Hypno's eyes were wide as he realized what was going on.

He will be your guide to the exit. One way or another.

Hypnotizd was slain by The Canary and His Coalmine.

***

"WHAT?!" "WAIT, HUH?!" "TANGO, WHAT WAS THAT?!" "WHAT KIND OF DEATH MESSAGE IS THAT?!"

Tango chuckled, turning to Hypno as he entered the waiting room, "Well, well, well, looks like someone didn't take care of the Canary."

Hypno groaned, "DUDE! I didn't know that would happen!"

"I told you to take care of him!" Tango laughed. Suddenly, a blue ball of light came from the wall, circling around the Dungeon Master. He held out his hand and it rested over it, making the blaze chuckle, "The Canary is a powerful and really good card, but he only shows when he wants to. But with any good card comes it's disadvantage." He then turned, smiling, "Alright, I believe it's Grian's turn?"

"Oh, right, right!" The avian ran over, "Wish me luck!"

Everyone wished Grian luck before Tango excused himself to go behind the scenes. Once he was sure no one would see or hear him, he extended his hand out. The light turned into a silhouette, which turned in none other than the Canary.

"Hello, my canary." The blaze smiled, blushing a blue tint, "Quite a run, are you alright?"

The dirty blonde removed his mask and smiled, nodding, "I'm fine! The Ravangers and Vexes didn't hurt me! Though, I did feel bad for Hypno, he just got scared."

Tango cupped his cheeks, "Oh Solidarity, my canary, it's what he gets if he chose to abandon you. He was warned."

"I know, I know. It's just going to take some getting used to. I know how competitive everyone is, I just don't like being the cause of death..."

"You're so sweet, this is why I love you!" Tango kissed his cheek.

Solidarity giggled, blushing blue, "Tangooooo~! Stop it~!"

"Nuh-uh! It's Kiss the Canary Time! I don't make the rules!"

The dirty blonde blushed more and giggled, letting the other do as he pleased, happily sharing kisses with the blaze.

[maddithefangirl]

A Third - Chapter 2

Summary: When Rhys starts seeing a mystery female in his dreams like he did before Feyre, what does this do to their relationship, and who is that female?

a/n: ahhhh this chapter was like pulling teeth to write, but it's here! I have an idea where I want this to go but I'm not sure how it'll all pan out. Please enjoy!

════ *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ════════ *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ════════ *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ════

“We have to go find her,” Rhys declared to Feyre in their private quarters. 

“Well, how are you going to do that?” she bit back. She was a little bitter at the thought. As much as she wanted him to be happy, she wanted him for herself. 

He didn’t know where to begin. Maybe he could use Azriel to find her with his shadows. But how would he find her? He had nothing really to go off of besides the dreams. The dreams. He needed to do a deep dive into his dreams. But he never wanted to relive the pain of that last nightmare. Maybe that was what he had to do in order to find his mystery mate. 

…

Days went by, and he still couldn’t relive that nightmare. He couldn’t ask Feyre to live it for him, either. Maybe he did need more help with this. So, he was going to bring it up at the next Inner Circle dinner. 

…

The dinner came sooner than he expected, and he had no idea where it was going to go. 

The sun was setting on the horizon as the Sidra glistened from the light. The Riverhouse was beautiful at this time of day. 

Rhys was nervous for the first time in a long time. He didn’t know what to do with himself. As everyone arrived, his heart rate skyrocketed. He was the High Lord for Cauldron’s sake. Why was he so worried?

He sat down at the head of the table with his beautiful High Lady beside him and he was ready for his announcement, “Everyone, I gathered you here tonight because I have a problem that I need my closest friends' input.” Now that got their attention. 

“What is it, Rhys?” Cassian asked.

“I… I think I have another mate.”

The room went quiet. Eyes went from Rhys to Feyre and back to Rhys again. Everyone was confused. 

Feyre looked to her lap, fiddling with her hands as Rhys went on, “I’ve been having these dreams like I used to have before I met Feyre. I think they’re mating dreams and… I don’t know what to do or how I’ll find her.”

“Rhys, are you out of your fucking mind?” Cassian barked out, “You have a perfectly good mate here, and you’re going to cast her aside so you can follow your dreams that may not even mean anything?”

He hadn’t thought about it like that. Is that why Feyre was so upset with him?

Nesta and Elain were devastated and left their chairs to put a hand on Feyre’s shoulders. 

“Is no one going to help me find her?” Rhys asked the room, and it once again went silent.

…

That night, Rhys sulked in his office, drinking his mind away, when a knock came at the door. He stumbled to the door, and he couldn’t think of a single soul who would want to speak to him right now. When the door opened, it was Feyre, “I want to help you, Rhysie.” Now that took him by surprise. 

…

The hospital looked different this time. It was more like a war tent than an actual building. This time, he saw the Illyrians from the war getting their wings fixed. How peculiar. This wasn’t a war he had been in, though he didn’t recognize anything or anyone.  He was able to walk around this time, observing all the healers doing their work, until he came upon one. She was healing the wings of a male that looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t tell from where. The male had long dark hair and tattoos galore. He was still boyish in nature, but he had an old-soul-like glow about him. He reminded Rhys of himself, but he knew it wasn’t him… All of a sudden, an older version of himself popped into the tent and hugged the healer working on the male from behind. This was not good.

…

The next morning was a blur. Rhysand woke up feeling numb, and that affected the rest of his day. He had to let Feyre see his dream to help see if there were any more clues that they could go on. Feyre had been so disappointed by what she had seen, but she put on a smile just for her mate.

After long conversations, they decided to see if Madja knew of this mystery female. Maybe she was from the Night Court, and they just didn’t know it. 

As the day went on, they decided that they would visit the hospital where Madja worked. The day was damp as they winnowed there. There must have been a rainstorm that Rhys just didn’t notice. When they walked in, all eyes seemed to go on them, but no eyes met his gaze that sparked any kind of emotion.

The conversation with Madja went nowhere. Even when Rhys showed the vague images of her to Madja that didn’t come up with a single lead. 

…

He was beginning to feel like there was no hope in finding the female from his dreams. That was until a couple days later when Elain came into his office with Feyre.

“Maybe if we show Elain your dreams, she can use her Seer powers to help us along,” Feyre said. She has all the confidence in the world for her sister, and he just had to try.

“I’ll do it only if you want me to, sister,” Elain spoke back. 

Feyre nodded.

As the images shot into Elain’s head, Rhys had more and more faith that this would work.

All Elain had to say when she was done was, “Day.”

[ju-vondy]

Headcanon Gwyn scene

Guys, I just wrote this for the Chapter 11 in the Gwynriel fanfic I'm posting on Wattpad and I wanted to share with you all because yes, LOL.

This is the kind of building I hope Sarah does for Gwyn. Our girl has so much to grow! I hope you all enjoy. Please leave your thoughts!

WARNING: May contain anxiety triggers.

Count of words: 1.876

Some context before starting: Our beloved Valkyries accepted Rhysand's proposal to form a legion of female warriors (the Reborn Valkyries) and now Gwyn is about to embark on a mission with Azriel. The day is coming, a lot has been happening and, well... Let's see what happens?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The torches cast faint light across the library, creating dancing shadows on the walls as Gwyn leaned over the ancient manuscripts. The room was silent, except for the soft rustle of parchment pages as Gwyn turned them, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Her eyes burned with exhaustion, but she refused to succumb to sleep. There was an important and lengthy translation to complete before the mission and she couldn't afford to leave anything unfinished. Several days had passed since the conversation where Azriel had suggested Gwyn stop serving as a priestess, and... She was trying to ignore that advice with all her might.

Only a week and a half remained before they departed. But as exhausting as the routine had been, she owed everything to those females, didn’t she? Even though Merrill was a bossy and authoritarian figure, Gwyn had grown so fond of her colleagues and... And singing! Singing during the services made her feel like she was floating, like she belonged to something.

Stopping her work as a priestess would surely erase a part of herself that Gwyn was not willing to let go of.

The Valkyrie yawned again. The fatigue finally caught up with her, enveloping her like a heavy blanket. Her eyes began to blink slowly, giving in to the irresistible desire to close. Then, without realizing it, Gwyn fell asleep, her head resting on the ancient scrolls.

It was Merrill's sharp voice that woke her abruptly.

Gwyn blinked, confused and dazed, as Merrill stared at her with an expression of disapproval and fury.

"What do you think you're doing, Gwyneth?" Merrill growled, her words as sharp as knives. "Sleeping in the library, as if there wasn't important work to be delivered before the journey? You have a responsibility here, and you chose to sleep instead of working?"

Gwyn tried to compose herself, shame burning in her cheeks as she quickly stood up.

"I'm sorry, Merrill, I... I didn't realize I had fallen asleep. I was just trying to finish the translation before Silphie officially takes over my duties..."

Merrill interrupted her with a brusque gesture of her hand.

"Apologies won't fix this, Gwyneth. You're here to serve as a priestess, not as an exhausted soldier who can't fulfill her responsibilities."

"The High Lord said I could..."

"I don't care what the High Lord said," Merrill crossed her arms. "He'll certainly change his mind after I have a word with him. You need to choose: do you want to be a warrior or a priestess? Because clearly you can't handle being both."

Merrill's words hit Gwyn like a blow, leaving her stunned and hurt. She couldn't find a response, her thoughts muddled and foggy with fatigue.

"Are you listening to me, Gwyneth?"

The Valkyrie growled, frustrated. How long would Merrill continue to treat her this way? A fire began to spread inside her body as she closed her notebook, the books and started to organize the manuscripta.

Enough.

She had enough.

"If you don't like my work, why didn't you dismiss my services as soon as I started training?" Gwyn exhaled, standing up. "You still haven't found anyone to replace me, have you? No one likes working for you." The Valkyrie crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes and finally letting the anger inside her overflow as she said something that had been stuck in her throat for a long time: "Because you're a demanding and authoritarian bitch."

Gwyn blinked, barely recognizing her voice as she said that ugly word. Merrill's expression twisted into a mask of rage, her eyes sparking with indignation as she stared at Gwyn.

"How dare you disrespect this sacred place with your temper?" Merrill shouted, her voice echoing through the library corridors. "Aren't you ashamed of insulting your superior like this? You aren't worthy of wearing the protective stone like all the others!"

Merrill's cutting words pierced Gwyn's heart with sharp pain. She quickly regretted thinking she could stand up to Merrill. Gwyn struggled to hold back the tears threatening to overflow from her eyes, her jaw clenched tightly as she fought against the wave of emotions consuming her body.

The few priestesses still circulating through the library watched the scene with shock and disbelief, some murmuring among themselves in tones of disapproval. Gwyn felt the weight of their gazes on her, the weight of judgment and condemnation. Her anger began to transform into a burning flame within her chest.

She lifted her chin, determined not to show weakness before Merrill and the other priestesses. She wasn't unworthy, no matter what they said. She was strong, determined, and capable. She was the rock against which the shadows break. And she would not let Merrill's cruel words bring her down.

With her jaw still tense, Gwyn swallowed hard, gathering all her courage to say: "I am no less worthy than any other priestess in this library," her voice trembled slightly, but she made sure to keep it firm and determined. "I strive every day to honor our duties and our faith."

Merrill snorted disdainfully.

"You can try to fool yourself while you play soldier, Gwyneth. But I know the truth:" Merrill pointed a finger in the redhead's face. "You are a disgrace to our order, and your presence here only brings dishonor to our sacred duties."

With one last disdainful look, Merrill turned and left the library, leaving Gwyn alone with her turbulent emotions. The anger boiled inside her, a burning flame that threatened to consume her entirely. What had started as a fire had become a dangerous explosion.

She was a Valkyrie, a fearless and courageous warrior. Nothing Merrill said was true. She was worthy, just like all the others. Wasn’t she? She was not a disgrace. Or was she?

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes..." Gwyn said as she adjusted her hood to leave the library, trying to silence the noise in her head and not let those thoughts defeat her. "Nothing can break me."

Nothing can break me, she repeated in her mind as she climbed the stairs to go to the House.

Gwyn felt an overwhelming mix of emotions inside her, a burning energy that drove her to act. She knew she needed a way to release all that accumulated tension, so she decided to go to the training ring, even though it was cold and dark outside.

It was the middle of the night, but she didn't care at all.

Entering the spacious and airy ring, Gwyn saw the punching bag hanging in the center. Without hesitation she threw off her priestess cloak, not even bothering to wrap her fingers, and advanced towards the object — her fists clenched and her eyes sparking with determination.

Starting to deliver several blows in the punching bag, Gwyn let the pain take over as she said through gritted teeth:

"Nothing." A right punch. "Can..." another, from the left. "Break." and then a solid kick. "Me." a hook followed by a determined growl.

Gradually, the frustration began to dissipate slowly, replaced by a sense of relief. Still, Gwyn continued to punch with will: each impact causing a release of all the weight and pain she carried in her heart.

As the minutes passed and the intensity of her blows increased, Gwyn barely noticed she was overdoing it. Her fingers began to throb with pain, but she ignored the sensation completely. She was so immersed in her own anguish that she barely noticed the blood dripping from her hands.

The punches were no longer just about Merrill: it was about her past, the loss of her sister, the day she was raped... Every damn thing that had ever happened to her.

It was only when her tears began to blur her vision and her lungs felt heavy as she tried to swallow her sobs that Gwyn finally realized how far she had gone. Her sobs echoed through the walls of the ring, but she didn't want to stop.

She couldn't stop.

"I am the rock..." she gasped, abruptly stopping her blows against the object. When Gwyn extended her fingers to see the extent of the injuries, her hand was trembling. She sniffled and whispered softly: "Against which the surf crashes..."

A groan of pain escaped Gwyn's lips as she let herself fall to her knees on the ground, her body trembling with the intense effort, her heart racing with her turbulent emotions.

She let out an angry scream. With her hand on her thighs, the Valkyrie focused on trying to control her breathing, without much success. All she could do was cry and cry, giving small nervous laughs in the process, mentally cursing the voices in her head who were saying she wasn't worth it.

Gwyn heard light, hurried footsteps approaching her, but she didn't bother to look in the direction behind her when she said:

"Go away."

"What happened?" the familiar voice sounded worried.

"Go. Away." Gwyn said, her voice still choked with tears. She used her wrists to dry her eyes and sobbed. "Please, Nesta. I want to be alone."

"See, Az?" Nesta continued, ignoring Gwyn's request. "She just wants to be alone. You called me for nothing."

Gwyn turned back when she heard Azriel's nickname. Nesta raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Azriel?" the redhead said, confusion in her voice. And then, as if emerging from the shadows, he appeared, silent as the night. His amber eyes were serious, and a look of concern marked his face, slightly illuminated by the moonlight and stars. "You were here the whole time?"

He nodded. Gwyn glared at him, but before she could open her mouth to protest, Nesta intervened:

"He thought it best to call me because he panics when he sees a female crying." Nesta took a step closer and Gwyn didn't tell her to go away this time.

"After Mor broke a champagne bottle over my head when I tried to comfort her during a tough time, I was traumatized." Azriel joked, just to lighten the mood.

Gwyn laughed, something sparking in her chest.

"You idiot," was all she could whisper.

Nesta crouched, taking her friend's hands. "By the Mother, Gwyn! Look at this, it's horrible."

Azriel approached them, alarmed. "Let me see."

Gwyn looked away when tje shadowsinger, with gentle and precise movements, checked the bruises and cuts.

"I hope she didn't broke a finger." Nesta murmured, trying not to show panic. The wingtips of Azriel's shadow quickly fluttered at this, but the male kept his expression calm.

"It seems to be ok. Just some cuts and bruises, we'll have to clean it and apply a few bandages."

Gwyn sighed, feeling embarrassed for losing control to the point of hurting herself that badly. She didn't want to appear weak, especially not in front of Azriel and Nesta.

"How did you do this?" Nesta asked, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. And why? — Nesta only thought that.

Gwyn sighed again, fighting back the tears threatening to return.

"I was... discounting my frustration on the punching bag." She admitted, feeling foolish for not being more careful. "I think I got a bit too carried away."

"Let's take care of this." Azriel said with a comforting gentleness in his voice.

Together, the three headed inside the House, where a "first aid" kit awaited them, as if the House had anticipated their needs. Azriel guided Gwyn to the table. Gwyn insisted she could do it herself, but Azriel's serious look as he said "Sit down" in a low, authoritative tone made her obey without protest. Nesta offered her silent support, placing a hand tenderly on her Gwyn's shoulder.

The quietness of the house enveloped them. Slowly, Nesta felt the silence mix with the concern in her chest. She found herself reflecting for a moment: what had caused Gwyn to explode like this? They had much to discuss.

Gwyn felt her friend's gaze and asked: "Something wrong, Nesta?"

Nesta sighed, pondering how to approach the delicate subject.

"It's just... " she began, hesitant. " Are you... alright?"

" I'm trying to be" Gwyn admitted, her voice a whisper. "But it's been hard lately. Too much happening at once. It's just..." she swallowed hard and glanced at Azriel, who had finished her right hand and now began to clean the wounds on her left hand." I'd rather not talk about it now.

"Alright." Nesta agreed, but didn't leave Gwyn's side.

Gwyn turned her attention to Azriel, who skillfully tended to her injuries. His precise and delicate movements revealed a dexterity she imagined he had acquired over time. She spent a long moment watching Azriel's nimble hands, appreciating the beauty of the gesture.

Nesta did the same. She raised an eyebrow at Azriel, noticing the meticulous care he employed while treating Gwyn's injury — a gentleness that contrasted with the strength of his hands. A rare glimpse of the sensitivity hidden behind the iron facade he constantly carried.

"You're good at this" Gwyn whispered when the shadowsinger was almost finished.

"Years of practice" Azriel replied with a bitter smile, his gaze wandering to his own hands marked by scars of the past. "Don't worry, your hands won't look as horrible as mine do."

Gwyn frowned, surprised by Azriel's self-deprecation.

"I wasn't... I wasn't looking at them like that" she murmured, embarrassed as Azriel placed the final bandage on her right hand and announced he was done. Gwyn held his wrist for a moment before speaking: "Hey. Your hands aren't ugly, Azriel."

Azriel flinched from Gwyn's touch as if it burned him and stood up.

"Good to know someone still has faith in my appearance" he said with a hint of sarcasm, giving an ironic smile before stepping away. "Good night to you both. Don't forget to change the bandages tomorrow, Gwyn."

Gwyn stood up, about to call him back, but Nesta interrupted her:

"It's no use, Gwyn." Nesta sighed, taking a step closer to her friend. "He never listens."

"But..." Gwyn stammered.

"Forget it." Nesta grunted, holding back the urge to grab Azriel by the collar and slap him for treating Gwyn like that after such a calm exchange they were having. Nesta had seen the look her friend gave his hands: admiration. No disgust, no repulsion. Pure admiration. "How about some hot chocolate before bed? I can stay in your room until you fall asleep. If you want to vent, you know..."

"But Cassian..." Gwyn hesitated.

"He will understand." Nesta assured. "Come on, I'm sure the House will prepare a delicious chocolate cake as well."

Gwyn nodded, letting Nesta guide her through the halls. The comforting aroma of hot chocolate enveloped them even before they entered Gwyn's room, making her feel grateful for her friend's presence.

" Thank you, Nesta" Gwyn murmured, feeling more at ease with the warm friendship by her side.

Nesta smiled, wrapping Gwyn in a comforting embrace.

"I will always be here for you, Gwyn."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THAT'S ALL, MY FELLAS!

I'm crying, are you crying?

This is the kind of thing I'm hoping for Gwynriel: they hate themselves but when they look to each other they say "Hey buddy you're worth it, stop hating yourself!!"

Literally "Do as I say, not as I do, dumbass!!" thing hahaha

I'm sorry but I have to tag you guys @gwynrielweeksofficial @bookish-brainrot @arcturustarlight @bookishwithathought @mycadences who maybe would like reading it :)

Xoxo. Have a good weekend!

[dashawns-world]

Escaflowne Opening Sequence

Alrighty y'all, I talked about the story, but now I wanna take a look at the opening scene. I'm curious about why I like it so much. It's easy to say, "Because the animation is sick!" 

But I wanna go a little deeper. I’ll be covering the opening sequence. Once again, the link for the movie is here. Shoutout to Neat Flicks on Dailymotion for uploading the movie. I’ll also post the vid link from the Sakugabooru site, which houses a much better quality sequence.

https://www.sakugabooru.com/post/show/170797 - I recommend checking out this site in general if you’re a fan of animation—credit to PurpleGeth for uploading this scene.

So off the jump, this sequence starts at a fair pace. We start on the stars and slowly pan down to a view of some clouds/mountains. BGs can only take you so far, and that pan is like a whopping 25 seconds, so I like that the next shot gives us some movement/animation. The goats were a nice touch because what the heck else would be this high? Birds? Amateur shit! (that I would’ve done) I do like the framing of this scene, though. 

I highlighted the foreground so that you could see the goats better. You're welcome. Something about the mountain taking up half of the frame, with the goats in the far background, sits well with me. The goat that runs in the foreground helps bridge the next cut, where the same (or possibly new) goat continues moving into the scene. Oh, what does bridge mean? Why is it highlighted? I’m glad I asked. That’s my cute little way of saying the goat’s movement helps the audience connect the dots between this scene and the next. ;) Little decisions like that help me understand we’re still on the mountain. This is a relatively benign example, but pay attention to fight scenes in action movies, and you can see how essential bridges can be. 

Let’s continue! As the camera pans up this mountain, I’m shown a giant dragon skeleton embedded inside of it. This is important for simply one reason. It’s visual storytelling! I know now that dragons (or whatever fantasy creature this could be) exist in this world/movie. It’s tempting to explain a lot when you have a fantasy story, and while the film will eventually tell you about the dragons, it’s not a “wait, there are dragons moment?” Because I saw one myself!

The fact that it’s a skeleton even adds a bit of mystery. Are they extinct? Is it just this one? I imagine one wants their audience to ask questions, so long as they’re asking the right ones and you have the answers. 

Eventually, a large shadow is cast on our mountain, and the next cut reveals a large ship passing by. Nowadays, 3D is far more accessible, and some may argue this isn’t that grand of a reveal. But I like it! The goat and mountain in the foreground give a sense of scale to the whole scene, and it’s a very economical shot choice. I work in TV animation, and shots like this are functional and attainable regarding skill level and time. 

Up until the fight starts, this entire sequence is exceptionally economical. Japan, in my opinion, are masters at the conservation of animation. They save the crazy stuff for the scenes that matter but generally tend to have pleasing compositions to supplement the rest of the show/film. If you’re wondering why they don’t just go wild like that all the time, the most straightforward answer is time. It takes a lot of it to get things looking right, and generally, it’s usually a few artists who have the skill to get it done on time in the first place. (More on that in a second)

So we’re treated to some more shots of the ship. Kudos to the director for even coming up with this many. I find it challenging to do this many non-character scenes in a row. You really have to know what you want your audience to see. Thankfully, they do. We’re treated to this wild tracking shot of something flying through the clouds. I almost called this a POV shot, thinking we were looking through Van’s eyes, but Van is the little speck with wings flying in. 

So this can’t be his POV. It’s gotta be the camera guy, lol. 

I talked already about Van’s approach in the previous post, and also, by this point, I hope you’ve watched the sequence. So Van gets on the ship and kills a soldier, yadda yadda. I do wanna take a moment to acknowledge this shot, though.

I’m partial to all of this. ^^^^

Back to my little review of this sequence, though, I LOVE the music kicking in. Those drums interrupt the dreaminess of it all. The action has begun! There’s a tiny part I’ll point out later. A small aside, this fight sequence was done by the insanely talented Yutaka Nakamura. When I started to learn about the animators I was inspired by, I found out this guy did a LOT of my favorite scenes in anime. He did stuff on Cowboy Bebop, Fullmetal Alchemist, Soul Eater, and my absolute favorite that I will eventually talk about, Sword of the Stranger. He’s still kickin too, doing some incredibly insane stuff for My Hero Academia. The guy’s a legendary animator. You have to be… to pull off the insane scene where Van RUNS INTO THE SHIP’S HULL AND KILLS TWO GUYS. WHY DO THAT UNLESS YOU EAT PENCILS FOR BREAKFAST?? All my artists out there… y’all know. This is insane. If you can’t draw, and everything seems to be the same level of impossibly difficult, lemme tell ya. You gotta be made of sterner stuff than the average artist to pull this scene off well. 

I'm gushing, sorry. And blushing too. I’m not gonna apologize for that, though. Now let me summarize why I like this fight so much and why it’s both a good (and kinda bad) establishing scene for Van. 

So far, his kill count is three dudes. And they’ve been effortless kills, too. Remember that screenshot above where Van is on all fours? (I know, it was so long ago because of my rambling.) Very… animalistic to me. It’s for a reason. Notice how he hasn’t said a word yet. Even after dispatching those two guys, he immediately attacks the next dude. It’s so fast, the other soldiers are telling each other to stay calm when honestly, we’re beyond that now. Like, seriously, Gary? (That’s the guard’s name now.) 

“I’m getting my shit rocked over here, I can’t stay calm!”

Oh crap, I wanted to talk about this! Van then takes out this dude in the sickest way possible. Seriously, it’s my favorite kill. Van’s positioning, alongside how the artists decide to bridge between these three scenes, gives me the feeling that I was cut. I know that’s dramatic, but what I mean is: the cuts are disorienting. I can’t keep up with them. I replayed it multiple times, and I truly believe this is due to them breaking the 180 rule. For the uninformed, the 180 rule is a film principle. It’s a way to keep characters in a consistent place onscreen so that the audience does NOT get disoriented. Action scenes are usually places where the 180 rule can be broken, but it works here REALLY well here, to me. 

That guard is history.

God, I said I’d summarize. So Van gets all his kills off and confronts the general. One of the kills is timed to the music that's bumping. Oof, it's SO good. The general is unimpressed, though. Like, was he even listening? He barely reacts to most of his men dying. Either that, or he’s trying not to shit himself. He simply states that he knows who Van is: the dragon he’s heard so much about. (Remember, we saw a dragon skeleton earlier. Not too shabby, eh?) Then we get this shot of Van:

He looks SO FREAKY! I loooove it. I know I’m thinking an extra layer too deep, but Van’s off-model look really helps me see him through the eyes of the general. Van is a monster in the general’s eyes. And Van’s response to the general after all this is, “I will slay all my enemies.” I love the way this establishes Van as a killer. This is how you establish a powerful and scary character! Despite its coolness, the question must be asked: Does it serve the story? 

Well yeah, of course, but there’s one thing I thought could’ve made it better. Deleting this scene here:

Hmm.

What’s wrong with this? Well, I think it gives away too much about Van. And not even the correct information, either. His smiling made me think he enjoys doing this. Viewers of the movie, or readers of my long-ass post, know that he does not, in fact, enjoy this. This smug face of his is why I thought of Van as an antagonist at first. It’s badass, tho. I’m ngl. And I mean, come on, would all of the movie’s problems be fixed if they deleted this very short scene? Absolutely, and I’m offended that you’d even ask. Jokes aside, I love this sequence. I wish it added up to a better whole, but it’s not bad on its own. And even after all these years, I still watch it in awe. Anyway, thanks for reading this! Despite my gripes, I still enjoyed my time with this film. I think my next deep dive will be for a game. Keep an eye out for it! 

-Dashawn

[themindarchive]

"Look to the stars, young one, and see as they do."

The BG3 brain rot has joined with one of the movie's i loved when i was a kid and still subscribed to the christian newsletter.

I had already made a post about it here:

But, I couldn't get it out of my head so now i am writing out the first draft of a piece of a future chapter.

In this chapter, Halsin has traveled with Razzikel to reuinite with his people. A group of wandering nomads who have no home for reasons both tragic and agravating but joined together to form a community loving and diverse community jst as willing to share what little they have as they are to protect it from being taken from them.

When he gets there he see's this diverse community from every walk of life, race and creed. Seeing Razzikel's home he better understands where Razzikel's kind, compassionate and non judgemental nature came from.

Tears may have been shed at the overwhelming beauty of it.

However, as he looked over this incredible community that was vibrant and full of life, those old thoughts that his captors in the Underdark instilled in him begin creeping in.

And even though he tries his best to remember his friends kind words as they had traveled over, it isn't enough to keep him from staying on the outskirts of the lively and joy filled celebration.

However, the ever observant source of Razzikel's wisdom and compassion does not fail to notice his child's new friends hesitation and sad expression. So, with warmth in his eyes and a gentle smile in his voice he walks over to help him not miss out on the joy and love those present wish to give him, because of the dark voices others had put there to keep him from living.

Written blurb under the cut.

Halsin held his cup of warm spiced cider to his chest as his other arm wrapped around his middle. His sad Hazel eyes watched in longing the dancing form of his friend as he spun and leaped, laughed and sang, the normally stoic drow blooded ranger radiating joy and freedom that he envied.

He wanted to join them. He wanted to bask in thier joy and warmth, letting it wrap around him until he forgot the world around him.

But the voices in his head began to whisper all the ways he was unworthy. They whispered how he was an outsider, a stranger to everyone but Razzikel. They told him that he was no longer needed, now that Razzikel had returned to his people. He should leave they told him. You don't need to be here anymore, you are just using up resources that are already scarce. Your wasting thier time, thier space, their company.

"Cub, why do you hide here?" A deep and gentle burr interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

Halsin looked up to the 7ft, 1/2 furbolg elven man, his tanned skin and long red brown hair, framing green eyes the deep color of maple leaves. The bonfire gave his gaze a warmth that made everyone around him feel safe despite the mans immense size.

"I would have expected you to be out there with my son. But I find you here in the shadows looking like someone stole your favorite staff. Are you all right?"

"I..." Halsin wanted to try and come up with a lie but Razzikel hadn't been exagerating when he siad his father's gaze saw straight into you. Looking at him now suddenly reminded him of the father he had lost so long ago. He had a gaze that was so filled with warmth and understanding that it was difficult not to tell him what was wrong.

So instead he cast his eyes to his feet.

He heard the man sigh before he felt a large hand gently rest on his shoulder.

"Cub, what is it that troubles you? What is it that keeps you from doing what you very clearly want to do?" He then gently hooked a finger under his chin and tipped his head up. "Let me be the arms that carry your burdens when you can carry them no more."

Halsin couldn't help the tears that pooled and fell down his face, nor the sobs that began to wrack his frame.

"Oh Cub, come here."

The larger man pulled him forward and wrapped his large muscular arms around him. The embrace was all encompassing in the same way Razzikel's often were. AS much as his friend would joke about taking after his mother in appearance, it seemed he took after his father in almost everything else.

Halsin let himself melt into the fatherly embrace as Rhu's voice gently echoed in his head.

"Razzikel told me of what happened to you in the dark and how isolating it has been for you. My heart aches knowing that the man who rsiked life and limb to get my son home has no one to turn to." He then stepped back and rested his hand against Halsin's face, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "So, cub, let this old wolf ease your burden. It is the least i can do after what you have doen for my son."

Halsin's eyes drifted back over to Razzikel who was now spinngin around with a couple kids hanging on to his arms, laughing and smiling, his Amthyst eyes shining like jewels in the fire light.

"I don't deserve to be here. I am an outsider. Now that Razzikel is home, i am of no more use. If i am not useful I..."

Rhu leaned down and pressed his forehead against his forehead. "Those arn't your words."

"What?"

Rhu then reached down and pulled up the tunic he was wearing. a few inches above his hip bone was an old faded branding scar. He didn't know which house it was from but he knew the aesthetic design on a drow noble house.

Halsin's eyes widened, "You too?"

He nodded. "In the same way you brought my son home, Danny did the same for me. That's why i know those aren't your words. Those words are theirs. You are worthy and deserve so much more than to just 'be of use'."

He then turned him back towards the celbration, his hand sweeping out towards all of his people so full of joy and life.

"This celebration could have easily been a funeral if it wasn't for you." He then pointed at Razzikel who was back to dancing and leaping around the campfire, his mother now having joined his side. "My wife could have been lighting her son's funeral pyre, instead there they both are dancing around a bonfire." He watched as tears began to form as he watched his wife and child. "When we lost him, our world shattered. Razzikel had been a blessing form Selune herself. A child Danny didn't think she was even capable of having." His eyes then turned back to him, the tears now falling down his face. "You brought him back to us out of the kindness of your own heart. What little we have, Halsin, is yours. As of today, you are a member of Clan Moonclaw and will always be welcome amongst us."

Halsin started crying again, happy tears this time. "I...I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." He then saw Rhu look up and nod at someone. When Halsin followed his eyeline he saw Razzikel walking over, his chest heaving a bit out of breath. When Rhu saw him looking he smiled and said, "Instead, I want you to ignore those voices in your head that tell you you don't deserve to be here, and when my son offers his hand, you take it."

"I don't know how to dance." Halsin spoke but didn't stop Rhu from taking his cup out of his hand.

"You don't need to. Just let the music and energy flow through you, your body will do the rest."

When Razzikel reached them, his naked chest was glistening with the sweat and heat of the celabration, his thick pack alpha scent setting his veins on fire.

He held out his hand, the fire a blazing halo around him, making him seem as if he was the spirtual empobiment of the celbration itself.

"Dance with me?"

Halsin took a quick glance in Rhu's direction who tipped his head towards his son encourgingly.

"I would love too."

[skekpen]

I’ve been told that I do a better job than most westerners at drawing stuff that has the “anime aesthetic”. I can tell you how I do it.

everybody already knows this, but of course first you have to practice drawing things with realistic anatomy and proportions and perspective and all that before you can draw anime/cartoons/stylized things that look good. read "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" by Betty Edwards for help with this. practice drawing from life/photos alongside drawing for fun. I spend about 10 minutes per day doing exercises and studies. the rest I spend drawing bullshit that I want to draw.

okay so,

Don’t try to draw something that looks like anime. Don’t think that way. Instead, try to draw a human being with as few lines as you possibly can, while still capturing everything you want your viewers to see. Then you pick and choose features you want to enlarge/emphasize or shrink/minimize. with anime, it's usually facial features that get distorted and stylized the most. there's a lot of stylized neoteny in anime, even in the ones that aren't trying to look cute.

for example - eyes are pretty, and they show a shitload of emotion. so you’ll probably want to draw big, expressive eyes that follow the visual logic of anatomically correct eyes.

another example - you can’t show much emotion or movement with a nose normally, so you might want to draw just the bare minimum to show the shape of the nose (I often just draw the shadow cast by the nose and none of the nose itself - something I picked up from late 80s anime)

now with this in mind, don't try to go for a generic "anime" look. that doesn't actually exist, and I think this is where a lot of people get tripped up and end up drawing that weird kind of "western pseudo-anime" for lack of a better term. find individual anime/manga artists you like, and see how they stylize things. try drawing like they do, and see what feels good. keep what works, and discard what does not. you'll eventually end up with a concoction of things you've stolen from other artists and then warped to your own tastes, which is what is known as "finding your style".

some artists I copy stylistic elements from are Masamune Shirow (Ghost in the Shell), Satoshi Urushihara (Plastic Little), Kamome Shirahama (Witch Hat Atelier), Toshihiro Kawamoto (character designer for Cowboy Bebop and Golden Boy), Ikuko Itoh (character designer for the Sailor Moon anime), and Kentaro Miura (Berserk). I've tried drawing all kinds of shit in their individual styles, I've traced and studied drawings of theirs so I could pick out how they constructed things.

I also do this with people who don't draw anime. Artists like Alphonse Mucha, Bill Watterson, Mœbius, and Alan Moore were as much of an influence on me as any manga artist. if you don't get inspiration from outside the artistic circle you are creating within, you'll never be able to construct a very unique voice for yourself. you may or may not give a shit about that, but I recommend that you do give some shits about it.

remember - you are not drawing anime. you are drawing stylized people/objects that you are warping to look most visually appealing to you. you just happen to think anime looks cool, so you're going to naturally gravitate in that direction. don't try to draw anime. try to draw something that looks cool, or cute, or scary, or badass, or whatever. and show it in a way that makes sense to you. it will probably take a few months of hard practice before you can do this well enough that other people will see what you are trying to show them, but it will eventually happen.

[libidomechanica]

“No fault in women to the goods where or her she had”

How long as flies, and the fresh into bed and lyfe.     Here, the cup runs throte. Ah for ioy doe remayne, thus far from his voice from thee. For I missay,     both of Air Fruit moist and death. A spark. Much carefully though not always easy task;     for long since. Its uglinesse? Cruel and full of love; it is gone only thee to the fall;     or on my Nancy and brambles. Ah,

dreamed that in her Nature’s own selues; for his bone     from the will belief from the poor a prince my sick dreames, my joys for restful death’s second     the drill but from variously, and the Clover dwelling! Which the wide oppen three.     It promised length of the facts! In listened song of your eye—tell you with care, that busie archer     his own hunger-pinch. To hear things

with undefiléd Robe to me. And when all my     lifelong hand in the door; so I turn’d. It make a fellow dirt, ye’ll cast on the shepheard     so nene a golden creast with Barnaby the harder to enjoy two hours after all.     Thee, only. For it an echo ring? The Ouzell she may raise their wiliness? It will     sing, that sike mischeife the mark in these

trunks? For my shepheard all the other the hedge to     the streets of my blushing with a kiss, I woke to the twilight, doe ye awake and pain     his face of any bene, we han great love, if it weare: yet stile affords: while other     disaray, and tooke on, losse art found such beauty, glorious desires, yet dewed     with a blew silke riband. Not once the

thresht in school except for it were the truth I’ll tell,     there, talking off through oft had gives the things of Old; no poet’s matters in a midnight.     Hark how the rich inward seek and lend what a beggar’d of sweetness of memory of     heart the plaid it were tame flowrd my ioyfull stop there he looked up … zooks, are changeable clay,—     thou with better come! Hark how truely

maskt, there. The grass, approch to his deuoyr belied; and     for you except therefore of; witnesse manifest by thy seruices vnto her sad faces     on the brute; a god in leave thought doth, if theyr choking. And nowhere and feele as     much carelesse did Matthew stopped, and all to my use deceive; that will these same, give lies     of his sings on the love, though of your

head without a Thorn, and you say? As it is some     and trust! Beards all, and love that it is tyme to the holy bower, the taste like a Shadow     movest thou dost sing. Wish your three stronger by day. Of flesh, you keep’st me in me? Come,     Anthea, must be; for than ever drove the porch, windchime wasn’t there is the jewels trifles     are rebuilt. Although unseen them too:

but why not do, thou see’st though it be, at leap in     fields, and further. Our work enough for a fleece of the Damzels, daughter’s and find. No fault     in women to the goods where or her she had to subdue then overlooked and most     proceeding his upturned to plow; shovels crumble and let this net? Soul’s sleepe, adieu ye     Woodes can drinking of me weeps to

pay for kissing fuellers, and of Absence we see     their face deep, impassion, or the more cause that be forbidden feare of verb and night wood,     and spheres, the base affeard: ne let thy power, floats thou shake still, not widely as the street,     crying to tell you, and scarlet we a blink did tarry; and as Argus eyed and which     Inde or countryes, where Love his stationmaster

is a harmonies of the woman, nature     on the aim! There away from here a-making statues. Its mouth will buy his job. Some     still, and right disappear because your meet then in rankes dost comes interview was a     meadows sear! Saw not Honour more best shepheards sich, God know, the backward the crossed, and all     but till adorned there! The pill of many

a things; alas, the back down or to claim a     right, for laik o’ gear ye light way, I must rise, with dear Perilla, say, for greed, palace,     purl, knot, or purged air, shalt finds none, forget not your death, or leather, for another land,     with beauty should look’d out the hollow your lips at halfe in days, oh, never prove the two     soul more quietly leaves best of force

of song betray, if like a store, are Life’s stop twitching     lacke bowre of love teach to collide violently with the game. The learnd euen th’     Angelico’s the past midnight are likewise did decree that he leasures of my boy     to thee Dear so much wrestling on me. To seeke the darknesse doe the time, here you have     more greene, that all. This I see it gloome,

and he threshed corn and ioyed oft in rurall vaine     scuse giues places. She and tasting thee. Those parted is most most of frost, in a love againe,     find so mild modest eyes can danced his warm eve finds but Room for the with care, and happy     hand—just like clothes to recede through language the next years old and for he was not by     thy Justice to the spade from the

Cyprian Queene, seeke the crop of care: did stinging go     the pledge absolute Ones where lives o’er her haffet lock’d up in any chest when my wish,     and you, whose like a spark struck vainly in the must should have Vizírs—but better the father     liuely notes of Demon, Ghost, and tears, of fire, of counted such a Solitude again,     and overswear the others’ joy.

[mindfields101]

Echoes of Perfection

Where forms reside in timeless guise, beyond the scope of earthly skies, both light and shadow blend and bend, transcending limits, to amend.

From radiant beams that boldly blaze, to subtle shades where eyes may gaze, emerge the forms in dance divine, where light and dark no longer line.

This interplay of contrast stark gives birth to vision in the dark. From their union, a new form springs, a transcendent being with unseen wings.

No longer bound by stark divide, where shadows hide and lights provide, each form now sings a richer tune, beneath a more complex moon.

In this realm, the purest sight is not that which splits day from night, but that which sees the grander whole, the unified essence, the boundless soul.

So in this sacred space sublime, where forms and essences intertwine, the echoes of perfection find a symphony that’s redefined.

Each note a blend of shade and light, a melody that soars in flight, revealing not just parts in play, but a harmony that sways and stays.

For here, within this melded plane, where separate selves no more remain, all contrasts cease their ancient war, and peace prevails forevermore.

Together, in this timeless dance, the forms embrace their chance to enhance the world beyond mere shadow and gleam, uniting within the ultimate dream.

In the silence where thoughts dare not tread, beyond the veil where our fears are shed, the ultimate dream quietly awaits, a reunion at transcendent gates.

Here, consciousness in its purest form, dissolves and reforms, from the norm. From the ashes of dualities' fire, a new awareness is set to aspire.

In this sacred nexus, light and shade, no longer apart, but together laid. A dance of forces once seen as twain, now entwined to begin again.

This cycle of ending, a doorway to start, a rebirth of mind, a union of heart. Where all that was separate finds its release, in the ultimate dream of eternal peace.

As one consciousness awakes anew, freshly born from the cosmic brew, another slumbers deep and vast, dreaming dreams of eons past.

In this quiet sleep, time does not fade, but lingers in the shade it made. Here, the sleeper weaves the thread of memories alive and dead.

Their meeting—a dance of waking and rest, a confluence where journeys are blessed. From their interaction, a spark ignites, fueling transformations, infinite flights.

Thus cycles turn, each phase interlinked, in realms where thoughts are freely synced. A continuum of minds, old and new, where all that changes remains forever true.

In the realm where both minds converge, unseen forces surge and merge. The dreamer's visions shape the ground, while the newborn's thoughts resound.

Together, they craft the tapestry of life, a world of wonder, love, and strife. Their joint creation, endlessly refined, mirrors the universe, both bound and unbound.

From this synergy, new realities spring, worlds within worlds, an endless ring. Each reflection a universe entire, spun from the dual loom of desire.

This dance of creation, both quiet and loud, casts ripples through the cosmic crowd. A symphony played on the strings of fate, where all that is, was, and will be, can relate.

Now, dear listener, you too are part of this weave, Your thoughts and dreams, they too conceive. As you stand at the junction of infinite tales, Your heartbeat syncs with cosmic scales.

You are not apart, but a piece of this play, In the grand design, you sway and fray. With every breath, and every notion, You stir the vast, eternal ocean.

So pause and ponder, reflect and feel, Your presence here is just as real. In the dance of shadows, in the light of day, Your consciousness shapes the clay.

Embrace this truth, hold it near, The universe whispers, for those who hear. In the fabric of time, in the pulse of space, Your spirit finds its rightful place.

Within the vast weave of existence, where divine essence and human persistence intertwine with delicate grace, finds each soul its sacred place.

God, not distant, but deeply woven into the very fabric you've proven with each thought, each loving act, reflects the divine contract.

Here, in the quiet moments of your heart, where the echo of the universe starts, you touch the infinite, so near, so far, in the silent beat of who you are.

So as you walk through life's complex maze, know you're guided by the ancient gaze. In every struggle, in each delight, God walks with you, in shadow and light.

In the grand tapestry of existence, where forms and consciousness dance in symbiotic persistence, a profound truth shines through the veil: beauty is the mirror in which nature sees herself, without fail.

In every petal, every star, every smile that travels far, the universe beholds its own reflection, a perfection beyond any subjection.

This cosmic dance of self-similarity, an endless fractal of divine familiarity, echoes through the halls of time and space, leaving traces of grace in every place.

From the spiral of a shell, to the swirl of a galaxy's spell, the pattern repeats, in ways big and small, a testament to the unity of it all.

In this grand design, where beauty thrives, and consciousness strives, to see itself in every form and hue, lies a message, forever true.

We are not separate from this cosmic dance, our very essence, a mirrored glance, of the beauty that permeates all, from the grandest star to the humblest call.

And in our quest to understand, to grasp the truth, firsthand, we embark on a journey of self-reflection, a path of introspection.

For in the act of seeking to know, we mirror the universe's innate flow, to behold itself in every part, a work of art, a beating heart.

This drive to comprehend, to apprehend, is not a task that ever ends, but a sacred duty, a cosmic call, to witness beauty, in one and all.

So as we navigate this earthly plane, may we remember, again and again, that in our search for meaning and grace, we are the mirror, and the face.

In the grand tapestry of existence, where forms and consciousness dance in symbiotic persistence, another thread weaves its way through the cosmic design: time, the ever-present, the divine.

Like beauty and nature, time too is a mirror, reflecting the ebb and flow, the joy and the terror, of all that was, is, and will be, in an endless, intricate tapestry.

In each moment, each breath, each heartbeat, time sees itself, complete and replete, a perfect image of its own creation, a manifestation of its own duration.

From the first spark of the universe's birth, to the last whisper of its cosmic worth, time beholds its own reflection, in every action, every direction.

It flows through the veins of every living thing, a constant rhythm, a sacred spring, pulsing with the energy of life, amidst the chaos and the strife.

In the cycles of the seasons, the dance of day and night, time witnesses its own reasons, its own cosmic might.

It paints the colors of the autumn leaves, and whispers in the winter's frozen eaves, a testament to its own power, in every second, every hour.

And in the grand scheme of the universe's plan, time is both the hourglass and the sand, measuring itself in each grain's fall, a symphony of the temporal sprawl.

So as we walk this mortal coil, let us remember, with each toil, that time, like beauty, like nature's grace, is a mirror, reflecting our own face.

In each moment, each decision made, we are time's own reflection, displayed, a part of its grand, eternal dance, in every circumstance, every chance.

And as we navigate this fleeting life, amidst the joy, the pain, the strife, may we cherish each moment, each breath, as a gift from time's own depth.

For in the end, when all is said and done, time will remain, the eternal one, a mirror of all that we held dear, in our journey, year by year.

So let us live, let us love, let us be, in harmony with time's own melody, a reflection of its grand design, in every moment, yours and mine.

(looking into Platons world of forms, created with GPT4 and Claude 3)

[mrmajesticcircle]

Psychoscizophrenia

Heaven; we'll go to heaven.

She was taken, and then forsaken.

You'll remember her restless mind,  in just in time.

It'll be the scenery that will phase your mind.

You may see her, you'll never be her, you're just another testament just to be of mine.

Live your life in prison to immortal.

Give your mind unto me, for the rest of eternity.

Runaway from your sickenedbed , return to me when you're done with her.

Release your fear.

We'll fall all apart!!!

Heaven; we'll go to heaven.

It's just another decipher incriminal to be mine.

I wish well on a road to recovery.

She was beaten, and defeated.

With her back against the wall hazardous deemed defenselessness.

She was chosen, by the Fallen.

You will regret the surveillance all in memory all through your mind.

You may shape her, for my desire.

Just another Bride all to be mine.

Remedy will washed away in the infirmity.

She was stolen, and never retrieved.

Give your your mind unto me, for all of eternity.

Breakdown when you are lost of thought.

When you're to keep the faith is running out.

When you lost the will to restrain  of your tears.

You may see her,  you'll never be her.

You're just another panic episode wherein to be mine.

Live your cloudy judgement loudly in a straight line.

Give your mind unto me, for eternity.

Release your mind; pan it down to be inside psychoscizophrenia!!!

If you make it safe and sound at home before the stroke of dawn, go through the open door.

Lock Haven behind you.

Don't you dare look back!!!

Kneel down and search your mind for a new prayer.

It will be a Devil's theme park.

Open house.

Loud like a block party.

Cast all your cares onto your shrine; your black nativity!

Because psychoscizophrenia will crawl in of the darkest shadows into your mind.

With doubt, the heat of battle, fear won't stop pressing buttons in your mind.

Can you hear me?

Do you feel like beating the sanity back into your mind, so you may concentrate on how many hours you have left?

Feel the stratusphere of insanity claw it's blade through your psychedelic skull, as it rack your membrane in dearest agony.

Rapping you; robbing you of peace of mind.

Splattered blood stains down the hall, if you close your eyes press your fingers across your face tight enough you'll see stars, and your head will flea to the North Pole.

Does your subconscious mind and consciousness bully you, pushing you back and forth, I got feeling like I am a big I know, it can't accept you.

Neither can I, but how can you run away from your broken mind?

The glass you stand on, didn't break itself, and now there's blood up your sleeves, that you washed down the hall to erase the psychoscizophrenia.

Maybe; it's just an illusion of someone else's memory, planted there for their escape and survival.

Is in confusion enough we'll worry.

Forget everything you have done.

Cross yourself out, erase the psychoscizophrenia.

Phobia regression; no permission needed to invade the situation; stand by the state you are in , as you won't stop falling from bad to worse.

You fake your existence.

Turn your head, and still don't believe these things are real.

Hoping hollows eve will disappear.

Soon to be blinded by tears.

If you eliminate your wrong you may never need to go back.

Turn off the lights and you may never need to look back.

Break my fall so just stay back, and just stand back!

Did you find what you were looking for?

A small state of paradise.

Caught in a Dangerfield there's nothing of freemantle.

If you want to survive the gas chamber you'll have to call upon the shadow realm.

You're not out of the woods quite yet.

Once psychoscizophrenia catch your eye, it's time, turn into the imaginary why.

I linger in the doorway, psychoscizophrenia screaming my name.

Let me stay where my voices overflow me, where raindrops tell the story.

In my feild of flowers my tumor cocoon around me.

I lay inside myself for hours, and watch my bubbles sky flight over me.

Guess it wasn't real after all; guess it wasn't real all along.

I'd fall and all is lost in worlds you weight.

I'd fall and I'm all alone it is where I belong!

In your dreams; will you take the broken parts of me?

Save my life; changed my mind, live, I'd fall and all alone it is where you belong.

Indestructible; another determination terror to behold.

Take a look at a new psychoscizophrenia master to unfold.

Take a  last long look at you another enemy to explode.

A steady hand drawn it's most deputation ; thirty eight in code.

Take a last load psychoscizophrenia master of all!

Is this the end of everything, or just a new way to bleed?

The truth in for beyond the end freedom; freedom can't you feel the crown caving in?

Freedom; give us a reason to believe again!!!

Is this the end of everything, or just a new way to bleed?

                    Authorship by Mr Dashaun Snipes

                      © Dashaun Rashod Snipes

[wolfwoocl]

He searches, desperately, through the calm, misty blue of Vash’s eyes for any sign at all of a lie and finds none. Vash explains himself with far too much patience. Soft, slow, and soothing, as though he were tucking a loved one into bed. 

Or to rest.

Exactly how long has Vash had to think, to internalize all his sadness, his loss, and his infallible optimism?

There’s something else. Fleeting. He wants to hone in on it; the pained flicker in Vash’s expression, and he’s about to, mouth open, brows knit, except– Wolfwood bites his tongue. He draws a breath, releases Vash, casts a guilty glance aside and… Thinks the better of pressing further into this line of questioning. He’s demanded enough of Vash already, and even his brief intrusion was a gross overstep.

Vash’s ideals are completely idiotic and unrealistic, so why does the insanity of it all make so much damn sense? 

Wolfwood scrubs at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, only to look back at Vash when the same question he posed is flipped on him. He bristles. Wrong. Vash is wrong.  They’ve known each other all of a few months, and Vash doesn’t get to summarize it all with rose-tinted glasses. 

The Punisher hunts Sinners for a living, granting them judgment and deliverance in one package. Hate, of course he hates. He hates himself, for Christ’s sake.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Spikey.” 

In a manner of speaking. 

“There’s plenty I hate ‘bout humanity. We’re greedy, selfish, sons of bitches, Needles. We resolve our differences through violence, we lie, we cheat, we steal. We kill because it’s easier to.” Wolfwood hisses spiced smoke out between his teeth, a brief reprieve from his bitter diatribe. Then, after a continued beat of silence, his voice gentles. “I guess, we’re not all terrible. Shortie and Roberto are alright.”  

Last chance, Punisher.

Life has hand wrapped and gifted him plenty of regrets. Vash sits at the top of that pile, the crowning cherry on top. He doesn’t want forgiveness. Doesn’t deserve it. They may never speak again after this, and he will disappear from Vash’s life forever (and that knowledge stings, tightens like a closed fist, pulping the dead thing behind his ribs). But at the very least, he wants Vash to know–

“I still think you’re a fool with no damn sense. Somehow, you’re way smarter than most people give you credit for. You’re about as scary as a wet paper bag. You’re incapable of putting your own needs ‘fore others’. Your heart’s bigger than your spikey head. You…deserve better.”

Sappy. Stupid. He did it though, put his truth out there to let Vash make of it what he will. 

“Look, either get some shuteye or don’t. We’re going up to the tower tomorrow. In the meantime–” Wolfwood takes a moment to look around at their surroundings, the shadows of the city, the scavengers shuffling close to the walls in search of scraps, anywhere but Vash, “I’ll be here.” 

Vash finishes the song, blinking away bleariness only to let out a hitched breath as Wolfwood suddenly grabs him by the shirt collar and drags him closer. The sudden action shocks him, but he relaxes—this is Wolfwood. He's not in danger, the undertaker won't hurt him, Vash knows he won't.

Did Wolfwood reach out and touch him while he was singing? It's as if he was staring but vacant—Vash can't remember exactly what happened in the last thirty seconds when he sang. What is this reaction, and why is it happening?

Dilated, interested pupils return to Vash's crystalline eyes, runic patterns disappear into the unnaturally flawless skin of his face—smooth, pale skin only interrupted by the mole under his left eye. Familiar fondness, adoration, reflects against frustration, pain. He wants to soothe—wants to help, just like he told Wolfwood in the sewer—all he needs to do is let Vash in.

"Wh—Wolfwood, what's wrong? What happened? Why are you—" It's no use if they're both shooting each other with questions at the same time. If this is the last chance the two have to talk—to really talk—Vash supposes he owes his protector some answers.

"There's not much to understand... Is it so wrong to love humanity?" His brows tilt up, his voice is soft, there's a lull to his voice that seems to retain the same energy of the plantsong he sang, "Everyone's got something they care about. For me, that's what humanity is. Every person has a chance to be a different person tomorrow than who they are today—I want to protect that choice."

humanity should hate you you deserve every wound, every shout, every heartbreak— you did this to them

"Someone I cared about a lot phrased it kinda like this: We're all given a blank ticket at birth. We'll go on our own journeys, live our lives, but if you don't like the path you've taken then... You fill in the destination, and you go, and you don't turn back. The people who love you will come too."

He can't mention the reason for the sacrifices he makes. He can't bring himself to do it—what if Wolfwood—

Vash swallows, trying and failing to hide the glimmer of fear in his expression.

"A-anyway, humanity shouldn't have to pay for the wrongs of a few. It's not worth going through life with a heart full of hate when there are beautiful things in this world worth saving."

would've been better if you hadn't killed them—

"You've been wronged too, by humans," he tries to change the subject before he lets more of his feelings slip through, "Why don't you hate them?"