#glorious knight of the realm

[kesterdbihown]

I think we as a society should come together to glaze Lewis Hamilton more. Like how basketball bros glaze LeBron James we should start doing it to f1 goat as well. My fellow teamlh lock in ✊✊😭😭

[justaz]

One of the first prophecies in Albion was of Emrys and the Once and Future King. Every Seer in the realm had similar visions of the two powerful, glorious beings that would one day walk the earth. The prophecies remained prophecies for a few centuries before it began to grow into a fairytale story. Children were told stories of Emrys and the Once and Future King that would one day bring peace to Albion. Then it grew more and more as a story that people began to forget it was once a prophecy. When Uther began his Purge, he changed the story he himself had grown up hearing. He made Emrys out to be a creature of pure evil. If Emrys was magic incarnate, he couldn’t be anything other than evil. Children still heard of Emrys after the Purge, but he was a boogeyman, a villain that would snatch disobeying children from their homes and feast of them in the woods.

Arthur grew up hearing tales of the horrible, fearsome Emrys. Uther used Emrys as a tool to get Arthur to behave and be a perfect prince. Merlin heard of the fairytale version of Emrys from his mother. The Druids continued to worship Emrys as their deity but people thought them mad, he’s nothing more than a character in a story, but the Druids never forgot the prophecy. And with their Sight, their ability to recognize Emrys on sight, Uther lumped Druids in with the evilness he had slapped on Emrys’ name. He said the Druids performed sacrifices and rituals in Emrys’ name to try and conjure the demon to steal children’s souls.

Anyways, post-magic reveal Mordred calls Merlin Emrys and Arthur just freezes bc he Knows that Mordred is a Druid, and he Knows that Druids worship Emrys and would not take his name in vain or call someone else the name of their deity, and he was brought up hearing stories of Emrys being a demon, pure evil. So he just kinda. Looks. At Merlin who just grumbles about being called that but responds as if it’s normal and Arthur is a bit terrified. He’s like “You’re Emrys?” To Merlin who shrugs and is like “I guess” (unaware of the horrifying stories Uther spun of Emrys, only knowing what his mother and Kilgharrah said and how the Druids worship him).

The other knights have heard of the Demon Emrys except Percival who grew up in Druid camps but doesn’t have their Sight so he didn’t know Merlin was Emrys until right now. Gwaine laughing a little uncomfortably to break the tension and is like “So…taste any good children lately?” Arthur slaps him up back the head. Merlin just looks disgusted and confused. Mordred and Percival are offended on his behalf. Lancelot is amused by it all and sits back to watch the chaos. Leon and Elyan are shaking their heads at Gwaine’s stupidity. Why the hell would he say something like that to a DEMON????

[writing-intheundercroft]

Ser Freckles // S. Sallow

Rating: T

WC: 2,743

Summary: As heir to the throne, the princess takes appointing her sworn protector very seriously.

A/N: Submitted as part of a writing challenge because I'm a glutton for starting AU projects. inspired heavily by HOTD (I've been looking for an excuse to use the name Gawayne). Much love to the pals who keep Knight!Seb living in my brain <3

“Now that you are of age, and officially the heir to the throne, it’s time you appoint your first sworn sword.”

She looked up to Fig as they walked down the stone stairs, the excited chatter from the courtyard echoing off the walls.  Fig had been her tutor all her life, and only now did she realize her lessons with him had a greater purpose.  She was the only daughter of the king’s dearly departed brother, a king who lacked any heirs of his own.  And now that she’d turned eighteen, with no hopes for a male cousin in sight, she had been formally invested as the heir apparent.

Fig was no lowly court tutor, she realized. He’d been placed with her from her youth, preparing her for what had seemed like a distant possibility that she might one day become queen. Lord Eleazar Fig, a member of the King’s Counsel, had been priming her to take power all along.

”I’m not sure why I can’t keep Lady Singer,” she mumbled, kicking her skirts as they continued their descent. “She’s been my guardian for as long as I can remember.”

”Lady Singer is a governess,” Fig reminded her. “And in no way capable of being your sworn protector.  The young man you choose today will become a knight, sworn to your king's guard.  Can you remind me what the function of your king's guard is?”

”My queen’s guard,” she snipped, emphasizing the word, “will protect my counsel and me from harm, as well as my future heirs.”

“Precisely, Princess.” Fig smiled. “It’s largely a symbolic role considering the relative peace our realm has seen this past one hundred years, even more so with the city watch taking guard of the castle.  But the king—er, queen’s guard is a deep rooted tradition each house takes very seriously.  The gentlemen we’ve assembled today for your selection come from some of the great houses of the realm.  Others have been lauded for their bravery and skill in the battlefield.”

The princess and Lord Fig walked to the balcony, the crowd below falling into silence. There were six men (boys, she observed, especially considering she’d grown up with four of them around court) standing in the courtyard below.  They all wore gleaming armor, save for the last, wearing a dull set without embellishments.  Each had a pennant with their house sigil, members of their families standing behind them. The animals on each pennant were embroidered with gleaming metallic thread–lions, eagles, badgers, and snakes taking center, representing the great houses each family bowed to. 

Lord Fig took her hand, helping her stand on a stool to catch a better glimpse of her future knight.

”The first proposed candidate is Ser Leander Prewett,” Fig stated loudly. “Ser Leander is the second son of Lord Lyonel Prewett.  He is a fine duelist, trained by one of the land’s most notable swordsmen.”

She cocked her brow, observing the redhead below.  Tall, lithe, with a glorious mane of red hair.

”And rather shit on a horse,” she muttered under her breath. “Did you see him in the last tourney?”

”Horsemanship is not a requirement of a knight, Princess.” Fig muttered.

”He truly had no idea if he was facing the front, or the back.” She joked. 

Lord Fig concealed his laugh in a cough. He waved his arm, and Leander’s gleaming smile vanished into a rather sour expression as the next option stepped forward.

”Ser Garreth Weasley,” Fig announced. “The third son of Lord Gwayne Weasley.”

”I know Ser Garreth well,” she smiled demurely. “Is it not one of the oaths as my queen’s guard to take no wife, have no children, and to be sworn to uphold the duties of the crown until death or dismissal?”

”It is, Princess.”

She clicked her tongue. “I know very well my dear friend Lady Natsai would be quite upset if I took her beloved to my service.  I’d rather see the two of them happily married than split apart by duty.” She waved him backwards, knowing Natty would be pleased.  Garreth stepped back, cheeks red, but a relieved look on his face.

“The next option is Ser Amit Thakkar,” Fig looked down at his notes. “Son of the Dowager Lady Tara Thakkar. No notable tourney experience, he’s been—“

”Away for his studies in the new world,” the princess interjected. “I know Ser Amit quite well. Tell me, Ser, how was your research on the skies?  Anything new to report?”

“I’ve identified at least twelve constellations once lost to our maesters,” Amit announced excitedly. “And I do look forward to finding more.”

She tilted her head to Fig, eyebrows raised. “I do believe Ser Amit’s talents are better used with the college of maesters, rather than as a member of my queen’s guard.”

”Moving on,” Fig tutted. “Ser Duncan Hobhouse, son of—“

”No.”

”Okay, on to the next.” Fig winced, letting the young Duncan Hobhouse step back with a sigh. “Next is Ser Isaac Cooper. Son of Ser Tristan Cooper, the Lord Commander of the city watch.  Strong, steady, and good with a lance.  Ser Isaac has topped the tourney lists, specifically winning the tourney of Aranshire this past spring. ”

The princess chewed her lower lip as she appraised Ser Isaac.  He stood tall, black hair cropped closely to his head. His parents stood behind him proudly bearing the badger on their sigil.  Isaac gave her a beaming smile, followed by a rather obvious wink.

“I look forward to serving you, my princess, in all ways you see fit.” Isaac said loudly, followed by a showy bow. A gaggle of young ladies on the upper balcony giggled audibly, Ser Isaac blowing a kiss to his admirers.

The princess gagged, wrinkling her nose as she turned back to her tutor. 

”A tourney knight,” she huffed. “Tell me, Lord Fig, do any of these knights have real combat experience?”

Fig sighed deeply, beckoning forward the sixth option.  It was the knight in plain armor; unlike the others, he did not have a large gathering of family members behind him.  A thin, peaky girl stood by his side, wobbling on her feet as their sigil shook in her hands. The green velvet of the flag looked worn, but a silver snake had been embroidered into the fabric with metallic thread, red beads for eyes.  Behind them was a stern looking man, beard peppered with silver hairs.  

The boy paid them no attention, standing forward with his head bowed to her. 

“Ser Sebastian Sallow,” Fig cleared his throat. “The nephew of Ser Solomon Sallow, a former knight of the city watch.  He was dismissed from his post after the death of his brother, taking on the stewardship of his young niece and nephew.  Ser Solomon and his nephew Sebastian have taken the responsibility of patrolling the lower highlands, protecting their hamlets from ashwinders and poachers.”

She leaned forward over the railing, interest piqued by the humble knight below. “Tell me, Ser Sebastian, of your experience fighting against the ashwinder rebellion.”

He lifted his head, big brown eyes framed by an explosion of freckles. He had a round, boyish face for eighteen, thick brown hair descending in waves. A blush took over his cheeks as he dipped his head once more.

”I have fought against the ashwinders for the past five years, Princess.  For as long as my uncle has allowed me.” He said, tipping his head back towards the stern man. “The lower hamlets rarely see reinforcements from the city watch, so it is up to the residents themselves to gather arms.”

“And when did you become a knight, Ser Sebastian?”

Sebastian turned briefly to look at his uncle, who merely nodded. “The Lord Commander of the city watch was passing through our hamlet when he witnessed me apprehending a cohort of ashwinder assassins.” He adjusted his grip on the helmet in his hands, metal clanking as he shifted.  Unlike the others, there were no grand decorations, no feathery plumes attached to the helmet.  It was practical, well-worn steel that had seen battle many times before. “He knighted me on the field, after the battle.”

”One boy against twenty ashwinders,” Fig whispered in her ear. “Quite a feat.”

She braced her palms against the stone ledge, hair falling over her shoulders. He looked up at her intently now, eyes wide.  even with his armor on, she could see his throat bobbing, swallowing down his nerves.  

“That settles it for me. I choose Ser Sebastian Sallow.” 

The hall descended into loud whispers; the girl holding his sigil gasped with delight, while the man behind her dropped his mouth open in shock.  Sebastian knelt, but kept his gaze fixated upon her.  It was as if the chocolate brown orbs were burning into her, somewhere between admiration and curiosity. 

Fig gave her a knowing look. “Ser Sebastian it is.”

”I’ll leave the details to Ser Sebastian’s investiture to you, Lord Fig.” the princess said, stepping down from the stool. Her heels clattered against the floor, hands folded behind her back. “And measure him for new armor.  Something befitting my sworn protector.”

”The customary armor, of course, with your sigil on the pauldron.” Fig noted.

She paused, turning one last time towards her counsel.

”Don’t forget his snakes.” She reminded him. “Silver with ruby eyes.”

Fig tried to conceal his smile. “Yes, princess.”

“You know we’re not allowed in the armory,” Poppy hissed, trying to tug on her skirt. “Lady Singer–”

“Lady Singer can kiss my arse,” the princess declared, enjoying the way her lady in waiting’s cheeks flushed. “I would like to supervise the fitting.  Will you join me?”

“I think not,” Poppy lifted her nose. “I’ll be off to the library to meet with Imelda.  You should stay out of trouble.” the brunette warned.

The princess pulled open the heavy door of the armory, grinning at her friend. “Trouble is my middle name,” she sang, waving goodbye as she entered the room.  The normally bustling armory was quiet at midday, with most of the knights standing guard.  She stepped past the rows of white cloaks, all hung under their corresponding owner’s name.  Weapons were stacked against the wall on wooden racks; she wouldn’t dare go near the spears, swords, and morningstars for fear of tipping them over.  Her slippers pattered against the flagstone floors as she walked deeper into the chamber in search of her new knight.

“There you are,” she declared, seeing him standing on the pedestal. Ser Sebastian Sallow stood in his freshly tailored white breeches and shirt, half dressed in his new gilded armor.

“Princess,” the armorer bowed his head quickly, stepping away from Sebastian. “I did not realize you were coming in to supervise the fitting.”

“Is it not tradition?” she asked, circling the pedestal with an approving nod.

“It is,” the armor rubbed his hands together anxiously. “For the king.  But you are a young lady, it’s hardly appropriate for you to be in the armory with a knight in a state of undress–”

“Ser Sebastian is my choice,” she pointed out. “So I will supervise the fitting of his armor and his sword selection, just as my uncle did for his sworn swords.”

“As you wish, princess.” The armor nodded. “I’ll fetch his sword at once.”  He bowed, walking backwards out of the room.

“Are you always so commanding?” Ser Sebastian asked, a hand on his hip.

“Only when they’re so formal.” she grinned, crossing her arms. “The armor looks good on you.”

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you.” he stammered. “And thank you for honoring my house.” he gestured to his pauldron, decorated with the Sallow family sigil. Instead of the crudely carved 

The armorer returned, holding a glimmering sword with a checked handle. “His sword, your grace.” he handed it to her for inspection. “I shall return shortly with his cloak; the seamstress was just finishing the hem.” He backed out of the room once more, leaving the pair alone.

The princess bobbed her head as she held the sword in her hand, testing its weight. “Good balance,” she mused, tossing it from one hand to the other.

“You’re trained with a sword?” Sebastian asked, eyebrow cocked.

She gave him a toothy grin, swinging the sword from side to side. “My uncle thought it best that I was taught the same as any other prince of the realm.” 

“I certainly agree,” Sebastian offered. “I trained my sister as best as I could before coming to the capitol.”

“Well then, should we practice for your investiture?” She asked. “On your knees, then.”

Sebastian sank to the floor, beaming up at her obediently.  He tipped his chin upwards, right hand resting over his heart. 

“Do you swear to uphold the code of the kingsguard?” she asked, trying her best to remember the vows Lord Fig had tasked her with memorizing.

“I do,” Sebastian echoed.

“Do you swear to guard the king with all your might, and give your blood for him and his heirs?” She recited the words slowly and thoughtfully.  The sword was beginning to feel heavy in her hands, but Sebastian didn’t budge.  He stayed, knelt below her on the ground, closed fist bound to his chest.

“I do.”

“Do you swear to take no wife, father no children, hold no lands? Do you swear to guard your king’s secrets, obey his commands, defend his name and honor?”

The princess blinked down at her chosen knight, hovering the blade over his shoulder. His big, brown eyes stared back at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  She hadn’t noticed the freckles on his lips; then again, she’d never been so close to him before.  He looked both like a knight and a boy all at once–his armor was unfinished, missing the pauldron on his left shoulder that would bear her sigil.  Sebastian’s messy hair stuck up in the back, and the princess felt the strong urge to pat it down.

She instead remained steady, blade in hand.

“Do you swear, Ser Sebastian?” she asked.

“I swear to take no wife, father no children, nor hold any lands.  I swear to guard my queen’s secrets, obey her commands, defend her name and honor. For as long as I breathe, my life is my queen’s.” Sebastian gave her a coy look, eyes glittering with mischief; he aimed to flatter her, charming the princess with his change in verbiage.

Two could play that game, she thought. The princess lifted her sword, tapping it on both of his shoulders.  “By the grace of the future queen, I name you Ser Kiss Arse.” she declared dramatically.

Sebastian choked, and the princess laughed.  Her whole body shook with her giggles, and Sebastian pouted. 

“No fair,” he complained. “Pick a better name.”

“Fine,” she wiped a tear from her eye. Feigning composure, she straightened her posture and gave him her best queenly glare. “By the grace of the future queen, I name you Ser Freckles.”

“You’re making a mockery of it,” Sebastian whined.

“We’re practicing, remember?” She snorted. “I promise, I’ll be much more official during the actual ceremony.”

Sebastian huffed. “Fine then.  But if I get a nickname, then you get one too.” he warned. “Princess Picky is what I’ll call you.”

The princess scoffed, backing away. “Who called me picky?”

Sebastian gave her a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck. “Everyone at court, actually. They thought you were too picky with your requirements of the kingsguard.  The public is fairly certain you’re making a mistake in picking me as your sworn sword.” his smile faltered, a wave of doubt crashing over his face. “My family has no riches, no influence at court.  I have nothing else to offer you.”

The princess chewed her lower lip, dragging the sword behind her as she leaned down to face her knight. “It is no mistake,” she murmured, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “You are the most deserving of the title.  I chose you. And if that makes me picky, so be it.”

Sebastian touched her wrist; the gesture shocked her, eyelashes fluttering from the surprise embrace.  But she did not move her hand–the princess kept it on his uncovered shoulder, her hair falling in her face as she looked down at her sworn protector.

“Princess Picky and Ser Freckles,” Sebastian joked. “An eclectic pair.”

She gave him an earnest smile. “I’d have it no other way.”

[branwinged]

what's your take on rhaegar?

take as in, my opinion of his moral character? we don't have all the details for that, filling in the blanks involves a great deal of speculation. my read of him is based on what purpose he serves within the story.

i don't think much of him outside of what he means for dany. it's the way robb is not a character in his own right to me and exists only to serve catelyn and bran's arcs. which is why my opinion of rhaegar is mainly informed by that scene in agot, where dany dreams of him in his armour and lifts the visor to find that "the face within was her own", dany is clearly inheriting his narrative role (jon too in some capacity, but i'm not thinking of jon in relation to the targaryens before the reveal happens), it's for purely this reason i've never seen him as someone with no redeeming qualities. the memory of rhaegar shadows and informs everything she does (it is time to cross the trident) grrm writes her with shades of all her targaryen ancestors, because she's the last of them and embodies three hundred years of her house's glorious and terrible history. but rhaegar's particular echo is the strongest because that's the brother she would've married under slightly different circumstances, she imagines rhaegar as the ideal vision of the king in her mind whom she must emulate, he died and made her the prince that was promised. her entire character is constructed around him. he's not simply a strong influence in her life, she is him. they call her aegon the conquerer come again but she's been having visions of battling the others at the trident since agot, she's also rhaegar come again. she'll do everything he couldn't. it's just a bit inconceivable for a character like that to be revealed as a cold, unfeeling schemer. like, where's the heart in that? if everything rhaegar resembled was antithetical to dany's own beliefs and motives? aerys is already there to serve that exact role.

but what we learn about him from a number of contradictory sources is interesting. melancholy bard prince, born in grief, sang songs of doom and loss among the ruins of summerhall, presumably plagued by prophetic dragon dreams. he's framed as a character out of some song. all rebellion characters have that quality to them, there's a girl who dies trapped in a tower, another throws herself off a tower, the tourney at harrenhal episode is told to bran (and in turn, the readers) in the form of a song. they don't feel very real, or at least, they'll never get to be real the way our present day characters feel real because they're dead and their stories have been distorted and repurposed. robert's version is that of a king valiantly fighting for his abducted lady love, the version told to dany is that of tragic star crossed lovers torn apart by the realm. they're songs, and cannot be the whole truth. it's in the name. it was the year of the false spring and they all thought they were changing the world. rhaegar was going to call a great council and depose aerys, robert and ned where overthrowing a mad king to put an end to his atrocities. except rhaegar died having achieved nothing, robert ascended his throne on the corpses of children, then in fifteen years' time recreated the conditions for the start of another war. and lyanna simply traded one kind of gendered sentence for another. i'm not drawing a 1:1 equivalence between rhaegar and robert (and i do think it will be written as a romance with the truth somewhere between robert and dany's versions), but that she died either way is a pretty significant detail. she died in more ways than one! when they talk about her they recall a helpless maiden dead in some tower, not a girl capable of besting renowned knights.

like, it's very clear to me that the rebellion and its immediate consequences are meant to be read as a tragedy, caused not by the actions of a character(s) but as a result of the systemic failings of their world (which is why it's once again leading up to the burning of king's landing, where it all began, the city is symbolic of the very worst of westerosi feudalism). lyanna's death is less about robert and rhaegar and more about the way there was no escape possible for a girl like her—a theme that's carried over in sansa and arya's stories, except this time it will end with them getting to live the life lyanna wasn't allowed to, because this time they will change the world. dany's earnest dream of "to plant trees and watch them grow" is just that. it's the dream of spring.

[torchwood-99]

Galadriel's Successor

Two White Ladies

It has always interested me how both Eowyn and Galadriel are referred to as "the White Lady". I decided to dig deeper into their characters, and the similarities they share, to understand the significance between them sharing this title.

The conclusion I drew from this reading is that Eowyn's ultimate role is to take Galadriel's place, and become her successor in Middle Earth.

It is Faramir who dubs Galadriel and Eowyn both as "White Lady". He first uses the title in reference to Galadriel, whom he expresses a desire to meet, after hearing that Sam and Frodo have met her.

"Yet I envy you that have spoken with the White Lady.’ ‘The Lady of Lorien! Galadriel!"

Faramir later gets the chance to meet, and woo, a White Lady of his own, that of Eowyn. While the narrative named Eowyn "The White Lady" on her introduction, Faramir is the first character in the text to do so.

"Eowyn, Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"

Appearance wise, Eowyn and Galadirel certainly share some commonalities. Both of them have a predilection for wearing white (hence the nickname), both of them are tall, beautiful, with glorious golden hair.

"Galadriel, most beautiful of all the house of Finwë; her hair was lit with gold as though it had caught in a mesh the radiance of Laurelin."

"Lady of Rohan came forth, golden as the sun and white as snow, and she bore a filled cup to Eomer."

Warriors

Their similarities go beyond the physical. Both of them were known to be skilled warriors.

"she (Galadriel) was then of Amazon disposition and bound up her hair as a crown when taking part in athletic feats".

"But am I (Eowyn) not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? ....But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.’"

And both Galadriel and Eowyn came to the aid of Rohirric Kings. Galadriel's magic shielded Eorl the Young and the  Éothéod with a white mist, Eorl would go on to be the first King of Rohan. Meanwhile Eowyn famously stood between Theoden and the Witch King of Angmar, sparing Theoden from the Witch King's torment and allowing him a peaceful death, and taking down a powerful enemy herself.

"But Theoden was not utterly forsaken. The knights of his house lay slain about him, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far away. Yet one stood there still: Dernhelm the young, faithful beyond fear; "

Queens

More than appearance and military skill unite Galadriel and Eowyn. Both of them were proud, and had aspirations of queendom. Galadriel came to Middle-Earth in the hopes of having a realm of her own to rule, while Eowyn wished to marry Aragorn in order to escape what she saw as her dishonourable position in Rohan.

Both Galadriel and Eowyn intended to leave their homelands in pursuit of queendom, and in some ways, their pursuit of queendom was born of a desire to leave their homeland, and the restrictions placed on them there, restrictions on Galadriel's power, and Eowyn's freedom.

In time, both of them come to reject official queendom.

"You will give me (Galadriel) the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night!"

"Then she (Galadriel) let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad. ‘I pass the test,’ she said. ‘I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

"And again she (Eowyn) looked at Faramir. ‘No longer do I desire to be a queen,’ she said."

However, while they both turn away from their dreams of queendom, and are officially known only as "Lady", they are still viewed as queens or queenly figures by those about them. Their deeds, their goodness, place them as "honourary" queens.

Galadriel is queen in all but name.

"Land of Lórien where dwelt the Lady Galadriel. A queen she was of the woodland Elves"

And while Galadriel turns down the Ring and the power it would give her, she is no less queenly for it.

"he (Frodo) saw her again standing like a queen, great and beautiful, but no longer terrible."

Eowyn's royal lineage is noted upon, and while she does not bear the title of queen, she is held in contrast to her queenly forebears and is not found wanting.

"For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens"

In fact her actions elevate her among the greatest of them all.

"Alas! for her deeds have set her among the queens of great renown.’"

And even as Eowyn begins to heal from her prior despair, which she sought to escape by elevating her position to that of queen, and when that failed, through death, and starts to look towards hope and healing, still she is a queenly figure.

"Faramir had sent for this robe and had wrapped it about her; and he thought that she looked fair and queenly indeed as she stood there at his side."

Equals

Eowyn and Galadriel may reject official queendom, and Galadriel accepts her powers will "diminish" with the destruction of the Ring, yet neither Galaldriel nor Eowyn diminish or submit themselves to the authority of others. Most pertinently, to the authority of men.

Galadriel is noted to be equally (if not more) powerful as her consort.

"They stood up to greet their guests, after the manner of Elves, even those who were accounted mighty kings. Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful."

And while Galadriel rules alongside Celeborn, who is a mighty elf, she isn't afraid to criticise him, or show scorn for his judgement.

And if it were possible, one would say that at the last Gandalf fell from wisdom into folly, going needlessly into the net of Moria.’ ‘He would be rash indeed that said that thing,’ said Galadriel gravely. ‘Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life."

Eowyn spares subjecting very characters from the sharpness of her tongue. Even Aragorn, who she holds in high esteem, she does not hold back from criticising.

"And she answered: ‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more"

The Warden, under whose authority and care Eowyn is placed into after being hurt, likewise isn't spared Eowyn's sass, when she thinks his words misjudged.

"It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden,’ answered Eowyn. ´ ‘And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies?"

And even Faramir, whom she loves, and who encouraged her to find happiness and hope once more, and turn away from bloodshed in favour of healing, experiences some teasing, when she calls out his people's racism.

"Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?’ she said. ‘And would you have your proud folk say of you: ‘‘There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Numenor to choose?’’ ’

Eowyn then informs Faramir that before they wed, she must leave Gondor and help Rohan to heal from the aftermath of war. That she is in the position of taking on a quest that will take her away from her love, and he is in the position of waiting on her to return when her duty is done, sees something of a reversal of gender roles between the two (a reversal or mutual combination of gender roles that is consistently seen elsewhere in their narratives, in Faramir taking on the role of gentle caregive and prince(ss) in distress, and Eowyn taking on the role of jaded soldier and valiant knight), and indicates the level of equality that will be shared between them as they take on the rulership of Ithilien.

Gifts

While the "White Lady" title was the first similarity I noticed between Galadriel and Eowyn, it was the act of gift-giving that struck me with the idea that beyond them simply being somewhat similar characters with matching titles, Eowyn was to act as Galadriel's successor after Galadriel has left Middle Earth.

Arguably, one of Galadriel's most significant roles within the narrative, is that of gift-giver. After sharing the cup of parting with the Fellowship (a duty we also see Eowyn regularly fulfil), she presents the Fellowship with gifts.

"We have drunk the cup of parting,’ she said, ‘and the shadows fall between us. But before you go, I have brought in my ship gifts which the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim now offer you in memory of Lothlorien."

The presents she bestows upon the Fellowship play crucial roles in seeing them through to the end of their quest, particularly the phial she gives Frodo.

"In this phial,’ she said, ‘is caught the light of Earendil’s star, set amid the waters of my fountain. It will shine still brighter when night is about you. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out. Remember Galadriel and her Mirror!"

In Eowyn's final scene, she takes the role of gift-giver, and presents Merry with "an ancient horn".

"This is an heirloom of our house,’ said Eowyn. ‘It was made by the Dwarves, and came from the hoard of Scatha the Worm. Eorl the Young brought it from the North. He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hearts of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends,and they shall hear him and come to him."

Both of these gifts are marks of friendship as well as tools to be used in times of crisis. Frodo (and Sam) puts his phial to good use when facing Shelob.

"The Lady’s gift! The star-glass! A light to you in dark places, she said it was to be. The star-glass!’ ‘The star-glass?’ muttered Frodo, as one answering out of sleep, hardly comprehending. ‘Why yes! Why had I forgotten it? A light when all other lights go out! And now indeed light alone can help us."

While Merry blows his horn during the scouring of the Shire.

"Come on! I am going to blow the horn of Rohan, and give them all some music they have never heard before." "Then he heard Merry change the note, and up went the Horn-cry of Buckland, shaking the air"

As well as having practical uses, they both do harm to their enemies, using the same qualities that bring solace and hope to the heroes.

Galadriel's first appearance in the Fellowship concludes with her presenting these heroes with their gifts, and by the end of the novel, Eowyn takes her place as gift-giver, presenting Merry with the horn. She does so as Merry prepares to depart with the rest of the Fellowship, following shortly after Arwen has remained in Edoras to bid farewell to her kinspeople, including Galadriel. As Galadriel takes her leave, Eowyn takes Galadriel's place.

Ladies of the Forest

While Eowyn taking Galadriel's place as gift-giver harkens her ascension to Galadriel's succesor, the point of this succession is not to take on the mantle of gift-giver. Eowyn's role goes beyond gifting others with the means to go about their tasks. Eowyn has a task herself, a task that Galadriel once took up, and must now put aside.

Both Galadriel and Eowyn become the ruling ladies of fair forest lands, both of which are noted for their great beauty, and sharing a similar beauty, one described as "fair",

"There lie the woods of Lothlorien!’ said Legolas. ‘That is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people."

"When the Enemy returned our folk were driven from Ithilien, our fair domain east of the River""

"So they passed into the northern marches of that land that Men once called Ithilien, a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams. "

with a particular emphasis placed on the trees that grow there.

There are no trees like the trees of that land (Lothlorien). For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold. Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers;"

"Before them, as they turned west, gentle slopes ran down into dim hazes far below. All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress, and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs....Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness."

While Ithilien has fallen to the enemy, Lothlorien is protected and allowed to prosper by the power of Nenya.

"This is Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, and I am its keeper. ‘He suspects, but he does not know – not yet. Do you not see now wherefore your coming is to us as the footstep of Doom? For if you fail, then we are laid bare to the Enemy. Yet if you succeed, then our power is diminished, and Lothlorien will fade,"

Neyna's powers protects Lothlorien from the evils of Mordor, but when the One Ring is destroyed, Nenya's powers will fade, and so will Lothlorien. After this, Galadriel and her people will be forced to depart Lothlorien. The glory days of this fair forest land will be over.

As one fair forest land fades as its "White Lady" departs, another will blossom and grow once more, thanks to the arrival of another "White Lady".

"I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.’"

Faramir, who has been charged with defending Ithilien, who longs to see it restored to its former glory, and who envied Sam and Frodo for meeting the "White Lady of Lothlorien", has his wish come to fruition, when he meets a "White Lady" of his own, who will take on the duty of healing, nurturing and protecting the forest of Ithilien, as Galadriel did the Golden Forest.

"Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

Where Lothlorien must be allowed to fade if the Ring is to be destroyed, Ithilien can only regain its former glory if the Ring is destroyed and Mordor brought down. In this way, the fates of these two lands are intertwined. One must fall for the other to rise, just as the Age of the Elves must end, to allow for the Age of Man to begin.

Galadriel, the White Lady of Lothlorien, must leave Middle Earth as the time of the Elves comes to an end, and Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, Lady of Ithilien, takes her place, a mortal White Lady for the Age of Man.

[tadcdreamlandau]

WELCOME, TO THE OFFICIAL TADC DREAMLAND AU-CENTERED BLOG! ! ! Sorry if it's way too long btw.

STATUS: [Updated Gangle picture & desc, Zooble now being a knight]

[AU still in development AND will update regularly]

"WHY, HELLO THERE DREAMER! "

"SEEMS TO ME THAT YOU'VE VENTURED OUT INTO THE MAGICAL WORLD OF DREAMLAND! "

SHIPS THAT (might) BE ADDITIONAL TO THE AU:

Showtime (Caine x Pomni) [heavily implied but it detaches from the AU]

Bunnydoll (Jax x Ragatha) [somewhat implied but by interactions, it's up to ya'll if you want it to be officially part of the AU or not]

Abstradegy (Gangle x Zooble) [similar situation as prior mentioned]

Chessboard (Kinger x Queenie) [married]

CHARACTER DESIGNS:

Pomni [Alias: "the dreamer"] (Designed God/Goddess/Host: Caine)

Caine [Alias: "Dreamscape's Host"]

Ragatha (coming soon) [Alias: "The Solar Servant"] (Designed God/Goddess/Host: Sun)

Jax (coming soon) [Alias: "Melancholy Valley's Mischief/Trouble maker"] (Designed God/Goddess/Host: Moon)

Kinger (coming soon) [Alias: "The Astronomer"] (Designed God/Goddess/Host: Formely Caine's, now Eclipse's)

Gangle (coming soon) [Alias: "Tarot, the chancellor, Advisor, Tragedy (sister/left mask) Comedy (brother/right mask), the conjoined twins"] (Designed God/Goddess/Host: Eclipse)

Zooble (coming soon) [Alias: "guard, knight, 'that thing' (only by Eclipse)"] (Designed God/Goddess/Host: Eclipse)

Sun [Alias: "Daydream's goddess/ ruler/ queen/ empress"]

Moon [Alias: "Melancholy Valley's goddess /queen/ empress"]

Eclipse [Alias: "the insane one, the gatekeeper, the madman, Deity of The Ephialtes"]

(NPCS SUCH AS GUMMYGOO AND PRINCESS LOOLILALU WILL ALSO MAKE AN APPREANCE, DEPENDING ON HOW THE STORY GOES)

☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆STORY (it's gonna be long, so brace yourselves. Or don't. You COULD skip the whole thing and pray everything will be explained in the comics/animations)⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡ :

[Take note that Dreamland's timeline is divided into three factors.]

BACKSTORY ERA (Before Pomni's arrival)

IN-BETWEEN PERIOD (before Pomni's arrival but with all the other members already set inside the world)

PRESENT TIME (Present day/after Pomni's arrival)

[☁︎_BACKSTORY ERA_☁︎]

Dreamland takes the place of an outside world beyond our 'astral bodies'. Where, due to an ancient temple made thousands of years ago, became its own physical plane and had, at first, two main gods. First is the goddess of light, day and daydreams, The Sun was in charge of both to rule the day with its giant light ball we all know and love, and to rule above and beyond the daydreams, whenever its people, who dream for a future, a purpose, or stay zoned out, everything related to detaching yourself from reality and make a second you in the DreamLand's plane (basically your conscience is torn into two- one half stays in the mortal realm and the other lives for the rest of their lives in Dreamland). Then was the Goddess of sombre, melancholy, night and, you guessed it! THE MOON! She does something very similar to what the Sun does, but instead of detaching from reality due to ambition, it's due to a mortal feeling sad, depressed and in need of comfort- in this case, the Moon helps the conscience be split and comforts the much sadder side in the 'other world', that way the one that stays on earth feels an unknown feeling of care while BEING cared for.

Though one day, the Sun and the Moon realized that their jobs were very overcrowded. Dreamland millions of years ago was WAY too tiny for them to have control over, and some were complaining about how 'off-putting the emptiness of the clouds and sky' were, so, they collaborated to expand Dreamland. Creating two new attached realms: The Daydream and its glorious Heaven City where all is perfection and happiness under the Sun's rule; and the Melancholy Valley, (which is also HEAVILY inspired by Undertale's waterfalls), which serves as a much more tranquil escape that is ruled by the Moon.

Of course, soon they realized that the original plane was getting too empty, so to still honour the ancient temple that brought everything together, they created Hypnos. Or later on, known as Caine. Now, Caine had a LOT of development through the years- at first, he started as a confused being who was being kind of babied by the Moon, only to then slowly become the Sun's disciple to learn how to manipulate clouds into any wish a Dreamer (human) desires! His main priority was that if any Dreamer were to appear on neither Sun's nor Moon's realms then he had to be in charge and to be nothing but entertainment to them. And so did he! Dreamers began to appear in the place known as the 'Dreamscape', where Caine would reside and do his absolute best to make them all smile. That is, until a new problem came to be for some reason, whenever a Dreamer wasn't satisfied with Caine's entertainment, they slowly began to grow conscience of their in-earth conscience.

Feeling dread and despair in realizing that this. All of this. That all of this wasn't real. Nor were they. Thus, they began to slip- and no matter what Caine tried to do, the dreams that they were meant to feel slowly turned into agony. From there they turned into Nightmares (Dreamland's abstractions). Of course, Caine, the Moon and the Sun don't know what to do. It slowly tormented all the dreamers in each realm and, with the threat of them turning into a Nightmare. They had no choice but to create a new realm. A realm that worked as a cellar, a prison, for all Nightmares to be imprisoned and confined. This is called 'The Ephialtes', where a new god took form. One much more powerful than the rest of them. Eclipse, the god/dess of madness, dementia, hallucinations, and hysteria.

[☁︎_IN-BETWEEN ERA_☁︎]

Even with all the security and protection that was promised with Eclipse's arrival and the Ephiltes, none of the gods felt any ease after the incident. To them, it was something that they were never prepared for. Not when the temple was first built, not even when they passed on to their own seperate realms, this was simply to them the impossible. So, just like the humans began to slip, so did the goddesses themselves and taking all the blame and hate on poor Caine. Sun, as the original tutor of Caine, felt like he had disappointed her expectations. She felt like it her responsibility for Caine's 'incompitence' and only blame it on him for being 'imprefect'. His 'imperfection' tinting on her reputation, and therefore Sun snapped and became a control freak. One who banished Caine out of Dreamland and implemented a cruel system on her city. All just to do two things; make sure her little heaven was "clean from impurity" and for everyone to be too distracted on becoming little perfect mannequins to question their exsistance. In a very strange and messed up way, it worked. As for moon, well, she deeply tried to reason herself into understanding Caine's situation as simply an accident, but yet she couldn't live with the feeling of dread of the possibility of it being on purpose, which obviously was not, but yet still it CRUSHED her.

So much so that she became an emotional, crying mess. Sob after sob, Melancholy Valley began to have terrible floods by the Moon's endless tears. Resorting in, instead of Moon being the one to comfort others, she was one who deeply needed comfort. It did, however, helped her little realm. Because everyone fell into the manipulation of either "comfort her or else we'll drown" or "we owe it to her, she had been the one who gave us tranquility so we have to do the same" that nobody thought of the impending doom, nor the feeling of dread of their de-attached bodies. Therefore, nobody got turned into Nightmares by how busy they all were trying to makeup to the goddesses's expectations. Everyone except Caine. He was devastated. Sun had banished him from Daydream and will continue re-enforcing security everytime he tried to reason with her or even come as close as APOLOGIZING, and Moon couldn't handle even LOOKING at his direction without letting out a hurricane! Every. single. time did a dreamer coem into his realm and tried to give his absolute all to entertain them, only to end up with them turning into Nightmarish monsters the very next 'day'. It made Caine desperate. Hopeful even. For perchance maybe, in some way, somehow, he could make a change. But he wasn't like the other gods. He couldn't make people feel incredible pity for him like Moon, neither could he be strict and strong as Sun. Hell if he could even come as close as Eclipse.

There was one time, however, where a dreamer came by and had a lot of pity on him. This beign Queenie who probably was the one of the only people who did have any care for him at the moment, which was an absolute RELIEF. He tried his very best to entertain her, make a show, enjoy the dreamer's company which it all lasted, and surprisingly enough, she did manage to stay up for a long time! She even fell inlove with another dreamer that came into Caine's realm, which... well, on his own fault, thought the man was about to turn into a Nightmare and threw him into Eclipse's realm without realizing Kinger was just... Kinger. But oh well, everythign was going very well for Caine and he even had a mother and son relationship with Queenie. Only to... well... turns out that Queenie was terribly ill. So much so that neither in her dream state could she run away from her body changing and eventually leaving her in her death bed. Her last wish being...? Well....

Clubble.

Mhm, might sound very shocking, but she dearly wished that Caine would've some forever company with him, even when there were no dreamers alone. So there you have it, clubble. You didn't expect that, would you? Of course, that STILL didn't save Caine from his terrible loneliness. Even less from griefing on Queenie's death. He became anxious, desperate even, to make up for his mistakes. So very much so that the colours of the world around him CONSTANTLY changed. When it was grey and lifeless, it was his heart aching for the want of company, to want and need of hearing a dreamer's laugh, and even when he's feeling despair and sadness, he starts to wish to see someone bright up his world. When there's colour, you can tell by the static filter that it's him wanting to go back in time, to when there was still a blue sky, when there was still laughter and joy, when the goddesses still considered him family. Those times, where there were moments of colour, were when Caine could do the impossible for a god. To dream.

[☁︎_PRESENT TIME_☁︎]

(Coming soon...)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

book 7 part 7 thoughts!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7, PART 7 OF THE MAIN STORY!!***

There are only 16 new chapters total in this update; with this, we are up to chapter 116 in book 7.

You should check out this livestream if you want a more part-by-part summarized translation of what's going on and/or if you want to hear the voices and watch the characters along with the commentary!

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

As expected, we start off where we left off last update; Yuu, Grim, Silver, and Sebek have met up with the Shroud brothers. (Lilia is not with them.) According to Idia, they are still in a dream realm since Sebek is still in armor which he cannot bring back into reality. Ortho is present via a projection of some sort.

It's weird seeing Idia, Sebek, and Silver introducing themselves to one another in the main story and acting as though they've NEVER met before; they were all featured in Glorious Masquerade and interacted quite frequently. I'm aware that the main story and events don't share the same timeline, but it's still quite the jarring knowledge gap to witness.

ADFIHBADIYFBIOAFBEWQVUQOCAB SILVER AND SEBEK SUDDENLY CLOSE IN ON IDIA TO PROTECT HIM FROM SOMETHING THEY SENSE, HE CAN'T BREATHE... Waaaah, Idia... You're a princess squished between two pretty boy knights wwww

Idia and Ortho tell us that Malleus is expending a lot of energy to monitor Lilia in particular...? Ortho then goes on to explain that his "individuality" has become useful. Even though he cannot have a UM (okay, so confirmed that Ace is the last one to gain it shjdbahsdbasda), he is the only one capable of transferring his consciousness from one body to another. This is how he was able to reach out to Idia and the others!

Ortho tells them about his Cerberus Gear. We get a flashback of what he was up after getting suited up; he's flying over Sage's Island to collect information on Malleus's UM for STYX.

Thorns pierce through the clouds and Ortho battles them! STYX sends reinforcements (not personnel, but like technology/cannons?) to help Ortho. The thorns form a short of shield over Sage's Island, so he breaks through via a weak point. asdbhbaisdbals It's so unsettling to see the port looking so dark and depressing...

Ortho's mom reminds him he can only stay in there safely for 20 minutes. Aw, she cares so much about Or-kun 😭

It's going to take over several minutes (I think 17) just to analyze the complex nature of Malleus's magic and save it. While the analysis anchor does its job, Ortho has to protect it!

OH SHIT IT'S OB MALLEUS

ebfyvoFoaHhahaahahaHHhahaahah ORTHOS STARTS TALKING ABOUT A BUNCH OF TECH STUFF LIKE WIRELESS TO EXPLAIN TO MALLEUS HOW HE CHANGED BODIES, Malleus surprisingly understands???? I half expected him to combust on the spot from confusion... DBHLBSYOFOFYAAFIAFIL MALLEUS IS BEING DUNKED ON BY A CHILD, Ortho says that since magic is powered by imagination, Malleus cannot block Ortho's advances or force his new body under sleep since Malleus does not understand tech.

I can't believe him being shit with tech is actually relevant to the plot 💀

AEFHLBFBYFOVYFEQRUROQ OB MALLEUS PROCEEDS TO RESPOND WITH VIOLENCE, HE'S GOING TO DESTROY THE ANALYTICAL ANCHOR SO ORTHO DECIDES TO FIGHT BACK

RIP Or-kun, he could only resist for so long... his attacks have no effect in this domain where Malleus has complete control.

JUST 30 SECONDS BEFORE THE ANALYSIS ENDS, QUICK ORTHO STALL HIM BY SHIT TALKING MORE!!! I KNOW CHILDREN CAN BE SAVAGE, SO UNLEASH YOUR WRATH

HFBFYOAEOFYEEIAFL MALLEUS.?>??? ?? ? ?? ???? HE IMPLIED HE'S GOING TO KILL OFF ORTHO AND THEN GOES OFF (?) ON ONE OF HIS DOGGIE DRONES...

"Good night, little Shroud." You have to hear it for yourself, it sounds very ominous 💀 He really said he ain't above child murder, eh?

??? For a second Malleus froze and his shot missed? So Ortho decides on a strategic retreat with the second dog drone. NO MALLEUS ENDED 02 TOO, IT TOOK A BLOW FOR ORTHO WHILE HE RETRIEVES THE ANCHOR

We cut back to STYX, which is dedicating its resources to creating an opening in Malleus's barrier for Ortho to escape. He clears the barrier!!

Aaaaaaah, another cute moment for Shroud Mama! She and Shroud Papa collapse onto the floor in relief. He has sustained some damage, but his core is intact!

One line I really like from Malleus is him referring to Ortho and others as "uninvited guests" that he's going to chase off no matter what.

NOOOOO THEY CONFIRMED BOTH DOGGIE DRONES GOT MCMURDERED IN THERE OTL Never forgiving Malleus for this, fr (Shroud Mama says she can fix them though so we're all good!)

They tell Ortho "welcome back" and Ortho says "I'm back" 😭 AND THEY GROUP HUG

RUH-ROH

Shroud Papa says that Malleus's UM... reminds him of Grim's magic... WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN

STYX has support from Briar Valley, which should help with their analysis. However, the results so far are not looking good. According to Shroud Papa, the barrier is 99% impossible to destroy unless either Malleus dies OR Malleus chooses to lower the barrier himself.

It's not plausible for Mama to make enough Cerberus Gears for a whole army. Besides, if they they destroy the barrier, Shroud Mama theorizes that they may also accidentally destroy the consciousnesses of everyone on Sage's Island... so that's definitely not an option!

FJLDADBIAFSVYOFFEQFA ORTHOS UGGESTED TELLING MALLEUS "Your grandma is so sad" FROM OUTSIDE THE BARRIER TO CONVINCE HIM TO LOWER THE SHIELD........ . . . ....... . . .. .... .. . . . . .. . . ... . . LIKE IN THE OLD MOVIES

They're now looking into Idia's dream on a monitor? Ortho notices Idia's dorm room does not have Ortho's mainenance dock, so... um, he realizes that Idia must be dreaming about an alternate world where his little brother never passed.

Shroud Mama is going to try and "hack" into the dream spaces. AJAFSVOSvfvfefea SHE HAS A CUTE LITTLE GREMLIN GIGGLE??? She's very fired up because Malleus insulted mankind's best technology, saying it cannot stand up to his magic. (aslbhflasbifabfd THIS IS WHERE IDIA GETS IT FROM????????)

"It's rare to see Idia so happy." LDBHbiadib THIS BOY IS MAD DEPRESSED, LET HIM BE

"Isn't it time that everyone got tired of the dream world and want to return to reality?" No, Shroud Mama. I guarantee you that most TWST fans WANT to stay in Twisted Wonderland and don't want new content to stop coming out, this is our escapism :)

WAAAAAH ORTHO HE'S REPEATING THE LINE VIL TOLD HIM, THEY HAVE TO TRY BECAUSE NOT TRYING IS ALWAYS 0% BUT 0.001% HAS THE POSSIBILITY TO BECOME 100%

Shroud Papa warns Ortho that Idia may reject reality, and therefore "this" Ortho. He's concerned that this will put Ortho through a lot of emotional stress. Shroud Papa wants professionals (psychologists) to try and contact Idia instead of Ortho.

ADFILBAFIYAEGIYQEFBIAF ORTHO HAS SO MUCH FAITH IN HIS OLDER BROTHER, he says Idia would get hype about a cute robot boy trying to get in contact with him, this means he'll become a protagonist like in his light novels!

DNBHdsvyofwFTOwqihbyow8fS WE'RE GOING TO IDIA'S DREAM NOW, he pulled like 3 SSRs of his favorite character (of course he'd dream this, OF COURSE).

Video chat notif from Ortho???

OMG IT'S ROBOT ORTHO AND IDIA FREAKS OUT THINKING IT'S COSPLAY

Ortho reintroduces himself. "It's nice to meet you for the first time in 'this' world!" Idia starts to laugh and assumes it's Ortho's avatar for virtual chat, that kind of thing. Or maybe Ortho is talking about the plot of a new anime?

ILBFIBYADBFADBEFQFIPo; IDIA REPEATS THE EXACT LINES ORTHO SAID HE WOULD SAY, THAT HE'S THE CHOSEN ONE BEING CONTACTED BY A CUTE ROBOT BOY

Here's the breakdown... Idia gets a headache and finally realizes the truth. afhbBIfieeq;ofBHQEF;????? ?the DREMA ORTHO IS CALLING HIMAND TEELLING HIM THE REAL ORTHO IS A FAKE, DON'T LISTEN TO HIM (this is THE definition of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss).

DREAM!ORTHO TRIES TO PULL IDIA DEEPER INTO THE DREAM, TELLING HIM HE'S JUST SLEEPY FROM GAMING TOO MUCH SO GO BACK TO SLEEP

Oooh, interesting that RSA!Ortho still appears to be similar in body type to Robo!Ortho? I always assumed Ortho was small because Idia kept him "preserved" in the moment of death. Maybe the dream Ortho is just modelled after Robo!Ortho since that's what Idia's memories are familiar with.

Idia loops back around again to the start of his dream, where he is in ceremonial robes and Malleus approaches him. HERE COMES MALLEUS TO GASLIGHT HIS CLASSMATES AGAIN

adhfgyoafdodp THERE'S A LIGHT FROM THE SKY???? TSUMTSUMS???????? GOD?????? AND ANIME ON IDIA'S SIDE?????? OMG, here comes Ortho in his Cerberus Gear come to save the day! Idia recognizes STYX's emblem.

UH-OH, MALLEUSIS PISSED THAT ORTHO SURPRISED HIM TWICE"Stand down, you fools." MALEFICENT ENERGY IS OFF THE CHARTS

Idia recognizes Malleus as being in Overblot adhbafliafa AND THE SKY STARTS CRACKING because Ortho is not meant to exist in this dream. He basically goes against the canon www

Malleus teleports away (yeah, FUCK IDIA I guess) and leaves them to be swallowed by the abyss. Idia's being pulled into the darkness, and their mom's voice comes in warning Ortho to stay away before more damage occurs. Idia recognizes his mom's voice and remembers even more!!

Aw, Ortho promises to save his brother...

Idia is at the gates to the Underworld again? Phantom Ortho says Idia fell there and speaks to him kind of in a friendly manner. "It's too early for a reunion."

asfkjlnsUPBUADGPAGB IDIA IS SO CONFUSED, HE'S WONDERING WHY A PHANTOM IS CALLING HIM BIG BRO, HE STILL BELIEVES THAT HIS BROTHER GOES TO RSA AND THAT THIS IS A NIGHTMARE Idia is sooooo in denial...

Phantom Ortho reassures Idia that his death is not his fault, so please stop blaming himself... that Idia promised he would live without looking back, so he should look at the truth.

WHOOOOO HE REMEMBERS BOOK 6 FELLAS

AYO WE GOT IDIA CRYING AND IT'S ANIMATED, WE SEE THE TEARS ROLLING DOWN HIS CHEEKS, WE WINNIN'

"I'm always being saved by my little brothers (YES PLURAL, WEH), I'm such a pathetic big brother."

Ah, so now Phantom Ortho calls himself "King of the Underworld" says Idia cannot leave since it's not a good example for the rest of the phantoms. It's going to be the boss!

OOOOOH IDIA'S HAIR GOES FULL DIFFERENT COLOR + new facial expression (we previously only saw the hair change color in his Dorm Uniform Groovy and his Suitor Suit Groovy).

IDIA CALLS HIS FAMILY CURSE A BLESSING, he gets more power in areas with lots of blot since there is more fuel for him to burn. HASDIYASODBASID IDIA OBS TO FIGHT PHANTOM ORTHO??????? IS THIS A PREVIEW FOR OVERBLOT CARDS OR SOMETHING

They have the same battle lines about how they will be "free"...

IDIA'S CRINGE ERA RETURNSSSSSSSS (he's making those cringe sound effects of blowing things up) and claims the title of "King of the Underworld" (the same title given to players who own 10 cards of a particular character).

afhbabilfbialfi IDIA LAUGHS SO HARD HE CHOKES

He finally uses his UM to open the gates and escape, telling Phantom!Ortho he cannot stay there. PHANTOM!ORTHO LOVINGLY WISHES HIS BROTHER SAFE TRAVELS, AW "The whole universe is waiting for you."

Idia tries to wake up and hears Dream!Ortho's voice??? BUT IDIA IS FULLY AWAKE NOW, HE KNOWS IT'S SUCH A DREAM He has finally accepted Ortho's death AND calls both the robot brother and the dead brother as his "brotherS"

Idia points out all the discrepancies in the dream... adfbilasdibalbiaflb I LOVE HOW EVERYONE KEEPS CALLING RSA A "SHINY" SCHOOL, Idia's all like, "No WAY is my little brother going to a school like that!"

THE DREAM ORTHO PANICS AND BEGS IDIA TO LISTEN TO HIM BADSBILADIAIDVFADIL IDIA TELLS THE DREAM ORTHO "Sorry, I don't like anyone other than anime/game characters calling me onii-chan!" IBRO, YOU'RE OUTTING YOURSELF LIEK THIS????????? ? ????? ????

He plots revenge on the person that would dare show him this disgusting dream, he's ready to FILE A COMPLAINT to them! (Watch out, Draconia, this otaku is coming for YOUR ASS) sayusdbyosfvayf What's with Malleus pissing off big bros with dead little bros...

Idia finally reunites in his dream with Robo!Ortho and apologizes for the hurtful things he said... Ortho talks about the adventures he has been on + explains what has been going on. Basically, they reconcile without a problem!

After all the summary, Idia first comments on how shocked he is that their mom hacked into his computer 🤡 Yeah, Idia... she saw everything... Ortho tells him it's okay, she didn't comment! BUT THAT MAKES IDIA EVEN MORE UPSET, "it's the worst thing for a male high school student!" It just might make him Overblot a THIRD time www

I can't believe THIS of all things is what makes Idia seek revenge on Malleus... (HE SAYS HE WANTS MALLEUS TO CRY AND BEG FOR FORGIVENESS)

Idia is really out here about to doxx Malleus huh 💀

I honestly was not expecting to cry this update (since I was thinking it would just be a flashback about how Ortho "woke up" Idia) but NOPE, I just guess every update now is going to elicit tears... I've always been highly invested in the Shroud brothers' storyline, so I'm really happy they touched on it again here and enhanced it by giving us more Shroud Mama and Papa, as well as Phantom!Ortho. It was sweet to see Idia recognize Phantom!Ortho as his brother too instead of completely renouncing him or "replacing" him with Robo!Ortho. ihbdiladqeofqbeafnasi The updates are making me like Idia more, but in the same way you'd like a character for being pathetic... Man made SO many dog chew toy nosies this time 😭

I did not expect Malleus to be so... pro-child murder/j He will stop at nothing to keep everyone under his thumb, and that's so awful. There was so much gaslighting in this part as well, even if Malleus is not directly doing it himself. The fact that his magic can just... do that on its own is... It sort of gives me the vibes of trying to enforce a toxic kind of positivity on everyone, which in of itself has its roots in his own insecurities and inability to cope with loss. He's projecting that onto everyone else, and that has very scary results as we see here.

There were a lot of memes pre-book 7 about how Malleus's inability to understand technology would come to bite him in the ass later, and all of those fans can now feel vindicated because WELL, IT CAME TRUE.

And last, but not least, I'm shocked at Idia's reason for wanting to fistfight Malleus 🤡 BRO'S MAD FR FR... WHAT MUST HIS MOM HAVE SEEN ON HIS COMPUTER TO MAKE HIM SO AGGRO... WAS IT LEWDS OR SOMETHING???????? ?? ? ??? ?????? ?? Glad that Idia is on our side now, this is an excellent place to leave off on for next time!!

[lilacartsmadsion]

Decided to show their full designs.

The Shadows of the gods or The Pillars of Darkness:

They guard the borders of Earthbread from the forces outside, Humans, Wizards all of them are a threat to the Light’s wonderful paradise of freshly baked cookies. Each one is a Shadow of the gods entirely and sometimes even worshipped as minor deities called ‘Legends’

They go by many names.

The Shadows of The Divine

The Pillars of Darkness

The Guardians of Earthbread.

Each Pillar follows the will of each god.

Grim Reaper/Deathly Licorice Cookie:

The Shadow and Angel of The Abysmal Gingerdozer…he who places those to eternal slumber. The final sleep of death. By the will of the Abysmal One does he follow, plague, destruction and malnutrition follow his path, for the lone path of death is not one many want to follow…

The Grim Reaper was created as a gift by The Nameless…given away to his brother to keep his titles afloat. Representing the dark black void of death, the quick release of silence the night offers in the dark…The Angel soars from on high guarding the borders from all directions. To the East he resides as that is birthplace. Go east if you wish to enter the realm of the dead, but beware for he is watches upon the endless sky…

The Cookies of this realm worship him as the deity of death, out of respect for keeping the order of this world…as thus he is called ‘The Pillar of Death’

Empyreal Pomegranate Cookie:

The Shadow and Priestess of the Ethereal Strawberry Cookie. She presides over the faithful and grants the blessings of luck upon those whose hearts are pure. The Priestess follows the will of the goddess of love, however blind her faith may be…

The Empyreal Vassal blesses those who put their whole faith in the gods and grants the chosen luck and grace throughout their lives. Protection is sought out once you seek her, as she protects those who are persecuted and scorned. To the North is where she resides for love and faith is the direction of the coldest hatred. She protects her side of the border with her unwavering curses of hatred. Go North if you wish for her aid, pass her trials of faith and she will protect you.

The Cookies of this realm worship her as a deity of protection, due to their unwavering faith in her abilities she is henceforth known as ‘The Pillar of Faith’

Jubilant Poison Mushroom Cookie:

The Shadow and Servant of the Glorious Gingerbright. They guide the young and nurtures the forgotten. Children are called to follow their path and adhere their example. They provide nutrition for the young, tend to the youthfulness of children, and most of all listen to the cries of the forgotten…

The Jubilant Deity brings forth the life within children. The freedom and development of their lives. Some say that this type of love is chaotic, but for the eyes of the deity, children deserve to experience even the slightest amount of joy. They are revered as their patron god and above all protector. They protect their side of the border with the poison of chaos. Go forth South for their protection, for they accept all children in their land.

The Cookies of this realm worship them as a deity of chaos, the reason why their name has switched to poison…though they call upon the freedom of the youth they are also known to be quite the trickster…thus they are named ‘The Pillar of Chaos’

Impervious Red Velvet Cookie:

The Shadow and Knight of The Apoditic Wizard Cookie. He resides over all matters of warfare and battle. The concept of war and strife is etched unto his mind. The Final Witness of the true nature of the Witches, The Impervious one protects his side of the borders with an Iron Fist.

The Impervious Knight reigns over a tower made of cakes, guarded by the legendary cake hounds of the ancient recipes of the Wizards. Using these he creates an army capable of protecting the cookies from all harm. He guards his side of the borders with pure might. Go West to seek out his domain, but beware for none make it back alive…

The Cookies of this realm worship him as a deity of war. Though they fear his might they respect him as a protector. Thus naming him ‘The Pillar of War’

The Dark Enchantress Cookie:

Much like the Nameless, His shadow bears no name, but a title. Created from the dough of the Wizards her might shines the night sky into pure oblivion. The shadows is where she lurks, the endless night is where she wakes. Born with the anger and sorrow of the Light she soars the sky with her army of cakes in tow.

The Dark Enchantress bears the weight of the darkness reminding the cookies of the balance between dark and light. The Shadows can aid and hide those who need protection. But blind those from the sights of their enemies. A reminder that the darkness is neither friend nor foe…She protects the borders of Earthbread with the might of the gods by her side. Go to the center of Earthbread, seek out the Millennial Tree…and pray tell she will be there.

The Cookies of this realm regard her as a deity of darkness, out of respect and pure awe in her the Cookies dub her ‘The Pillar of Darkness’

Each of these Pillars have a role to play in protecting the borders of Earthbread…may they reign eternal in their will of protection…

———————————————

I blame @cuppajj’s Beast Ancients AU for reviving my inspiration back from the dead. I’m trying to plan out the Legends’ backstory but let’s just say I’m also trying to figure out the main story.

Aka the actual plot of the AU. ‘That time I adopted a god’

Cause I haven’t really given Gingerbrave a direct motive for leaving and turning mortal. I’m THIS tempted to do an LMK Nuwa move. For him tbh.

But yeah here’s the Pillars of Darkness folks.

[indigos-stardust]

Violet, Blue, and Bruised All Over: The Shame

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4 Click for the link <3 Reblogs/comments appreciated <3

Green had a busy day. The sort of busy day that made you feel as though there was a hunted bird inside your head that was constantly flittering about and crashing into your skull.

You had to pretend everything was fine, ignore the feeling of your skin itself tensing to block out all the sensations as you went from task to task and person to person. Hide any annoyance or ire or anything that would make people lose faith in him. If the people didn't have faith or respect in him as a knight then he wouldn't be able to help anyone.

All he wanted to do was head home with Red, eat a hopefully not totally burnt dinner, and lay in the quiet darkness of his room until he was taken into the realm of dreams.

The crashes and yelling from the other side of the front door wasn't promising. He and Red rushed forward, and then pushed Red to the side (he'd express his sorry at a later time) in order to frantically scramble to open the old janky lock with his key-

Heart beating, mind even more frantic and whirling than all day had been- He forced the door open and forced himself to breathe and take everything in.

Any fears of some assassin, burglar, freakish monster spawning, medical issue, or feral racoon are immediately cut off by pure piercing biting cold striking him to his core. His heart has sank to his stomach. His mind is near silent. The only sound heard in the outside world is heaving ragged breaths.

Broken glass and pottery lay scattered on the floor. His shoulders fall. Droplets of blood shine against the floorboards. His heart constricts and expands all at once. Heavy twin thunks echo through their home. Green's fingers and eye twitches all on their own. Two familiar, near identical caught blank faces freeze.

Green is going to kill them.

"I am going to give you both five. Seconds. To give me, a good explanation," Green manages to force out, somehow emphasis on every letter.

Red tries to interject, trying to calm whatever is going to happen, placing a firm yet nervously shaking hand on his shoulder. Green shoves it off, as gently as he can despite the utter rage he feels coursing through him.

Green doesn't get mad often, he really doesn't. Sure, he could be annoyed and frustrated. Sure, he took matters into his own hands when the others pushed things too far. He goes out with his threats when he's upset, hide their items, ruin their plans, force them to do the things they hate the most. Even guilt them. Anything with a touch of irony to really teach the lesson, all with a smug grin on his face and a glorious pun or two. And a disappointed face that would immediately make them crumble. Enjoyable, efficient, and kind at the end of the day. This wasn't one of those days.

He wasn't upset. He was furious.

Blue and Vio instantly glanced towards each other for a split second, apprehension and alarm clear on both of their faces.

They mirrored each other's silence as they both turned to Green.

"IT'S HIS FAULT-" "THAT NERD-"

"ᴳʳᵉᵉⁿ, ᴮˡᵘᵉ ʷᵃˢ⁻"

"SHUT IT."

The roar was deafening.

A sob broke out from behind him. Red managed to wriggle his way into the house from where Green was still blocking the doorway.

"Hylia- You guys are all hurt! And- Is that my FAVORITE MUG? I madE THAT WITH ZELDA!"

The small outburst ended with Red's voice cracking until he hopelessly pawed against his flushed face, failing to stop the tears.

Blue and Vio meekly winced and began to intensely study the dirty floorboards as crimson began to join the colors on their bruised skin.

They both had a hand in knocking it over by accident. It'd been collateral damage.

Green pushes himself to take in a l o n g deep breath. Both boys are dragged by the ear despite their indignant protests and their squashed egos. Good.

Red's never liked fights and the tension is unbearable, he quickly excuses himself to hurry for the medical care box upstairs. Blue and Vio are sat on the couch, despite the disarray surrounding them.

With the adrenaline winding down the shame could now properly eat at them both. Extremely and obviously agonizingly for the two more prideful of the Links.

Blue's hunched over, hands grasping his knees with tense shoulders and clearly attempting to not look small as his withers into a tiny ball of shame and avoid any eye contact. Vio is still, eyes trained forward staring a hole into the wall, his face perfectly neutral and strict. Nearly a statue. Not a trace of emotion.

Unless you counted the swelling bruise on his head. Or the blood on his lip?? Was that from a bruised lip that hadn't swelled yet or-

Green couldn't do this. But he had to. So. He. Did.

He smiled, so wide and sharp that it really highlighted the gorgeous look of death and murder in his eyes.

"First of all," He starts, " I am, and perhaps you didn't notice, very tired. Exhausted really. I've had a HORRIBLE DAY." The last bit loses the infuriated sarcasm as he slams his fists into the coffee table.

"And THEN," he's gritting his teeth, a perfect image of barely restrained control, "I came home. Expecting, maybe by some miracle of Farore, that you two might be capable of making a somewhat edible dinner without killing each other!?"

Green 'rests' his chin on his clenched fists, leaning over entirely too close, "You know what I found? I Found This. Both of you, supposed- SUPPOSED KNIGHTED HEROES OF HYRULE-" Green stands, "FIGHTING LIKE A BUNCH OF MOBLINS OVER ROTTEN SCRAPS OF MEAT?!"

Green sits, head hanging low, the disappointment is suffocating. Blue swallows against his will. He's warm. Burning even. Sticky sweat drips down his neck. He hated how stupidly efficient and good at this Green was. And how it felt so targeted at just him for some reason. He hated feeling all weak and pathetic and childish.

"Who wants to explain?"

Now it was only a matter of who broke the silence first. It could mean influencing the perspective, to get Green's good grace, or facing the storm and facing the full ire of Green's righteous fury.

Next part will be posted tonight or tomorrow lol. It's very fun <3 <3 sorry that this was mostly buildup instead of the sillies but to the buildup is important!!!

[asacredthebread]

cover by @no-other-mashter

A Cabin In The Woods - Ch3

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Sam x F!Reader

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚢?

Warnings/ Themes: Nice Sam, still only one bed, tying up his hair, reminiscing, implied boner, cliffhanger.

an: I can only apologise for the cliffhanger, I didn’t want this chapter to be too long! If you want to be added to a tag list specifically for this series, please feel free to DM me!

wc; 13.2k

taglist - @musicislove3389 @peaceloveunitygvf @jazzyfigz @sarahbethgvf @fleetingjake @dannys-dream

As the two of you settled into the game of twenty questions, the atmosphere lightened with each exchange, and it felt like a playful dance around unearthing cherished memories. You began with an easy question about favorite childhood toys, and the conversation effortlessly flowed, delving deeper and bringing laughter that echoed off the cabin walls.

When it was his turn to ask, he decided to steer it into the realm of nostalgia, “What’s your favorite memory of us when we were kids?”

You grinned, a mischievous glint shining in your eyes. “Oh, I’ve got one for you. Remember that time you tried to impress me by climbing that tree in the park?”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh as you recalled the moment vividly. It had been a glorious afternoon, filled with sunshine and laughter, the scent of summer in the air. Sam, ever the daredevil, had attempted to climb higher than any kid had a right to. “How could I forget? I was so sure that I would be able to reach the top.”

“Yeah, and then you got stuck halfway up,” you replied, chuckling. “You thought you’d look cool, but instead, you were just hanging out there, calling for Jake like he was going to be your knight in shining armor.”

Heleaned back against the couch, shaking his head and grinning. “And who came to the rescue? Not Jake, that’s for sure. It was you, running over all in a panic.”

“Oh, yeah! I was a lifesaver,” you agreed, laughter dancing in your eyes. “I remember you were gripping that branch for dear life, trying to look casual, all the while internally freaking out while yelling for Jake to come help you.”

In your mind’s eye, you could picture the young Sam, arms splayed out in a desperate attempt at coolness, his cheeks flushed as the laughter bubbled in your chest. “You were so determined to impress me, and instead, you ended up looking like a raccoon caught in a tree.”

“Hey!” He feigned offense but couldn’t hold back the laughter. “And don’t forget how we both ended up with skinned knees after you helped me down.”

“Oh my god, yes! I forgot about that.” The joy of the memory washed over you as you recalled the tumble down, landing in the grass with a thud, both of you laughing despite the little scrapes. “But it was so worth it. We were laughing so hard, even with the bruises.”

“The best kind of adventure,” he added, and there was a softness in his gaze, a warmth that seemed to wrap around both of you as you relived that moment.

As the laughter died down, it was Sam’s turn to offer up a memory of his own. “Okay, my turn.. I think my favorite would have to be one of the early Fourth of July trips - the one where we went rafting?”

You tilted your head, encouraging him to share his own treasured remembrances. “Oh my God, yeah I remember that one!”

“Oh man, that was epic,” he said, a wide smile spreading across his face. “I can still see Josh getting tipped over into the water. It was classic.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with him at the memory. “And you were so sure you were going to fall in next!”

“Yeah, I dove straight for the oars just in case the worst happened.” Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “But what really cracked me up was Josh climbing back onto the raft, drenched and cranky about his hair. You remember how he kept complaining about how he needed to fix it?”

“I do! He spent half that trip trying to wring it out! He was such a drama queen about it,” you replied, grinning as you recalled the exaggerated gestures he had made.

“Classic Josh,” Sam laughed. “And I just kept paddling like a maniac, trying to avoid any ‘splash zones.’ It felt like a scene from a comedy movie.”

“It really was,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of the day wash over you again. “Those trips were the best. I can’t believe how much time we spent doing things like that.”

The nostalgia hung in the air, sweet and warm, anchoring both of you in those carefree days of youth. As you shared stories back and forth, delving into memories framed by laughter and adventure, the cabin felt less like a prison and more like a cozy sanctuary filled with the echoes of your shared history.

“Okay, my turn,” you said, still glowing from the laughter. “What’s your favorite dessert from back then?”

Sam’s face lit up, and you felt another ripple of excitement as the game continued, revealing stories that brought you closer. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of fond memories, it occurred to you how the silly game and shared laughter were weaving together a tapestry of connection that neither of you had anticipated—but might just make your time stuck here a little brighter.

As the laughter began to fade, you and Sam settled deeper into your respective couches, the novelty of the game giving way to a more comfortable rhythm of conversation. The initial awkwardness had started to dissipate, replaced by the familiar ease that you both shared. Sam's light teasing and your playful banter wove a tapestry of warmth that transformed the secluded cabin into a safe haven, despite the situations outside.

You glanced up at the clock on the wall, the hands inching closer to the midday mark. Realizing that you hadn’t eaten yet and that it was about time to make lunch, you pushed yourself off the couch, stretching your arms overhead. “Okay, I think it’s time for me to whip something up for lunch,” you said, glancing over at him.

“Wait,” Sam interjected, his demeanor still slightly cool but beginning to warm, a hint of something softer flickering in his eyes. “I’ll make it. You made breakfast, after all.”

You paused, surprised by the offer. “Really? You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Just sit and relax for a minute.” With that, he started to rise, but then he suddenly reached for his hair, quickly pulling it back into a ponytail.

The attempt was ambitious at best. A few rogue strands stubbornly escaped the hold, sticking out in every direction, amassing around his face like a wild halo. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the sight of him looking half-determined and completely disheveled striking you as humorous. “Oh my god, Sam! You look like a tornado hit your head!”

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes, but even he couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s functional enough, okay?”

“Functional, but definitely not cute,” you teased, your laughter still bubbling. “Here, come sit by me.” You beckoned for him to come closer, inviting him into the space between your knees with an open smile.

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he assessed the offer, but something in your voice, the playful tone, softened him. With a begrudging sigh, he relented and moved closer, settling cross-legged on the floor between your knees, facing away from you.

“Fine, but don’t expect me to get too comfortable,” he muttered, though there was a playful undertone in his voice.

As he sat, you felt a swell of affection course through you. There was something intimate about this position, this shared space. It felt like stepping into the past, a return to the uncomplicated moments of carefree childhood—an era when everything was innocent and the connection was effortlessly simple.

“You know,” you said softly, your fingers itching to reach out, “if you’re going to sit there with that mess of hair, I might have to intervene.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence, but you could see the way his shoulders tensed as he anticipated your next move.

With a teasing smile, you reached forward and gently pulled the hair tie out of his hair. “We can’t have you looking like this while making lunch,” you said playfully, as your fingers began to rake through his hair, seeking to smooth out the knots and tangles.

He made a subtle sound of protest, but the tension in his shoulders eased as you worked your fingers through the mess he’d created. “Careful with the hair! It’s valuable,” he quipped, his tone a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“Valuable, huh?” you teased, gently tugging at the strands as you brought them back to their natural state. “This could probably double as a cleaning tool given how crazy it gets sometimes.”

“Just wait until I find a mirror and fix this,” he smirked, shooting a glance back at you, though a small laugh escaped him, betraying his good-natured spirit.

You focused on the task at hand, fingers deftly separating the tangled strands. The warmth of his body so close to yours brought a comforting glow, a friendly intimacy that you hadn’t expected to feel today. Your fingers danced gently through the hair, smoothing it out, inadvertently creating a soothing rhythm that resonated between you.

As you worked, the cabin filled with an easy camaraderie, and for a few moments, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in this shared bubble of connection. You could feel the subtle shift in Sam, the way his initial tenseness began to ebb away, as if he were letting go of burdens that weighed on his shoulders.

And while you were lost in this simple act—calming the chaos that had formed on top of his head—there was an undercurrent of vulnerability in the air. Despite all the unspoken things lingering between you, this moment felt like a quiet declaration of friendship, a gentle reminder that trust and comfort could blossom even in unexpected situations.

As you carefully worked through the tangles in Sam's hair, you focused intently on the task at hand, relishing the way your fingers glided through the strands. Each gentle tug was deliberate, a conscious decision to avoid pulling too hard. You noticed that Sam had relaxed further beneath your touch, his body unwinding into a comfortable posture, and there was a softness in his demeanor that hadn’t been there before. It was as if the chaotic morning had dissipated, replaced by this unanticipated calm.

His hair was surprisingly soft, the strands silky and warm as they slipped between your fingers. The slight sway of his head every now and then suggested he was leaning into the moment, a rare vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. You imagined that for him, this was a secret indulgence, perhaps a moment stolen from the rigid boundaries he often constructed around himself. You’d seen glimpses of it last night—the unguarded laughter, the shared stories—but now you were starting to feel the layers he was shedding while you cared for him.

As you gathered his hair into a proper ponytail, you recalled how different things had been just a few hours ago. This morning, he had woken up guarded and closed off, almost like a statue encased in frost. The harsh words exchanged between you last night lingered on the edge of your mind, still fresh and sharp enough to draw blood if you focused too hard. But as you bound his hair together, you couldn’t help but feel the change in the air, like a tide turning.

This morning, Sam had snapped at you, his cool demeanor piercing through the sleepy haze you both had woken up in. But now, under your gentle ministrations, he was starting to melt. You felt your heart flutter with the realization that he was perhaps beginning to warm up to you again, that maybe he yearned for change just as much as you did.

You tied the hair securely with a hair tie, making sure it was both neat and comfortable. “There we go,” you murmured, admiring your work. “Much better.”

The moment you stepped back, Sam turned his head slightly to glance at you, his expression a blend of surprise and appreciation. “Wow, you’re like a hair magician or something.”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” you replied with a grin, feeling both playful and warm inside. With your fingers still tinged with the softness of his hair, you settled back into your position, observing him closely.

His smile was genuine—there was no faking it. You took a moment to appreciate how different it felt to see him relaxed, the tension he usually carried serving as a reminder of all the unkind barriers he placed around himself. In those moments, you could allow yourself to hope that perhaps he was letting you in again.

“Last night was intense, huh?” you ventured, looking for a way to bridge the developments.

He nodded, running a hand through the newly tied ponytail absentmindedly before letting it fall over his shoulder. “Yeah, you could say that.” His voice was contemplative, and the way he paused suggested more was lingering beneath the surface.

“That’s an understatement,” you said lightly, trying to ease the heaviness of the moment. “I didn’t think you’d turn into a drama king overnight.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, diffusing the air around you. “I might argue that title belongs to you, given the way you threw your hands in the air.”

“Touché,” you replied. “But I’d like to think my drama comes with style. Yours, however… well, let's just say it lacked finesse.”

He humorously rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know, I was completely justified.”

The easy banter settled into a comfortable rhythm, and as you exchanged witty remarks, you wondered if this was a fleeting moment or the beginning of something more promising between you.

As he leaned back slightly, resting his shoulders against your legs, you felt the shift in the atmosphere. His actions spoke volumes; he was inviting you into his space, allowing yourself to push through the walls he had built. And it struck you—had his actions this morning been a true look into how he was feeling about it all, or had he simply been terrified of what could change?

“What do you think we were fighting about really, all these years?” you asked, your curiosity bubbling to the surface. “I mean, was it really just about me breaking up with Danny?”

He sighed softly, his gaze directed at the floor. “Honestly? I think it was more about everything else—the things left unsaid, you know?”

You nodded, your heart racing as you recognized the truth in his words. “Like what?” you pressed gently, prepared for this opening. “What’s really bothering you?”

He hesitated, momentarily lost in thought, and you could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. The warmth and comfort you had shared seemed fragile, but the opportunity was there, tantalizingly close. You could sense that your question had opened a doorway to a deeper conversation.

“I guess… I don’t want to mess up again.” He admitted slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “After everything that happened, it’s hard to not want to protect myself.”

“Protect yourself from what?” you asked, leaning a little closer, wanting nothing more than to understand him more fully.

“From feeling that heavy attachment again,” he said, his voice lower still. “You know? It’s like… I can’t decide if fighting and pushing you away is worse than letting you in.”

His honesty washed over you, a mix of vulnerability and strength that left you momentarily awed. And in that moment, you felt the sincerity of your connection, how deep it ran despite everything that had happened. You realized that in those shared moments, there was a potential for healing, an opportunity to rewrite your narrative together, to guide him through the delicate landscape of re-establishing trust.

“Sam,” you said softly, letting your voice steady. “We’ve both messed up before.”

“I know. But I hate feeling this way. It’s like I’m stuck.” His tone was heavy, but the tension was lightened by the way he leaned back further, comforted by your presence.

“Are you scared?” you ventured, wanting to keep the conversation open, to keep peeling back the layers.

“Yeah,” he said, his admission almost swallowed by the space around you. “Scared of getting too close, scared of it ending poorly again.”

You took a deep breath, considering your next words carefully. The last thing you wanted was to push him into a corner, but the truth bubbled beneath the surface. “But isn’t it worth the risk?”

He turned slightly, meeting your gaze. “Sometimes I wonder. But then I look at you and think…maybe you’re worth the risk.”

His admission sent a rush of warmth through you, the weight of your earlier tension lifting as hope began to bloom in the pit of your stomach. You realized then how deeply you cared for him, just as he cared for you, despite the mistakes and misunderstandings.

“I want to be close to you, Sam,” you confessed, your voice steady. “But I also need you to meet me halfway.”

“I can try,” he replied, his voice becoming more certain, the warmth radiating off him growing brighter.

With renewed determination, you decided to keep the conversation flowing. “So, what if we agree to be honest with each other, no matter how hard it feels? I don’t want to fight anymore. I want us to find a way to navigate all this together.”

He nodded thoughtfully, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “That sounds good. And, um, thanks for doing my hair.”

A teasing smile crept onto your face. “You’re welcome. But I’m still claiming my title as the hair magician.”

Sam chuckled again, and it felt like a refreshing wind sweeping through the room. You realized that those moments of laughter became the threads binding you closer, the small fumbles and fleeting moments leading to something solid and real.

As the sun shifted position in the sky, casting warm rays that filtered through the window, Sam finally broke the comfortable camaraderie you two had built over the last hour. He stretched lightly, the motion causing his muscles to ripple slightly beneath his shirt, before pushing himself up from the couch.

“Okay,” he said, patting his knees. “I think it’s time to make us some lunch.”

You laughed, the sound light and carefree, enjoying the rhythm of the moment. “You’re not a magician in the kitchen too, are you?”

He shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he walked toward the small kitchenette. “Magic does not extend to the culinary arts. You’re gonna have to lower those expectations.”

You settled back in your spot, momentarily enjoying the view as he rummaged through the cabinets. A comfortable silence enveloped you, only punctuated by the rustling of bags and the clinking of pots. But, as you watched him prepare the food, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still wrestling with the lingering shadows of your past.

Just as he started to pull out ingredients for sandwiches, he glanced back at you. Pausing for a moment, he finally began to speak again, sentiment spilling forth like the ingredients he was arranging. “You know, when you were dating Danny, I was… jealous.”

The word hung between you, heavy yet almost relieving, like the steeping aroma of something familiar wafting through the air. “Jealous?” you repeated, surprised by the unexpected turn in conversation.

He nodded, his expression growing serious, the laughter of moments before evaporating. “Yeah. Jealous because it felt like he took you away from me. From us. And jealous of him too, for having you in a way that I never could.”

Your heart sank a little at his confession. It was like unearthing a hidden scar you never knew had festered beneath the surface. You had never wanted to take anything from him—not in any measure that would lead to hurt—and it pained you that your relationship with Danny had driven this wedge.

“When you broke up,” Sam continued, his eyes focused on the counter as if searching for answers in the disarray of ingredients, “I took it as a good excuse to put distance between us, hoping it would lessen how attached I felt to you.”

As he spoke, you felt a knot form in your chest, realizing this post-breakup handling of emotions hadn’t been easy for him. You wanted to reach out to him, to offer comfort or understanding, but you stayed where you were, focusing on his every word.

“I thought if I pulled away, maybe those feelings would fade,” he admitted, turning to face you fully now, vulnerability etched into his features. “I honestly hoped that the breakup would lead you to...leave the group or at least distance yourself. I thought that would give me some peace and help me forget.”

Silence lingered between you as his confession sank in. The tension that had previously hovered in the air twisted, reshaping itself into raw honesty, echoing with the weight of unresolved emotions.

When you finally found your voice, you said, “But… I didn’t want that. I thought we could all still be friends, especially after everything we all shared.”

He nodded slowly, a faint frown creasing his brow. “I know. But then you didn’t leave. Instead, you became even closer to everyone else. And that just… it hurt. I guess I was really good at putting on a cold shoulder, and it felt easier, less messy.”

You could feel the ache in his voice, the weight of what he had carried alone. “But you didn’t have to push me away,” you said gently, your heart aching for the distance he had imposed on himself. “I was always here, Sam. You just… made it hard for me to reach you.”

He looked at you, the flicker of confusion mixed with longing in his eyes. “I was afraid,” he admitted, his gaze softening. “Afraid of what might happen if all those feelings bubbled to the surface again. And I didn’t want to lose you completely if it came down to that.”

Your heart raced. Each word he offered peeled back another layer of the complexity of your relationship, an intricate web of desires and regrets tangled together. Realizing the depth of his feelings was overwhelming yet brought forth a realization of your own.

“That night,” you started, recalling the echoes of a disastrous argument that had happened the night that you and Danny had broken up, “that wasn’t just a fight about you defending him, was it? We were both dancing around the things we didn’t want to face.”

Sam sighed as he began assembling sandwiches. “Exactly. It was easier to argue about little things instead of the real issues between us. You know, the ones that just seem to sit there, getting heavier every time we ignore them.”

There was an earnestness in his voice that made you feel both grounded and exposed. “So what do we do now?” you asked quietly, wanting to navigate this emotional territory cautiously yet deliberately.

He paused, his hands stilled briefly over the sandwich he was preparing. “I think we start by being honest with each other, like we just did. And maybe—”

“Maybe?” you prompted gently, your hopes beginning to rise.

“Maybe I let the walls come down a little,” he said, finally looking up to meet your gaze. “I can’t promise it will be easy, but I want to try.”

A soft smile spread across your face. “That sounds like a good plan. I want to try too.”

For a moment, there was a quiet understanding, an acknowledgement of the journey you were about to embark on together. It wouldn’t be simple, but there was a sense of hope threading its way through the cracks of uncertainty, daring to breathe life back into a friendship that had been battered but not broken.

Once the sandwiches were prepared, Sam turned back to you, setting the plate down with a flourish that broke the tension that had built in the room. “Ta-da! Lunch is served.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the small space as it filled the air—light and freeing, a shared warmth that began to solidify the fragile connection you both had rediscovered. “You might not be a magician in the kitchen, but this looks pretty good,” you replied, reaching for a sandwich.

As you took your first bite, the taste of fresh ingredients mixing with the warmth of the moment felt like a small victory. With every bite, it felt like you were breaking bread with the chance of a new beginning. The remnants of jealousy and distance were still there, but now they seemed manageable, recognizable. The beauty of reconnecting was not lost on either of you.

Over lunch, you let the conversation flow, mixing lighthearted banter with deeper reflections. You laughed about memories of shared failures in the kitchen, reminisced over particular moments of friendship, and slowly unraveled the need for vulnerability in learning about each other’s fears, insecurities, and desires again.

In this newfound space sparked by honesty, an invisible thread began to weave its way back between you, one that spanned the depth of both understanding and affection. You realized that both of you had wanted to protect your hearts, but somewhere in the tangle of it all, you had lost sight of what had made your friendship so special in the first place.

And as laughter echoed against the walls, mingling with the aroma of lunch, you began to see that the journey you shared wouldn’t be marked by moments of jealousy or fear anymore, but by a continuing commitment to face everything together, step by careful step. The lunch transformed into something far more important—a chance for reconnection, cautious yet filled with promise, a shared meal that symbolized the beginnings of healing and understanding between two people who had once been adversaries in their own hearts.

As the afternoon sunlight began to wane, casting a golden light across the cozy cabin, you and Sam settled back onto the couch, the remnants of your shared lunch cleared away. The warmth that had begun to grow in the room was palpable, not just from the freshly constructed sandwiches but from the renewed connection between the two of you. Conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and the gentle rhythm of vulnerability being woven back into your lives.

Seated close together, you felt the comforting warmth of his presence beside you, the tension of the morning a distant echo. You glanced out the window, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon, streaks of orange and pink spilling through the trees. It was a beautiful sight, the world outside igniting with color, and for a moment, everything felt right.

But as the afternoon drew on, you could sense the shift in the air, the faint chill creeping back in. Sam seemed to notice it as well, for he shifted slightly, glancing toward the fireplace where the logs lay dwindling and half-burnt. Finally, he sighed and stood up, allowing the blanket he had draped on his lap to slide off slightly.

“We’re going to need more logs for the fire soon,” he announced, his tone steady, yet with a hint of urgency. “There’s only a few left and it’ll be getting chilly in here.”

You nodded, realizing he was right. The cozy heat surrounding you would soon dissipate if you didn’t take care of it. Sam made his way across the room to the door with a determined stride, but just as he reached out for the handle, he paused mid-motion. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere within him, catching you off guard.

“Hold on” he chuckled, turning his head back to you, mirth dancing in his eyes. “The log. Door’s blocked.”

You felt a genuine laughter escape your lips, the memory of that chaotic tumble bringing back the echoes of last night. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take you to realize!” you replied, enjoying the shared amusement that lit the atmosphere.

He huffed in mock annoyance, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Of course, you would let me stumble around like an idiot.” But the smile that followed suggested he was teasing more than he was genuinely frustrated.

“Oh come on, it was kind of funny!” you shot back, letting the laughter linger. “Watching you move like you were on a mission while all that time there was just a need for a little creativity to get past that log.”

“Creativity,” he echoed with a grin, shaking his head as if dismissing the idea. “I’ll show you ‘creativity’ by throwing the darn thing out of the way next time.” He paused again but relished the shared chuckling.

With a subtle change in energy, Sam sauntered back over to the couch, fully retreating from his stint at the door. “Actually, I think I’ll just grab a blanket instead,” he said conspicuously, a hint of levity to his tone.

You leaned back into the warm cushions, content to let the moment linger a little longer. “A smart plan. Why battle logs when you can pull a cozy blanket around us, right?”

With a swift movement, he reached for a blanket draped over the back of the couch. It was thick and fluffy, perfect for wrapping up against the encroaching cold. Sam flung the soft, textured piece over the two of you before settling back down beside you, the familiarity of his warmth returning immediately.

“See?” he said, wrapping the blanket snugly around both of you. “Now we’re prepared for anything.”

You nestled close to him, sinking into the palatial fabric as a sense of comfort enveloped you both. “Much better. I always knew you were resourceful—just needed a little nudge to realize the simpler solutions,” you teased gently, your head leaning against his shoulder.

He gave a modest shrug, feigning a lack of interest in your compliment. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Well, you do have your moments,” you replied, your voice playful yet sincere. “But seriously, it’s nice to have this time together.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softening as he gazed into the flickering flames. “I’m really glad we’re talking again. It feels… right.”

You paused in contentment, feeling the warmth radiate not just from the flames but also from the bond you were rebuilding together. “It does,” you affirmed, and silence settled between you, a warm cocoon in which to process everything you had shared.

You both leaned into the embrace of the moment, wrapped in the blanket and in each other’s company, the fire crackling gently in the background. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the serene heartbeat of the cabin and the tenuous peace of two souls opening up to one another again.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you turned your head slightly to face him. “You know, I actually like how things are changing between us,” you ventured, wanting to underline the significance of this moment. “It feels like we’re finally being honest about everything.”

Sam nodded, his expression pensive. “Yeah. There was so much holding us back before. I think I was just scared of taking that first step again. But now… it feels different.”

“I was scared too,” you revealed softly, feeling emboldened by his admission. “I didn’t want to lose you either—this deeper friendship, or whatever it is we’re building. I kept waiting for you to pull away, and I hated it.”

A shadow flashed across his face, a hint of regret that met your gaze. “Yeah, and I guess I clung to that cold shoulder because I thought it would protect me. But here we are, wrapped up against the world.”

You felt the heat of connection burn brighter between you. “I think we can face anything together,” you said, your voice steady.

He turned to you, his eyes glinting with warmth. “You’re right. It’s about what’s ahead that matters. I’m tired of running from my feelings. Let’s keep the door open this time.”

As you looked into his eyes, the echo of laughter and friendship melded together, creating the potential for something more profound. And in the enclosing dark of twilight, with only the soft glow of the fireplace illuminating the room, you felt ready to embrace every shift, every nuanced feeling that lay ahead.

With the warmth of the blanket between you, the shared memories glowing like embers around you, and the light of newfound understanding growing steadily, you both settled into an understanding that the evening was only the beginning. A pathway to uncharted territories of connection and possibility lay ahead—one built not just on shared histories, but also on the willingness to forge ahead, together, navigating whatever storms might come your way.

“You’ll have to tell me more about the secret magician hair tricks next,” he said after a moment, breaking the thoughtful reflection.

“Oh, I have plenty of those up my sleeve!” You laughed, and leaned deeper into his side, feeling the connection solidify with each shared moment between you.

You nestled deeper into the blanket, the warmth cocooning you as you and Sam exchanged comfortable glances, the moment inviting connection and open conversation.

With a soft sigh, you broke the silence, your curiosity bubbling to the surface. “So, how does it feel to have just completed the tour? I mean, it’s been such a whirlwind of a year for you guys!”

The question sparked a light in Sam’s eyes, igniting recollections that danced across his expression like the flickering flames in the fireplace. “Honestly, it feels surreal. We played in cities I never even thought I’d visit—a complete dream come true.” He leaned back slightly, a nostalgic grin spreading across his face. “From Tokyo to Paris, each show felt like a little slice of magic.”

Your heart swelled with happiness for him, the shared experiences of the tour coloring your view with an appreciation for their hard work and the art they created together. “It’s incredible what you guys have accomplished. I can't even imagine what it was like performing for all those crowds.”

“Yeah, it’s exhilarating but exhausting,” he replied, the laughter in his voice merging with a hint of weariness. “But it’s always worth it. The energy from the shows fuels everything we do.” He paused, his gaze settling on the dancing flames, and you knew there was another layer tacked onto his thoughts. “You know, the creative process is something we’ve honed over the years, especially when writing new songs.”

“Really? How does that work?” you inquired, leaning in with genuine interest.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that indicated he was transmitting from a well of fond memories. “Jake and Josh have this tradition of going somewhere remote to kick off the songwriting process. Nature seems to do something fantastic for inspiration—the silence, the fresh air—it just makes the words flow so much easier.” He chuckled, that warm and rich sound bringing a smile to your face. “I mean, we could never function on a tour bus like that. It’s got to be about disconnecting a little and finding that space to breathe.”

You nodded, imagining the landscapes they must have explored during those visits. “That sounds amazing. I can totally see how that would help.”

A glimmer of mischief flitted across his expression. “Speaking of which, I remember this one trip a couple of years ago. We took a hiking break, and it was supposed to be this epic adventure in a remote area. Great views, the works.”

“Let me guess, something went hilariously wrong?” you teased, egging him on.

“Oh, it was a comedy of errors,” he confirmed, a broad grin stretching across his face. “Danny just loved to show off, and while we were wading across the stream, he decided to hop on a stone for a better view. Well, he didn’t quite have the finesse he thought he did and ended up slipping right into the water.”

You burst into laughter, picturing the scene unfolding in your mind. “Oh no! Did he get soaked?”

“Absolutely! He went in with a huge splash, and it was all very dramatic,” Sam recounted, his eyes glinting with the kind of nostalgia that only comes from shared histories. “Jake, of course, did his best to save him, rushing over without a second thought to pull him out. But in true comedy fashion, he slipped right after Danny and fell in too!”

You laughed harder now, picturing the chaos of it all—the indignant yelps and the surprise splashes, two of your friends turned into a giggling mess in the middle of nature’s tranquility. “That’s amazing! I can only imagine how that must have looked.”

“It was ridiculous,” he admitted, shaking his head as he chuckled. “Here they were, two grown men floundering around in a freezing stream, while Josh just stood back, dying from laughter. He couldn't even help, he was just taking pictures, documenting the whole disaster!”

You continued to laugh along, your eyes sparkling with mirth. “What did Danny say after he got out? Was he mad?”

“Oh, he was furious at first—not at Jake, but at himself for being so reckless. But honestly, who could stay mad when you’re both wet, shivering, and covered in mud?” Sam smiled, his voice softening as he reminisced. “In the end, we all just started cracking up together. It became one of those memories that bonded us more than any of our successes.”

“That’s what it’s all about, right? Those crazy moments that bring you closer together?” you mused, your heart warming at the thought.

He nodded earnestly, his gaze thoughtful. “Exactly. It’s like every little adventure and misadventure adds to the tapestry of who we are as a band. Each experience, whether a success or a failure, is part of our story. And it sometimes leads to the best songs.”

“And I bet that one probably inspired a whole new track, didn’t it?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Funny you should say that,” he replied, an enthusiastic light returning to his eyes. “We did end up writing a song about it—we call it ‘Throwing Stones’ to poke fun at how we got there. It’s fun, upbeat, and it just ignites this lively spirit, reminding us to laugh, no matter the chaos!”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” you replied, a mix of excitement and sheer admiration warming your chest. “It’s so cool how you guys can turn life’s unpredictabilities into art.”

Taking a moment to let the conversation settle, Sam leaned back into the cushy sofa, his arm casually resting behind you on the back of the couch. “Honestly, it’s what keeps it all alive. Music, friendship, even the madness—if you can embrace it all, it makes the triumphs that much richer.”

Your eyes met his, and there was a understanding in the silence that followed, one that stretched beyond words. The stories, the struggles, the laughter—all wove together into an experience that you both cherished.

As you settled deeper into the blanket, you felt contentment wash over you anew. The gold of the setting sun faded into shadows outside, the room illuminated only by the soft flickering glow of the fire. The warmth between you felt like a harbor, anchoring the both of you in the present moment—a safe space where laughter, history, and genuine connection could thrive.

Feeling emboldened, you decided to dive deeper. “Speaking of songs, do you think you can write one with all the changes happening in our lives right now?”

He looked at you intently, his expression shifting thoughtfully. “For sure. It’s not just the crazy moments on tour—it’s the little things, the reconnections, the honest conversations. I think the feelings we’re going through right now are just as important.”

You smiled softly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like the blanket you shared. “I’d love to hear how that transforms into music.”

“I promise I’ll write it down. Maybe we can even work on it together,” he suggested, that playful glint returning to his eyes, the allusion to past collaborations lingering in the air.

Your heart danced at his words, the prospect of shared creativity intertwining with the connection you had reignited. “I’d like that very much, Sam. Collaborating with you would be fantastic.”

He nodded with a satisfied smile, and again, a silence bloomed between you, but this time it was steeped with promise and possibility. As the fire crackled and the room darkened, the flickering shadows played across your faces, two souls wrapped in warmth, laughter—a reflection of the journey that had brought you both to this moment.

And there, beneath the soft glow of fading daylight, you found comfort not only in the stories you shared but in the future that stretched before you, painted with music, laughter, and above all, an effortlessly evolving connection.

As you nestled into Sam's side, the blanket wrapping snugly around both of you, a sense of warmth enveloped you both, not only from the fabric but from the connection that seemed to shimmer in the air. You felt a sense of comfort being this close, and it drew you even nearer, the soft sounds of the crackling fire filling the space around you.

“I’ve been following your journey online, you know,” you confessed softly, looking up at him with a smile. “Scrolling through Twitter during the tour has been quite the adventure, seeing everyone's reactions to your performances.”

A spark of curiosity flickered in his eyes. “Oh yeah? What were people saying?”

You giggled, letting the memories wash over you. “It’s hilarious! There were so many tweets about the lines forming for your shows. Some fans camped out for days in advance, posting about every silly thing they did to pass the time. I felt like a part of this massive movement!”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s wild! You’d think they were waiting for some major festival or something.”

“Exactly! And every time you guys finished a show, the excitement would literally explode on social media.” You took a moment to gather your thoughts, excitement bubbling within you. “I even made it to a few shows myself.”

“Oh really? You were there?” His interest peaked, and you could feel the warmth from his gaze as he leaned forward slightly.

“Yeah! I didn’t want to be too loud about it, but I watched from the back a couple of times,” you admitted, unable to hide the joy in your voice. “It was absolutely enchanting.”

He raised an eyebrow, curious. “Enchanting, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“No, seriously!” you laughed, your heart swelling with the memory. “Watching you on stage was mesmerizing. I could really see how into the music you got. The way you moved with the rhythm...” You trailed off for a moment, lost in the memory.

“Yeah? What did you think?” he urged, an eager smile tugging at his lips.

“I loved when you had your bass solo,” you said, excitement creeping into your voice. “The way you walked around the stage, engaging with the audience. It felt like you were sharing this incredible moment with everyone there. You’ve got this magnetic energy that pulls everyone in.”

A warm flush crept to his cheeks, and for a moment, his humility radiated through the modest smile on his face. “Wow. I appreciate that. I just try to make it feel personal, you know?”

You nodded enthusiastically, the memories firing off one after another. “Exactly! It felt like you were feeding off the crowd’s energy. The way you’d look out at everyone, and the smiles you exchanged—it was infectious!”

“I’m glad you felt that. I love the connection with the audience.” He paused, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “What most people don’t realize is how important they are to the show. Their reactions fuel me just as much as the music itself.”

You felt your heart flutter at the passion in his voice, a reminder of why you admired him so much. “And every time you handed out a pick, you could see the reactions. It was like handing them a piece of treasure! The way their faces lit up—there's something so special about that.”

He chuckled, a knowing smile crossing his face as he leaned back into the couch, continuing to bask in the shared memories. “It’s like a little moment of connection, isn’t it? Those picks become keepsakes for the fans. It’s a small way of giving them something to remember.”

“It is,” you agreed, feeling the heat of your conversation mingle with the warmth of the blanket. “And I loved seeing it. Watching people clutch those picks like they were golden tickets… it kind of made the whole experience feel magical.”

He glanced down at you, a smile gracing his lips. “Now I’m a bit self-conscious thinking about it, but I’m really glad you enjoyed it that much.”

You smiled back, your heart swelling anew. “How could I not? You were in your element, and it was so beautiful to see you shine. Watching you perform was like witnessing a symphony come to life.”

His laughter dotted the air softly, lifting the atmosphere between you. “You have a gift for words. Maybe you should be writing the song instead.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought, the lighthearted banter further deepening the warmth existing in that moment. “Who knows? Maybe you could add a ‘lyricist’ to my resume.”

“I like the sound of that! Adding to your list of talents,” he said, looking down at you with amusement. “What’s next? Life coach?”

You giggled, shrugging playfully. “I mean, I have been known to deliver some pretty sound advice...”

“Now I *have* to hear it,” he pressed, leaning closer, an amused expression dancing on his face. “Hit me with your best life advice.”

You thought for a moment, tapping your finger to your chin in mock contemplation. “Always bring snacks on road trips. It's essential for maintaining sanity! That—and keeping your friends close.”

“Wise words, truly.” His laughter blended with yours, the moment fostering an easy camaraderie, the very essence of friendship flowing through your words and warmth.

As you settled back into his side, savoring the gentle closeness, the conversation shifted, bubbling over with lightness and the warmth of shared memories. The backdrop of the fire crackling softly created a cozy atmosphere, wrapping around you in a loving embrace.

It felt good to reminisce about the tour and your adventures, but even more so, it felt good to be here, sharing those moments with him—his laughter, his warmth, and the joy of rediscovered connections mingling beautifully in the air.

And there, amidst the laughter and shared stories, you both created a memory all your own, a kind of magic that promised to grow, one conversation at a time.

As the warmth of laughter and connection settled around you both, the comforting crackle of the fire flickered gently in the background, casting a serene glow throughout the room. Sam had shifted slightly, leaning his head back against the soft musings of the couch, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest becoming steadier as the minutes passed. His eyelids, heavy and content, fluttered with the remnants of wakefulness before finally surrendering to a peaceful slumber.

You watched him, entranced by the serene aura that enveloped him as he nestled deeper into your lap, his hair fanning out like a dark halo across your legs. In that moment, the bonds of friendship seemed to intertwine with a deeper intimacy—one that felt both profoundly natural and blissfully perfect. You absentmindedly combed your fingers through his hair, letting the silky strands weave between them as thoughts of the evening glided through your mind.

With a gentle tug, you pulled the hair tie from Sam's hair, letting it cascade freely down, each strand curling slightly around his face. It was almost poetic—his hair flowing with the same graceful rhythm that had captured your admiration during his performances. As you settled comfortably into this newfound closeness, you felt compelled to play.

Curiosity sparked within you as you decided to experiment a little with his hair, almost as if it were an artistic endeavor. You gently gathered the long strands, separating them with a delicate touch, and began to braid them into a single ponytail once again. The careful movements felt meditative, each loop and twist taking on a life of its own.

“Now, let’s see how this works on you, Mr. Rockstar,” you whispered playfully, glancing down at him to watch his expression remain blissfully undisturbed. He simply sighed softly, deep in dreamland. Encouraged by his peaceful demeanor, you continued working.

Creating the braid lulled you into a calm rhythm, hands deftly weaving the strands together with gentle precision. You found yourself smiling, thinking of how he would look sporting a brand new style, completely unaware of your creative efforts. But just as your fingers settled comfortably, you released the braid, letting it unfurl and fall apart once more, strands cascading in waves back onto your lap.

This process of braiding and unbraiding felt oddly soothing, a quiet conversation between you and your companion without the need for words. Time seemed to slip through your fingers as you continued this delicate play, teasing his hair between your fingers while humming a soft melody you had inadvertently conjured up.

Every now and then, as you let the strands fall apart, he would shift slightly in his sleep, a quiet moan escaping his lips that sent a flutter through your heart. For a split second, you paused, the sound of his contentment wrapping around you like the embrace of a shared secret. It sounded so innocent, so vulnerable. You couldn’t help but feel a profound affection swell within you—a mixture of protectiveness and warmth that filled the room like the softest blanket.

After a moment, you resumed your gentle ministrations, braiding his hair again, fingers dancing between strands with precise intention. Each intricate weave melded your shared laughter, memories, and the warmth of togetherness into something tangible—something that felt deep and meaningful under each gentle twist of his hair.

With every new braid, you caught little glimpses of him in his dreams—small smiles playing on his lips as if he were reliving cherished moments from the tour or funny exchanges that had colored your conversations. Sam looked serene, his brow relaxed and his cheeks slightly flushed in the golden glow of the firelight.

You watched the way he nestled deeper into your lap, and for a moment, you marveled at how blissfully unaware he was. It was intimate in such a gentle way that you almost didn’t want it to ever end. As you tangled strands into another braid, you found yourself lost in thought. The vulnerability of the moment, the trust shown in how easily he had fallen asleep, tugged at your heartstrings in ways you had not anticipated.

Each new braid became a pathway for the affection you felt, weaving and flowing between braids and unravels, signifying the push and pull of emotions that danced around the two of you. You started to think about all the late-night conversations, all the concerts, and the laughter that bubbled up so easily between you two. The thought warmed you, wrapping around you like the blanket you shared with him, creating a cocoon of honest sharing and pure companionship.

As you continued this quiet ritual, he stirred slightly again, another soft sound slipping from his lips, as though echoing a distant memory. You paused, glancing down at him, momentarily losing yourself in the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. It was almost like he was calling out to you even in sleep, urging you to continue the tender act of care. And with that, you returned your focus to the strands of hair, starting again to play.

This rhythm flowed easily between you, wrapping time in layers of delicate connection. For a while longer, you focused on your braid, weaving in dreams, laughter, and the essence of who he was outside of the stage—the calm after the storm, if you will.

The combination of the crackling fire, the warmth of your bodies curled comfortably on the couch, and the gentle play with his hair created a bubble where the outside world began to fade away.

It was a surreal blend of reality and dreams, and within that intimate space, you felt as if this moment—this connection—was something effortlessly beautiful. And perhaps, it was.

As Sam settled deeper still, you traced your fingers across his forehead gently in the most tender of touches, and the pure, unguarded vulnerability in that quiet moment made your heart flutter again. His hair felt so soft beneath your fingers, and for just a moment longer, you indulged in the serene pleasure of this peaceful companionship, weaving the strands of his hair, almost as if to weave a bond that transcended words themselves.

The hours seemed to slip away as you became lost in the quiet charm of the moment, completely absorbed in the magic of simplicity—the essence of friendship that was evolving right before your eyes. A smile played on your lips as you let your thoughts drift, cradling him gently as he slept soundly, warmth radiating from the both of you.

And in the golden glow of that soft light, time ceased to exist, and you both savored the beauty of just being—tangled in friendship, laughter, and the way life had a knack for stitching together its most unexpected moments into something not just meaningful, but endlessly cherished.

As you continued your gentle ministrations with Sam's hair, the softness of the moment wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. The world outside slowly darkened, painted in deep shades of blue and indigo, quietly ushering in the late hour. You found yourself lost in the rhythm of the evening, shaping and reshaping the delicate strands of his hair, momentarily submerged in the wiggles of tranquility that filled the couch.

With a sigh, you pulled your gaze away from your delightful task and glanced towards the clock nestled on the mantle. The numbers glowed softly—far later than you had intended. Time had slipped away from you without fanfare, each moment merging seamlessly into the next. You felt a knot of warmth in your chest, half wishing you could freeze the time in this perfect, serendipitous place, yet realizing that the night was pressing on.

Looking outside, you saw that the vibrant hues of twilight had vanished, replaced by the dark cloak of night. The moon hung high above, radiating a silvery glow that illuminated the edges of the passing clouds. The stars peeked through as well, twinkling like a scatter of diamonds across the fabric of the sky. Yet with the night came a distinct chill that began to creep through the window, curling around the edges of the room, an insistent reminder of the late hour.

You turned your gaze back to him, still sound asleep in your lap, blissfully unaware of the passing time or the chill that encroached upon the cozy living room. His breathing was steady, and though he appeared peaceful, the cold air reminded you that maybe it was time to consider drifting off to bed. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight—his relaxed features, the way his lashes fanned gently against his cheeks—he looked utterly serene, like a child lost in the tranquility of a warm dream.

You brushed your fingers lightly against his forehead, wanting to keep him close, but knowing that the warmth of slumber would soon give way to chilliness if you didn’t act. Gently, you nudged his shoulder with the lightest of touches, careful not to startle him too much.

“Sammy...” you whispered softly, your voice barely piercing the quiet air. “It’s time to wake up.”

He stirred slightly, his brow furrowing before he let out a small sigh of contentment, but he didn’t quite rouse. You nudged him again, a little firmer this time, relishing the opportunity to tease him a bit. “Sammy, come on. It’s getting late.”

Finally, he cracked his eyes open, blinking against the dim light of the room. “Huh?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. His gaze fell on you, a sleepy smile spreading across his lips. For a fleeting moment, he looked utterly adorable, still caught between the realms of dreams and waking reality.

You smiled back, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. “It’s really late, you know. The fire's died down, and it’s getting a bit chilly.”

He lifted his head from your lap, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn that made your heart flutter. “Wow, I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep,” he said, rubbing the remnants of drowsiness from his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Late enough that we should probably head to bed,” you said softly, leaning in to meet his gaze more directly. “We don’t want to freeze out here.”

With a lazy grin, he looked around the room, as if only just realizing how cold it had indeed become. “I guess I got a little too cozy,” he chuckled, shaking off the last vestiges of slumber. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re surrounded by two of my favorite things—good company and a warm blanket.”

Your cheeks warmed at his compliment. “I’m glad you feel that way,” you said sincerely, heart swelling with warmth. “But really, I don’t think we want to push our luck with the cold.”

“True,” he agreed, swinging his legs off the couch and sitting up fully. He stretched again, a fascinating set of movements that revealed the elegant nature of his body, the way years of performing had molded him into a beautiful form. You couldn’t help but appreciate the sight, a mix of admiration and the comforting familiarity coloring your gaze.

As he finally stood, you couldn’t help but admire the casual grace he possessed even in moments of drowsiness. He brushed the hair from his forehead with a half-hearted attempt to tame it, which made you stifle a giggle at how endearing he looked.

“Let’s grab some blankets and head to bed, then?” he suggested, his voice dipping lower with the suggestion, the idea of retreating into the warmth of the night drawing you both closer together.

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, feeling a flutter of excitement building at the thought of snuggling up together after such a cozy evening. “I could use a warm bed after all this.”

“Lead the way!” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, and you found yourself smiling brightly as you headed towards the stairs that led up to the bedrooms.

As you ascended, you could hear the sound of his footsteps following closely behind, the rhythm of your movements blending into an understated melody that wrapped around you, adding another layer of comfort to the night. With each step, the chill dissipated, replaced with a warmth that thrummed quietly in your chest.

Once in your room, you swung open the linen closet, retrieving extra blankets that you wrapped around your arms like a comforting cocoon. Glancing over at Sam, you couldn’t help but let a soft smile slip onto your face as he pulled the curtains open, peering through the window at the starry night outside.

“I can’t get over how beautiful it is out tonight,” he remarked, his voice threaded with a hint of admiration. “It always feels like another world after a night like this.”

“And now we have our own little refuge,” you responded, a sense of contentment spreading through you. “We’ll be warm and cozy in here.”

He turned back to you, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “You know, if my hair keeps falling all over the place, I might have to borrow those good company skills to keep it tidy again.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you tossed him one of the blankets. “I think I can help with that! But right now, it’s time for some rest, don’t you think?”

His grin widened, and you could see the sleep still lingering in his eyes. “Definitely.”

As you settled into the bed, layering the warm blankets around you, you couldn’t help but feel that the day—though it had ebbed away—had transformed into something magical and real. The laughter you had shared, the moments of quiet intimacy, and now this gentle transition toward rest felt like a beautiful culmination of a night well spent.

You could sense that the warmth of friendship had deepened into something more—not overt, but definitely there, like those stars twinkling faintly in the night sky above you.

As you nestled into your blankets, feeling the comfort envelop you like a gentle embrace, you stole one last glance at Sam before you closed your eyes. He had settled himself beside you, cocooned in his blanket like a soft, sleepy giant. His eyes had begun to droop again, the peaceful look returning as he sank back into the warmth—not just of the covers, but, you realized, of this beautiful, unspoken bond that formed between you both.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” you whispered, voice thick with gentle affection.

“Goodnight,” he murmured sleepily, a soft smile gracing his features before he finally succumbed to the embrace of slumber once more.

With the stars gleaming outside and the warmth of your connection wrapping around you, you drifted off to sleep, heart lighter and mind filled with dreams of laughter, friendship, and the promise of many more nights like this to come.The night deepened steadily, and the world outside gradually transformed into a crisp, silent realm as the cold coiled itself around the house. Even with the warmth of the blankets and the intimacy of your shared space, the chill felt insistent beyond the window, a stark reminder that the winter night was far from forgiving. You could hear the wind whispering against the glass, an almost haunting sound that sent shivers dancing over your skin.

In the cocoon of your blankets, you felt warm and safe, the warmth between you and Sam a palpable comfort that ebbed and flowed like the quiet whispers of the night. You had sunk into a peaceful slumber, dreams flitting in and out like shadows. But suddenly, you sensed a stirring beside you—a shifting of the weight that seemed to draw your attention.

You blinked awake, momentarily disoriented as the dim light of the room seeped back into your consciousness. As your awareness came back, your gaze landed on Sam, who had pulled himself closer to you, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that seemed uncharacteristic of the calm from before. There was a softness in the way he nestled against you, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, surrounded by the material of your blankets.

“Wow, it really got cold,” Sam mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled against you. You could feel his exhalations against your arm, and it sent a wave of warmth flooding through you, contrasting sharply with the chill creeping into the room.

You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the ticklish sensation that accompanied his slight facial hair brushing against your skin. The playful scratchiness felt both intimate and amusing, and you choked back another laugh as a ripple of warmth swept through you. It was a mixture of affection and something more, and you had to force yourself to focus, to rein in your bubbling mirth.

“Okay, okay, Mr. Cuddlebug,” you chided softly, pushing against him gently in a mock protest. “Are you trying to steal all my body heat?”

He chuckled lightly, his face still settled against your shoulder, creating a feeling of cozy closeness. “I can’t help it; you’re warmer than the blankets!” he exclaimed, a playful innocence in his tone. His fingers, in their warmth, found their way to your waist, encircling you slightly and pulling you closer.

You could feel your heart race in response, and for a fleeting moment, you basked in the comfort of his proximity, the way your bodies fit together so perfectly beneath the layers of blankets. However, as you settled back into the cushion of warmth, you became undeniably aware of a different tension that had built between you—something subtle but increasingly noticeable.

Sam’s body pressed against yours had suddenly shifted from a purely innocent cuddle to something a little more heated. As he nestled deeper into your side, you felt the unmistakable pressure of his arousal against you—a solid warmth pushing into your hip. You swallowed hard, sudden awareness flooding your senses with a mixture of surprise and something undeniably alluring.

The affectionate, cozy atmosphere blossomed into something charged, and it sent your thoughts spiraling in conflicting directions. Part of you wanted to tease him, to playfully bring attention to the situation, but another part—a more cautious side—felt the indescribable gravity pulling you both into unfamiliar territory. It was a sensation that blurred the line between friendship and something deeper.

“Um, Sammy…” your breath was caught in your throat, shaky and uncertain as you turned your head to glance down at him, intrigue licking at the edges of your hesitation. The room had grown unbearably still, the chill outside forgotten in the fervent warmth of that moment, yet a flicker of nervousness danced through you.

He lifted his head slightly, meeting your gaze with a drowsy smile. “What’s up?” His voice had a softness, a still murmur caught between sleep and waking, and it only served to amplify the unusual tension of the moment.

You sensed the vulnerability radiating off of him, that moment when both of your thoughts seemed to converge upon the same realization yet carried with it the weight of unvoiced expectations. “You’re… um,” you started, faltering slightly though you knew you needed to address what was becoming obvious. “You know you’ve got, like, a little—”

His expression shifted, realization dawning on him, and the playful, sleepy demeanor gave way to something more aware. His cheeks flushed lightly as he hastily shifted away from you, creating a space between you both as abrupt as it was unexpected. “Oh—wow, I didn’t mean to—sorry,” he stammered, the words coming out with a breathless rush.

Despite the sudden awkwardness, a giggle escaped your lips before you could hold it back. The laughter surprised you both, filling the room with an unexpected lightness, easing the tension that had sparked in that shared space. “Oops,” you mused playfully, your heart still racing, “Guess I should’ve seen that coming.”

With a sheepish smile, Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly embarrassed but equally amused at the whole situation. “Yeah, I should’ve thought that through,” he admitted, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. “Guess I got a little too… comfortable?”

The laughter lifted, repeating in playful waves, and you found that the initial shock had morphed into an intimate moment—one that held the potential for deeper understanding and connection. It was a hesitation, a boundary that shifted ever so slightly in the warmth of your friendship, yet it felt inherently right—the tension transforming into a shared secret.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, the night being too enchanting for discomfort to linger. “We’re just two friends keeping warm, right?” You nudged him gently, teasing as you decided to playfully lean into the moment rather than shy away from it.

“Right, just two friends,” Sam echoed, a little more playfully now, his gaze meeting yours with that familiar spark of mischief you’d come to adore.

But even as the playful exploration lingered in the air around you, there was something unmistakably different now; the spark had flared brightly, and you could sense the acknowledgment that extended between you both, teetering in the grey area of friendship and something deeper.

You both sank back into the warmth of the blankets, laughter weaving into comforting silence, and though the laughter had eased the initial tension, you savored the understanding that hung in the air—a shared acknowledgment of hidden desires, of the closeness that drew you in yet again.

Time flowed more easily as you settled back into a comfortable position, Sam’s gaze flickering down to the blankets, a smile lingering on his lips. “Well, since it’s so cold out there, maybe we should keep the body warmth going? It’s definitely cozier that way,” he suggested, his tone laced with a sweetness that made your heart flutter.

“Yeah,” you responded, feeling a wisp of excitement surge within you. “Cozy sounds perfect.”

With that, he didn’t hesitate to pull you back into him, sharing warmth as he wrapped his arms around you once again, burying his face into the crook of your neck, brushing his facial hair against your skin once more in a way that sent delightful shivers tingling down your spine.

This time, though, the moment felt different—an electric thrill ran through you as he nestled in closer, the space between you almost nonexistent. It was a sweet surrender to both the chill outside and the warmth of the connection you both had, a promise woven in that intimate silence: that you would both navigate this new terrain together, exploring what lay ahead in the darkness of the night.

You melted into the warmth of Sam’s embrace, grateful for the cocoon of blankets that shielded you from the biting cold that continued to seep through the walls of the house. The winds outside howled with an unsettling fierceness, but inside, the atmosphere felt luxurious and safe. You reveled in the closeness, but as moments drifted by, the chill creeping into the room began to settle into your bones once more, a stark reminder that winter was relentless.

You couldn’t help but notice how Sam’s body radiated warmth against your skin, and the desire to snuggle in further began to pull at you. With much hesitation, you began to slowly push yourself back into him, feeling the inviting heat emanate from his body. As you nestled closer, the seamless bond between you grew thicker, pulsing with an energy that both excited and comforted you in equal measures.

However, the moment you shifted, you felt the unmistakable outline of his arousal pressing against you, more pronounced now than it had been before. A thrill ran through you—a blend of nervousness and exhilaration—as the proximity heightened your awareness of the situation. He grumbled softly, a sound that reverberated against your skin, sending an unexpected shiver through you.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and still teetering on the edge of drowsiness. The inquiry was laced with both curiosity and something undeniably playful, and his tone sent sparks dancing through the space between you.

You stifled a giggle, and a soft smile broke over your face as you met his sleepy gaze. There was something about the way he looked at you, a blend of vulnerability and amusement that made your heart race just a little faster. “I’m just cold,” you replied, feeling adventurous, even daring, as the words slipped from your lips. “The blankets are nice, but there’s still a chill in the air, and you’re like a human furnace.”

You pushed in even closer, a playful challenge in the way you allowed your body to mold against him, reveling in the contrasts—the warmth you felt from Sam juxtaposed with the retrenching cold. His body reacted, muscles tensing in response to your movements, and for a moment, there was an overwhelming silence, each of you acutely aware of the newly charged atmosphere surrounding you both.

As you settled against him, you felt a flicker of mischief light up within Sam. He brought his face closer, his breath warm against your shoulder as he grazed his teeth softly against your skin, almost like a gentle warning—teasing yet commanding, summoning you to acknowledge the tenuous line you were both now dancing upon.

A gasp slipped through your lips, barely restrained, turning into an accidental whimper as the sensation sent an electrifying thrill through your spine. It was an instinctive reaction, drawn from reflex as you felt the warmth of him pressed firmly against you. In that moment, you realized how close you were to crossing from the comforting safety of friendship into something far more intense, something that sent your heart racing with excitement and trepidation.

The sound of your reaction hung thick in the air—a mixture of vulnerability, desire, and the realization of the intimacy you both shared—in that suspended moment where time seemed to stand still. The world outside faded into silence, and all you could focus on was the delightful tension simmering between your bodies.

It felt exhilarating yet disconcerting, that heady blend of fear and allure. You could feel Sam’s heartbeat against your back, the steady thrum echoing the words spoken in those simmering moments—words unvoiced but acknowledged all the same. It was a collective understanding that this wasn’t merely about comfort anymore. Something deeper was unfolding, an acknowledgment of the chemistry you both had long felt but was now pushing to the surface, begging to be explored.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you processed your surroundings, your fingers playing with the fabric of the blankets, caught somewhere in a liminal space between friendship and something entirely different. Your heart raced as your body responded to the intimacy—the closeness, the warmth, and the undeniable connection that seemed to weave itself tighter with each passing second.

It was a moment that seemed to encapsulate everything you had been feeling, everything that had been lingering in the unspoken air between you, and it felt both intoxicating and frightening. You could almost taste the anticipation hanging there, sparking into something electric, searching for an outlet, waiting for someone to take that leap further into the unknown.

And so you lingered, wrapped in the warmth of impending change, wondering where the night and your burgeoning connection might lead.

The tension in the air morphed from electricity to playful teasing in an instant, the magic of that moment lightening up at Sam’s smirk as he leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Wow, someone’s a little sensitive,” he joked, a playful laugh escaping his lips. “Whimpering already? I didn’t think I had that effect on you yet.”

His teasing carried a familiar tone, one that stirred memories you had thought buried. It brought back the days when you two were practically enemies, rivals in everything—classes, sports, and even friendships. The banter was always quick and sharp, filled with snarky comments and snide invitations to outdo one another. You could remember the countless times you had glared at each other across the room, daring another to take the first step into a confrontation.

The nostalgic rush of memories made your heart race for entirely different reasons, and in that instant, your body reacted as if struck by a light bolt. You shot straight up from the bed, the blankets pooling around you in a chaotic mess as your mind jumbled through emotions, battle scars of rivalry colliding with the familiar warmth of affection.

“Are you serious right now?” you exclaimed, voice rising with incredulity. “We were doing so well! How could you fuck it up like this?” The words tumbled from your mouth, a mixture of frustration and disbelief, shockwaves of your past echoing in the heat of your outburst.

Sam's eyebrow shot up in genuine surprise at your sudden shift, the previously playful atmosphere hanging heavily between you. “Wait, what?” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement despite the severity of your tone. “I was just teasing! You didn’t have to go all dramatic on me.”

You felt a slight rush of adrenaline, the heart-pounding kind that had defined so many of your earlier encounters. There was a thrill in standing up to him, showing that the warmth and affection couldn’t mask the fire you’d once wielded so easily. But before you could walk fully away from the bed, Sam’s arm shot out, gripping your wrist and pulling you back down with surprising strength.

“Hey! If you keep complaining about everything I do, I might just have to give you something better to do with your mouth,” he purred, a mischievous glint in his eye that left no room for doubt as to the implications of his words.

His tone hung in the air between you, an unspoken challenge woven through his suggestion—one that danced brazenly along the edges of the playful rivalry you had once thrived on. You couldn’t help but scoff, a laugh bubbling up from your core at his audacity. “Oh please,” you shot back, arching an eyebrow as you faced him, a teasing smile creeping onto your lips. “You wouldn’t be giving me much to work with.”

The moment hung there, throbbing with tension, humor mingling with the intensity of your previous exchanges. Sam chuckled, the sound warm in the cozy room, and his reluctance to retreat from your banter was palpable, a friendly duel of words as natural as breathing.

“Is that so?” he challenged, his voice low and playful, running his fingers through his hair in that familiar way that always made him seem effortlessly charming. “You’re not even considering what I could do if you stopped being so dramatic for just a minute.”

“Oh, dramatic? Look who’s talking,” you countered, your heart racing at the sheer audacity of your conversation. “Do you seriously think I’m going to just sit here and take it?”

“Are you sure you want to challenge me?” he shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because I could definitely make it worth your while if you let me.”

Feeling emboldened by your tension, you leaned forward just a fraction, closing the space between you two again. “I’m not afraid of you, Sam,” you declared, the words coming out with a playful bite, pulling your old personas of rivalry into a new territory that was somehow easier to navigate grounded in this warmth and shared comfort.

“But, in that case,” he said, leaning in as well, lips curving into a smirk, “you might want to brace yourself.”

A surge of excitement coursed through you as you felt the playful challenge hanging in the air. The dynamic had shifted so decidedly from your past encounters, intertwining the comfort of camaraderie with the thrill of newfound exploration. As you teetered on the precipice of uncertainty, there was an undeniable chemistry shared in those moments, a fire igniting between you as your words danced like flames in a gentle summer breeze.

“Bring it on,” you whispered back, heart pounding at the thrill of the shift. The night felt electric again; the stakes had transformed into something deliciously unpredictable, eager for the two of you to navigate the terrain of what came next.

You both lingered there, on the brink of something new, laughter and teasing biting at the edges, enveloped in warmth, words igniting the very spark that had drawn you together in the first place. It was a heady mix of everything you had been, and everything you could become, wrapped in the bittersweet tension of your shared history and the promise of an exhilarating future yet unwritten.

[dollfaced-erin]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 11

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10

A/n : - I thought we had too little Jing Yuan, so here, I'm giving you some bits to enjoy heheheh though its a little angstyyy Honest question though, should (Y/n) really in between Blade and Jing Yuan ? I mean, I dont mind a full blown harem kalsdjlka

Taglist : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy , @chibiduck , @hermosacolibri , @la-diablas-thingz , @farelady-fate , @everi-eve , @shadowfoxey

As (Y/n) was busy trying to push away her own thoughts and Bailu's worrying, suddenly she was approached by an individual from behind. (Y/n) looked up to see the blanked face trailblazer looking at her.

"Lady (Y/n), Dahao asked me to bring you with us to the Realm-Keeping Commission. He said there is something you must hear." Stelle said, looking straight at (Y/n) with her golden eyes.

"A-ah, alright." (Y/n) said, her embarrassment washing off and she calmed down. Bailu whined, hoping that (Y/n) didn't have to go, but what choice did (Y/n) have, right ?

It must be important if they're looking for to join the Astral Express team, who were requested by the General himself.

So (Y/n) nodded and got up, bidding farewell to reluctant Bailu. She promised to buy Bailu some snacks next time and Bailu immediately brightened up and nodded, waving off the older Vidyadhara more cheerfully.

"Ah, Lady (Y/n). You're here too," the older man said, looking at (Y/n) as Stelle brought her into the Realm-Keeping Commission. The rest of the team were already there, so it seems like Stelle was the last of them to arrive to go get (Y/n).

"Yes…sorry I'm late." (Y/n) said, bowing her head a little before being dismissed by the Realm-Keeping Commission officer.

"No, no ! My Lady, you were of great help in helping the Dragon Lady to suppress the Mara-struck, even going as far as to assist in combat. The General will hear of this." Dahao said, as if quite flustered by the appearance of the lady even though it was him who had called her over.

"My Lady…? Is Lady (Y/n) another big shot ?" March asked, looking at (Y/n). To which (Y/n) of course shook her head.

"No. I am just but another resident of the Xianzhou Luofu, the same species as Miss Bailu," (Y/n) said modestly, and honestly, not even bothering to look at the group that had turned to look at the horned woman. "I was…just someone highly regarded in the distant past."

"O-oh…"

Dahao coughed into his fist, trying to break the awkward atmosphere. "As I'm sure you're aware, symptoms of Mara have been spreading ever since the Stellaron incident occurred."

"Thanks to the Ten-Lords Commission, had long since become a terrifying but avoidable fate for the Xianzhou Natives…The puzzling thing is that despite the Commission's protection, we're now seeing an increase…" Dahao explained to the Trailblazers, and (Y/n) herself.

"More and more clients -- in particular those dealing with great risks and stress like the Cloud Knights -- are becoming stricken with Mara." Dahao said with a heavy sigh, a hand to his head as if wondering where everything had gone wrong, though the answer was much clear.

"Moreover, the Mara-struck have taken on a horrifying appearance -- as they're turning into some sort of monster… This certainly differs from what I thought I knew about the illness…" Dahao continued, and (Y/n) frowned.

"The mutations are worse than what I remembered. Back then…the monsters were exactly like this, but only those who ere directly affected by the Plagues Author. Not the ones with mere…spores in them." (Y/n) said, recalling of what little memory she had of the times that were said to be the most glorious but most disastrous for the entire Luofu.

"You…you've seen the Plagues Author…?" March asked and in the back she heard Stelle say ; "For real ?"

"No. I've never seen them…" (Y/n) said and she looked to Dahao for help on explaining her situation. And Dahao laughed softly, as (Y/n) looked at him like a little kitten, even though she was as proud just now.

"(Y/n) here…is one of the expert doctors. A veteran with knowledge of old. She had just went through an accident and is slowly trying to regain her memories, so far she had shown some signs of regaining those memories." Dahao said simply and (Y/n) nodded in confirmation.

There was too much about her, too little time to tell. And she was feeling quite insecure about telling everyone how old she actually is and how long she's been asleep. Even though it technically wasn't her fault.

"Oh, I got this paper from one of the Mara-struck soldiers." Stelle said, handing out a paper with writing on it, looking like a prescription.

Dahao read it for a moment and his expression reflects disbelief from what he was reading. He immediately calls over (Y/n) with a wave of his hand, the horned woman came to his side. She leaned over his shoulder to try read out what was given, and her eyes widened.

Even for a woman that had just woken up from her slumber, she was familiar with the words etched on the thin piece of paper. It was much known to all Xianzhou residents.

The history that had the Xianzhou in peril thousands of years ago, the reason for her incomplete rest.

"This...where did you get this ?" (Y/n) exclaimed, looking up at Stelle with surprise.

"I got it when we fought a Mara-struck soldier when we first came here. I thought that since we're in an archive, you might know of this." Stelle said, looking completely innocent.

"Isn't this...a cure for Mara...?" Stelle asked, regarding the letter in (Y/n)'s hands. And the dragon woman shook her head and turned to look at Dahao.

"This is beyond the matters of the Realm-Keeping Commission, Lady (Y/n). You should contact the Seat of Divine Foresight about this matter..." Dahao said gravely and (Y/n) nodded, taking out her phone.

"I think I should call Jing Yuan about this...this is...something the Ten-Lords Commission should jurisdictate..." (Y/n) said as she walked away into the archives to have some privacy.

"Princess ? I wasn't expecting a call from you. Is something the matter ?" Jing Yuan's gentle voice flowed from the device and to her ear.

"Jing Yuan...sorry to bother you. It's urgent..." (Y/n) said, a little guilt in her voice.

"Anything for you, princess. Now tell me, what is it that has you so ruffled up, hm?" "Stelle handed us a letter disguised as a prescription letter, but the contents...were about one of the Seven Unpardonable Sins..."

"I see. It is indeed a grave situation you're faring with there, (Y/n)." he said seriously, all manner of playfulness missing. "Unfortunately, I'm on the way with a meeting with Ten-Lords Commission, so I am unable to personally asses the circumstances."

"But fret not. I will be sending Qingzu in my place. She should know what to do." Jing Yuan said warmly, his voice light with a little smile from his end.

"Thank you, Jing Yuan..." (Y/n) said with a soft sigh.

"You make sure you keep yourself safe, alright, my Moon ?" (Y/n) heard from the other end, causing her cheeks to heat up for some unknown reason.

"Y-yes. I promise, Jing Yuan..." (Y/n) she said softly, ending the call with a small smile of her own.

He knew it was wrong.

But he couldn't help himself.

She was the lover of his friend.

And fate ripped them apart before they could manage to properly tie the red string of fate to each other. After all, they were the infamous star-crossed lovers, tales of woe being sung by the Vidyadhara people.

The Moon Dancer and The Craftsman.

Or known to him as Dan Jia and Yingxing.

Jing Yuan stared at the device in his hands, a frown on his lips.

Was it selfish of him to want her to stay ?

Was it selfish of him to want a companion who had somewhat memory of their glorious past ? A friend who used to know him and still knows him.

Was it wrong of him to think this way when he let go of his once-dear friend into the night to reunite with the love of his life...?

Jing Yuan wondered if they have met yet...?

He just hoped...that maybe she could give him a chance too...

The Dragon Lady was always someone that was admired by eyes of all ages, species and genders. She was a shy, gentle, polite soul, the opposite of her cold, harsh and arrogant older brother.

"Yuan !" the female would call out. She was young, with vibrant (e/c) eyes and clear skin, and lovely (h/c) hair embedded with flowers or accessories. She was neither young nor old, neither a girl nor a woman. She was in between.

"Lady Dan Jia !" the teenage lieutenant would call out, just as he would everyday after he trained. He would set down his weapon, and come running towards the Saltator Lunae who waved happily at him.

Unlike with Dan Feng who had known since his knight years, he had come to know this young lady when he was already lieutenant. Dan Feng thought that she wasn't yet ready to meet with the others.

Since the first time he had set eyes on the beautiful lady, he was awestruck. The shy way she averted her eyes when they first met, the softness and timidness in her voice, now had changed into warm gazes from her (e/c) eyes, and a bright smile forming on her lips.

Though young, he wasn't stupid enough to realize the feelings in him. The thumping of his heart whenever he saw her, the way he would instantly turn whenever he heard her voice, the pique of interest whenever she was mentioned.

Though young, he knew that he was in love with the sister High Elder of the Luofu.

Though young, he understood the cracking feeling in his chest when he heard his crush to be wed to one of his older friends. A more capable and astounding young man, the master of the Furnace of Creation. He smiled bitterly when he saw the two present their rings upon agreeing to tie the knot.

Though young, he knew that he harbored deep jealousy towards his own friend that took away his light.

Though young, he accepted the shattering feeling in his chest when he held the cold, barely living, body in his arms as he returned her to the Vidyadhara egg beneath the sea. The Pearl Keepers were kind enough to allow the General to carry her to the depths meant for her species.

Though mature, he knew that he could never forget the feelings he had for her, albeit unrequited.

With a final gift to her, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead, for the first and last time as tears ran down his cheeks.

Or so he thought.

Imagine his joy when the Pearl cracked, releasing the same woman he loved for years from its walls. He cried in joy, holding her close to his chest, pushing away the worried eyes of the Pearl keepers and Elders around him.

She was still here.

He still had a chance to make things right.

For years he watched over her, never finding it a pain to visit her sleeping body, until the day she opened her eyes. He would tell her about his days, the little grumbles he voiced out from his job in the Seat of Divine Foresight.

Imagine his joy when her eyes finally opened. Though she called herself (Y/n), it was still her.

And he'd still love her either way.

"Are you alright with letting her out of your sight ? She's still quite frail." Yanqing said as he looked up to his master.

"Yes. She'll be perfectly fine." Jing Yuan said with a small smile. "A bird should never be caged, and to let it fly free. The same goes to her. Should I not let her roam the ship ? Let her walk around, take in sights, meet people and learn new things. At least...I can still take care of her from afar."

"I am not as powerless as I was back then." Jing Yuan said with a soft chuckle, making Yanqing perk his head in curiosity, but decided against asking.

"It's alright. I want to let her roam free a little. Then, I'll need her to join me in a few tasks." the lion said, before turning to face his retainer.

"Come, Yanqing. There are matters to settle." he said, before walking off.

[fictional-gods-tournament]

Prelims

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons, Eberron, Forgotten Realms

Note: This poll refers only to the characters' versions in Dungeons and Dragons, Forgotten Realms or Eberron.

Characters' info under the cut

Ao (wiki)

Domains: Overgod and Watcher of the Multiverse

Propaganda:

Overgod of the D&D multiverse, being vastly over all the setting's gods except for the literal Dungeon Master

Lolth (wiki)

Domains: spiders, drow, trickery, war

Propaganda:

Spider lady spider lady spider lady spider lady

Luminous Being (wiki)

Domain: All of D&D

Propaganda:

They are the supreme being of all D&D, and while open to interpretation, they are implied to be a stand in for the Dungeon Master, the person who runs the D&D campaigns in real life

Selûne (wiki)

Domains:goddess of light, guidance, and specifically The Moon. The asteroids that follow the moon are her tears.

Propaganda:

Selûne is so cool, actually! If you've played BG3 you know she becomes Shadowheart's much kinder Goddess and gave birth to a baddie like Dame Aylin; but she's done so much more! She created the sun at personal cost to herself, and gave the world enough heat for life. When Ao sent all the gods to faerûn to live as mortals, Selûne didn't even notice because she had already been doing that of her own choice! Iconic!

Tiamat (wiki)

Domains: Evil Dragons, Greed Dragons, Trickery

The Traveler (wiki)

Domains: chaos, deception, evolution, invention, and transformation.

Propaganda:

okay so beyond being a chaos god, the traveller is also the reason changelings exist in Eberron! and well. dnd changelings my beloved (seriously, look up the in universe origin myths, they rock). it's also gender (tm) (to quote the wiki: even its gender is unknown—the Traveler is referred to as "it", not "he" or "she", but sometimes "he" and "she" have been used, even interchangeably). It's also just. a weirdo compared to the other gods of the setting. It's just kinda there and also maybe created the world?? 10/10 fictional deity. especially by tumblr standards. look me in the eyes and tell me it wouldn't be a punk.

Dol Arrah (wiki1, wiki2)

Domains: The Sun, things worth fighting for, justice, diplomacy and self-sacrifice

Propganda:

The quintessential God of Paladins, the Warrior Sun stands for the decision to draw your sword- or not. Wise, just and true, she is the voice that urges restraint in the face of provocation and the clarion call to fight for what is right. Diplomacy and strategy are part of her domain - she stands as much for those who seek to avoid unnecessary warfare or to claim victory without the need to strike a blow - but the image of her that comes first to mind is a knight in armour, shining with the light of the Sun.

The Becoming God (wiki)

Domains: Discovery, life, growth, self-sufficiency, creation, evolution, ascension

Propaganda:

So are you a magic robot built for war who's looking for purpose now that you've got human rights? Are you dissatisfied with the abstract, insubstantial gods of organics? Are you plagued by visions of divine schematics and a holy machine? Great news! You can help build the Becoming God! He doesn't yet exist, but once all his followers have built his chassis, he will rise up from the wastes and lead his people to their glorious destiny.

Cyric (wiki)

Domains: Lies and deception

Propaganda:

Cool backstory. Kind of maybe too much to explain but maybe I'll explain it in asks later if he gets in.

[bantarleton]

Behold the glorious artwork of Angus McBride, depicting two scenes from the battle of Stirling Bridge, fought by Scottish and English forces on 11 September 1297.

In the first piece, William Wallace (right) rejects two Bendictine monks sent by the English to negotiate while another Scottish noble, Andrew Moray, (left) looks on. It is likely that Moray, with higher social standing, more military experience and more men under his command, was actually the leader of the Scottish forces during the battle, and not Wallace. According to Medieval chronicler Walter of Guisborough the Scots rejected the English offers with the following statement (though he doesn't specify if it was Wallace or Moray doing the talking);

“Go back and tell your men that we come not for the good of peace, but we are ready to fight to defend ourselves and free our realm! Therefore, let them advance when they wish, and they will find us ready to fight them even into their beards!”

The English attempted to ford the river beneath Stirling Castle - crossable only via a narrow timber bridge - and were set upon by the Scots with half their force still on the opposite bank. A slaughter of the English ensued, accentuated when the bridge itself collapsed. In the lower artwork Wallace can be seen on the left and Moray on the right, leading the attack on the English knights. The slightly corpulent Englishman on foot before Moray with the three black swans as his heraldry is Hugh de Cressingham, the second-in-command of the English force and one of the men responsible for administering the English occupation of Scotland. He was killed and after the battle, according to several chroniclers, his body was flayed in revenge for the tortures he had inflicted upon the Scots. Part of him was used by Wallace to make a scabbard for his sword; "of his skin William Wallace caused a broad strip to be taken from the head to the heel, to make therewith a baldrick for his sword."

tl;dr look at this badass artwork of William Wallace being depicted historically and not in Dumbass Fantasy Mode.

[wianes]

Griffith’s journey through war, sacrifice, and internal struggle

In the realm of tragedy, Griffith finds himself lost in thought as he leans over the still body of a boy who had bravely fought for an ideal. He grapples with the heavy reality of the countless lives lost in his quest to reshape the world. This unsettling realization strikes him deeply. He comes to understand that, in the pursuit of his dreams, he has sacrificed his moral innocence. The weight of this realization forces him to confront the true cost of his ambitions.

From the boy’s perspective, war seemed like a glorious fantasy—an exciting dream filled with visions of heroism. Like Griffith, he began his journey captivated by the rosy tales of noble knights and epic battles. The allure of this idealistic world drew him in, creating a sense of fervor. In contrast to this initial excitement, as he delved deeper into the realities of conflict, the dream began to unravel.

This unshakable confidence remains, even with the clear threats surrounding them. In human nature, distant threats often feel abstract and intangible, regardless of how well-known they may be.

Consider the boy who, in the heat of battle, could hardly grasp the harsh truth of death or his own mortality. Later, there is the tragic realization that killing for money or ideals serves no noble cause. The chaos around creates a barrier. This obstacle prevents a full comprehension of the danger being faced.

In a dreamlike vision during the eclipse, Griffith wanders through the darkness, both literally and metaphorically. He searches for his comrades, intent on glimpsing the castle of his aspirations. Yet, there is a blind traverse through the shadows of doubt.

This imagery evokes a profound sense of futility, underscoring that the journey has led astray. The darkness being navigated reflects an internal struggle, grappling with the widening gap between the belief of who he once was and the reality of who he has always been.

As Griffith confronts this unsettling truth, the divergence between his youthful dreams and the harsh realities of war becomes clear. He begins to question his role in the unfolding story, no longer viewing himself as the hero others imagine.

He begins to realize just how vastly the grim realities of war differ from his once idealistic images of days gone by. With this in mind, a natural questioning of his role in the unfolding story emerges. He no longer sees himself as the hero others believe him to be. Instead, he grapples with the unsettling thought that the very forces driving him may have tainted his ambitions.

The young boy, brimming with youthful idealism, finds himself captivated by Griffith's lofty ambition to claim the throne. This moment is particularly intense. It marks a turning point for Griffith as he grapples with his ambivalence.

Griffith's story offers profound insights into both personal and collective realities. From Casca's point of view, we witness Griffith's deliberate decision to stand by the collective while also recognizing the importance of each individual.

In the context of the battle and its aftermath, Casca observes a dramatic contrast in Griffith's approach. The slain lie scattered across the landscape, serving as a haunting reminder of the cost of conflict. Unlike others who simply pass through the scene, the character pauses to contemplate the essence of those who have fallen. Reflecting on their lives and contributions, he expresses reverence for these individuals. This sentiment deeply influences his thoughts and motivations.

Notably, this interaction highlights Griffith's deep understanding of each participant involved. As Casca narrates her experiences, it becomes evident that the character views his soldiers as more than mere instruments for a purpose. His ability to recall specific details about them underscores his acknowledgment of their importance. This emphasizes the value he places on personal connections, even amid the broader battlefield. These individuals become mirrors reflecting his aspirations and inner struggles. "Maybe my dream was what killed this boy." This recognition leads Griffith to question whether he is, in fact, the destroyer of innocence.

This situation perfectly aligns with his circumstances. As a leader, the character achieves social goals while maintaining a high level of individuality. He challenges established structures, attracting unquestioning followers while resenting being in the shadows. Independently excelling in various fields, Griffith proves to be a skilled individual warrior. Nevertheless, in this scene, he sacrifices a single being for the greater outcome, demonstrating a willingness to extend this sacrifice even to himself.

He makes this choice out of necessity. It is challenging to portray a capable leader realistically if the decision is otherwise. When someone in power prioritizes personal affections over the well-being of the people and the world, their leadership becomes unreliable. For instance, from the perspective of an ordinary citizen, it is disapproved of when a ruler fails to keep promises. Such a figure is often labeled a fraud. We also dislike it when preferential treatment is shown to a select group over others. This phenomenon is commonly referred to as corruption.

From the character’s viewpoint, he becomes aware of the tragedy inherent in individuality. The necessity to choose the collective over personal ties emerges from the demands of leadership, a role he aspires to fulfill, akin to a king. This internal conflict stems from recognizing the considerable weight that his position carries within the group.

Regarding the cultural issue with this choice, there is often a challenge in the West when it comes to valuing the importance of collective action. The tendency to emphasize individual success stories reinforces the notion that personal achievement is the primary path to fulfillment. In this setting, Western tales commonly depict situations in which the main character faces a dilemma. This issue involves their personal well-being and the larger welfare of the world against their loved one.

In these stories, the hero usually picks those they care for without hesitation. The plot suggests that this is the only right choice. As a result, this leads to their ultimate victory and the salvation of both their loved ones and the world. Subsequently, there follows the standard distribution of narrative rewards for the main team, granted for their proper conduct.

This portrayal emphasizes that emotional bonds and personal relationships often take moral precedence over the greater good. Be that as it may, reality can differ significantly. It is not possible to depict a capable leader in such a simplistic manner. Therefore, the character chooses the broader benefit of the many, and I will explain the logic behind this decision.

This approach contrasts with the Asian experience, where a more collective perspective is preferred- particularly in countries like Japan and China, where cultural backgrounds play a significant role. Historically, these nations were governed by long-standing dynasties, some of which approached or even exceeded 800 years. Due to various circumstances, rulers often had to adopt pragmatic or compromise-based solutions to maintain balance within society, especially in the face of crises such as invasions, natural disasters, and revolutionary uprisings. The requirement for stability, especially in large and varied populations, required rulers to emphasize preserving equilibrium among various socioeconomic groups. This includes their loved ones.

As I mentioned earlier, the fatal flaw in regulating social relationships through sentimental connections lies in their subjectivity. In the context of leadership, emotions can shift from admirable values to instruments of discrimination. While it is a common belief that one should love all people equally, this idea is practically unrealistic. Individuals forge personal attachments shaped by their unique experiences and circumstances, leading to selective connections that complicate the ideal of equitable leadership.

This subjectivity further complicates the regulation of social relationships based solely on affective ties. Relying on personal links alone to manage a large group of people proves impractical. Although sentiments play a crucial role in interpersonal relationships, they cannot effectively address complex societal issues such as conflicts, crimes, or differing interests. These connections vary significantly among individuals and are expressed in diverse ways, which can result in inconsistencies and contradictions in societal regulation.

In larger societies, where personal connections may be weak or absent, formal structures become essential for maintaining order and justice. These frameworks serve to create a more objective system that can navigate the complexities of human interactions and ensure equitable treatment for all individuals, regardless of personal attachments.

In the context of family or small groups, sentimental links can act as a cohesive force. Even so, as society grows larger and more diverse, relying solely on emotions proves inadequate. Laws and principles are crucial for upholding social order, fairness, and security. While personal ties may thrive in intimate settings, they lack the mechanisms needed to resolve conflicts and manage differing interests that arise in broader communities.

Leadership requires making decisions that may diverge from moral or emotional expectations. To manage a larger group effectively, one must prioritize pragmatism alongside principles of law and justice. This often involves making difficult and sometimes unpopular choices that benefit the larger community. Such choices may occur even at the expense of individuals.

Over time, Griffith’s reflections contribute significantly to his profound internal conflict. Ultimately, this struggle leads to his transformation. Throughout his narrative, he remains focused on the greater good while navigating a persistent tension. This tension exists between his responsibility to the many and his preference for the few.

This duality, though sometimes subdued, resonates deeply within Griffith. Casca’s keen observations illuminate the complexities of the character’s mind, revealing an enduring enigma that persists despite unfolding events.

After the occurrences, Griffith chooses a transactional relationship with Gennon, an influential baron recognized for his involvement in the exploitation of young boys and for committing serious offenses against their well-being. In the aftermath, the character claims to have seduced Gennon. Yet, I maintain that this choice stemmed from the circumstances described earlier.

Casca views Griffith’s actions through a personal lens. She realizes that, without his intervention, she might have faced a similar fate. Griffith acts on her behalf upon acknowledging this situation. His intervention allows her to overcome her fate on her own; the implications are profound.

The 'threads of fate' belong to the domain of the gods. Casca appreciates his gesture when he rests his hand on her shoulder. This simple act dispels her fears and doubts. At this moment, she begins to see Griffith in a new light.

Nonetheless, Griffith is the type of person who takes on various things throughout the series, turning them inward. In this way, through this scene, Miura suggests a multitude of unusual phenomena surrounding the overarching project of the character.

Following this, the individual who previously instructed others to protect their bodies and autonomy—evident in Casca’s rescue scene—paradoxically undermines his own self-worth through his actions. It is ironic that someone so highly esteemed by followers, known for prioritizing ideals above all else, ultimately contradicts those very values.

In the fullness of time, these reflections deepen Griffith’s internal conflict. This deepening reinforces his inclination toward the greater good. Nevertheless, he continually navigates the interplay between his obligation to the many and his emotional connection to the few. The significance of his duality persists. It offers valuable insights into the intricacies of his character through Casca’s observations.

Cultural Prowess and Twisted Morality: Griffith’s Bold Break from Tradition

In light of these considerations, the implications of Griffith's actions reach far beyond legal boundaries. They play a complex role within the moral fabric of society. This situation prompts ongoing reflection and dialogue about our shared values and expectations. There’s a bittersweet irony in the character's gesture, which significantly shapes our understanding of him and the moral dilemmas faced. The character ventures beyond moral limits to safeguard others. In this way, this scene symbolizes the evolution of his moral code.

The first issue arises from Griffith's justification of actions as part of a larger, noble goal: securing the army and realizing his ambitions. In the domains of strategy and warfare, the character earns acclaim as the ultimate tactician and warrior, always calculating and anticipating the next move on the battlefield. Military successes have garnered admiration, elevating him to the status of a revered leader among followers. Similarly, as a commander, Griffith embodies God-like authority and strives for upper social class status. Yet, he resorts to actions often associated with social exclusion and marginalization.

The paradox lies in the fact that, to achieve his goals, Griffith must engage in acts that many would consider immoral and degrading. His resort to prostitution sharply contrasts with the self-image of a heroic leader. Therefore, elevated ambitions are attained through actions that inherently violate the moral integrity that they should uphold.

Ironically, Griffith's most effective and pragmatic move here has little to do with fighting. Instead, the character employs his own sexuality as a tool for survival. This decision highlights a significant cultural nuance. An emotionally devastating act is committed to save others. This choice contrasts sharply with the traditional notion of heroism, which typically favors risking the lives of his people in physical battle.

This cultural contrast is striking. Likewise, Griffith’s actions blur the line between the sacred and the profane. Thus, this becomes an ungodly payment for a reward in the clouds. These actions call into question the very notions of leadership, purity, honor, and ideals.

The character embodies a duality: valor on the battlefield and vulnerability in emotional sacrifices. Heroism extends beyond mere military victories; it encompasses the personal expenditures made for others. This dual nature, common in leadership, invites deeper reflection on what it truly means to be a hero.

Furthermore, Griffith's intricate character arises from noble intentions and a profound sense of responsibility. Ironically, this same nobility and broadly understood concept of good, combined with an overwhelming sense of duty, lead him to commit a morally questionable act. The decision to sacrifice oneself for the benefit of others may seem altruistic. Nonetheless, from a social perspective, it would be seen as pathetic and disgraceful. After all, we know the words we choose when we want to insult someone.

As a result, this seemingly "good" intention creates inner conflict, ultimately risking Griffith's personal dignity. By sacrificing his body, he secures essential resources for his army, allowing them to survive and continue their fight. Yet, despite this selfless act, he cannot expect gratitude or respect from his followers. If they were to discover this transaction, he would likely lose much of their admiration. The bitter irony remains: Griffith makes his greatest personal sacrifice for the sake of his people but will never receive recognition for it. Only one individual might ever "appreciate" this—Gennon. I believe that this is one of the most tragic aspects of his character—that he is capable of doing great things, but due to the many paradoxes and abstractions that accompany this, he will never receive either honor or gratitude.

Griffith's journey reveals a profound contradiction in his character. He openly expresses disdain for the nobility, criticizing their corruption, hypocrisy, and lack of principles. Yet, in a striking paradox, he chooses to sell his body to a member of the very class he despises. By engaging in transactional intimacy with Gennon, Griffith crosses moral boundaries and sacrifices his personal values to climb the social ladder. This internal conflict exposes a clash between his identity as a warrior and the emotional vulnerability that accompanies his forced compromises. In this moment, he becomes a victim of the very structures he seeks to overcome. This illustrates the tension between his ambitious goals and the moral dilemmas that arise from them.

Ultimately, to achieve his lofty aspirations, Griffith betrays the principles that define his resistance to the aristocracy. This action undermines his own integrity. It illustrates that even someone with Griffith's strength of will cannot fully escape the realities of social class, particularly at this juncture in his life. The decision highlights the irony of his situation: the man who opposes social hierarchies ultimately submits to them in pursuit of his ambitions and ultimately triumph over them.

The role reversal serves to emphasize the heavy moral price he pays for power. What he intended as a means to secure his future ultimately leads to his personal degradation. In his quest to control his fate, Griffith ironically finds himself forced into submission. This underscores the tragic depth of his character.

The controversy of the act touches on deeper cultural dynamics. In particular, it highlights how society often views sexuality as less acceptable than violence. For someone like Griffith, who is a master strategist and warrior, such acts of violence can even enhance his value as a person and character. No one questioned him when he won battles with Casca and Guts by his side. Similarly, his soldiers readily followed his commands without deeper reflections, choosing killing for money as their lifestyle. In contrast, sexuality delves into private and taboo areas, which are frequently associated with shame. In many traditions, dying in battle is celebrated as a heroic act. A code, such as the chivalric code, regulates how violence should be applied in order to be deemed honorable. In contrast, norms surrounding sexuality—especially in religious contexts—create stricter boundaries. This scene compels the audience to question whether Griffith’s actions are worthy of admiration or are shameful and degrading.

From a psychological and cultural perspective, the theme of self-betrayal in Griffith's decision to sell his body is particularly striking. It represents a profound violation of his inner self, leaving an indelible stain in many cultures. Unlike traditional heroes in literature and mythology—especially within Western narratives—who maintain their integrity even in the face of death, Griffith's choice can be viewed as a symbolic act of self-destruction. This act betrays his essence despite serving a pragmatic goal.

In this context, particularly within Western cultures, Griffith's actions may be interpreted as a moral transgression. It may even be considered a sin against his soul. This raises critical questions about the nature of dignity and duty. Does the need to protect one's personal integrity outweigh the obligation to care for others? Is it more virtuous to sacrifice personal values for the collective good, or is upholding one’s principles the highest form of nobility? The tension between these conflicting ideals underscores the complexity of Griffith's character and the broader implications of his choices.

This tension lies at the heart of Griffith's internal struggle. He navigates the boundary between the sacred and the profane while embodying both leadership and purity. Honor, along with other ideals, starkly contrasts with the pragmatic and survival instincts of humans. How can we define the line in these matters? What metrics should we employ to evaluate them?

Navigating Moral Waters:The Depth of Griffith's Choices

From the perspective of personal significance, Griffith must reassess his priorities and values. He needs to align them with his evolving identity.

In the arena of duty, Griffith grapples with a profound sense of obligation toward the sacrifices made by fallen soldiers. Although the character cannot bring them back to life, he believes it is possible to symbolically restore balance metaphysically. This deep responsibility compels Griffith to step back from the battlefield temporarily. Acknowledging the heavy blood price paid by others, he seeks to engage in acts of sacrifice. By doing so, the character aims to contribute to a larger tribute to their shared loss.

Griffith's quest for solace exists in a space where duty and sacrifice intertwine. The burden he carries is heavy and indefinable; yet, it propels him forward with a sense of goodwill and compassion toward both the fallen and those who continue to march on. He recognizes that his actions, though indirect, reflect the price that warriors pay in battle.

In a landmark scene, Griffith transforms his guilt and shame into a personal sacrifice. He offers his body as penance, underscoring the theme of individual sacrifice for the greater good. Psychologically, his relationship with Gennon represents a transference of responsibility. He channels his remorse into this act. Although he initially resists the idea, Griffith eventually makes a transaction with Gennon, skillfully employing charm and manipulation to navigate the complex emotions tied to the physical intimacy.

This transference involves managing emotions by embracing a role of desire. Griffith stands at a critical juncture where he must choose between pursuing his ambitions and preserving his integrity. In this context, he shifts the weight of his responsibility onto his own body. This adaptation reflects how feelings of guilt, shame, and moral uncertainty manifest in his transition with Gennon.

Griffith's actions remind us of the complex relationship between personal desires and duty. They illustrate the human capacity for both altruism and self-interest. Nevertheless, many view his chosen act as immoral and reprehensible, especially for those in positions of authority. Those in leadership roles must adhere to and reinforce societal norms. When their actions contradict these expectations, it can lead to condemnation and a loss of trust.

This act allows Griffith to confront his guilt, as he believes he is settling his moral debts. It reveals his internal struggles and dilemmas. In essence, it showcases the lengths to which a person may go to make sense of their role in times of conflict.

By leveraging his ability to manipulate emotions, Griffith transforms what seems like a weakness into a strategic tool for controlling his fate. His act of submitting to Gennon slowly will evolve into a carefully planned strategy. This physical closeness serves as both a method of emotional management and an ultimate sacrifice for higher ideals. Notably, this will, few years later, result in the ultimate resolution of the conflict that has lasted for a hundred years. Hence, this act illustrates his endeavor to reconcile his dreams of greatness with the shame and remorse that accompany them.

Revelatory Moments: The Narrative Impact of Casca's Realization

Analyzing this flashback reveals that earlier chapters portray Griffith as a visionary leader. Until now, there has been little opportunity to discuss him on a personal level. The focus has predominantly been on his professional demeanor. He is depicted as someone who adeptly manages a multitude of tasks with remarkable professionalism. In contrast to this portrayal, the final moments complicate his image, casting him in a dubious light.

His decision to involve Guts in a precarious venture—a choice that Guts likely regrets—adds layers to this perception. The tragic death of a child further complicates this situation. Miura crafts this scenario with deliberate nuance, leaving readers to ponder whether Griffith's actions were carefully planned or instinctive.

Alternatively, did a series of coincidences lead to the child's death, especially considering that this child might have held significance for future politics? The depiction of this moment is both authentic and impactful, shrouded in ambiguity.

Following this event, a controversial speech on friendship emerges. I will explore this speech later. Throughout these developments, we align our perspective with Guts.

Griffith's actions present him with formidable hurdles to overcome. Guts realizes that he never wanted to partake in the favor requested by his friend. This realization leads to a harrowing experience. In vivid contrast, Griffith shines brilliantly at a lavish ball. He indulges in fine dining, dancing, and flirting with a princess.

Meanwhile, his comrades gather in an inn. They speculate about how much he must be enjoying himself. They juxtapose their mundane experiences with his sophisticated existence.

Later, Griffith delivers a speech asserting that he has no friends.

Instead, he regards his associates as his equals. This declaration wounds his companions deeply. Exhausted and devastated, Guts comes to terms with the reality that Griffith is not entirely well. In fact, he appears even more ambitious, dream-oriented, calculating, and pragmatic.

This key moment underscores how profoundly the loss of a child can impact those left behind. Guts finds himself unexpectedly moved as he reflects on how Griffith ensnared him in such a tragic event. The panel depicting Griffith's demonic smile vividly fills the entire page, highlighting the ineffable and arcane nature of his influence.

This narrative progression delves into the complexities of Griffith's character. It illustrates his evolution from a visionary leader to a figure fraught with moral ambiguity and personal conflict.

This change profoundly impacts Griffith's relationships with his comrades, particularly with Guts. Reflecting on these events, Casca considers her past. In light of these flashbacks, she decides to confide in us about her changed perspective.

Miura employs this method to illustrate that, until now, Casca perceived Griffith much the same way as Guts and the reader did. Be that as it may, an event occurs that prompts her to change her perception of the character permanently. From this point onward, she treats him differently. This revelation indicates a significant shift in her attitude and adds depth to Griffith’s character and motives.

As Casca arrives with groundbreaking information regarding Griffith, Miura's choice to emphasize this scene serves several important purposes. This event redefines the central dramatic issue that propels the story forward. The impact on Griffith is inevitable. It increases the stakes and steers specific actions throughout the narrative.

With this in mind, Miura's choice to highlight this scene with such specificity is driven by several factors:

Revealing shifts in perception: The scene enriches the narrative by contrasting earlier beliefs with newfound revelations about Griffith. This contrast marks a significant transformation in the characters' understanding.

Enhancing emotional impact: By emphasizing key moments of realization, this part underscores critical turning points in both character development and the overall plot.

Reinforcing themes: The narrative explores themes of responsibility, the anguish of war, morality, self-loathing, and guilt. Through the characters' reassessment of their relationships and beliefs, deeper thematic elements are brought to light.

Foreshadowing future conflicts: The scene acts as a form of foreshadowing. It hints at forthcoming events or conflicts that will arise from these perceptual shifts. This emphasis highlights the significance of the moment and its potential ramifications for the storyline.

Re-establishing the central dramatic problem: This event redefines the central dramatic issue or event that propels the story forward. It directly impacts Griffith, escalating the stakes and driving specific actions within the narrative.

At crucial junctures, this scene will revisit Griffith additional times. Each time, he feels tempted to withdraw. Yet, he ultimately becomes convinced that he must continue moving forward. His progression clearly illustrates that the tragedy of being a leader often lies in having to make choices between equally flawed alternatives, rather than simply choosing between good and evil.

Layers of guilt: The psychological landscape of Griffith

So moving on to a brief discussion of how the scene is depicted. The balcony serves as an enigmatic and ambivalent space. It possesses a dual nature, as it both conceals and reveals. This unique position straddles the interior and the exterior of the building. Consequently, it creates a liminal space that invites Griffith's contemplation, gazing downward.

We cannot definitively state whether Griffith is internal or external. On one hand, he is inside the palace; yet, he finds himself outside the enclosed space. While appearing to be outside, he is, in fact, within the confines of the building. Essentially, the character occupies a space that exists between the two, representing a transitional zone that reflects his psychological state. As both a visionary leader and a morally ambiguous figure, Griffith embodies the complexity of his character. He has his own desires, but he also bears obligations.

In a crux morning scene, Griffith exhibits behavior that reflects the weight of his circumstances. He communicates his defensive nature through his stiff posture and withdrawn body language. Actions such as crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders vividly signal a deep sense of powerlessness. This illustrates his lack of control over his environment.

Water plays a central role in many world religions. It is often associated with baptism and symbolizes a yearning for moral renewal, as well as a return to innocence or purity. After Griffith’s encounter with Gennon, he questions whether he feels "dirty."

This question dramaticaly reflects his internal turmoil, as well as his existential conflict. The concept of water cleansing away original sin embodies Griffith’s strong desire for cleansing and redemption.

He longs to absolve himself of guilt and shame. He seeks a fresh start and spiritual renewal.

These actions highlight his wish to erase the emotional and psychological remnants of trauma. Engaging in such activities allows the characters to reconnect with their true selves. This process enables them to reconstruct an identity separate from their negative experiences. Initially, Griffith appears closed off; nonetheless, Casca’s arrival prompts him to gradually open up.

He straightens his posture and presents a more exposed demeanor. This action creates the illusion of being more infallible than he truly is. Although exchanging glances with her the previous night, it is ultimately Griffith who extends the invitation to the bath.

Griffith denies that his actions affect him. Yet, the signs of his internal turmoil are evident. His decisions appear rational on the surface. Nevertheless, beneath that facade lies a complex web of emotions and conflicts. Griffith’s unwavering ambition deepens the complexity of his path, adding guilt as he becomes increasingly conscious of the toll that his dreams exact. Despite this, he demonstrates a unique ability to shield himself from the emotions that might hinder his rise to power.

They effectively help raise funds and conserve the essential resources, such as weapons, horses, armor, food supplies, water sources, transportation, medical supplies, tents, financing, horse supplies, siege equipment. For all of that, this careful planning comes at a heavy mental cost.

In an intriguing moment, Casca confronts Griffith with numerous questions. She probes deeply into his motivations. Initially, Griffith stubbornly denies everything; nevertheless, he is unprepared for this level of introspection. Consequently, her inquiries seem to slowly destabilize him.

At times, Griffith seems to detach from the conversation, speaking as if he were talking to himself. His unsettling ease during this moment suggests that self-examination is an integral part of his character.

On that tragic morning, Miura vividly illustrates the character's self-destructive tendencies through graphic depictions of mutilation.

These stark images capture his inner anguish and turmoil. His relentless pursuit of his dream introduces another layer of complexity: guilt. Although he is fully aware of the sacrifices that his ambition requires, he skillfully shields himself from the emotions that could hinder his progress.

This passage marks an essential scene. Here, Griffith asserts his supermancy over the world through his body and blood.

This emphasis highlights the depth of his frustration and emotional pain. The mechanism serves not only as a means of expression but also as a ritualistic process. It allows Griffith to internalize his suffering. Through this catharsis, he gains insight into the nature of his pain by transforming it into something tangible that he can understand and contain. In doing so, he confronts his anguish and, to some extent, suppresses it.

In the arena of war, confronting death on the battlefield is an unavoidable reality. What sets Griffith apart from other commanders is the unwavering loyalty of his soldiers. In return for their dedication, he promises them lives beyond their wildest dreams, guiding them from poverty to a sophisticated existence. Yet, a poignant question lingers: What can he offer to the dead? This burden weighs heavily on him, as the realization of his dreams ultimately defines his true worth.

Similarly, we have encountered a comparable scene with Griffith on the post-battle grounds. Here, he grapples with existential questions. Ultimately, his inner turmoil and the tragic consequences of his actions are inseparable from his fate. The tides of destiny carry him along a path that is filled with ethical dilemmas, personal sacrifices, and his relentless pursuit of his dreams.

In the whirlwind of existence, human worth shines like a faint light. This light is vulnerable to the ever-present darkness of violence. Regardless of their status, individuals are but whispers against the roaring forces that shape their destinies. Within the brutal confines of social and military hierarchies, each life becomes a fleeting sound. This sound is rendered insignificant by the harsh dictates of power. This unforgiving reality emerges as the will of a far-off god, the tightening grasp of fate, or the iron law of a powerful aristocracy.

In such a merciless landscape, personal struggles form an evocative symphony of desperation and aspiration. The search for meaning often clashes with the indifference of a world that is rooted in cruelty.

The heavy burden of circumstances repeatedly dims the dreams that drive people onward. This dynamic unravels the very fabric of their lives in the face of greater, unyielding forces. Every soul caught in this relentless current stands as a testament to the fragility of human existence. They flicker like flames, striving to cut through the darkness, but they often find themselves swallowed by the chaos.

Referring to this scene, Griffith's statement at the end of the journey suggests that, regardless of our free will, destiny prevails. Ultimately, we all die in the end.

His ambition fuels the journey but deeply molds the character. It affects his psyche in significant ways. This chapter exposes inner conflicts and the psychological burden of navigating difficult political and personal territories. The quest for power and status is central to understanding this character, particularly in the way he seeks validation from fate to justify his actions.

This chapter delves into the essence of leadership. It highlights the responsibility that leaders have for others and addresses the importance of maintaining a public persona alongside emotional detachment. It is worth mentioning that his personal flaws, such as isolation, emotional detachment, rationalization, and stubbornness, are traits that make him quite effective at getting what he wants.

The character convinces himself that reaching his goal will erase any feelings of self-loathing. This unwavering pursuit of success becomes a way of managing inner struggles. For him, the magnitude of achievements determines the value of what has been sacrificed. This moment highlights both remarkable success and the profound internal conflict that accompanies it.

Consequently, the character will compare Gennon in the future to merely a stone on his path. Gennon is viewed as someone who elicits no emotional response, as Griffith literally tries to wash away his own disgust. He uses physical harm as a visualization of the deep internal damage that he is undoubtedly able to sustain.

Ultimately, we will see him and Gennon when the final resolution reveals that all of this was part of a larger equation. He didn’t even realize that he was constructing it. Nevertheless, the outcome shows him that it was worth it.

but in this defining moment, we see how he transforms victims into something entirely different. Something far more carnivorous.

The panel windows clearly suggest that Griffith had something to say. Yet, ultimately, he chose that it would be better to express it in silence.

Griffith embodies a striking duality of openness and solitude. Transparent in his dedication to achieving goals, he bears a profound and solitary burden of responsibility. The character resonates with tragic figures from European Gothic literature, where greatness and tragedy are inseparable. Griffith's true greatness stems from both his actions and his ability to remain silent while concealing inner doubts. This profound act of sacrifice shields others from spiritual turmoil and unnecessary chaos.

As Griffith’s demeanor changes, Casca quickly notices the falsehoods behind his actions, realizing that he is trying to deceive not only her but also himself. Despite this awareness, she chooses to accept the dynamic between them. Ultimately, Casca's response revolves around embracing the emotional support and comfort provided by the character. She observes how his simple gesture—placing a hand on hers, reminiscent of their early encounters—momentarily restores a glimpse of the person he once was. Though she mourns the loss of that person, the scene concludes with Griffith offering the comfort he has always provided.

Griffith willingly surrenders his personal freedom, joy, and sense of liberation to protect the greater good. This commitment transcends simple ambition; it acts as a bulwark against moral decay, preserving stability and order within his group. As he navigates this challenging path, the character exemplifies the discipline needed to maintain moral and spiritual integrity.

His actions are directed toward a higher purpose that extends beyond personal gain. Miura skillfully shapes Griffith into a complex figure whose journey weaves together dreams, guilt, and self-destructive tendencies. This chapter encapsulates the essence of his internal and external conflicts, presenting a pivotal moment that defines his narrative trajectory.

Within this framework, Miura’s insights regarding the differences between Griffith and Guts become particularly noteworthy. These contrasts emphasize Griffith's distinct nature and highlight his unique position within the narrative.

"Men are very bad at deviating from the path they once set, or they fail at it and die. Griffith is a typical example of this type. Griffith's mental structure is not as wild as Guts', so he feels pressured by the soldiers who died for him. But he is the type who tries to separate in his mind that he doesn't feel guilty. So, in terms of mental structure, Guts hardly thinks about the others he killed. Griffith is a victim of his subtlety."

The author illustrates Griffith's refined way of thinking, contrasting it with Guts, who often acts impulsively without considering the consequences. Miura acknowledges that the deaths of others weigh heavily on Griffith's psyche, highlighting his sense of duty and responsibility. This character's complex mindset, compassionate emotions, and sensitivity to moral dilemmas make him a victim of his internal struggles, leading to challenging conflicts.

Griffith’s emotional depth and awareness of consequences enhance the story's realism, making him highly relatable. Nonetheless his uniqueness lies in the monumental pressures of leadership he endures in life-or-death situations, a burden few experience. Unlike the average person, the character bears heavy responsibility for many lives, akin to someone facing such challenges only once every five decades. This combination of grounded realism and extraordinary circumstances shapes Griffith’s character, blending the intricacies of internal human conflict with the epic scope of a grand narrative.

Miura further emphasizes Griffith’s transcendence beyond brute bloodlust and simplistic thinking. Instead, he finds himself ensnared in a web of sophisticated self-reflection. This complexity renders him deeply human, as the character grapples with profound psychological turmoil stemming from his highly developed self-awareness, ultimately leading to his tragic nature.

Conclusions:

This detailed examination of Griffith's character reveals a complex individual driven by ambition. He grapples with profound moral dilemmas and personal sacrifices throughout his journey. His story illustrates the intricacies of leadership, as well as the significant costs associated with pursuing one's dreams.

Griffith surpasses others in strength. He draws power from his vulnerability and displays wisdom that may initially seem foolish. Amid the chaos, he embodies hope. With this in mind, an underlying sense of self-reproach lies within his love. Miura masterfully weaves these elements together, crafting Griffith into a deeply multifaceted character. His motivations revolve around a delicate interplay of dreams, guilt, and self-destructive tendencies.

This chapter captures the essence of Griffith's internal and external conflicts and the entire kaleidoscope of rich and layered meanings surrounds his character. It highlights a transformative moment that defines his narrative trajectory and propels his story forward. Furthermore, the symbolic representation of guilt raises the stakes and compels specific actions. Alongside his philosophical, social, theoretical, and egoistic arguments for deserving a castle, a crucial ethical and moral argument emerges as central to his character.

This pursuit underscores the complexity of his journey. Miura’s narrative prowess illuminates the inner workings of Griffith's psyche.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Drabble Challenge 2024 - Days 14 - 17

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm

I made these four into a little road trip arc, so I'm posting them together. Enjoy!

-

Scenic

They take to the road, leaving Reithwin behind with the dregs of the year's long summer. It is in good hands, set upon a path to mending. 

Aylin has never truly had a home. Isobel has never not been tied to one.

The two flit between enclaves and outposts, visit temples Isobel has read about but not seen, that Aylin has been to but barely recognises after a century.

Their scenic routes are delightful - what better view than from up in the sky? But even Aylin's mighty wings eventually feel the strain, and their feet must return to the ground.

-

Fortunate

Aylin worries at the gold bisecting her lower lip and thinks, for the hundredth time: How fortunate am I, to be granted this?

This heartfelt welcome of communities that have lost much, but still invite strangers to share whatever they have left. After a century of bearing close witness to the evil that men do, to the horrifying ease of cruelty, seeing this side of the realms she so fervently protects offers a different kind of healing.

And with glorious, breathtaking Isobel at her side throughout; ever-capable and eager to help, lead, fight, heal…

Aylin recovers herself, and Isobel flourishes.

-

Camping

When the autumn rains make camping miserable, turning roads to sucking mud and filling the sky with a drizzle Aylin baulks at flying them through, they pause in the first town they come across, and spend restful days luxuriating in the immense joy of the other's presence.

Isobel has been leaving the name Thorm out during introductions. Though subtleties of mortal society are sometimes lost on Aylin, this does not escape her notice. 

Avoiding judgement that should never have been hers? Imposing a barrier upon the past? Aylin, warm, relaxed, used to proclaiming her parentage with pride, does not know.

-

Wander

"How do you find the wandering life, darling?" Aylin asks as they leave their sanctuary.

"A true questing Selûnite cleric, accompanying you, her knight-errant? Ketheric would never--" Isobel stops herself with a bittersweet smile. "The stuff of dreams, more than a century old."

There it is again. Aylin wonders how it feels, severing oneself from a parent once deeply loved. Imposes the picture over herself and her divine progenitor-- 

An impossible thought. Her mother could never wrong her so, sully everything they both stood for.

She tugs Isobel's hand into a kiss. "Then let us go and fulfil them all."

-

[bubuslutty]

Day 4: baked salmon

this is part 4, all parts

pairing: demon/angel!fem reader x 141

word count: 2.3k

tags: no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warnings: none

summary: Angel accidently falls asleep under the sun and gets saved by a knight in shining armor, or an angel, it's the same thing in her head, both glowing and glorious. + imagine getting cockblocked by potatoes 🧍‍♀️

a/n: I know the chapters are called day 2, day 3, ect but it doesn't necessarily mean they happen one right after the other, it's just days of her interacting with the boys.

Two days in the office as a sex therapist wasn't too bad. Angel actually likes working with clients because she gets to see humans and how they react to their environment and relationships, with others and themselves. Of course, she had to do a bit of homework and study to be qualified, but it’s nothing a couple of days of intense learning and superhuman intelligence couldn’t fix. All she had was to tap into her powers and suddenly, she knew everything she had to know.

How convenient it was to be an angel, or a demon in her case.

Angel’s usual wish assignments are more often than not related to earthly desires such as money, fame and lust, maybe love too, but she always had to realise wishes that were considered a sin in many religions. Greed, gluttony, lust. She has worked with all of them. And whether those wishes were good or evil, it doesn’t matter to her, because fate takes care of that, her job is to realise the wish and nothing else.

By human standards, she would definitely be considered a demon, a succubus even, especially now.

“I should get a tattoo…” Angel mumbled, lounging on her messy bed, laptop on her stomach, looking at images of succubus womb tattoos. Kuromi meowed, removing the woman’s attention from her laptop’s screen.

“Hm?” Angel hummed, looking at her cat, standing by her bedroom door. Kuromi meowed again, making Angel gasp, “Yes! You’re so right!”

The woman immediately closed her laptop and ran to her phone, checking the weather. It looked like today was going to be hot and nice, even though it was cold as shit the day before.

That’s typical British weather for you.

“You’re so smart, Kuromi.” Angel said and sent a flying kiss to the cat, who lifted her tail and walked out, completely unbothered. Angel opened one of her drawers that had multiple bikinis and swimsuits. She started getting naked on the spot, excited to change and go downstairs to sunbathe in her garden. When she changed into one of her bikini sets, she dug for one of her hats and got a random green bucket hat for the sun, shades and a bottle of suncream.

If there’s one thing she’ll never forget while being in this realm, is that the sun is unforgiving and harsh, unless you want to look like a baked salmon or get skin cancer, you have to protect yourself.

Angel hummed while walking down her stairs, going straight for the fridge and getting herself a small water bottle and a Coke in case she got thirsty, and then a random magazine that was left on her counter, a Bluetooth speaker and a yoga mat.

She happily started getting settled in the middle of her garden, where there was no shade. Angel could hear some of her neighbours hanging out in their gardens too, low music, people chatting, children giggling and dogs barking and elderly people complaining about the noise. She sat on her yoga mat and started rubbing sun cream all over her skin, making sure to not miss a spot, and struggled to get her back but ended up giving up, “I’ll do it later when I turn around…” She grumbled.

After setting up her music and lowering the volume, she laid down on her back, sunglasses and bucket hat on. Angel took a deep breath, loving the heat of the sun and closed her eyes.

“I’ll do it later when I turn around…” She, in fact, did not turn around.

Angel ended up falling asleep with her mouth open, right under the sun, in the process of baking. However, earlier, the sky was not the only thing that witnessed her stupidity in real-time.

Her very sexy neighbours all decided to hang out outside, to enjoy the sun like normal people when they saw her asleep in the middle of her garden. John came out in shorts and sandals, wearing his very stylish bucket hat and sunglasses, a book in hand when he saw her. Of course, he saw her, they literally had the shittiest, lowest fence ever, and it practically gave no one much privacy. But it’s not like they're going to complain when they get to see her looking like that.

“Steaming Jesus…” Johnny said, lowering his sunglasses so he can get a better look.

“What sort of shitty cliché film are we in?” Gaz laughed in disbelief. Not only did they have a nice house (minus the shitty garden fence), but a very hot, very friendly, smart and funny neighbour.

“Are you complaining?” Soap asked the man.

“Me? Hell no, that’s one beautiful woman.” Gaz said with a nod.

“Stop staring, you creeps.” Ghost came up from behind them and grabbed both of their necks, lowering their heads. Both Soap and Gaz whined at their superior, turning around and sitting in their garden lounge chairs, doing their own thing.

John already had his nose buried in his book while Ghost closed his eyes and covered his face with a cap. Gaz was playing music through a Bluetooth speaker and was knitting at the same time, humming to the lyrics of whatever song was playing, and Soap was doodling in a sketchbook, bopping his head to Gaz’s music.

20 minutes passed peacefully until John closed his book and checked his watch. His change in demeanour was immediately noticed by his men, even Ghost lifted the cap and peeked at his captain with one eye. “It’s been 20 minutes and she hasn’t moved an inch, how long has she been sleeping there for?” He said with a frown.

“That woman is literally going to bake under the sun,” Gaz said, looking at Soap.

“She will if we dinnae wake ‘er up.” Soap agreed.

“Why do you even care?” Ghost asked, surprising Price.

“Because we’re not shite neighbours, Simon.” Soap said in that annoying voice he thinks drives Ghost up the wall, but Ghost secretly thinks it’s cute.

“Yeah, don’t be a dickhead, Simon,” Gaz said, batting his eyelashes at the soldier, hiding his annoying grin behind the scarf he was knitting.

“Enough, go wake her up, Gaz.” John said, and Gaz placed his unfinished scarf in his chair and walked up to the fence, and cleared his throat loudly.

Angel didn’t move an inch and he turned around, to look at the others.

“Call ‘er name!” Soap whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Ghost side-eyed Soap, who absolutely ignored him.

“Angel, wake up, please?” Gaz tried again, squinting his eyes to try to see if her chest was moving up and down. Call him paranoid but she wasn’t moving, and he couldn’t for the life of him see if she was breathing or not from his position.

Gaz immediately jumped over the fence and rushed to her side and placed two fingers on her pulse, at the side of her neck. Soap, Ghost and Price were all up now, standing next to the fence, and all sighed in relief when Gaz turned around and gave them a thumbs-up.

Gaz scanned her lax face and decided to lift her head with one hand and used the other to gently tap one of her cheeks, “Angel, wake up.”

Angel woke up with a gasp as if she was holding her breath the whole time, maybe she was, who knows, her body can do freaky stuff when it forgets it's wearing the skin of a human. When she opened her eyes, Angel was so confused, was she in heaven?? Because what the shit, this is a real angel right there.

“What time is it?” She groggily said, her hand going up by itself to cup Gaz’s cheek.

“Half past one. You were knocked out and we got worried you’d bake under the sun.” Gaz said with a chuckle, and reality finally hit her. Angel abruptly sat up and Gaz grabbed both of her shoulders, “Hey, slow down.”

“Water, Gaz.” Price reminded the man and Gaz immediately grabbed the now warm water bottle next to her, unscrewed the cap and poured a bit in his palm and patted her hot cheeks.

“Oh, that feels good.” Angel moaned, not realising how hot she truly was.

“That was dangerous, you know that right? Sleeping under the sun with no shade.” Gaz said, wiping his wet hand on his naked chest.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep…” Angel sheepishly said, glancing at the other three men looking at her.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, and thank you for waking me up, Gaz.” Angel said, placing a hand on his, which was on her yoga mat, next to her thigh. Gaz’s eyes widened, looking at her hand on his and looked back up again. She was smiling at him, and his heartbeat sped up. Gaz could feel his guys looking at him, at them, but he couldn’t look away from her eyes and lips. Especially her lips.

“You don’t, uh” he choked out then cleared his throat, “You don’t have to apologise…”

“Okay.” Angel whispered, those big beautiful eyes staring at him like he was the sun and the sky, and Gaz felt like he was going to fucking die.

“Who fancies a barbeque? I feel like grilling, today.” Price spoke, breaking the spell. Gaz retrieved his hand and stood up, stretching his arms behind his head, trying to hide his flustered state.

“Oh yeah!” Soap grinned.

“That sounds really nice, enjoy your barbeque, guys.” Angel said, collecting her phone and Bluetooth to get inside, she had enough sun for today. Maybe she’ll watch a show on her laptop, or read a book.

“Where are you going?” Price frowned, stopping her in her tracks, all of her stuff clutched in her arms.

“What?”

“You’re invited, Angel.” Price said.

“Am I?”

“Of course, lass! What type of neighbours would we be if we didnae invite our favourite neighbour?” Soap said with a huge grin.

“Soap, I’m the only neighbour you’ve spoken to since moving in.” Angel deadpanned and Soap shrugged with his arms crossed, the dog tags glinting over his hairy chest under the sun.

“I’ll go get the grill ready.” Ghost said, walking towards their shed.

“Hi, Ghost!” Angel quickly greeted him.

“Hi, Angel.” He replied, without looking back.

Gaz slowly walked up to the fence, “I’ll go prep the meat.” he mumbled and jumped over, glad to escape her hypnotising eyes and lips.

“Wait, I don’t know what to bring!” Angel’s smile fell when she realised she has never been invited to a barbeque before and has no idea what to bring, she has seen humans having barbeques but she doesn’t know what they would like her to bring.

“You don’t have to bring anything, honey.” Angel was now right in front of her fence, knees touching the scratchy wood and watching Price move the chairs around to make space for the grill.

“Uhm, Soap! Please come over and get stuff you guys don’t have.” Angel quickly said and grabbed for the man’s arm as if he’d run away. She really didn’t want to be rude and not bring anything to the barbeque, and she knows that Soap loves food and knows so much more about cooking than she does.

This is absolutely pathetic for someone with her powers, but she never claimed to be perfect, has she?

And how could Soap ever say no to that face?

“Of course, hun.” Soap grinned and jumped over the fence, taking the water bottle and unopened can of Coke away from her. “And these are going in the trash.” He said, walking inside her house and straight to the kitchen as if he always lived there.

.

.

.

“For how long are they supposed to boil?” Angel asked, frowning down at a pot with boiling water and whole potatoes.

“Leave the potatoes alone and come chop the chives.” Soap said, glancing up at the woman with amusement. Angel was still wearing her bikini and her cute green bucket hat, standing there in the kitchen with him.

Angel sighed and stood next to Johnny, grabbing the knife and starting to chop the chives. Soap watched the woman try to chop the chives and get frustrated that it was hard even though the chives were thin and small. Soap had to admit, she might be PhD smart and hot as fuck but she was actually useless with a knife.

Soap sighs, standing behind her and grabbing the knife away from her hand. “Watch, that’s how you do it.” He said and she nodded, watching him hold the chives with one hand and chop them with the other with ease. “See? Easy peasy, now try again.”

Angel grabbed the knife and tried again, and she was instantly better, a bit slow but better than her mediocre previous tries. “How long does potato salad take to make?” Angel looked over her shoulder and asked, looking at Soap, who was still standing behind her.

“Like half an hour? The only long parts are boiling the potatoes and chilling the salad.” Soap said, making her nod and turn back to chopping her chives.

“Do you have someone, lass?” Soap suddenly asked, making her look up from her chives and stare at the cupboard in front of her.

“Am I dating someone?” She repeated.

“Aye.”

Angel noticed the change in Soap’s usual friendly and teasing tone, and placed her knife down on the chopping board, and slowly turned around.

“No, why?” Angel raised a brow and Soap kept looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“Just got a lad wondering.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his glorious naked and tan chest.

“Just a lad wondering…” Angel hummed, touching his dog tags with one hand, “Are you dating someone?”

“No, why?” Soap slowly grinned and took a step forward.

“Just got a lass wondering.” Angel grinned back, pulling him forward by his dog tags.

A loud hiss startled the two of them and Angel panicked, “The potatoes!”

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