#OH let me know if the image description needs improving

[axolkitkat]

[ID: An excerpt from an article, stating, "Most scientists define wetness as a liquid's ability to maintain contact with a solid surface, meaning that water itself is not wet, but can make other sensation. But if you define wet as 'made of liquid or moisture', as some do, then water and all other liquids can be considered wet." The phrase 'water itself is not wet' is highlighted. End ID.]

WAIT. PAUSE. WHAT. WHAT???

chat

CHAT

[cannedwyrms]

Spoilers for shadow of the erdtree, but...

I NEED to talk about Marika, okay?

In the base game, I thought she was interesting, don't get me wrong, but the amount of DEPTH SOTE gives her is INCREDIBLE.

The first time I got to the Shaman Village, I instantly knew she was going up on my Good Antagonist List™ immediately.

And, because of that, I wanted to have another ramble about her, as is becoming customary for this blog.

So, let's go over what exactly we learned about Marika and what this informs us about her character.

I think the Shaman Village really takes center stage here. The music, the item descriptions, it all combines to paint a gentler, more human image of Marika. In the base game, she was more like a god (which made sense seeing as she was one), but we see a more human side of her here.

So, the Shaman Village. It's the place where Marika grew up, her home. Unfortunately for her, shaman bodies are apparently quite good for putting into big jars, which was something the Hornsent loved to do. We've all seen it before, right? I mean, we've all seen a zealous religious society commit atrocities against an underclass in fiction, not the jar thing.

And the Hornsent are a zealous religious society. They used the bodies of shamen in jars to make saints. Which sounds like complete nonsense, I know, but that's just elden ring lore babey.

Anyway, it's my personal headcannon, if not outright fact, that the Hornsent's persecution of Marika's people is what led her down the path of becoming a god. Like Miquella, she wanted to make the world a gentler place. Unlike Miquella, though, she only wanted to make it gentler for her people.

In short, it's my belief that Marika became a god in large part to inact revenge on the hornsent.

Okay, pause. I know Elden Ring Lore is like, a big deal and all, and anything I say is basically unfounded on everything except intuition, my own personal interpretations, and because I believe my theories fit thematically within the wider narrative, but just stay with me on this, alright? I think there's a real undertone of misogyny in the fanbase, and sometimes that can color interpretations of certain characters even unintentionally. Marika has gotten this treatment worse than most, I think, because she is a prominent woman who does morally questionable things. Beyond the inherent misogyny, though, I've noticed that a lot of people interpret Marika's actions very uncharitably. Anyways, all that to say, this is my post, and I care more about everything working together thematically than digging deep into the depths of the lore to find out that "oh, actually Scrupulous the Untested mentioned this flower, which represents pure evil, and he was talking about Marika when he did," or whatever. A strawman? Perhaps, but you get my point. Still, I'll try to remain true to my understanding of the lore, but I'm bound to make mistakes. I'm not an expert. Sorry for the long aside, I just felt these were important points that wouldn't fit in elsewhere.

So, I believe Marika sought godhood partly to punish the Hornsent, although I won't pretend to understand her full motivations.

I believe this is what Ymir was referring to when he said "I fear that you have borne witness to the whole of it. The conceits - the hypocrisy - of the world built upon the Erdtree. The follies of man. Their bitter suffering. Is there no hope for redemption? The answer, sadly, is clear. There never was any hope. They were each of them defective. Unhinged, from the start. Marika herself. And the fingers that guided her. And this is what troubles me. No matter our efforts, if the roots are rotten, then we have little recourse."

My interpretation of this is that Marika's intentions for godhood were impure. She wasn't seeking to improve things, just punish the ones who wronged her people. Thus, her reign was doomed from the start.

Now, let's get into what really sold me on Marika as a character.

There are, to my knowledge, two items you can find in the Shaman Village.

The Minor Erdtree incantation, and the Golden Braid talisman. Let's take a look at the flavortext for these two items and see what we can glean, starting with the Minor Erdtree.

"Marika bathed the village of her home in gold, knowing full well that there was no one to heal."

So, by the time she returned to her village, everyone was already dead. How devastated must Marika have felt, to return from claiming godhood and revenge, only to find that there was no one left to avenge. She was alone.

Here's the text we get from the golden braid:

"A braid of golden hair, cut loose. Queen Marika's offering to the Grandmother. Boosts holy damage negation by the utmost. What was her prayer? Her wish, her confession? There is no one left to answer, and Marika never returned home again."

Man, reading that, with the shaman village music in the background, just thinking about a young Marika resolving herself to become a god, to save her village and people from the Hornsent, the anger she must have felt, the fear and solemn resignation of her goal, only to return again to find herself alone. What was her wish? What did she leave behind in her village? We'll never know, because Marika is alone. Her people are gone. In the end, she couldn't save them.

Is it really any wonder that she eventually began to doubt the very order she had founded?

But now let's talk about some other aspects of Marika's character that the dlc reveals.

Namely, her Omen sons.

Imagine how Marika must have felt, looking down at her newborns to see the very horns that had destroyed her people upon them. It's just so DAMN good, character wise. There must have been so many mixed feelings surrounding them. I wonder if she even felt any love for them at all when she saw those horns. Like, I don't know, obviously, but I imagine she felt conflicted. She didn't outright kill them, which is good, but she did leave them chained in a sewer for most of their lives, so yeah not great.

But that's what I love about her character. Elden ring, in a lot of ways, is about how victims can become victimizers. How, in pursuit of noble goals, or revenge, you can lose yourself and become just as bad or worse than the people you set out to punish. That's Marika's character. That's why she's part of the List™.

Because Marika started out as someone angry at the systems that oppressed her and sought to change them. She was the hero of the story, in the beginning. But, in pursuit of her goal, she lost herself and became a bit of a monster.

SOTE, to me, revealed that Elden Ring's story is one of complete moral grey. Everyone is working towards a cause that they believe in, including you. The ends justify the means for you, even if it means striking down a mostly innocent grieving woman, hunting your fellow tarnished, or turning on the ones who trusted you and called you a compatriot. Ranni, Miquella, Radahn, Fia, D, Godrick, Malenia, Leda, Ansbach, Thiollier, Gideon, this applies to everyone.

The same goes for Marika. In trying to punish the hornsent and build a better future for herself and her people, she lost her people and eventually succombed to her worst tendencies.

That's why St. Trina pleads with you to stop Miquella. Because to become a god is to sacrifice everything that makes you human.

Marika took that sacrife willingly, in order to punish the ones who hurt her, and in the end, that's what broke her.

I think she recognized this, and that's why she set the stage for you to become Lord. In the chance that someone might do better than her, make the world a gentler place, not for a god, not for ambition or power, not in revenge or anger, but im compassion. Whether or not that's how you choose to rule is, of course, up to you, but I like to imagine that Marika, after everything, found something to hope for again.

Okay, that's the end of my thoughts. Was any of that true to the lore? Who cares. It's how I like to interpret what we were given about Marika. If I'm wrong, then whatever. I'll still be right in my heart.

Alright, bye. Go play shadow of the erdtree, or watch someone else play it at the very least. Next time, I might talk about Miquella, or maybe Leda and her allies.

Someday I'll be brave enough to talk about Agent Black. Someday. But that would maybe turn into a full ten page essay about why Iconoclasts is so very good and I'm not sure the two people who care about what I say here are ready for that.

Okay bye.

A brief adendum to this post:

Because I was analyzing Marika from a literary perspective, focusing on the sympathetic angle SOTE added to her character, I realize I forgot something important, so let me say it now:

Marika's persecution does in no way justify her genocide of the hornsent.

That idea kind of got lost in the shuffle, but it's definitely an important aspect of her character. She's an antagonistic force in the world who has done some very awful things to further her goals, more so than any other antagonist in Elden Ring. Her tragic past only adds dimension to her character, not an excuse for the atrocities she comits.

Okay, bye again.

[fainthedcherry]

2024 Human Art VS 2019 Human Art !!!!!

AS PROMISED, HERE'S A POST WITH SOME NEW ART!!!

And also an art comparison, just to see, how much I improved in drawing the 2 bois <3

I'm MEGA tired despite having slept after work, but I WON'T let that deter me from writing a description!! YAPNADO AHEAD;

FINN AND MARCOOO. FINNANMARCO. BEEN A WHILE SINCE I'VE ACOUSTICALLY AND FERALLY YELLED ABOUT MY 2 FICTIONAL MEN WHOM ARE CLOSE TO MY HEART.

I'm SO glad, that in the new drawing, Marco finally looks like the twink he always was, but still enough meat on the bones to look NORMAL lmao, can't say that about the 4 other sketches of me trying to redraw this ref for years. xD (why yes, his wings took forever, why do you ask? /lh)

I'M MEGA SUPER DUPER GLAD, that Finn FINALLY looks like a chubby, wild bastard TOO, OH TOOTHPASTE MAN, HOW MANY HEARTACHES YOU GAVE ME OVER STRUGGLING TO DRAW AN ENDOMORPHIC BODY TYPE. BUT I CAN NOWWWWWWWwwww!!!!!

God this habit of loudly reading out my posts as I type them made me realise what a bad Schwarzenegger impression I do on accident bc I'm overly excited to post something after a month of silence SDKFSKLDG

ONE THING I ALWAYS WANTED TO DO. IS PUT EVERY DETAIL I NEEDED ON A BIG REF. SO I DID! I've drawn closeups of the boys's eyes, I've drawn Finn's tongue so that I don't need to constantly remind myself what his blush and flesh colours were sdfkldsgkl, I FINALLY denoted their heights, so people know that they're tall TALL dudes (and that Finn obviously will struggle w/ his lanky mfing legs, we LOVE giving a middle-aged man heart attacks once he reaches his 40's!!!)

ANNDDD ALSO SOME SIDE VIEWS OF THEM. The last side-view I had of F & M, looked REAL bad. Like, Marco's face looked WAY too stereotypically European (to my fault bc surprise surprise not many African people live in Europe so I had poor frame of reference but I've been fixing it via looking up images online instead, at least it helps but yeah, I have a hard time so far unfortunately💀), Finn's was just... B u c k e t. NOT LIKE HANDSOME BUCKET. BUT JUST BUCKET. IT NEEDED FIXING (fun fact I accidentally made Finn have the most attractive jaw shape for men according to beauty standards and I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I JUST WANTED THIS MAN TO LOOK S Q U A R E AND THAT'S IT, MINECRAFT STEVE HAS MORE RIZZ THAN MOST MEN OFFICIALLY).

OH YEAH ALSO A CLAW REF AGAIN FOR FINN!!! His old ref looks too cool for me to give up on it tbh even as dated as it is sfjklsdglk, BUT I felt like I needed to redraw them properly.

FUNNILY ENOUGH A PERSON I COMMISSIONED SAID I HAVE SOME REALLY CLEAN AND NICE LINEART. I wish I heard that 5 years ago when I was really insecure about my bad lineart skills xD, I don't use lineart anymore nowadays outside of reference-drawings like these I don't plan to redraw in the next years unless necessary soooo yeah! They're gonna appear much rarer unless I go off and about making more ref sheets of all of my Sonc OC's sfklsdgsdfksdg

This drawing took 5 days to make btw. Not the hours spent on this LOL. 5 days of my life I'll never get back tho bc I care too much about my babies and I feel they deserve proper refs sdfklsdglk

WHAT ELSE SHOULD I MENTION.....HOPEFULLY I PLAN TO DRAW MORE HUMAN REFS IN THE FUTURE INSTEAD OF STAY IN MY COMFORT ZONE OF SONIC OCS ONLY. I for years wasn't confident in my ability to draw humans, but I can do so NOW at least!!!!!!!!!! Even if I'm like...3 years too late to how I wish my art looked back then already dsklfdsg, I have some high standards I need to continue to knock down as my 2024 resolution sdfklsdg

^IT'S BEEN WORKING THOUGH AS YOU CAN TELL BC I'VE BEEN UPLOADING SOME BAD DOODLES AND SKETCHES, BEEN DRAWING MORE GARBAGE AND BECAME MORE INVOLVED IN MY BELOVED FANDOMS. I wanna continue doing so! It was the most fun I've had with art ever. I hope to properly meet more fandoms I left in the past bc I thought it'd be embarrassing to share my passion for a franchise back then. I EMBRACE THE CRINGE NOW AS AN ADULT AT LEAST EVEN IF 7 YEARS TOO LATE ON THAT FRONT TOO. We all age and mature ig but I just become more silly year by year,,, c:

Oh yeah if you also see this btw lemme know, whether the new watermark tiles are subtle enough to not be noticed!!!! I know, watermarks are annoying and nobody likes them, but ever since AI invasions, I REFUSE to put my work online without ANY form of proof that somebody took it from my page. I just want people to stop lying on the internet for cloud and pick up a pencil. It's not that hard smfh. The only time I could excuse AI art is w/ amputees man. That's the only time I could empathise with someone, who wants to be an artist but LITERALLY can't bc they got dealt a bad hand in life. I digress my AI hate can be rambled about some other day, I know I love yapping and writing essays about THAT topic for sure sfklsdklg

I chose to post this ref to my Tumblr first tho, bc I still wanna work on my drawing of Abbacchio,,,, he is quite dear to me and I'd love to put effort into a doodle of him that won't take too long. Like 4 hours or 5 hours tops. I still have yet to figure out, if his cute star shape on his head is a hat or part of his hair. Bc I CAN'T TELL TBH AND I'VE BEEN DRAWING IT AS PART OF HIS HAIR PATTERN BUT I THINK IT'S A HAT NOW EVER SINCE I LOOKED AT MORE ASBR CAPS OF HIM I TOOK FOR REFERENCES. xD

Also another side-note, but I've ofc reduced down the lankiness of the dudes I draw™, but I in result wanted to sliiightly make larger feet/hands bc my Sonic phase will continue to possess me 'til the end of time /hj, if you also wanna lemme know what you think on that, bls do! I am messing about with stylization still. I am finding my footing with stylizing humans sOOO yeah!!!! I hope to some day be satisfied with my artstyle change of '24! So far it's been really rewarding and eye-opening to me and my journey as an artist for my 7 years of existing on the 'net w/ my silly goobers I like to scream about to in the void <3

Once again, tagnado also incoming below bc I dunno how to properly tag my art so lemme throw in things I THINK are relevant to this post sdkldsgkl

See you hopefully tomorrow w/ a lil doodle dump if I get around to it!!!! : D

[questi0nablem0rality]

Well yes hello welcome to me!! Finally got around to doing this!

I’m Sam but you’re welcome to call me Echo as well! I got by She/they pronouns, 19 (as of now muahaha), b-day is September 30th and I’m a complete dork LMAO

Currently in the working world right now but I’m hoping to go to college to become a hairstylist! I love love love doing hair (I’m a creative type can you tell?) and I hope to do a lot of people’s hair one day! I love drawing, writing, talking, reading, anything with music. Oh gosh I even know how to play six instruments! Mallet percussion being the main one :]

Hmmm let’s see…oh I’m autistic! I’ll try to use tone tags as much as a can and do my best to make Image descriptions for the visually impaired! You’ll always find the IDs in the “alt” text of the pic :]

Some of my other blogs and places to find me!

Here’s my linktree

You’ll be able to find my other social medias there!

As for blogs?

Feel free to check out @pain-of-redemption for your fallout needs and @the-daycare-assistant for my weird look into Five Night’s At Freddy’s!

Tags

I’ll be updating this as I use my blog more but the main ones are

#my art

#silly askbox shenanigans

Speaking of the askbox feel free to go crazy in there! I love hearing what people have to say! I don’t bite I promise :]

Need a little something to read? I’ve got you covered!

Feel free to check out my fic “Hearts and Gears” on AO3! It’s a FNAF DCA based mafia fic and I’m putting my soul into this!

I have another fic that I’m gonna be reworking called “It’s All Sunshine and Rainbows Here” centering around the Daycare Attendant and my self insert. There’s some story problems I’ve gotta fix so it’ll be new and improved sometime soon!

Well I do believe that’s all for now. Take care ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between! Take care!

[lady-assnali]

Rosé teaches choir and drama. Denali teaches art. There’s drama with two of Rosé’s golden students. Of course she asks Denali for help.

“I’m not fixing this for you.” Denali comes sauntering into Rose’s classroom after third block shaking her head. Behind the air of dramatic irritation is a soft, teasing grin. She’s fiddling with the ties of the paint-smeared apron, pencil skirt and sheer sleeved lavender top spotless underneath. A few straggling students wave to her as they pass and she smiles politely, waiting for the last of them to shuffle out the door before glaring at her friend. Denali’s email had been flooded with flowery messages all morning long, their coded language letting her know through the school slack server that two of Rose’s favorite students had been giving each other the cold shoulder all morning.

               Rose is devastated, and very clearly frustrated by this latest development. They’d been letting the group down, and Denali had gotten vocal evidence of the fact during the group’s second block rehearsal earlier in the day.

Sorry, an email had read just minutes after a train wreck run-through of a Christmas song Denali hoped she’d never hear again. This is ridiculous. How do you get high schoolers to understand show business? You know how many people at the bar I’ve argued with?

That’s why I teach an individually ranked sport. Denali swings back. My Aries ass could never handle all of these egos. Get with it or go home, honestly.

She’d been attempting to bring out the fun side of her nervous baby freshman during their still-life unit, putting on a lofi mix of top 40s and letting the kids arrange their own tableaus of random assorted objects from her still packed apartment. Their moments of quiet chatter had been joined by the absolute misfire of Rose’s honors choir, those whom Denali had grown quite fond of listening to. Today, she’d had to shut her door to block out the dissonance. Of course Rose had noticed.

“I’m not asking you to fix the problem, I’m just asking you to do your job.”

Denali lets a puff of air from her nose as she scoffs, shaking her head.

“And where exactly in my job description do you think you’ll find the words snoop or tattle tale?”

“Baby, it’s right next to where you signed on to be the closest friend I have here. Also included in that column is the clause where you get an incredible opportunity to discover the piping hot tea that can happen between two high school girls with incredible talent and the naivety of feeling young and limitless.”

The blonde leans over a bit more at this, shifts her weight onto one heel-clad foot. Propping her head on one hand, a smirk and a pair of glimmering eyes bring the dimples out to play. She makes a game of withholding her answer although both know she’ll say yes; it’s a little harmless eavesdropping, maybe pairing the two up for projects or critiques to better understand their dynamic. And Rose is right-they’ll need to work together if they want the show to come off without a hitch.

“I have them both in my next class. We’re working on architectural blueprints this week.”

Rose raises an eyebrow, turns her head slightly, and Denali instantly translates.

“Funny how the fate of a random generator put them at the same table for collaborative conversation this week, isn’t it? You want the gossip on our thread, or,”

“-Oh no, you’ll be seeing me turn the corner the second the bell rings. Maybe I can even let the intro drama class do some light improv while I sneak my way over…”

“Nope, no way. You will not interrupt my class today. You can wait.” The bell rings then, pulling the pair back to reality as the hallway begins to fill with noise once again. Denali pushes herself off of the piano, pulling a serious face before walking by Rose’s desk, snatching from it a red pen that she twirls between her fingers. One last look leaves her with the image of her friend wiggling her fingers from the piano bench before winking with a mischievously crooked smile.

“We’ll see about that.” 

[brown-little-robin]

tumblr year in review—but only the interesting parts!

I posted 4,072 times in 2022. That's 3,137 more posts than 2021! (yeah, because I joined tumblr in August 2021. Looks like my posting actually slowed down this year!

595 posts created (15%)

3,477 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@swinging-stars-from-satellites

@lovesodeepandwideandwell

@thatfriendlyanon

@bluesidedown

@called-kept

many other very beloved friends!

I tagged 3,787 of my posts in 2022

Only 7% of my posts had no tags

#art - 193 posts (I've mostly stopped using that tag now. It was too broad... as you can tell :P)

#aesthetic - 147 posts (sounds about right)

#batfam - 144 posts (y u p)

#strange redemption intertextuality - 140 posts (NICE. finding these quotes is one of the most fun parts of tumblr to me.)

#yes - 110 posts (listen, I just REALLY AGREE with a lot of things!)

#on living softly - 101 posts (huh! neat!)

#mob-blogging - 99 posts (I didn't think I posted THAT much mob, but okay!)

#ahahahaha - 91 posts (yeah I like laughing in tag form)

#tim drake - 90 posts (blorbo <3<3<3)

#god's beasts - 87 posts (YEAH BABY. CREATURES)

My Top Posts in 2022:

Humans are essentially homesick for heaven. (I still stand by that, even though having a post I wrote in a feverish sort of haze going everywhere was kind of anxiety-inducing.)

Throgmorten drawing (hims grumpy :3)

HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH explanation (very sweet! I love that it got reblogged a lot)

Jason Todd and Tim Drake comparison (cool! I liked that!)

"Every writer should have readers who never point out flaws about their work". (Hnnn. Some sad things happened with that post. Oh well, I still stand by that idea!)

#5

I say this with the sincerest belief: every writer should have someone who never points out flaws about their work, ever, and that they trust to never do that, ever.

Writers should also have people who do point out flaws about their work, of course, because that’s how their work can get better.

But!! For the emotional ability of writers to keep writing, to believe that their writing is worth doing, it is essential to have safe-haven readers. People we can take writing to and know they’ll remind us why we write.

Readers and commenters can fill different needs: improving writing, and ensuring writing.

189 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

#4

Jason is too OPEN. Tim is too GUARDED. They have the same emotions (YOU ARE FAMILY I LOVE YOU I AM HURT AND LONELY) but they deal with them in two ways:

Jason: he’s an open book, a bleeding heart, a scream of defiance & pain & rage. He takes all his giant emotions and pours them out in a river in front of his loved ones’ feet and DEMANDS answers. He burns his bridges before others can burn them because he is saying LOOK AT THIS, IT’S RUINED, RIGHT? IT’S RUINED, RIGHT? —not realizing that, if he hadn’t set the bridges on fire, they would have still been there—broken, maybe, damaged, but still there, still fixable.

Tim: he’s a closed book, a chained-up heart, a locked jaw, a stifled scream. He takes his emotions and tells them river, run in your proper course and do not leave that course; don’t you dare flood. He lets his bridges rot because if he says “this bridge is getting worn down” too often, he will be acknowledging that something is wrong with him. What if his loved ones tell him that he’s at fault for letting their bridges fall into disrepair again? What if, even worse, they decide that the bridge is an eyesore and decide to remove it altogether? No, no, no, better to isolate himself on his island and just keep the structure of the bridges intact enough for him to survive. No need to call attention to their state of decay.

213 notes - Posted September 22, 2022

#3

If I tell you “HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY” this is what I mean, btw. I’m not drunk, I promise. (image description under the cut)

[begin image description. A page from Winnie the Pooh. It has an illustration of Owl biting a pencil. It says:

“Can you read, Pooh?” he asked, a little anxiously. “There’s a notice about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin wrote. Could you read it?”

“Christopher Robin told me what it said, and then I could.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what this says, and then you’ll be able to.”

So Owl wrote... and this is what he wrote:

HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA

BTHUTHDY.

end image description.]

222 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

#2

Throgmorten, the Asheth Temple Cat and thoroughly cranky beast. Look out, or he’ll tear strips off you!

295 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Humans are essentially homesick for heaven and lonely for God. Or vice versa. We want a person so big that we can sink into them like a bedroom and a bedroom so lovely it embraces us like a friend.

477 notes - Posted June 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[intersexroadshow]

A.I. illustrators are still trippy.

I know a lot of visual artists are having a freakout about how quickly illustration AIs are improving. They’re worried they’ll be put out of work. Customers and patrons will just type a description of what they want into an AI app, and out will come the fulfillment of their desires.

As someone who has been using the MidJourney AI now for months, let me tell you that that day is not yet at hand.

Don’t get me wrong--the latest version of the MidJourney AI is amazing. It has a great sense of composition, is excellent at capturing stylistic vibes, and is capable of a photorealistic feel.

Ask it to produce something novel based on popular cultural figures, historical periods, and artistic styles, and it is gold. You want a painting of the Joker in the style of Rembrandt? You got  it!

But specify details that are less common, and the AI is just going to fudge it, in creative but often truly bizarre ways. So:

I asked MidJourney v4 to draw me an anthropomorphic cat version of Sherlock Holmes, in a Victorian street, smoking a pipe. This is probably the best image I got out of many rerolls and tweaks of the search, and a lot of it is great! The depth of field, the light, the fur textures, the Victorian feel. The steampunk detail of the top hat is a lot of fun. But. . . why is the smoke coming out of the hat, not the pipe? I suppose because the pipe entirely enclosed. . . not a very functional design. And look at the hand, eek. MidJourney is very agnostic as to the number of appendages a person or creature should have. And the text on the sign in the background--is that Cyrillic or Greek or the Roman alphabet?

Rerolling the search and hoping for a more plausible hand and pipe, I get this:

The clothing and setting are again excellent. But. . . what is up with the ears? Does the pipe end in a blob of solidified smoke? Of cotton wool? Of an abstract mouse sculpture? And oh ghods. . . the right hand. Does it have a dozen fingers? Let’s try again.

Ok, now the pipe is just a stick, and Sherlock the Cat holds some bizarre smoke-fuzz creature. Clearly we need to keep trying to tweak the prompt with descriptors of the pipe shape and how it is held. The result? 

Oh, better! Kind of. Our Sherlock-cat is now smoking a demitasse espresso cup, but the pose is right. Six fingers on the right hand and seven or eight on the left, but it feels like we are getting close. I like the detail of the mirroring quadrupedal cat in the corner of the image. Let’s try again!

This looks great initially. Then you notice that the quadruped cat in the corner is some kind of small eldrich horror. And Sherlock’s left ear and hat are a single item, with what appears to be a bonus third ear in the place of a feather in the hatband. And what is going on with the bicycles in the background? 

Once more unto the breach!

Great outfit here, and I love our Sherlock’s coloring. But. . . now the cat in the corner has morphed into something Sherlock is smoking. I presume that the AI was exposed to a few meerschaum pipe images, while tripping on the entirety of Google Images. And we get six fingers on the right hand and an earhat again. Are we getting any closer to a ten-fingered, pipe-smoking Victorian detective cat--an image that won’t make human viewers tilt their heads and feel vaguely woogy inside?

No. No we are not. What the heck! Sherlock smokes a cat tail, while a bonus tail frolics by itself on the Victorian cobblestones. Dare we try again?

Uh oh. MidJourney’s definitely gone Lovecraftian. 

Now instead of the pipe being a small cat, the corner-cat is a pipe.

The pipe is a tophat! The anthro Sherlock-cat and the corner quad-cat have merged into a single entity! The fur is a suit! And the entity’s eyes are multiplying. . .  

For sake of our sanity, it’s best to stop.

At least our journey has brought us some understanding. Illustration AIs are becoming better and better at doing what we want them to do. But they are also very, very high, and they insist on putting their own vision into what they produce. 

And that, in the end, is what makes them fun for me! But I don’t think they’re going to drive human artists to extinction any time soon. 

And remember, similar hand-wringing claims were made about the end of human artists when photography was invented. The camera did empower ordinary non-artists to generate all the self-portraits their hearts could desire. And artists were freed thereby to do other things.

[faerie-mafuyu-official]

(Meant to be read left to right, top to bottom.)

(Image descriptions below read more. First time doing IDs, please let me know if there's any way I can improve.)

[Image IDs:

Image 1: A Tumblr post made by faerie-mafuyu-official saying "I do not know why my appearance happens to be similar. It was not intended. And I am not tormenting you. Merely discovering certain behaviors.

Image 2: A Tumblr post made by shinonone-ena-official saying "I mean, you are tormenting me. That is very notably what this feels like."

Image 3: A Tumblr post made by faerie-mafuyu-official saying "What does torment feel like?"

Image 4: A Tumblr post made by shinonome-ena-official saying “…you are continuing to actively say horrible and insulting things to me. I think you can piece together what I mean.”

Image 5: A Tumblr post made by faerie-mafuyu-official saying “Nothing is innately insulting or horrible. You are the one interpreting these statements as such.”

Image 6: A Tumblr post made by shinonome-ena-official saying “You literally implied I was stupid. That’s an insult. How do you not realize you were insulting me?”

Image 7: A Tumblr post made by faerie-mafuyu-official saying “This can also be considered to be banter.”

Image 8: A Tumblr post made by shinonome-ena-official saying “Banter should not lead to one party crying.

Image 9: A Tumblr post made by undercove-r saying “*Rin hears screams and sobs nearby. She ran in the direction of the sounds with the intention to help, but instead finds a familiar face.*

Oh, hey, Yuki. What’s up?

*her surprise is quickly interrupted by the sight of a person near her, on the floor. She quickly runs to their side.*

Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?”

Image 10: A Tumblr post made by shinonome-ena-official saying, “If you can help get Yuki enough common sense to not hurt people, then yes.”

/end ID.]

*Ena has just sort of crumpled to the floor now.*

[judgingskeletons]

What about Skelly from the Hades game? Just off the top of my head, without even looking at his picture, here's what I have: somehow has hair growing out of his skull; ribs and sternum and clavicles all fused together into something like a shell; shoulders look like pauldrons. Points given for his voice acting, and also the coin in his mouth, which fits with the burial rituals.

Hey that's my job! XD I've not played Hades so I Do need a picture

[id: a picture of Skelly from the Hades game. He is a skeleton with black hair and pink eyes. There is a gold coin in his mouth. End id]

Gosh this is an odd fellow! His ribs/sternum/clavicles arrangement is even odder than your description suggested: it seems to completely surround the spinal column (which itself is too bendy and the vertebrae are very regular and cylindrical)! I disagree with you about the shoulder purely 'cause this fellow's arm doesn't seem to connect to the rest of him! The arm seems to have an extra elbow bone and the hands look like he's wearing gloves. And YES There Is Hair Growing From The Skull whyyyyyyy??? 1/10 makes me think of if someone designed a robot to have skeleton aesthetics but hadn't seen a skeleton in the last decade, I Do like the coin in the mouth detail though

[infinitegenderlessmess]

Merry Xmas Murray Mysteries

image descriptions at the end (please let me know if they need improving)

Van H and Quincey do xmas decorating!

Some bad xmas Murray Mysteries art! Complete with missing body parts cause im lazy!

Inspired by a combo of this post and the below message I sent a group chat about said post. The thing Van H is singing is from post credits of the MM xmas special ep, would recommend hearing it for yourself! @knovesstorytelling​

Image descriptions:

First image: a pencil sketch of Van Helsing and Quincey from Murray Mysteries. Van H is sat sideways on Quincey's shoulder, with one leg across his chest. She is hanging up a fake bat that’s wearing a Santa hat with one hand, her other hand is on Quincey’s face for balance. Quincey is shown form the waist up, he looks confused and surprised, he is shirtless and holding a cowboy hat near his head. Quincey is missing his right hand. Van H has no head or foot. A speech bubble from Van H reads: “deck the halls with boughs of garlic! Dracu-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!”, with musical notes drawn at the bottom. There are several arrows labelled as follows: pointing to the bat reads “bat”, pointing to where Van H’s head should be reads “faceless Van H“, pointing to Quincey reads “Quincey is ladder”, pointing to where Van H’s foot should be read “fuck drawing feet/shoes”, pointing to where Quincey’s right hand should be reads “RIP his other hand”. End id

Second image: a series of facebook messages from one person saying: kinda vibin with the idea Van helsing decorates like this cause she has No Fear and a good ironic sense of humour. Wait wait wait, van H put up the bats, Quincey put the hats and scarves in them. Also, Van helsing is too short to put them up without stading on something so she just fucking Climbs Quincey (who just stands there like a good confused ladder or a man). End id

[ariluvsusm]

-description: azriel comforts you after you wake up from nightmares

-warnings: self-harm discussed, you’re very sad, female y/n, very soft and respectful azriel, azriel is the most respectful Illyrian male ever, i’m lonely fr so i wrote this at 2 am

-a/n this is low key shitty but i don’t usually write in 3rd person 😭😭 anyway i’m trying to improve myself please give me criticism :) 

1.6k words

————————————————————————

after a few hours of tossing and turning, your mind has finally given in to your exhausted body. before long, you fall into a dream, a world where you can’t decipher between true and false, memory and the present, real-life and fantasy. images of your past haunt your mind, terrifying your consciousness, and after a mere hour of sleep, you abruptly awaken. your throat burns from screaming. and crying, you assume from your wet cheeks. your nightgown is hitched up, the thin material twisted around your waist. your hair is matted and tangled, and your entire body is covered in a sheen of sticky sweat. your pillows are strewn about the room and your sheets and blankets are entangled with each other, hanging off the bed. how you didn’t wake anyone, you don’t know. still crying, you sit helplessly on your bed, knees to your chest and arms wrapped around yourself, rocking back and forth to self-soothe. but you can’t help it, as you delve deeper into your memories, your breathing quickens and you know exactly what is to follow, and once you start, you cannot stop. the urge to cause yourself physical pain, to hurt yourself, only gets worse.

quickly, you crawl off of your bed, wiping your face and adjusting your rather short nightgown. but you don’t bother to change it before you slip out of your room and into the dark hallway. the only sound is the pitter-patter of your feet on the cold floor, and before you know it you’re standing in front of his door. he’s always told you he’s here whenever you need him, to come to him, but you’ve never actually taken him up on the offer. you can see from the light shining under his door that he is awake. before you can change your mind, you knock.

in a flash, the door opens, and standing before you is azriel.

“az,” you greet him quietly, your voice hoarse. and that’s all it takes before he opens the door wider, inviting you in. he’s shirtless, his hair is messy, and he has candles illuminating his desk, where a stack of papers and a pen sit. shadows writhe around his legs and feet.

“are you alright, y/n?” he asks as you walk by. he glances from your tangled hair, your wild eyes, your chapped lips, down to your wrinkled nightgown and exposed skin.

“yes,” you say quietly as he closes the door, “i’ve just had night terrors. i needed company.”

“did you…” he trails off, glancing at your exposed wrists and thighs, where self-inflicted scars litter your skin.

“oh, no.” you say quickly, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “i was… i didn’t want… i… that’s why i came here,” you say. “i hope i’m not interrupting.”

“no, no, just some paperwork for my recent mission.” he says, waving in the direction of the desk. he steps closer to you. “you’re welcome here any time, y/n. any time. no matter the hour, or how busy i am.” he says, the last phrase a little quieter than the first.

you look down, tears threatening to escape your eyes. you wring your hands, trying not to remember the last time you trusted somebody like this… the last time you let someone in... 

“thank you.” you say sincerely, your voice breaking. he kneels in front of you, catching your eyes in his. surprisingly, he places his scarred, calloused hands around yours. tendrils of his smoke-like shadows wrap around your hands, wrists, and forearms, covering your scars and pale skin in a blanket of night. azriel is the only male who knows of your past. and our certain he is the only one you will ever tell.

“i wish i could erase your memory, or change your past. but neither of us can. so instead, you must cope. in a safe and healthy manor. and i am here, for you, no matter what, to make sure you do that. and to make sure you recover, and never feel like you have to-” his voice breaks, “hurt yourself... ever again. i know how it feels to finally be safe. to question everyone around you. the uncertainty, the feeling that it all might be ripped away from you. the guilt of knowing so many others did not escape, will not ever. the loneliness. the nightmares, the terrors, the ghosts. they may not ever go away. but i’m not either.”

you lift your head to look at him, and he is staring at you already. pure love and understanding dance in his eyes. candlelight flickers across his face, which is contorted into an expression of worry. suddenly, he brings your hands to his lips, kissing your hands. and from your hands to your wrists, to your forearms. directly over your scars.

whatever leash you had on your emotions break, and you lunge foreword, flinging yourself into to his arms and letting out a sob. he wraps his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest. 

you sit like that for a while, you in his arms weeping for the years past. him, arms around you, protecting you from the ghosts that haunt your every thought. tendrils of shadow wrap around you, binding you together, whispering comfort into your ear. finally, your tears stop and your breathing evens. 

“thank you” you whisper into his chest. you adjust yourself to look up at him and meet his gaze. then, you wiggle out of his arms, both of you now standing. you awkwardly straight out your nightgown and he drinks in your every movement, every motion.

“so, um…” you say, looking down again.

“i know we aren’t… but- if you want to spend the night in here-” he says, quickly adding “just for comfort, you know. my bed is big enough for the both of us. it may be good for you to have someone, it might help your nightmares. and if you want…” he trails off, not finishing the last sentence, but his cheeks crowd with color. gods, did you make azriel flustered?

“i would like that.” you say a little too quickly.

“okay. let me just finish up here.” he says, gesturing to his desk. “go ahead and… make yourself at home.” he says, now waving in the direction of the bed. you crawl onto the giant, unmade bed, and into the mess of covers. after settling under his fluffy duvet cover, you watch him work. his muscular back. his dark skin like molten gold. his scent crowds your fae senses, and you are comforted. the pressure of your last few weeks weighs down on you. after you yawn, az turns around.

“hey, if you want, we can go ahead and go to sleep. i can finish this tomorrow.” you shake your head, closing your eyes and stifling another yawn. but when you open them, the paperwork has disappeared, and azriel is putting on a shirt in an attempt to be respectful about sharing his bed with you. you try not to smile. then, he is climbing into bed, wings out and relaxed. again, you try not to smile. you know that he would have to be comfortable and trust you to share a bed. but illyrians are so careful with their wings, so careful about who sees them, who touches them. he props himself up against plush pillows, turning to face you.

“so…” he says, “um, if you think it would help you, we can… you know…” this time, you actually crack a smile.

“is azriel, spymaster of the night court, terror incarnate, asking me to snuggle?” for a supposed spymaster, he is terrible at hiding his feelings. because when he looks over at you, giving you a small smile, affection speckled in his eyes, you know exactly how he feels about you. you sit up in bed, knowing that you probably look awful right now, with your untamed hair, your face shiny from sweat. but he looks at you like the most beautiful female he’s ever seen.

“i just think- you know, physical comfort…” azriel says, looking up at you.

“yes. it would.” you say, once again, a little too eagerly. but he doesn’t smirk at you, or tease you. he just smiles. you’ve never seen azriel like this, his guard down, so vulnerable. so you crawl across the giant bed, to where azriel lays, arms open. you place yourself in them, facing into his chest, and breath in the scent of him. he wraps his arms around you tightly. his shadows dance on your skin, making soothing circles on your exposed back and arms. his wings wrap around you too, so warm and soft, providing you with a different type of comfort and safety, one that you’ve never experienced. he leans down and places a small kiss atop your head, and all of the candles in the room go out, now completely dark save for the very small amount of light coming in through the windows because of the full moon.

and you fall asleep like that. you feel more safe and protected than you have in a long while, him wrapped around you, your two bodies entwined. you yearn for it to continue, for the feeing of security and stability to stay. so in the morning, when you both stir, when life and light stream through the windows and people bustle about in the hallways, neither of you let go.

[funkymbtifiction]

1. I was reading the stems and… wow; no wonder no one likes being identified with 136 type descriptors. I’m kind of glad I went from core descriptions for my tritype rather than stems, because 13 and 16 are just painted so unappealingly that I can’t imagine having immediately identified with them. I wonder if there aren’t a lot of 1-cores writing enneagram stuff online.

You're not supposed to feel proud of or comforted by your tritype; it's supposed to reveal the uncomfortable truth about you by stripping your ego naked. It's a huge blow to your ego, and the ego's instinctive reaction when they read an accurate but "unfavorable" portrayal of themselves is denial. "That is not me, that must be wrong!" "OMG, this such a HARSH description!" If a descriptor of a type interaction upsets you, it's rubbing up against your ego. It's either an indicator that you are mistyped ("I am this, but a HEALTHY version, so 99% of this isn't true for me") or because it's accurate and you don't want to face that.

This is the time to dig deep and ask yourself hard questions (why did I react so strongly to this? which ego-defenses is it pulling down? why do I care about this? am I worried about what others might think of me, if they know I am this tritype? is this an image reaction because I don't want to 'seem' this way? am I afraid it's true of me? etc. etc.). The truest things dig the needle in the deepest, and after you go through anger, resentment, denial, rejection, and then acceptance, THAT is when your ego is humbled enough for self-growth. I have been through a lot of that, and it's not fun, but you will come out the other side ready to flourish.

I remember the first time someone suggested 2 fix for me, and I had a tantrum; I wanted to be anything other than that! But my angry objections were only because of the true-ness of 2 for me. It held a mirror up to me and I did not like the reflection -- I had to want the truth of myself more than to look good in the eyes of others and after sulking, came around to the fact that I am indeed 2ish in my heart fix. Once you take a blow like that to your ego / pride, you reach a point where you have truly "seen" yourself and there's no more denying of it. Reading those, I am back to thinking I am 1 fixed. The blow of 6-1 makes me uncomfortable enough to know it's truer than 6-9.

The Enneagram isn't about making you comfortable and "look good." It's about self-awareness and that's scary, especially if you are a 3 or have a 3 fix and don't want your bare bones exposed to the world.

Let's see... 1 cores writing Enneagram stuff. Maybe, since the goal is self-enlightenment/self-improvement and that appeals to 1s for sure!

2. It’s surprisingly easy to manipulate the self-images of Fe-users, especially if they have Fe tert or inf. It’s not really intentional most of the time - I can make a comment describing someone or fill in a word when they’re searching for a good self-descriptor, and they’ll usually agree with it. Or they might say “I don’t know how I feel about this” and I can suggest something and they’ll be like “you’re right.” This all sounds very manipulative and scary, but I think it can go both ways - if you help someone provide tools to understand themselves when they’re looking for them, it can be helpful. But there’s definitely a side where I think, “Oh no, this person is pretty malleable to what I say, what if I’m manipulating them?” Generally I don’t notice this happen with Fi users as much because while they’ll consider what you have to say, their self-image is ultimately pretty solid and takes a lot to change. Is this something Fi users worry about? Is it an Enneagram social thing?

They might be 9s and if so, you aren't really 'getting' to them -- they are just agreeing with you on a surface level to make you not angry at them and then will go home and do their own thing / forget all about it anyway. As for helping them figure out their emotions -- TPs often need that, and when you suggest things to them, that's not manipulative -- they genuinely may not know what they are feeling or why, because many of them are out of touch with their emotions, and they need a higher Feeler who is comfortable with emotional states to guide them. Fi's are less amenable to influence to some degree, although if they are a 6, 9, or a 3, they will internalize what you say about them more than if they are a different type. Fi and Te is often more straightforward and blunt.

Can a Fi worry about being bad/wrong/manipulative/etc? Yes. Especially if they have a self-diacritic 1 fix where "I should... should not..." do X.

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed! 

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face.  The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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Someday

Pairing: Merlin x Reader

Genre: Bittersweet Angst

Word Count: 2,058

Summary: After getting caught and accused of doing witchcraft, and failing to prove your innocence to Uther, you have to take desperate measures to flea the kingdom. Unfortunately your escape plan works a little too well, and without your knowledge the people close to you end up mourning you.

Request from @joyismycenter : "If you’re asking, I’d love some bbc Merlin x reader where he though the reader was dead but she/they turn out not to be. Love me that happy angst"

Authors Note: Thank you so much for sending in the first request for this blog! Fair warning I'm doing all my writing on my phone at the moment and I couldn't really get the ending to flow how I wanted it to so it's not perfect, but I really hope everyone likes it!

[Image Description: A gif of Merlin (from the BBC Show Merlin played by Colin Morgan) looking over his shoulder. End description]

It was such a silly mistake.

You trusted someone too soon, tried to help them.

Next thing you knew you were being accused of witchcraft. It was true but considering your accuser had no real evidence you thought perhaps you could argue your way out of it. You called them crazy, demanded proof, spouted off any alternative explanation for what had happened to no avail. Uther didn't give a damn about proof, the moment the word magic was held against you it was up to you to prove you hadn't used it.

Even if you hadn't, how do you prove a thing like that?

Pleading your case was useless, and the one person who could help you had left with Arthur and the knights before any of this had begun. Even if they somehow showed up before the execution, you wouldn't want Merlin's help.

He couldn't be caught helping you, not with his destiny. You weren't worth the risk, though he certainly would've argued otherwise if he'd had the chance.

No, you only had one choice left in your small cell. You would have to find an opportunity to use something that you saved for a situation such as this. When an old friend came to visit, to say goodbye, that was your opportunity.

You asked them to come back with the blue vial tucked in the back of your armoire. "It's a poison," You had told them. "I don't want to give Uther the satisfaction."

Tearfully, they obliged. In the middle of the night you chugged it down, and not one hour later your 'body' was wrapped in a sheet and wheeled out of the dungeons 'To be buried in the morning.' But the enchantment on the potion wore off before then, and you woke up alone and free.

You crept out of Camelot at the break of dawn with nothing but the clothes on your back, making it to the treeline before your will broke down and you turned back to look at the old castle peeking out over the tall walls.

Your home was behind those walls, your friends lived there, and the man you had surely fallen for. Tears stung your eyes as you thought about him, the fact you never got to say goodbye, how long it would be until you would see him again.

You could risk waiting for him to return, but if someone outside of Arthur's party were to catch you...you would be forced to do something you'd regret. You'd have to cross the line of no return and goodbye at that point would surely be permanent.

'Someday,' You thought, 'Until then, he'll understand, he might even come find me.'

Little did you know the guard who discovered the empty cloth had no intention of telling the king that the body of a prisoner had gone missing on his watch. No, he had a family to tend to, he wasn't losing his position because of some witch. It didn't even cross his mind that you might not be dead.

There was an empty grave in the pauper's field the next morning, and any questions on your whereabouts were contained in the mind of one underpaid guardsman for two years.

Meanwhile, Merlin had been devastated when he heard the news, even confused. Gaius told him the whole story, what he knew of it anyway, but he could never wrap his mind around it. It didn't make sense. He had spoken to you only a few days before, you smiled and hugged him and told him to come home safe. And just like that you were gone? The irrational fear of someone you tried to help, and the blind tyranny of Uther, that's all it took and now nobody would ever see that smile again. No, it didn't make any sense at all.

He eventually did what he had to do, put on a brave face and got back to work. And yes, a while after that night things got somewhat close to normal again. But there were always moments where he'd think to himself that he'd have to tell you about his day or a joke he heard, and then he'd remember. In other moments, he'd see Uther laughing at dinner or be forced to hear one of his speeches and his jaw would clench just a little tighter than it had before. And when he found himself awake in the middle of the night, when the world was dead silent and the only light in his room came from the moon, it was because he had found himself caught up in the memories you had together.

You had those nights too.

You had been dead on your feet by the time you stumbled into the small, reclusive village you'd learn to call your home. You'd been told that nobody really ever passed through on purpose, and they liked it that way. You told them that you could use a life like that, and then asked if they had need a physician. They did.

Sure, a reclusive person probably would've loved the little life you built for yourself. You had a small but cozy spot to live on the edge of the village, not long after you showed up you began to tend to minor wounds and ailments, making a few friends along the way. Occasionally two farmers would ride into the city to barter off crops for supplies and other things, eventually they began to bring you back a book or a small trinket each time to thank you for your work. It was nice.

But still loneliness tugged at your heart, more than you imagined it would when you took that last look at your home. On the most random days, doing the most random things, you'd find yourself thinking about everyone again and crying for up to an hour before you could pull yourself together again. Those moments became more rare over time, but they never hurt any less. You were never quite back to normal.

Finally, you were wrapping a farmers broken finger, speaking about the state of the kingdom and how you were surprised Uther had felt the need to improve anything it all, when you heard the news.

"Oh, no. The king died months ago, Arthur's in charge now."

You knew you must've gone pale, as the next thing the man said to you was a question of your health. You were quick to respond with a growing smile, "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

He shrugged at you, "I'm not all that concerned with politics. These men, they're all the same to us out here, you know?"

But you knew the difference.

Your life depended on it.

You finished his treatment and sent him away without much else to say on the matter. You had to pack, after all. Later on that day you pleaded with a neighbor to let you borrow her horse, and your friends gathered around as they overheard you say you needed to go to the capitol. You honestly felt a bit bad leaving in such a rush, but after you relayed a safe version of your story, why you came here and why you had to leave, they all seemed to understand.

With many promises from you that they could send for you if they ever needed to, and many words of encouragement from them, you took off. Even when you stopped in the night to allow the horse some rest, you never got any yourself, too excited and nervous and overwhelmed all at once. You spent hours contemplating what to say to everyone, but nothing seemed right.

Another days journey, and you were home.

The response you got to your return wasn't what you expected. Your first stop was to check on the friend who got the potion to you in the first place, and strangely they let out a short shriek before slamming the door in your face. You knocked again, speaking through the door. "It's me...I'm back?"

"Go away!"

You furrowed your brow at them, hurt and confused. But ultimately you walked away, thinking a reaction like that might be deserved considering what you must've put them through that night. As you continued down the street there were a few people who recognized you and proceeded to clear out of your way with gasps and whispers, pulling along anyone they were walking with.

Last time you were here you had been accused of witchcraft, and two decades of fear don't just disappear with a new king, so you simply accepted that as the reasoning and started to make your way up through the lower towns.

On the other end of the city, Merlin had just reached the end of an extremely long day. It had dragged on so long that it felt as though the walk from the armoury to his room took another hour. He didn't even bother to get something to eat, he just wanted to sleep. So naturally when he had just layed down in bed when someone decided to knock on the front door, he didn't know any better than to be annoyed.

At first he thought Gaius would take care of it, then he remembered that he wasn't home.

Maybe they'll just go away.

Whoever it was knocked again and he pulled the pillow over his head.

Please go away.

The front door creaked open and he heard a familiar voice call out. "Hello...Gaius? Merlin?"

He sat up, a heavy feeling settling into his gut as he realized where he had heard that voice before.

But...it couldn't be. Could it?

He shook his head, leaving his bedroom to shoo out the person who couldn't have been you.

But there you were, flipping through an old book that had been sitting on the table since the day before. When you noticed he was standing there you looked up with a sad smile, saying the only thing that you could think of; "Hi..."

"Hi?"

"I uh- I know it's been a long time," You started, crossing your arms over your chest in an awkward stance. "I wish I didn't have to leave like I did but..."

"Leave??" He repeated what you said once more. Finally you registered how strangely he was looking at you, not angry or upset but bewildered, and maybe even scared. What he said next confused you even more. "How are you alive?"

"I thought you might've had more faith in me than that." You joked, but he wasn't amused. "Am I missing something?"

He was hesitant to approach you, unsure of how he was supposed to say it but he tried. "They told me you were gone, that you'd poisoned yourself. I mean...Gaius saw you."

"It was meant to look like that, but it was a trick." You said. "I left when I awoke, they didn't tell people I escaped?"

He shook his head no, tears starting to stream down his face. "...I can't believe this."

As the reality of the situation hit you, you couldn't help but cry as well. All you were guilty about, what you thought you put your loved ones through, it had actually been so much worse. "I am so sorry, if I had any idea I would've- well I don't know what I would've done. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm just, I'm so happy that you're here, and you're okay." Striding over with a grin, he pulled you into his arms. "I've missed you."

"And I, you. More than I could ever put into words." With a laugh you continued. "Things got so boring without you."

"I'm sure they did, you won't believe some of things I have to tell you."

And that was all it took, you both sat down at a table as you filled each other in on everything that had happened in the last two years. It took hours, there were multiple times you had to stop and collect yourselves as certain stories had you laughing until your stomachs ached. Gaius came home and after another tearful welcome back he made you all something to eat and had plenty of his own twists on things that had happened.

As if no time had passed at all, the world felt normal again. You were back where you belonged.

You were home.

[pandorkful]

Always fun to play around with new image AI thingies. Ok Dall-E mini, SHOW ME MY BOY.

....this is not my boy.

Fine, I shall describe him to you. (this got very, VERY long lol, so click the readmore.)

No, that’s just Sephiroth. What part of “elf” do you not understand. Listen up, you stupid robot--

Ok, I see a couple attempts at elf ears, but this is still blatantly Sephiroth.

Hmm. Closer, but the purple is too dark and you clearly don’t understand what I meant by “red eyes”...

Oh, some of these are cute... but I didn’t mean Irises the flower, lol.

Hrmmmmmm... y’know what, just forget about the eyes. Clearly that’s too much detail for you.

Close, but you’re kinda forgetting the ears again.

I’ll accept these, thank you Dall-E mini. Now let’s see if we can get Dyne in the mix...

Wow, the top left is really close! But where’s the Dyne I ordered??

.....Where’s Dyne. I need you to show me my boys, plz.

*sigh* Ok let me rephrase this...

....Hrm.

You keep trying to just hand me Ghaleon/Ghaleon and it’s weird. I’ll try rephrasing one more time...

Hrmmm getting closer, needs rephrasing...

Eh...

Hrmmm...

oh hey a couple of these are getting close... what if I flip the descriptions around...

Whoa, describing Dyne first gives better results XD I had to give up on the beard, it didn’t understand that at all.

Okay whatever, good enough.  You keep leaving out the elf ears, but detail isn’t your strong point is it. Let’s make this really Lunar now, tho...

Ok these are cute, thanks, but where’s the planet I ordered??

.....that’s a moon, not a planet. *sigh* Ok, my fault, I confused you by mentioning the moon.

Closer....

Pretty close, but I’m missing that purple...

But now you’re back to ghal/ghal XD

Loving these backgrounds, but I feel like you’re ignoring my character descriptions...

yeah you’re just making stuff up on your own now. >:( Moving the background description to the end again...

getting back to closer what i want, but now the backgrounds suck XD

removing the bg description entirely gets the characters back to what I want-ish...

putting the bg description at the very beginning gives me bad YA book covers that all but ignore my character descriptions :P

Yeah for some reason the background makes it hard for Dall-E mini to pay attention to the character descriptions.

Hrm, great backgrounds but jumbled characteristics...

This time the bg description survived getting swapped to the end, character descriptors are almost being followed...

I wanted more purple, these are getting better

I switched from “dress” to “robes” earlier cuz Dall-E seems to think dress = boobs half the time, but these robes are too robe-y...

yeah too robe-y, let’s mix this up with “gown” next...

Ehhhh let’s try dress again.

Well...

Hrmmmm...

Frock seems to get us out of the modern clothing streak, yes.

Hum hum...

ooooohh, swapping out “anime” for “fantasy” gives some really interesting results!

fantasy + anime = i don’t like it as much.

fantasy + videogame = interesting...

fantasy + game + Oh I like these... maybe some flowers would be nice...

I asked for flowers, not 3somes lmao

I don’t see any irises but I really like these

Just fantasy garden... not as good. But still interesting.

fantasy + anime + garden = hmmmm just kinda ignoring half my character descriptions again.

just anime + garden... ehhhhh...

no genre, interestingggg

embracing instead of hugging, these are sweet

put fantasy back in

put game back in

put anime in

“painting of” improves every prompt

took out anime and game. oof how many hours have i killed playing around with this thing?

okay one last prompt then I’m DONE

Oh, a couple of these are almost close. But I’m still not convinced Dall-E knows what I’m asking for.

yeah, it super doesn’t. sir, these are pokemans.

Final Thoughts: Dall-E Mini is fun enough, but I’m not really impressed. It feels exactly the same as that other image AI from several months ago that I’ve completely forgotten the name of lol. The only improvement over that one is Dall-E generates 9 images instead of 1.

Looking at other people’s results, I’d probably be more impressed if I liked more popular things, lmao.

Dall-E 2 looks impressive, and when that becomes publicly mess-around-able I’ll probably mess around with it. But I’m not holding my breath for it to be able to generate anything I actually want without having to write a novella in the prompt bar. :P

All that said, most of these I made tonight did manage to make at least one image each that I’d kinda like to take into Clip Studio and turn into a finished artwork... Hmm.

[twilightmalachite]

The Seven Faces of the Shapeshifting Youkai - Chapter 3

Author: Yuuki Yoshino

Characters: Hinata, Tetora, Tomoya, Sora

Translator: Mika Enstars

Proofers: 310mc & meteorgreen

“T-Tomo-kun...! I’ve been blessed with the bestest friends in the world! Lemme give you a hug to show my thanks~ *squeeeze* ☆”

Season: Summer

Location: Garden Space

Hinata: Tomo-kun... You’re right, I don’t wanna hide it from my friends.

I talked to Sora-kun about it earlier. I’ve decided to become a good kid who doesn’t cause trouble for others.

Tomoya: Ooh. Well, it sounds nice and all, but why all of a sudden? Did something happen to cause this change of heart?

Hmm~... Was it because of then?

That one time Kunugi-sensei scolded you for staying way past the end of the school day, and then lectured you to write a reflection letter... something like that?

Hinata: How’d you hit the nail on the head like that?!

Tomo-kun, so you could see right through my heart... To think you’d been hiding such an ability all this time…! Ugh, I can never let my guard down around you!

Tomoya: Uh, no, it’s just ‘cause your “I don’t wanna be lectured anymore~, what have I ever done to you? Boo-hoo-hoo~”, fake-cry is so obnoxious that it’s left a huge impression on me recently.

Anyways. Sure, I think it’s a good idea. I’ll be happy to help you become a good kid. ♪

Hinata: T-Tomo-kun...! I’ve been blessed with the bestest friends in the world! Lemme give you a hug to show my thanks~ *squeeeze* ☆

Tomoya: Ack, stop it! It hurts like hell when you hug me so tight!

Tetora: Well Hinata-kun, ya bounced back real fast, y’know? Lookin’ at you now, even I’m sure you’re Hinata-kun!

Hinata: Mmm, I accidentally went straight back to my usual energy.

That just means I’m back to being the Aoi Hinata that everyone has known up ‘til now. I need to start acting like a different person!

Tomoya: Act like a different person... Like, you mean playing the role of someone else entirely?

I gotta do that for the drama club myself, so I’m pretty familiar with this sort of trouble

.

Tetora: Tomoya-kun, is your drama club senior asking the impossible outta you again? If that’s the case, ya gotta stand up for yourself more, dude!

Tomoya: Hold on a sec. It’s not something tricky like crossdressing this time...

Or, well, actually, I guess it’s pretty difficult to play the role of someone, you know. I was told it can be anyone, at least.

Tetora: Oh, so you just need to decide on who to try and become? That does sound pretty tricky~ Hmm... That means both of ya wanna become someone else, huh?

Tomoya: I’m always having trouble with acting, but isn’t it rather unusual that Hinata’s going through the same thing~?

...Oh, I know! Since Hinata is trying to play the role of a different person, he’s looking to improve his acting too, right?

Hinata: Well, sorta? Tomo-kun, since you’re always practicing your acting, do you have any tips on acting as a “good kid”?

I’m not used to it, so I dunno where to start~!

Tomoya: I don’t know where to start with just “good kid” either! Don’t you have, like, a script or a character description to follow...?

Hinata: How about I become you, then?

I know you well since you’re my classmate—you’re a diligent boy and our class prez, a perfect example of a “good kid”! ♪

Tomoya: You’re going to play as me…?

Now that’s interesting... ♪ In that case, maybe I can play as you!

It sounds like fun, it’ll feel like we’re practicing together, and it should also be easier to work with someone’s image if they’re someone you’re close to... ♪

Hinata: Okie~☆ Then, let’s begin~! ...Oops, I don’t think that was very Tomo-kun-like?

Hmm, I’ll do my best. Starting now, I’m Mashiro Tomoya...♪

Sora: HiHi~, Hina-chan’s Tomo-chan now? Tomo-chan has the color of freshly washed laundry!

But Hina-chan’s color is a teensy bit different~?

Tetora: Freshly washed... laundry?

Oh, like pure white! Tomoya-kun’s last name is Mashiro, so it fits him perfectly.

Hinata: Sora-kun—Harukawa recognizes sounds and smells by their colors. That, and he can see the colors that people radiate.

No matter how much you fake your outward appearance, you can’t hide what’s inside.

If Harukawa declares that I’m “Tomo-chan,” then it means I was successful.

Tetora: Hahah, Harukawa-kun’s pretty amazing, isn’t he.

Aight, I’ll point out anything I can see.

I can’t see auras, though... Can we leave it to Harukawa-kun to judge the inside stuff?

Hinata: Sure. Tomo—Hinata, you good with that?

Tomoya: N-No problem here~!

Tetora: Tomoya-kun... No, Hinata-kun? Hinata-kun, your smile’s real awkward. It looks like you’re forcing yourself to act.

Tomoya: Ugh... You’re right, sorry.

I’ll try to remember a bit more about how Hinata usually behaves and speaks, so give me a moment.

…

Tetora: So, Tomoya-kun? Think ya can play as Hinata-kun?

Tomoya: ’Course not, Tetsu-kun. There’s nothing to play as, I’m already Hinata~♪ Have you forgotten~? Aren’tcha heartless~♪

Tetora: Ack, please stop poking me with your elbows, Hinata-kun!

Tomoya: Alright, alright. Take it from me, don’t say things like “play as”, ‘kay? ’Cuz I’m the one and only “Aoi Hinata”~♪

Tetora: Ooh! It’s just like the real thing, isn’t it! Sora-kun[1], moment of truth, how’s it lookin’ on the inside?

Sora: HuHu~, Hina-chan, but also not Hina-chan~.

Sora feels like both are forcing themselves to try and get closer to each other’s colors~

Tetora: Ummm, so they haven’t turned into each other on the inside yet?

Oh well, I’m sure they’ll get there in due time. Even if it’s just for today, do your best to try and become each other! ♪

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There’s a writer's error here, where in the original script, Tetora refers to Sora as “Sora-kun”, instead of the usual “Harukawa-kun”.