#transcribed beauty content

[meaninginmakeup]

Some of my recent videos! For some reason the piercing cleaning strings video blew up. Don't forget to check out my webzine for transcribed versions of these videos. You can watch them on Instagram, Tiktok, or Youtube. My friends wanted the reviews included on there, so they are now accessible for people who use screen readers!

Watch them here:

Graphic Liner and Nail Dotting Dual Ended Set

Madagascar Centella Fragrance Free Products by Skin1004

Eye Safe Skincare by Theraderm

How to Use Piercing Cleaning Strings and Where to Get Them

Skincare 101: Only Introduce One New Product At A Time

Intense Moisturizing Hyaluronic Cream by Real Barrier K-Beauty One Minute Review

Stackable Z Palette by Coosei from Amazon 2 Layers With Mirror for $30, Extra Strong Magnet

Exfoliating Butter Body Wash by Nudestix One Minute Review

[mywitchyblog]

Interviewing Hekate About Reality Shifting

Im Making this post with is a interview with the godess Hekate where i ask her via tarot about Reality Shifting im planning on making more content which is both about witchcraft and reality shifting so for the time being enjoy this little interview (i tried to make it so the meaning of the cards are transcribed into an interview like response) If this post reaches 50 reactions i will make a part two and you can give me questions you would like to ask her and i will put them in the next part:

Question one : What do you think about Reality Shifting ? 

Answers (Moon , Page of cups in Reverse , Three of wands):

"Reality shifting? Ah, it's a fascinating concept. You see, it's not as simple as many might think. It's like walking through a moonlit forest - beautiful, but filled with shadows and uncertainty.

At its core, reality shifting taps into the deepest parts of your subconscious. It's not something you can approach with just your logical mind. You need to embrace your intuition, to be willing to step into the unknown.

Now, I won't sugarcoat it - many find it challenging at first. It's common to feel blocked, like you're trying to express something but the words just won't come. This is normal. It's your mind grappling with new concepts, new ways of perceiving reality.

But here's the exciting part - if you push through these initial difficulties, reality shifting can open up incredible new horizons. It's like standing on a cliff edge and suddenly being able to see far beyond what you thought possible. It expands your understanding of what reality can be.

In essence, I see reality shifting as a profound tool for personal growth and exploration. It's not easy, but for those who persist, it offers the potential to experience existence in ways they never imagined possible.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hekate, many people are curious: How can they know that Shifting is real?"(three of wands rv, seven of pentacles rv, justice rv,)

Let's imagine I'm interviewing Hekate about this question. Here's how she might respond based on the cards drawn:

"Hekate, many people are curious: How can they know that Shifting is real?"

"Ah, that's a complex question, and the answer might not be what many are hoping to hear. You see, the reality of Shifting isn't something that can be easily proven or disproven in conventional ways.

First, it's important to understand that the journey of Shifting often doesn't unfold as quickly or dramatically as one might expect. Many become impatient, waiting for immediate, tangible results. But that's not usually how it works.

There's also a lack of concrete, measurable outcomes in the traditional sense. People often look for physical evidence or scientific validation, but Shifting operates on a different plane of experience. It's more subjective, more personal.

And here's the thing: the concept of what's 'real' isn't as black and white as we often think. Our perception of reality is shaped by our beliefs, experiences, and understanding. Shifting challenges our conventional notions of what's possible.

So, how can people know if Shifting is real? It's less about external validation and more about personal experience and inner knowing. It requires a willingness to question your assumptions about reality, to be open to experiences that don't fit neatly into conventional understanding.

For many, the 'realness' of Shifting comes through consistent practice, patience, and a willingness to trust their own experiences, even when they can't be objectively measured or proven to others. It's a deeply personal journey of exploration and self-discovery."

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"Hekate, why do you think some people, often called 'Anti-Shifters', don't believe in Shifting?"(queen of swords rv, tower, magician rv,)

"Ah, the skeptics. Their disbelief stems from several factors, and it's quite a volatile topic.

Firstly, many Anti-Shifters approach the concept of Shifting with a rigid, closed-minded perspective. They're often quick to dismiss ideas that don't align with their current understanding of reality. There's a tendency to cut down new or unconventional ideas without truly exploring them.

But here's where it gets interesting - their disbelief often comes from a place of upheaval or fear. Shifting challenges the very foundations of how they perceive reality. It's like a tower crumbling - when faced with concepts that shake their worldview so fundamentally, many retreat into skepticism as a form of self-protection.

There's also a misunderstanding about the nature of Shifting itself. Some Anti-Shifters might be looking for grand, magical demonstrations or irrefutable proof. They might expect Shifters to perform like stage magicians, showing off supernatural abilities. But that's not what Shifting is about, and when they don't see these grandiose displays, they assume it must not be real.

In essence, their disbelief is often a combination of rigid thinking, fear of the unknown, and misunderstandings about what Shifting actually entails. It's easier for them to dismiss it entirely than to grapple with ideas that could completely transform their understanding of reality.

Remember, though, that everyone's journey is different. Some skeptics might eventually open their minds, while others may never be comfortable with the concept. The key is to respect different perspectives while continuing to explore and understand your own experiences."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hekate, how does one distinguish between a dream and a successful reality shift?" (queen of swords, two of pentacles rv, five of wands rv)

"An excellent question, and one that requires a sharp mind to navigate. The line between dreams and successful shifts can indeed be blurry, but there are ways to discern the difference.

First and foremost, approach this with a clear, analytical mindset. Unlike dreams, which often have a hazy, ephemeral quality, a successful shift tends to feel more vivid and coherent. You'll want to examine your experience with a discerning eye, looking for details and consistencies that dreams typically lack.

Now, I must caution you - don't get caught up in trying to balance too many criteria or overthinking the experience. That's a common pitfall. Overanalyzing can lead to doubt and confusion, tipping the scales of your perception. Trust your intuition along with your rational mind.

Interestingly, one key difference lies in the aftermath. After a successful shift, you're likely to feel a sense of inner calm and clarity, unlike the often chaotic or conflicting emotions following a vivid dream. There's typically less internal struggle or confusion about the experience.

Remember, the goal isn't to prove your shift to others, but to understand it for yourself. Focus on your own perceptions and feelings. With practice and attention, the distinction between dreams and shifts will become clearer, like a sword cutting through fog.

Ultimately, trust in your ability to discern. Your own clear-headed analysis, combined with the unique feeling of a shift, will guide you to recognize the difference."

[bu-blegh-ost]

Let's analyze Captain Rose's final message (ep. 113 spoilers!!!)

I have transcribed the entire thing into my notes, and there are few parts that I believe give us some subtle hints to important lore bits. So let's take a look at these fragments, shall we?

"Even with the Emperor’s gracious accommodations, I can never feel at ease unless I’m sleeping on the sea. Tomorrow, we depart this beautiful country for one last ride."

Nothing that crazy here, but now we have a better grasp at the timeline. So this confirms, that the last place Black Rose Pirates have been to, before they departed for the final adventure led by Hendrix's map was Onowa Country, and judging by what comes next, the chest was also created and left there during that last stay.

"But…if you’re hearing this, it means we all died."

If you recall, Drey mentioned few episodes back, that thier final excursion was of little significance, barely worth remebering. But here Rose is, about to embark on it, his last adventure before he retires, and he believes that he's going to die. That they all are. Rose must have hidden the true importance of this adventure from the rest of his crew. He KNEW that it's very likely they are not coming back from it, he KNEW he is not actually retiring. So, the question is, did Rose truly meant to leave life at sea for his wife and children, or did he chose to retire cause he knew he was about to die and he needed an excuse, to tie all the loose ends before he goes without alarming anyone?

"Even so, freedom can look so different for the individual. Not every pirate’s gonna play fair. I’ve been prepping for this moment a long time. The day I’d be outmaneuvered."

Something happened to Rose before that. If you ask me, something must have been put on Rose. A spell? A deal perhaps? Something must have happened between Rose and Hendrix (I can't be sure it was him ofc, but I feel like it is pretty obvious at this point). The map he gave him was a final retirement gift. Whatever happened, Hendrix surely did or offered something that made Rose unable to refuse the last adventure. Rose was forced to open the Hole in the Sea. He was forced to attempt to free the Nameless Prince, and he knew, he is bringing his crew to possible death. He knew they may not make it out of the sea in time, before whatever he had to do takes effects, before the sea turns black. I don't believe he would do this if he could find another way. This line makes me feel like he was tricked, finally cornered by Hendrix. It would also make sense why Rose never listened to Finn's warnings when he told him abt Hendrix hiding his true arcane ability. It's possible he knew already. It's possible he was already chained by it.

"Now I fear, we’ll be remembered for something we didn’t do."

The hole in the sea. The one thing people always mention when Black Rose pirates are concerned. He was right. But it only proves, that Rose in this entire game was a tool. Just a person forced to do another's bidding, to be at the right place, at the right time. A sacrifice, but not a player. Niklaus told Chip it was Rose who opened the Hole in the Sea. And he was right, kinda. TECHNICALLY it was Rose. But he was not acting of his free will. He was forced to do it. And who made him? Well, probably the one person who knows that it was him.

"Anyways, I think I should have cared about how my friends would remember me. My family…"

A beautiful comparison between Chip and Rose. Rose sought fullfillment, legacy, Chip sought to recreate his childhood, but they both realised that what they always wanted in the end was family. Rose realized it too late, Chip did so on time. And he did manage to create a family he can feel content about, be proud of. Rose's story is a reminder for him, of how things could have ended.

"If my wife is still alive, tell her, tell our child, her child, I’m sorry."

Rose left Onowa knowing he will not retire. He knew he lied to his wife when he told her that he'll raise their child with her. Did he ever mean it? Did he know that he is doomed from the start, or was there a true intention of going back to her, before Hendrix came and his fate was sealed? Also, that makes me think that Reuben is not Rose's biological son. "OUR child" refers to the kid they had together, "HER child" might refer only to his wife's son, to Reuben. Still, he must have cared for him enough to decide that he also deserved apology.

"Thanks for coming to look for us. I knew you would.

Take care, Chip. "

I wonder if he actually knew. Could Hendrix promise him that Chip would be saved? He didn't seem to expect anyone else to make it, so it's possible that either Chip was supposed to play a special role in some way, or maybe he already did, or he was guaranteed to make it out alive regardless of the circumstances to make the journey he is on now. That could mean that Riptide Pirates were truly always destined to meet.

Okay, that will be most of my thoughts! Feel free to share yours!

[crazychaoticizzy]

Write Me Letters

You never expected to find someone that you could correspond with romantically. You never thought the poetic letters you wrote for a living would ever be exchanged with someone you were interested. Though, maybe Armin could be that person.

NOW PLAYING: “Write Me Letters” | Hot Freaks

ARMIN X READER

CONTENT: 20th century time period, Violet Evergarden and Divine Rivals inspired, fluff, war mentions, meet cute (i think?)

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

a/n: this was originally written for @kentopedia love through the ages valentine’s day event. uhm. let’s please ignore that this is a bajillion months later and also rylie if you don’t want to add this to the masterlist please do not feel obligated to i know this is so fucking late i’m sorry 😭

masterlist

AOT masterlist

You wrote for people who couldn’t.

It was your job. You worked for a company that sent literate writers wherever the customer wished and drafted manuscripts or wrote letters or transcribed trials. Anything the customer wanted, you travelled to write.

The most common was love letters. Any kind of letter, really, but you got assigned to write out confessions the most often.

At first you were elated. You loved doing this. You had dreamed to be a romance novelist once, but that dream was quickly squashed once you had been put to work in a publishing firm when you were sixteen. You had hoped it would give you an in to publish your novel, but your manuscript was rejected and burned by your boss right in front of you, and your pay was reduced by five cents.

You had no idea why, but you had a feeling it was because you were a girl writing trivial nonsense no one wants to read about.

You were the first to be cut from the payroll when the factory went bankrupt.

You’d lost your job and were nearly kicked out of the flat you lived in with three other people. You had tried cross dressing to see if you could raise your chances at getting another one, but your hair had fallen out of the hat you’d worn and you had done nothing but embarrassed yourself.

That was before an old friend of yours proposed an offer. Mikasa Ackerman, the distant cousin of a rather wealthy man with enough money to her immediate family to make it by with many luxuries. You’d met her one day in the late hours of the night on your way home. She had been canoodling with one of your dirt poor coworkers, and for you to keep it a secret she offered you anything you wanted. Of course, you asked for enough money to keep you comfortable for a month or two, and oddly enough the two of you became friends.

And then, in your time of need, she offered you a job. She’d shown up at your door one day with a wrapped box tied with a bow and invited you out. You accepted and the two of you walked to the park.

Once you had sat on a bench, she gave you the box. You carefully ripped at the seams to open it, feeling Mikasa’s dark eyes follow your every move.

After lifting the lid, your mouth fell agape, and you looked up at Mikasa.

The typewriter was beautiful. The mahogany wood was smooth beneath your palms and the metal keys were cold against your fingertips. It was a rather large, heavy thing, which gave you true insight into how strong Mikasa truly was.

“What’s this?” you had asked.

Mikasa smiled. “A typewriter, silly.”

“Well, yes. But why?”

Mikasa straightened (if that were even possible. Her back was always straight as a board) and folded her hands over her lap. “My mother is starting a business. She believes it would be nice if those that didn’t know how to write could send letters to those they care about. Even more, she has a friend that has recently become disabled, so they can no longer write. My mother would like to create a community willing to do that for those who can’t.”

You nod. You had heard about that friend MIkasa was talking about in the paper—an older woman who had lost her arm in a power loom, or something of the sort. You had seen the headline the other day and turned away, not wanting to know more.

“Anyhow,” Mikasa continued, “I thought you might like to work with us, since you don’t have a job.”

Something about the way she said that sent a pang to your heart. You should have expected it. Not only was it true, but Mikasa was always rather blunt.

You thought it over for a moment. What was the worst that could happen? You certainly wouldn’t lose any apendages or fingers, and surely you would make decent pay, right?

You nodded firmly at Mikasa. “Alright. I’ll take the job.”

Mikasa’s lips stretched into a soft, ladylike smile. “Wonderful.”

—

It was essentially your dream job. You got to dress in your finer clothes daily and write love letters and confessions. You couldn’t have asked for anything better.

But after years of sitting at a desk, it got tiring. Especially after the war.

It turns out the company wasn’t lying when they said their dolls went anywhere the customer wanted. Not to mention that after writing responses to the soldiers that were drafted got depressing fast. There was so much talk about unlikely futures and dreams that would never come true. It broke your heart, because you knew from your coworkers on the field that the receiver of the messages had already passed.

You were lucky enough to not have been sent. Lord knows how you would have ended up if you needed to travel to the front lines just to write. You’re sure you would have taken your own life before anyone else was given the chance.

But now that the war was over, you were tired. You were bored. Tired of writing letters for other people and bored of writing the same things over and over.

I miss you. Please come home safe. I imagine we…

And maybe some secret part of you wished you could put your own skills to use and write your own love letters to someone you admired. That was a desire you held deep down. You wanted to have a lover. You wanted to exchange letters with him and smile giddily whenever you receive a new one.

For once, you wanted to write for yourself.

But your workplace was mostly women. The only men that were consistently there were either married, entirely too old for you, or completely uninterested in even talking to you.

Until one day, a very slow and drab one, Mikasa strolled into the main building with a blond boy following behind her. You watched from your cubicle as the two of them went into Mrs. Ackerman’s office, trying to see if you could get an idea of why they were there for through the crack left in the door.

They both emerged a few moments later, and Mikasa led him into another room—the one that letters were stored in to be delivered at a later date. Mikasa came back out alone.

“Who was that?” you asked as she passed your desk. Mikasa paused, lifting her hands to crack her knuckles as she talked.

“Armin Arlert. He’s the new mail boy,” she explained, switching hands. “Mom says we need someone else since Eren’s getting overwhelmed by himself.”

You softly nod. Mikasa stays for a few seconds before she walks off. You look back down at your typewriter, flipping through a few requests until you found a letter you wanted to write.

Your phone rang just a few moments later. You picked it up and said in the kindest voice you had, “Good afternoon. You’ve reached the Shiganshina Letter Company. How might I assist you today?”

The old woman on the line spoke slowly. You hummed and nodded along to what she said as if she could see you. She was in a wheelchair confined to her house, so she couldn’t travel to the building. She requested your presence and, as stated in the company policy, you began packing up what you would need.

You stored your typewriter in its box and stowed blank sheets of paper in the pocket on the side. You lifted it from your desk, a feat that had become easier the more you lifted it and got used to the weight, and made your way out of the building.

—

She was a sweet old woman. Her graying hair was pulled into a ponytail at the base of your neck and when she let you in the first thing she offered was brownies and a glass of milk. You politely declined the brownies and milk, but when she offered a drink of water you felt it necessary to accept.

The letter she wanted wasn’t a love letter. At least, not a traditional or stereotypical one like you would think. She wanted you to write to her granddaughter, whose mother had recently passed away. You sat with her at the table and wrote, wiping your eyes with the corner of your sleeve as you pulled the paper out of the typewriter.

You handed it to the woman to read over, and were overjoyed when her eyes became teary and she sniffed. It always made you happy when what you wrote could evoke such emotion.

She held her arm open, offering a hug. You leaned over, careful not to lose your balance, and wrapped your arms around her softly. She asked if you could deliver, which you said yes to.

And now, back at the company building, you’re walking around the delivery room trying to find the correlating street address. You didn’t go into that room often, as Eren was always there to take letters that needed to be delivered, but Eren was off by that point. You were alone.

That’s what you hoped, at least, until someone came up behind you and said, “Can I help you?”

You startled, not expecting someone to be in the delivery room. When you turned you saw the blond boy Mikasa had brought in earlier, Armin.

“Oh, apologies. I didn’t mean to impose.”

Armin shook his head. “No, it’s alright. My shift is over, technically, so you aren’t imposing on anything.”

You softly nodded, a gentle smile gracing your lips. You remembered the letter in your hand and held it out to him. “Carnela Street?”

Armin took the envelope from your hand, reading over the address. “Oh, over here.” He tilted his head back up to meet your gaze and tilted his head for you to follow. “The system’s organized alphabetically by rows. A through D is that first one when you walk in.”

You nodded along, not quite understanding what he meant until he showed you. You made an O shape with your mouth when you realized, feeling a bit stupid at not being able to figure that out yourself.

You watch as Armin scans through the files until he reaches a drawer labeled Carnela-Draise and opened it. He dropped the paper in before closing it.

An awkward silence enveloped the two of you until you couldn’t take it anymore and gave him a sweet smile. You excused yourself and, cheeks heated and palms sweaty, turned around to walk out of the delivery room. You packed up your typewriter when you reached your desk and saw Armin again on your way out, where he gave you a small smile and soft wave.

You gave a curt nod in return before walking out of the building.

—

The first letter appeared on your desk a week later.

You thought it was nothing more than a request for you to draft something, but the scraggly writing on the front that spelled out your name told you otherwise.

You set it to the side and forgot about it until you returned to your dinghy apartment. It was small and fit no more than a twin bed and desk, but you had made well enough friends with the neighbors and oftentimes found yourself yearning for the comfort of the small room. At least it wasn’t crowded with other people, as you knew so many others were. That was one luxury you were grateful for.

You had placed your typewriter case on your desk and opened it. The corner of the letter poked out from the bottom, and you managed to wedge it out from beneath the heavy machine without having to lift it out of the case.

You opened it with your letter opener, a birthday gift Mikasa had given you when you first started working for her. It was made of fake gold and the handle had your full name and a rose carved into it. Honestly, you could have pawned it or sold it to some unsuspecting person for hundreds, but the fact that Mikasa had bought it specifically with you in mind made you keep it.

The letter was simple. Short and to the point the way you liked. You suspected that the writer must have asked someone about it.

While you enjoyed writing the flowery and poetic language you did, you never liked receiving it. You always doubted and found the double meanings that weren’t there. It was a misunderstanding waiting to happen.

I’ve found that your beauty has captured my attention. I shall like to get to know you. Might I take you out for dinner?

That’s what it said. It was signed with two curly A’s, and you wondered for a moment who it was from.

Armin, maybe? Though the written language seemed too refined to belong to him. He’d spoken to you rather casually during your last interaction, so it couldn’t possibly be him.

The next day when you walked into the office, you noticed Armin stepping into your cubicle with a square of paper. You stood by for a moment until he emerged, the piece of paper now gone. He turned his head toward the entrance and simply gave you a smile before sticking his hands in his pockets and walking across the aisle into the delivery room.

This time, you opened the letter immediately. You used your nail to pry up a corner and peeled apart the rest, leaving a jagged tear in the pristine paper.

We haven’t been properly introduced. I suppose I should have started with that. Please forgive me for being ungentlemanly and asking you out before even hearing your name from yourself.

The signature at the bottom confirmed the conclusion you drew the night before. The curved writing spelled out Armin Arlert. You found yourself leaning over your desk in an attempt to catch a glance at him in the delivery room, but he wasn’t there.

You grabbed a spare sheet of paper. You considered feeding it into your typewriter, but something drew you to pick up a pen and ink to write it out instead. It seemed more personal that way.

It was rather improper for you not to introduce yourself first. I’m sure Mikasa has told you my name, correct? No matter, I accept your invitation all the same.

You signed it with your name and folded it into threes. You quickly wrote his name on the front and walked across the way to the delivery room. You left it on a desk and walked out before anyone could spot you.

—

It was an odd correspondence. Neither of you spoke to each other, likely too nervous to stumble across your words or stutter out sentences you didn’t mean, but you wrote letters. They were lovely, well poised and written with increasingly beautiful prose. You were falling before you knew what was happening, and you found yourself pushing down a smile any time there was a new square of paper in your cubicle.

It took a while to set up the date Armin had asked you on. Tiptoeing around the subject and your unpredictable schedules didn’t come together well. Some days you were called to travel hours out of town, which always threw a wrench in your plans.

But you finally found a day. It was a Tuesday afternoon, the air crisp with the chill of fall and the leaves drifting in the breeze with vibrant colors.

He’d invited you to a small cafe. It was a narrow building, seemingly wedged into the extra space between two others, but the table you chose to wait at outside was nice. You sat with your hands folded in your lap, looking out at the street.

Armin approached you from your peripheral. You turned your head, softly smiling when you recognized his slightly tousled hair and blue eyes. He returned your smile, holding out a small bouquet of wildflowers to you.

“Good afternoon, Miss L/n,” he said as you took the flowers. He sat across from you, leaning forward against the table.

“Y/n is fine,” you said, your voice soft. The habits your mother drilled into your head as a child returned. Speak softly and sit with your legs crossed.

You glanced around, noticing the absence of a third presence. “No chaperone?” you teased.

Armin’s lips tilted up, and he let out an amused breath. “I was under the assumption that you would bring one. I can find one, if you’d like.”

You shook your head. “No. No, it’s alright. I’d rather not have one. It would make this more natural.”

You gave him a soft smile. Before you knew it, you were slipping into conversation with him like he was an old friend. Like he was your lover.

It was easy. Talking to him felt as natural as breathing. You didn’t have to force laugher or interest or smiles, it all just happened with him. You’ve never felt more relieved or energized in your life.

When the sun had gone down and the only thing lighting the street was the dim lights and you and Armin were the only ones on the sidewalk, he gently took you by the hand and stood up.

“Allow me to walk you home.” He smiled at you, running his thumb across your knuckles. “It’s late. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Alright. Although I warn you, I do live quite far.” You took his arm when he offered it, looping yours through his as you began walking.

“That just gives me more time to talk to you.”

“We’ve already burned through half the day talking. Don’t you tire of me?” You turned your head to him, quirking a brow and tilting your head slightly.

“I don’t believe I could ever tire of a voice as beautiful as yours.” Armin met your gaze. His eyes were clearer than a cloudless sky, the reflection of the stars shining in them. “Or a beauty as ethereal as yours.”

Your cheeks heated. You smiled and gave a flirty laugh, your hold on his arm becoming slightly firmer. “You flatter me.”

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.” He smiled sweetly at you. “I could talk to you for hours.”

You quietly hummed, averting your gaze to instead look down at the ground. Stray weeds grew between the cracks in the concrete. Despite the city’s rigorous upkeep, bright dandelions always managed to peek through.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. In that short time, you replayed the day in your head. You noticed that Armin spoke more . . . refined. He talked to you with a voice more becoming of a rich man, one that contrasted the casual tone he used with you at the office.

“Is there a reason you’re speaking differently?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that day I entered the delivery room your language was more casual,” you explained, still looking down at the ground. “Now, however, you’re speaking more refined. There’s a poetic way to the way you’re talking, almost.”

Armin looked down at the ground with you. Even if you weren’t meeting his eyes anyway, he wasn’t going to take any chances of his gaze catching yours.

“You noticed?” His tone was teasing, and you let out an amused hum. “If you were talking to a pretty girl, you’d want to impress her, wouldn’t you? Especially if she’s clearly more educated and well read than you are.”

You smiled again at the indirect compliments. An odd flutter in your stomach alarmed you. You had been complimented before—why were his sending your mind spiraling with delusional images of a life with him?

“Thank you, though I assure you that I am not as sophisticated as you’ve made me out to be,” you said. You were no longer looking down at the ground, but you still didn’t turn to look at him.

“Are you not aware of the letters you write? The linguistic dialogue you use in them is beautiful.”

You finally turned to look at him, your eyes widened and your palms beginning to sweat.

“You’ve read my letters?” you wondered.

“Only one or two,” Armin replied. He lifted his head and met your gaze, a faint smile painted across his lips. “Mikasa’s shown me a few. She says she wished her lover sent her letters like those instead of one of her closest friends.”

You laugh, although you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re amused by what Mikasa said or because you now have the knowledge that he’s read what you’ve written.

Armin moved to keep walking, but the gradual stop in your steps made him falter. He looked at you curiously for a moment before realizing that you had stopped in front of your building.

“Well, thank you. Again, that is.” You tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, glancing away again. “I was always told in school that my writing was too flowery and confusing.”

“I think that’s the best part of it.” Armin smiled, stepping closer to you in the dim light of the street. “If you write it well to someone you know will understand it, then the recipient won’t misinterpret it. That’s the beauty of finding someone like you, don’t you think?”

You blinked at him, turning his words over in your head, before your lips stretched into a smile. You had never thought of it that way, but Armin’s insight only made you want to find that special someone even more.

“I suppose that’s true.” You look up at your building, realizing that you didn’t want to part with the blond quite yet. “Say, would you mind walking me to my apartment?”

You watched Armin’s eyes light up. The faint smile that seemed to have been permanently etched onto his face widened, and he nodded. “I would be honored.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy in a single day. You’ve smiled more times than you were able to count talking to him alone and your cheeks were beginning to become sore.

You motioned for him to follow you. You gently pushed open the door and began the ascent to your floor with him.

You weren’t sure if it was an appropriate topic of conversation, considering the two of you had only met recently and didn’t know a great deal about each other, but you began speaking about soulmates. You said that if written language could act as a crafted secret between one and their beloved, then surely soulmates could be made.

Armin agreed with you, though he added his belief that there was a higher being that manipulated paths and made certain people come across each other at the right times. Maybe soulmates could be made, but there was still that line of fate.

Although you didn’t believe in fate or destiny, you hoped that whatever was out there had written a story for you where he was yours.

When you reached your apartment door, you slowly slid your key into the lock, hoping to postpone the inevitable moment where you would have to leave him and walk into your room. You placed a reluctant hand on the doorknob, running your thumb across it before looking up at him.

“Thank you.” It seemed as though that was all you were doing. “For walking up here, but also for the day.”

Armin flashed you a smile, bowing his head. “It was my pleasure. I quite enjoyed today and hope that you will accept my invitation for another like it?”

You hummed, feigning thought. “Will there be a chaperone next time?”

Armin chuckled. “Only if you want one.”

“I suppose I might entertain the idea, then,” you teased. You regretfully turned the handle and opened your door, wishing that you could invite him in. “Goodnight, Armin.”

When Armin gave you the last smile of the night, you found yourself wanting to kiss him. You wanted to brush your lips against his and taste the sunshine he radiated. You wanted to hold him close and thread your fingers through his hair.

Armin turned to walk away, but the soft call of his name stopped him.

He turned to look at you. “Yes?”

You ran your thumb across the doorknob again, searching your mind for the words. “You don’t need to talk fancy to win my favor. I’d rather get to know you.”

It’s clear that you caught him off guard, but that faint, ever present smile never diminished.

He nodded. “Good night, Y/n.”

You returned the nod, stepping into your apartment and clicking the door behind you.

You pressed your ear against the wood, listening to the sound of his fading footsteps as he retreated. When you could no longer hear him, you peeled yourself away from the door and dropped onto your bed, staring up at your ceiling with a star struck gaze.

Maybe flowery writing wasn’t all that bad.

please ignore that the writing style changed like halfway through i don’t know why that happened

anyways this is basically the start of my come back to writing because uhm. i kind of took a long unannounced hiatus from it BUT that’s besides the point ✨

i’m also scared i lost my writing sparkle please tell me if this was normal for me (if that makes sense) because i need validation

anyways hope y’all have a good day/night and that your pillow is always cool on both sides love y’all <3

🏷️ @arlerts-angel @ocean-armin if you’d like be notified any time i write for Armin leave a comment or DM me!

[maddogofshimano]

Hello! Seeing this blog was an insta-follow. JW, did u do a translation somewhere of…whatever this is? https://youtu.be/tfAqq15hv5s?si=xXzvWG1ImZ_qGGGb

I’d love to know what she’s saying, I’m scraping and scrounging for more Goromi content. There *is* a translation in the comments section, but it’s worded strangely…

hey thanks!! I am waaaaaaaaay less confident in translating spoken stuff, especially with Goromi's wildly fluctuating accent and general screeching but at one point I did go through and do some of the easier ones. however!! a kind soul has transcribed everything in the comments since the last time I checked so I'm doing this proper now. under a cut because it got long lol

italics is Goromi dropping into the masc Majima-style voice

0:00 どーもー ゴロ美でーす。真島? あ? 誰やそれ つべこべ言わんと はよドンペリ入れんかい! Hiii I'm Goromi. Majima? Huh? Don't talk about whoever that is, hurry up and bring out the Dom Perignon! 0:13 はぁあん 仕事もできる女 それがゴ・ロ・美 またモテてまうわぁ はぁ 参るなぁ Haaa~ A woman can do work too. That's Go - ro - mi. She'll be popular again. Haa~ Give me a call~ 0:28 めっちゃジロジロ見られたわぁ 嫌やわぁ セクハラちゃうー? I'm gettin' stared at so much. I don't like it. Is this sexual harassment? 0:35 よっしゃー! 暴れるでぇお前らー! All right! I'm gonna go ballistic on you all! 0:39 あ? パンツ見えてる? だからなんやねん Huh? Ya can see my panties? Watch where you're lookin'! 0:46 あーあ 早う桐生ちゃん来んかのぉー Ahhhh… won't Kiryu-chan hurry up~? 0:53 なんや 俺は安い女とちゃうで　 What is it? I ain't a cheap gal. 0:59 あ? パンツ見えてる? いやーんこのドスケベー 目ん玉くり抜いたろかぁ! Ya can see my panties? Ooooh ya perv~! I'll gouge out your fuckin' eyes!* 1:08 いやーん ええ飲みっぷりやないかぁ ちょっと見直したでぇ Oooh, you seem like ya can hold your drink~ I'm startin' to come around on ya~ 1:16 うち 強い奴が好きやねん うちを その気にさせたいんならぁ 殺す気で来いやぁ! Me, I like strong guys. If ya want me to like you… then ya better come at me like ya want me dead!* 1:27 やだ ゴロ美ったらドキドキしてる 気に入ったでぇ おぉ! ドス持ってこいやぁ! いっちょやり合おうやないかー! No way, ya got Goromi's heart all flutterin'. Oh! This is perfect for my dagger! Time to fight!" 1:39 うちも一杯もらってええか? 今日はなんだか飲みたい気分やねん Is it alright if I get one too? Today I'm in the mood to drink. 1:48 はい どーぞっ! ゴロ美特性 ゲロマズカクテルやでぇ なぁ 飲めや Here you go! Goromi's special super yucky cocktail! …Hey, drink it. 1:57 桐生ちゃん 驚くやろなぁ Kiryu-chan's a surprisin' guy~ 2:01 ゴロ美 ドキドキしちゃう You're gonna make Goromi's heart flutter.* 2:04 うちが ナンバーワンキャバ嬢 ゴロ美や 覚えときー I'm the number one cabaret girl Goromi, ya better remember that. 2:12 ヒーヒッヒヒヒー 惚れても知らんでぇ Hehehehee not my fault if you're fallin' for me~* 2:16 ますますべっぴんになってくでぇ I'm becoming more and more beautiful~ 2:20 奇麗なバラには トゲがあるんやでぇ A beautiful rose still has its thorns. 2:26 魔性の女 それがゴロ美やでぇ Goromi, a woman with a devilish nature~ 2:31 ゴロ美の新たな魅力 感じてやぁ Experience Goromi's fresh new glamor. 2:36 ふぉーん なかなか見どころあるやないかぁ ま、けどアフター��お預けや There's a lot of good things to see, aren't there? Well, that will have to wait for the after hours date. 2:45 やるやないかぁ へえぇ ゴロ美アフター権 進呈したるわ このボケがぁ! Well it can't be helped. I'm presentin' ya with the rights to an after hours date with Goromi. Ya dumb ass! 2:56 ご指名 おおきに Thank ya for requestin' me.* 2:59 男女がやる事いうたらー 喧嘩しかないやろがぁ! There's a thing that men and women do together… They fight each other! 3:06 か弱いレディーに 何するんじゃボケェ! This weak lady, what the hell are ya doin' to her, idiot! 3:10 あかーん そんなんじゃゴロ美は濡れへんでぇ! Siiiilly, that kind of thing won't get Goromi wet! (tl note: I……………………. I feel like there's something I'm misreading here. but. turns out I'm not!!) 3:14 当店はお触り禁止じゃぁ! We don't allow touching in this establishment!!! 3:17 野暮な男は嫌いやでぇ! I hate men with no manners!!

(tl note: the rest of these are various battle callouts) 3:24 ボトル入りまーす! Bottle comin' through! 3:26 これ うちの名刺! Here's… my business card! 3:30 ゴロ美に惚れたら 火傷するでぇ! If ya fall for Goromi… You're gonna get burned! 3:35 お客様は神様 なわけあるかボケェ! The customer is king… what a stupid idea! 3:41 イーヒッヒヒヒー 太客認定したるわぁ! Eeehehehehee, I just bagged a big spender! 3:46 シャンパン入りまーす! Champagne comin' through! 3:49 花は いつか散るんやでぇ Flowers will… always scatter… 3:54 終わりがあるから 美しいんやでぇ Because they must end… They are beautiful… 4:01 またのご来店 お待ちしてまーす! We look forward to seeing you agaaaaiiiin! 4:05 はぁ うちをもっと燃えさす奴はおらんのかいなぁ Haaa… is there no one left who can get me fired up? 4:11 ゴロ美の「み」は 皆殺しの「み」じゃぁ! The "mi" in "Goromi" is… from the "mi" in "minagoroshi"! (tl note: wholesale slaughter) 4:16 稼ぎ時を逃さん女 それがゴロ美じゃボケェ! Goromi, a woman who's never let a chance to make a profit escape her! 4:23 ヒヒッ ゴロ美 ほてってきたでぇ Hehe, Goromi's burnin' hot! 4:29 ヒヒッ 延長やぁ ���たり前やろ! Hehe, an extension. Obviously! (tl note: for using a continue in a fight) 4:36 ごっついのぉ Real strong, huh… (tl note: for losing)

whew! as usual if I fucked something else please tell me some of this stuff gets real in the weeds. all I can do is my best

thanks again for the follow and for suggesting this! I'm real glad I took another look, that minagoroshi line really made me laugh. unrelated to Goromi but I'll have a new event up in a week or so because the one going on right now is so incredibly funny to me. it's a Saejima event. look forward to it * Edit: a couple of line corrections thanks to @imustbenuts Thank you again!!!

[mrsjoeythehurler]

When I Met You

(OC FMC x Liam Mairi)

All characters except for Aurora Sallow who is my OC and the FMC of this fic belong to Rebecca Yarros. The plot of Fourth Wing also belongs to Rebecca Yarros.

Content warnings: most of the warnings that are for Fourth Wing are also going to be in When I Met You. That includes: Blood, death, injury, violence and war. The only content warning I am adding is panic attacks (2)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟAurora Sallow ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

"You had to walk that thing twice?"

Sawyer nods his head. "Yeah. Turns out that when you repeat a year, you have to repeat everything that got you in the Riders Quadrant in the first place. That includes that death trap."

We're still in the courtyard, waiting for further instruction on what comes next.

"Well, that's unfortunate."

"Tell me about it, " he says, rubbing the back of his head. I, uh...I haven't told my parents I had to repeat a year." He looks at me with a wince.

I give him a small smile. "Well, your secret's safe with me."

I know all too well what it's like to not want to tell your parents things. My whole life, I've learned to keep my issues hidden. Keeping my panic attacks on the down low and my anxiety bottled up until I was alone. My parents already had enough to worry about without me being a burden. They didn't need me to worry about too.

I see a flash of silver in the corner of my eye and realize it's Violet.

"Sorry, Sawyer. I have to talk to someone real quick. Can I see you later?"

Smiling, he nods. "Of course, I'll see you later. It was nice talking to you, Aurora."

When I finally make my way over to Violet, I tap her on the shoulder. "Hey."

"Aurora? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

She sighs. "My mom sent me here. Trust me, there's nothing I would like more than to be with the Scribes right now. But I'm here."

I give her a sad smile. "My parents sent me here, too. I think we'd both much rather be transcribing books right now, though."

Violet huffs, "Tell me about it."

Just then, a beautiful dark-skinned girl walks up to Violet and squeezes her shoulders. "We made it!" She yells.

Violet gives her a smile, but I can tell it's forced, "We made it."

"I can't thank you enough," the girl goes on. "There were at least three times I would have fallen off if you hadn't helped me. You were right—those soles were slick as shit. Have you seen the people around here? I swear I just saw a second-year with pink streaks in her hair, and one guy has dragon scales tattooed up his entire biceps. Oh, hi!" She says, suddenly turning towards me and offering a hand. “I’m Rhiannon Matthias. But you can call me Rhi."

Laughing a little, I take her hand. "Aurora Sallow. But you can call me Aurora."

"Aurora and I were in the Scribe Quadrant together." Violet tells Rhiannon.

“Well, it's nice to meet you," Rhi says. "Now, shall we go find the dragon scale tattoo guy? I'm very interested."

Rhi loops my arm with hers while her other loops with Violets as we walk. I can't help but notice Violet doesn't look too good. Whether it's nerves or a sickness, I can't tell.

Rhiannon doesn't seem to notice as she continues talking and hunting down this dragon tattoo guy. "Speaking of which," she says, "We need to trade boots. There's a bench—"

We all halt as a tall man in a black uniform steps out of the crowd charging toward us. My anxiety kicks in, and I scramble to the right, taking Rhiannon with me in my haste to escape. I forgot our arms were linked.

However, she must have let go of Violet's because Violet smacks right into this guy's chest.

"Violet?" the man asks. He obviously must know her, and I can see it in his eyes. He looks familiar to me, too, but I can't remember his name.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He barks. He looks mad. Really mad. I take another step back, again taking Rhi with me.

Violet's still looking up at him, but something's not right. She looks like she's about to pass out. "Dain. It's good to see you."

At that moment, her knees give out.

I unloop my arm from Rhi's and take a step towards her to help when this Dain guy beats me to it.

"Damn it, Violet," he mutters while hauling her back to her feet and bringing her to the bench.

Violet leans her head back against the wall. "I'm going to be sick."

"Head between your knees." Dain says, "It's the adrenaline. Give it a minute, and it will pass."

Not wanting to stand here and do absolutely nothing, I take a few steps towards my friend to help her when Dain whips his head towards me and frowns. "Who the hell are you?"

I freeze. "I'm Aurora, Violet's friend."

Dain continues to look at me with that intense expression. "Listen to me, Aurora. Violet is fine," he commands. "If anyone asks, you tell them exactly as I said, that it's just the adrenaline working out of her system. Do you understand?"

I narrow my eyes. "You don't need to act that way with me. I'm not going to go around telling everyone people's business."

"You better mean that." He warns.

"He's one of my oldest friends." Violet trembles from her spot on the bench.

Looking between them, I sensed there may have been more than just friendship involved. But I didn't say anything. "Oh."

"And a second-year rider, cadet."

I want to laugh. He says it like that title alone means he has a reason to act like a dick.

Newsflash, buddy, your attitude and your beard suck.

"My knee is sore," Violet whispers.

And that's when Dain becomes even more protective.

After Rhiannon and Violet trade shoes, Dain asks Violet if she trusts us, to which Violet nods.

"All right." He stands and turns towards us. "I'm Dain Aetos, the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing."

Man, I hope I'm not stuck with him as a leader.

"Parapet should be over in the next couple of hours, depending on how fast the candidates cross or fall. Go find the redhead with the roll—she usually carries a crossbow— and tell her that Dain Aetos put you and Violet Sorrengail into his squad."

Well, that hope of mine was short-lived.

"If she questions you, tell her she owes me for saving her ass at Threshing last year," Dain continues. "I'll bring Violet back to the courtyard shortly."

Rhi and I both glance at Violet to make sure she's okay, and she nods.

"Go before someone sees." Dain barks.

Rhi links her arm back with mine, and we walk back to the courtyard.

"He's… kinda intense, isn't he." She says to me as we continue walking.

"More like annoying," I say.

Violet's oldest friend or not, I didn't like Dain Aetos.

10 minutes later, Rhi and I are back in the courtyard with no sign of Violet anywhere.

"Do you think Violet's okay?" I asked Rhi. "She really didn't look too good."

Rhi looks over at me and gives me a small smile. "She'll be okay. I have full faith that she'll be okay. It really could have been just the adrenaline, as Dain said. The parapet is no joke, as you obviously know."

She's right. She has to be right. Violet will be okay.

A couple minutes later, a girl comes over and introduces herself. Her name's Tara and I can tell by the way Rhi is looking at her and the way she's soaking up everything Tara's saying that she's definitely interested in her.

Letting them talk, I take in my surroundings and freeze.

Standing not ten feet away is the most beautiful boy I've ever seen.

And he was staring right at me.

With blonde hair and eyes as blue as the ocean, he was captivating. He had a jawline I’m convinced was crafted by the gods and even though he’s wearing flight leathers, It’s not hard to tell he’s sculpted underneath. His arms were covered in ruins, which means he’s a marked one—

"There you are!" Rhi shouts, bringing my attention back to her.

We both see Violet and rush over to her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟLiam Mairi ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

I couldn't look away.

I know Xaden needed my undivided attention, but I couldn't help it being elsewhere.

Gods, this girl was beautiful. Long brown wavy hair that reaches her mid back, big brown eyes I could get lost in, pink-tinted lips.

She was the most stunning girl I've ever seen.

"Liam, are you even listening to me?" Xaden says, bringing me back to the present.

"No," I reply, not taking my eyes off the girl.

"What are you-"

Xaden doesn't get to finish his sentence because Garrick interrupts him. "He's looking at that girl."

Xaden scans the courtyard. "Which one?"

Garrick points at the stunning brunette, who has her attention elsewhere now.

When Xaden finds her, he narrows his eyes. "That's the girl who waved at me at the parapet."

Garrick looks over at Xaden, confused. "Do you know her?”

"I don't think so," Xaden says.

Then his attention moves to the girl she's talking to. She has long brown hair with silver streaks on the ends. I've never seen hair like that before.

As Xaden keeps staring at the silver-haired girl, my attention returns to the brunette by her side.

And my attention stays there during Commandant Panchek’s entire welcome speech.

[littlerequiem]

— enchanted ˚⁎⁺ levi ackerman x gn!reader

CONTENT — A Howl's Moving Castle inspired one-shot featuring Wizard Levi and a Violin Maker Reader. No real warnings, just some fluff about first encounters, Levi's POV (wc: 1.1k)

The rhythmic sound of coins being deposited into the till ceases.

Levi looks up as you finish recording the transaction of his payment in a notebook, a magical quill transcribing your thoughts directly onto the paper. Despite the help, you remain concentrated on your task, creases forming between your brows. 

Levi studies you.

You are as he last remembers, but different.

Your essence is the same, but your strength is yet to be discovered. 

And you are more modest than he remembers. You wear a simple straw hat, which doesn't have any woven details nor ribbons to adorn it. 

All things considered, it is a rather plain hat. But perhaps its most offensive transgression is the fact that it is worn by someone as special as you.

Oh yes, Levi wasn’t sure when he spotted you in the crowds in the bustling town of Market Chipping, but now, he is certain of it.

It’s you.  

And someone of your caliber? 

You deserve the finest silk hats. 

You deserve to be far away from a step-sister who mistreats you and takes advantage of your skills as an artisan. 

You deserve to open your own shop, in a town you choose for yourself.  

You just deserve more. 

“I hope you enjoy your violin, Sir,” you say to him, tearing him out of his observations. Your voice is low and collected, as though you are afraid to draw attention to yourself.

You hand him a package—the violin he just bought—wrapped carefully in a leather-bound box. It is one of the finest instruments Levi has ever seen, but that you're the one who crafted it makes it priceless. 

Levi says nothing as he takes his new purchase in his two hands. He tucks it under one arm and continues to stare at you. 

Behind the counter, trinkets float around the different violins on display, jewels of all colors gleaming and reflecting a myriad of colors on your skin. It is a beautiful and delicate sight, and Levi secretly wonders how you would look surrounded by more colors.  

At Levi’s silence, you follow his gaze and catch what he is staring at. 

“Oh, those?” you let out, a timid smile creeping up on your lips. You reach out into the air, and various gems hover around your fingertips, like metal attracted to a magnet. “These are enchanted gemstones. We sell them to musicians looking for a muse. Our local Witch has charmed them to float around like this. Catchy, isn’t it?”  

As you finish explaining your story, you pluck one stone that’s swirling above you. You turn and offer it to him, opening your palm.

It’s a pink stone, etched with sharp corners and glistening surfaces.  

“It is said that each stone brings a different kind of luck to its owner,” you explain, a gleam of light reflecting onto your cheeks as you twirl the stone around. “This one’s a rose quartz. It’s meant to promise long lasting love.”

Levi's lips twitch at the sight of the stone.

Long lasting love, huh?

Of course, Levi recognizes the pink gem—he recognized it the moment he walked into the shop. It is the same stone that you wore as a necklace in his past when you first saved him.

Despite this, he still finds himself asking you:  “Why hand me this one?” 

Levi still doesn’t retrieve the gem from your hand, allowing you to finish your sales pitch. 

You blink, your eyes flickering to him. Your expression is riddled with uncertainty, as if you didn’t expect Levi would be interested in what you had to say. 

You swallow a heavy breath, your hand faltering.

“D’you know what? I don’t understand it myself. It just… felt right. Isn’t that strange?” You bite your bottom lip nervously. “Here, you keep it—it’s on the house.” 

You bring your hand closer to his own, offering him the stone. 

But Levi waves a hand in the air to refuse.

“No,” Levi answers coolly. “This isn’t a charity.”

He sees you frown, appearing taken aback.

Levi gestures to the stone still in your hand. “But I would like to buy it.” 

A victorious grin creeps on your lips, as though you didn’t believe your speech might lead to this turn of events. You nod, looking oddly satisfied with yourself. 

“Alright then,” you hum. You tell him the price of the stone and he hands you the change. Before handing him his new possession, you give him a curious stare. “What name should I put on both receipts?”

He stills.

“Levi Ackerman,” he answers, studying you carefully to gauge your reaction.

You look up at him. Recognition flashes on your face and you appear startled. Afraid, perhaps.

“Oh.” There’s a tremor to your voice that wasn’t there before. “Are you… the Levi Ackerman? Humanity’s Strongest Wizard?” 

Levi crosses his arms over his chest. The term Humanity Strongest was first coined many years ago, when he was still an apprentice and his mastery of magic was deemed extraordinary.

He hates the title. 

“Fucking pretentious, isn’t it?” Levi comments, the muscles on his face tensing. 

You seem to relax upon hearing Levi's response, the same smile ghosting your face. “Well, it is a bit much. Couldn’t settle for a title with less… flair?”  

“Believe me, I would have loved to,” Levi mutters. 

The corner of your mouth lift upwards. “I suppose Humanity’s Okay-est Wizard doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, huh?”

Levi shrugs. “I think I would settle for just Levi, if I could,” he confesses.

Levi wants to say that he’d settle for you calling him like that, but he refrains himself. That would be way too forward of him and way too creepy of a thing to hear from someone you don’t even know.

But Levi knows you.

(He’s known you for many years.) 

For him, to hear his name on your lips would be as natural as the wind blowing through the valley of this town.

There’s a gleam in your eyes now, the beginning of a fire Levi recognizes. “Alright, just Levi. Tell me, do you believe in the properties of stones?”

Levi clicks his tongue in a way that it hisses through his teeth, amusement and disbelief blending on his face.

“Not really.” Levi gazes at you thoughtfully. “But maybe one day.” 

You give him a curious look and place the gem into his palm. The contact of your fingertips against his skin sizzles. 

Levi pockets the stone, burning the memory of you in his mind. He’ll gift you the necklace one day, and you'll both see that the properties of the stone are true.

But before that, your own story has to start.

See you soon, Violin Maker.

— Masterlist

[bemyvalentinechallenge]

The Be My Valentine Challenge 2024

An event from @timecanalwayshealyou

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The Be My Valentine Challenge is a challenge for writers, artists, and just any kind of creator, from the first of February to the 14th!

The idea is to create thirteen smaller, lead-up pieces based on the prompts; for example, ficlets/drabbles/one-shots, couplets, small artworks, individual gifs, et. cetera - and finish the challenge with a larger work; a fic, a full poem, a gifset, a big artwork, whatever sparks for you!

They can be a series or separate, and you're free to change mediums or fandoms for different days. If you'd rather create fourteen small works, or all large ones, or a combination of both, that's completely up to you! Prompts can be used after the event, combined, just do whatever! Only "properly" used prompts will be reblogged to this page, however.

The catch; it's all romance prompts, in the spirit of Valentine's Day and because everyone on this site is single and lonely.

Each day has a quote from an iconic or relevant romance film (The Notebook, Red, White and Royal Blue, The Fault In Our Stars, Pride And Prejudice, etc.), an iconic love song, and a romantic cliché, act, or item.

This account will be reblogging a few works (art, drabbles, ficposts, etc.) from the event tag (bemyvalentine2024) each day. Full tagging rules, the transcribed prompt list, and other event details are under the cut. If you're unsure about anything, send in an ask! Happy Creating!

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There will be an ao3 collection open from the first of February to the fourteenth for submission. Artworks, gifsets, etc. posted to tumblr should be tagged appropriately to be seen as part of the event.

The official spotify playlist for the event can be found here.

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Anyone who completes this event is considered a Valentine, and anyone who participates is a Lover. At the end of the event, a form will be put out, so if you wish to be tagged in a masterpost, keep an eye out! I won't be fact-checking, it's an honour system, so please be honest.

There will be completion and participation badges, too! They're in the works as we speak!

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Tagging System:

event tag - #bemyvalentine2024

prompt tag - #bemyvalentineno1, #bemyvalentineno2, etc.

(Or #bemyvalentinealt1, #bemyvalentinealt2, if you use alt promtps)

the theme or specific prompt/s you chose - #love poems, #quote, etc.

fandom or oc - #stranger things, #original content, etc.

any trigger warnings/nsfw tags if needed

and then your own tags!

Only works tagged correctly will be reblogged to this page, so please take note!

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

Transcribed Prompt List:

Day 1: "But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." Because You Loved Me, Celine Dion | Love Poems

Day 2: "I want all of you, forever. You and me. Every day." A Thousand Years, Christina Perri | Growing Old Together

Day 3: "I fell in love with a world through her eyes." Ocean Eyes, Billie Eilish | Love at First Sight

Day 4: "I'd rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you." Marry Me, Train | Wedding Vows

Day 5: "My love will keep me from being a lonely spirit." When I Look At You, Miley Cyrus | Long Distance

Day 6: "People do belong to each other, because that's the only chance that anyone's got for true happiness." Home, Edward Sharpe | First Love

Day 7: "It's so nice when you can sit with someone and not have to talk." Sweater Weather, The Neighbourhood | Snowed In

Day 8: "I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." Say You Won't Let Go, James Arthur | Love Letter

Day 9: "You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful." Lay Me Down, Sam Smith | Widowed

Day 10: "Hold on, are you writing a song?" I Want To Write You A Song, One Direction | Love Songs

Day 11: "To me, you are perfect." Perfect, Ed Sheeran | Kissing in the Rain

Day 12: "History, huh? Bet we could make some." Love Story, Taylor Swift | Historical Romance

Day 13: "I wish I knew how to quit you." All of Me, John Legend | Making Up

Day 14: "You don't step in love, you fall in. Head over heels." I Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston | Valentine's Day

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

[anistarrose]

Hello, TOH fandom, I am here once again to talk about accessibility!

[Image description: a screenshot of Lilith Clawthorne excitedly holding up a sign, which has been edited to read: "Image Descriptions for The Owl House (and why they matter)" in all caps. End description.]

Image descriptions, like the one I just used above, are exactly what it says on the tin: descriptions of the content of an image included to make the image maximally accessible.

Blind and low-vision people who use screen readers, people who rely on increased font size in-app or in-browser to read text, and neurodivergent people who have trouble interpreting elements of an image (for example, expression) all benefit from image descriptions.

And all images on the internet should be accessible regardless of topic, of course, but I've recently been trying to spread awareness in the context of The Owl House specifically because it's a show with multiple disabled and/or neurodivergent characters! In fact, Principal Bump is canonically low-vision with a service animal to help him in that regard — and I'd argue that making content about disabled characters accessible is extra, extra important!

[Image description: a screenshot of Principal Bump with his palisman Frewin removed from his head, revealing the scars over Bump's eyes. Frewin is in staff form, smiling, and Eda looks on from the side. End description.]

I know it's within this fandom's ability to make our posts about the finale as accessible as possible — and I know that because I've already seen a decent increase in described posts over the course of Season 3! I've seen more artist-described posts especially, which means a lot to me, and even more to a lot of other people, too <3

So, on that note, how to write an image description? It may seem intimidating, especially if describing someone else's post or fanart, but honestly, there's no definitive "rubric" to follow, just a list of general guidelines:

Indicate where the description starts and ends, with "end description" or "end ID".

Place the description immediately under the image, not under a read-more (this allows people who rely on IDs to experience the post the same way anyone else would, whereas read-mores are inconvenient, especially if OP changes their URL)

Minimize caps lock, italics, bold, and strikethrough, which can be hard to read and/or troublesome for screen readers. Generally, it's just best to transcribe in lowercase without particular effects, then indicate in the transcription if something is emphasized.

Likewise, don't put descriptions in Tumblr's special small text. It's difficult to read and inaccessible to many.

Don't make jokes or add commentary in IDs. If an image is meant to be humorous, obviously it's fine to phrase things in a way that tries to capture that, but it's not the place to add your own jokes, nor is it the place to declare subjective qualities like "this art is beautiful".

Descriptions can vary in length, but if one is getting long (if you're describing a comic, for example), then be sure to break it up with paragraph breaks.

Specifically, while I've heard that too many breaks (ie, every sentence) are annoying for some screen readers, long walls of text are conversely difficult for people with visual processing problems to parse. So, it's good to strike a balance.

With regards to length and amount of detail, it varies by personal preference! Most images don't need a whole small essay, but there's also value in describing certain small and symbolic details, subjective as it is.

Speaking of which, if you're the original artist, then you are automatically the expert on what you wanted the image to convey — the nuances of expression and body language, which details are important and which details are not — and for that reason, I love seeing artist-described works!

Below the cut: more on describing Owl House images specifically, on IDs versus alt text, and other possible questions!

When I transcribe TOH related posts, there's a few other guidelines I use, though these rules aren't as immediately important as the ones above. I generally start by indicating the type of image we're dealing with (a screenshot? fanart? a photo of a cosplay?), then mention what characters are depicted.

Unless I'm describing something long, like a comic, and relying on summarization, I usually mention which character designs we're dealing with (is Lilith in her dramatic black dress from Season 1? or is she in her low-battery shirt?). If it's fanart and the artist has come up with original outfits to put the characters in, I'll summarize those too.

(This is the other reason I love seeing artist-described works: because I, personally, am just kinda bad at describing fashion lol.)

Now, I'd like to go over some other questions that I've either encountered before, or anticipate:

What about alt text? Doesn't that accomplish the same purpose as image descriptions?

In a lot of senses, yes, so alt text is certainly much, much better than no description! However, remember that not every person relying on descriptions is necessarily someone who uses a screen reader every day, or uses a screen reader period. Some people do in fact read the descriptions themselves.

[Image description, identical to alt text: a screenshot of Luz Noceda from Season 2, smiling and blushing. End description.]

As you can see above, alt text takes an extra click (or tap) to access. In general, it's also prone to displaying walls of text, and — as far as I know — sometimes just doesn't show up if the Tumblr app isn't updated enough. (Not to mention that, in my opinion, making image descriptions visible to people who don't use them is an important part of spreading accessibility awareness in the first place!)

On the other hand, I've heard some people who benefit from descriptions say they actually prefer alt text, so I'm not going to come out and take a hard "absolutely no alt text ever under any circumstances" stance by any means. But, long story short, this is the reason that in my own posts, I almost always defer to in-post descriptions — the only exception might be if I'm writing a meta post, and functionally describing the images in the text anyway.

I've seen that sometimes you use [ ] brackets and sometimes you don't. Is there a reason?

Basically personal preference. I use brackets in posts like this when I have a lot of non-description writing, and want to make it extra clear where the description ends and the non-description begins. If I'm just captioning some fanart in a reblog and not adding any commentary, on the other hand, I leave off brackets because they're pretty redundant.

I'm nervous about describing images, but I still want to help make the fandom more accessible. Is there anything I can do?

Well, my first piece of advice would be to start small! Hell, start with just making sure you include a description whenever you post an image with just text, like a screenshot of a reply or someone's prev tags. You can build up little-by-little from there!

(My personal accessibility journey went from describing only tweet screenshots whose text I could just copy, to describing simple memes like cat pics, to deciding it was important to at least describe fanart of disabled characters like Eda, to finally describing almost every post I reblog. Trying to make that jump without any of the intermediate steps would've been overwhelming, but at this point, it all feels natural to me.)

But secondly, I would encourage showing some love to artists who describe their pieces! Queue up some described fanart, especially artist-described stuff, and help normalize it!

Get into the habit of checking the notes for descriptions (go to reblogs and filter by comments only) before you share! If someone describes your art, copy it into the original post, so the version of the thread reblogged directly from you will be accessible too! (And if you want to make some little tweaks, no one will be offended.)

You can also look into making your blog theme accessible, such as making sure the font size is large enough (and ideally sans serif, for readability). And if you feel more confident with describing audio, then writing transcripts of audio is always incredible as well, to help out those who are deaf, hard of hearing, or have auditory processing disorders!

I've heard that AI is able to describe images for screen readers pretty well these days. Are descriptions still important/going to remain important as the technology advances?

Well, let me say first that I'm very glad this technology exists, for sure! But I'm of the opinion that human described (and especially artist described) captions are, at least generally speaking, still going to be the gold standard for the foreseeable future — AI doesn't have the context we do for our art and our fandoms; it's much less likely than a fan of the show to pick up on what's an important or symbolic detail.

Are there actually people who need image descriptions in cartoon fandoms? I mean, the source material has such a visual component!

First off, blind and low vision people do in fact watch things like TV, movies, and plays — ever notice the "audio description" option to add narration to a given show in a streaming service? That's there to provide basically the real-time equivalent of image descriptions.

And, second, I'll leave you with this — don't you think a lot more disabled people would participate in fandom if fandom were more accessible and accommodating to disabled people in the first place?

[violetsandshrikes]

Since sharing this post about a usful AI used to compile and graph research papers, I've realised I have a few other resources I can share with people!

Note: I haven't had a chance to use every single one of these. A group of post-grad students has been slowly compiling an online list, and these are some I've picked out that are free (or should be free and also have paid versions). However, other students using them have all verified them as safe.

Inciteful (Using Citations to Explore Academic Literature | Inciteful.xyz) – similar to connectedpapers + researchrabbit. Also allows you to connect two papers and see how they are linked. Currently free.

Spinbot (Spinbot - Article Spinning, Text Rewriting, Content Creation Tool.) – article spinner + paraphraser. Useful for difficult articles/papers. Currently free (ad version).

Elicit (Elicit: The AI Research Assistant)  – AI research assistant, creates workflow. Mainly for lit reviews. Finds relevant papers, summarises + analyses them, finds criticism of them. Free (?)

Natural Reader (AI Voices - NaturalReader Home (naturalreaders.com)) – text to speech. Native speakers. Usually pretty reliable, grain of salt. Free + paid versions.

Otter AI (Otter.ai - Voice Meeting Notes & Real-time Transcription) – takes notes and transcribes video calls. Pretty accurate. Warn people Otter is entering call or it is terrifying. Free + paid versions.

Paper Panda (🐼 PaperPanda — Access millions of research papers in one click) – get research papers free. Chrome extension. Free.

Docsity (About us - Docsity Corporate) – get documents from university students globally. Useful for notes.

Desmos (Desmos | Let's learn together.) – online free graphing calculator. Free (?)

Core (CORE – Aggregating the world’s open access research papers) – open access research paper aggregation.

Writefull (Writefull X: AI applied to academic writing) – Academic AI. Paraphrasing, title generator, abstract generator, apparently ChatGPT detector now. Free.

Photopea (Photopea | Online Photo Editor) – Photoshop copy but run free and online. Same tools. Free.

Draw IO (Flowchart Maker & Online Diagram Software) – Flowchart/diagram maker. Free + paid versions.

Weava (Weava Highlighter - Free Research Tool for PDFs & Webpages (weavatools.com)) – Highlight + annotate webpages and pdfs. Free + paid versions.

Unsplash (Beautiful Free Images & Pictures | Unsplash) – free to use images.

Storyset (Storyset | Customize, animate and download illustration for free) – open source illustrations. Free.

Undraw (unDraw - Open source illustrations for any idea) – open source illustrations. Free.

8mb Video (8mb.video: online compressor FREE) – video compression (to under 8mb). Free.

Just Beam It (JustBeamIt - file transfer made easy) – basically airdrop files quickly and easily between devices. Free.

Jimpl (Online photo metadata and EXIF data viewer | Jimpl) – upload photos to see metadata. Can also remove metadata from images to obscure sensitive information. Free.

TL Draw (tldraw) – web drawing application. Free.

Have I Been Pwned (Have I Been Pwned: Check if your email has been compromised in a data breach) – lets you know if information has been taken in a data breach. If so, change passwords. Free.

If you guys have any feedback about these sites (good or bad), feel free to add on in reblogs or flick me a message and I can add! Same thing with any broken links or additions.

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s High Temperature ASMR translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed  spoiler for an ASMR that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to  notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

This ASMR accompany Blooming Amidst Desire MQ (Top Up SP). Contain spoiler of the MQ.

🔞 NSFW Warning!: The content of this ASMR is VERY VIVIDLY EXPLICIT and NOT suitable for individuals under the age of 18. It is recommended that those who do not meet this age requirement refrain from proceeding beyond this point.

Transcript under the cut~

Context from kiss SP MQ: In the reference room they didn't finish doing it on the chair because his colleagues entered the room. He managed to spacefold and continue it in the garden but probably has a 'regret' about it. So you can say that this ASMR is kind of fantasy fulfilment~

(door opening sounds)

The information you are looking for might be available here

(Lucien's footsteps)

Since I'm your program consultant

I should help you find the information, no matter how difficult it is to find.

The ancient civilizations you are looking for…

I remember it being here.

I also can't understand these ancient texts.

But

Here is a dictionary compiled by research scholars.

If we compare it with what you're looking for.

We should be able to make some educated guesses.

(sounds of Lucien flipping the pages)

It's likely that this map

might be a record of the topography at that time.

As for the murals…

they are probably depicting their ritualistic ceremonies and worship as appreciation to their bountiful harvests.

However, the information here cannot be taken out of the reference room.

So we need to transcribe it.

Let's go to the desk then.

(Lucien's footsteps)

There are usually no people coming here

so it's normal for this place to have only one chair.

Since that's the case,

let us each sit on one side.

I'll try to stick to the back of the chair

And you'll sit on the front half

Mm

That's it

(chuckle) I'll refer to the dictionary for translation

While you will transcribe the valuable information.

(flipping the book sounds)

Is the air conditioner broken?

Yes,

This reference room was planned very early on.

We should inform them later

If the room temperature is too high,

the paper will age or deteriorate more quickly.

(flipping book sounds)

What's the matter?

Do you have any discoveries?

(chuckle) When considering this text in conjunction with the murals…

It is likely describing a secretive…

affair.

Interaction between the two sexes

has always been an important theme in the records of ancient civilizations.

It not only represents reproduction…

but also

love and pleasure

So the two people in the mural…

Both of them have devoted expressions.

This passage of text...

is likely describing the process or events in between.

Touching and caressing each other

Holding each other tightly in embrace

Using each other's touch

to bring pleasure to one another.

(whisper) Feeling the deepest desires within.

Does it feel very hot?

Your palm

is sweating

This handkerchief was the one you gave me

So don't mention it.

I spaced out just now

Perhaps it is because…

You look beautiful in this dress today

You've been looking at this page all along.

Are you very interested in this record?

The ongoing process

is likened to the blooming of vines.

There was once a poet…

who also described his lover in such a way.

Blooming in his embrace

Like a flower

Her skin, like silk…

possesses a touch comparable to the velvety petals.

Her foliages are plump and lush

gently soothing my empty palm

If I were to water her with my sincere soul…

She will

ultimately bloom in my embrace.

When the time comes…

The breeze will shake her pistil*

(pistil is flower’s female sexual organ, so if he compared his lover to a flower....)

And the drizzle will moisten her fragrance

(rustling noises and kisses, which place does he kiss and touch is up to your imagination :)

And she…

Will see them from my devout gaze,

see intoxication,

see faith,

see love.

I will bow beneath her flower stem,

willingly becoming a believer of desire.

I also wish

to become a believer of desire.

You know better than me,

How devout I am at this moment

Would you help

to make my wish come true?

(rustling noises + kisses + just delicious Lucien's noises)

(THE SOUND OF HIS ZIPPER GOING DOWN)

It is indeed too narrow for two people to sit on one chair.

Come sit on my lap.

Okay?

(Lucien's gasps as he slides in + beginning of the chair creaking rhythmically)

(kisses with the chair still creaking)

Sitting like this,

are you comfortable in this (position)?

(kiss)

Then let's continue.

(kisses and Lucien's delicious gasps as the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)

Your cheeks are completely wet.

It is indeed too hot today.

But it's rare to see

you blooming so passionately.

(kiss+ the chair still creaking in the background)

Very beautiful.

Even if I've seen that expression on your face countless times.

I still can't help but think that…

truly beautiful.

(kiss + chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)

Every part of you….

is tinged with pink.

(kisses+ the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)

Here too.

(kisses + the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)

So hot to the point of scorching.

(more kisses and Lucien's delicious gasps as the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)

The last part…

Let me transcribe it for you.

(kisses + the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)

Some knowledge you have yet to explore.

I still hope to teach them personally.

(the sound of delicious kiss + the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)

All I wish is for you.....

to fully and freely…

bloom….

(kisses and Lucien's delicious gasps as the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background before it gradually fades)

[demonstars]

its like 8 minutes so i cannot transcribe it but he's basically saying that the reason content isn't coming out is he's trying to make it perfect! he said basically every week since january he's thought it would be able to be done but problems keep coming up. he's saying he wants to make something that's good and he's proud of <333 fuck as im writing this he just said "I love george". we are so fucking back!!!! okay and hes saying he over promises because he's excited and wants to share that with other people who are equally passionate about it!!

MY LITTLE BEAUTIFUL OUPPY THAT GETS SO OVEREXCITED FOR US CAUSE HE LOVES US

[true-blue-sonic]

any random espilver thoughts you could offer to someone struck with empty brain? could be angst or fluff, i'm not picky /lh 🫣

I can think some up! Let's see here ^-^

I wonder if Silver would be surprised by how noisy it is in the Chaotix's household. After all, if he's been mostly on his own before, I figure he'll be quite surprised by the liveliness of the Agency! But what especially intrigues him is the fact that Espio very much prefers his own peace and quiet amidst the chaos, and has trained himself very well to embrace it despite Vector and Charmy being around. I figure Silver might just go sit with him and meditate/relax for some time if things become too annoying around him.

Espio strikes me as the kind of person who knows a lot about foraging: he apparently likes camping and he also seems to like educational things, so I figure he might have read up on what plants are edible and such in the wild. I can imagine him and Silver leaving one early morning to go to the forest and find berries and such <3 And if Silver learns some cooking from Amy, they can make them into tasty jams and jellies.

I don't believe this is really possible with Silver's powers in the games, because we've never seen anything like it and the closest we've gotten is his Psychic Knife that isn't so much a knife at all, but it'd be very impressive if he could form shuriken and kunai with his powers. It'd be a concentrated little energy attack that doesn't cover as much ground as his Psychic Knife, but I figure it'll be able to pierce deeper! And Espio is very flattered Silver is trying to incorporate his ninja fighting style into his psychokinesis. Similarly, I think it'd be funny if Silver just.... hurled Espio at an enemy on occasion, haha. They're in perfect sync!

I also wrote a bit of a fic today at uni when I was actually supposed to be transcribing interviews, but you know, fuck that and all, so you can find that under the cut. I hope you like it! ^-^

~~~~~

“You can see the stars so well here,” Silver muses, contently sprawled out over the blanket. “Did you know they look a bit different in the future?”

“Oh?”

“Not by a lot. But whenever I study them, they aren’t exactly in the same place anymore. Just barely!”

“Which sky do you prefer?” Espio smiles back.

“This one, of course. Because you’re here to watch it with me, Espio.”

Laughing softly the chameleon shakes his head; an answer as expected from his dear beloved. “Then we had best make the most of this night,” he agrees. Tomorrow their trip will be over and they’ll go back home, to their city where the light pollution unfortunately makes it difficult to see the sky in all its glory. But here, in this field of rustling greenery and no civilisation for miles and miles, they are perfectly miniscule and at one with the beauty above them.

“I’m going to find all the constellations,” Silver notes back, one finger tracing the air as if he can draw lines on the dark blue scenery amidst the pinpricks of light. Perhaps in his mind he is, his lips forming words Espio knows even though he says nothing out loud, and the sight is…

Ethereal.

Elysian.

Utterly, completely captivating.

Which isn’t so strange, because to Espio everything Silver is and does is captivating, yet he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from the other this night. Silver’s fur glows like the two moons above them, the cyan circles on his gloves the only source of light around except for the stars. And every single movement gets drunken up by Espio’s eyes, how he gestures his one hand ever so tenderly as if his finger is the paintbrush and the heavens his canvas, how he lays so unguarded and open on their shared blanket, other arm tucked behind his head and honey-golden eyes merely blinking up to the stars before his lips twitch and form into a smile.

“You’re staring, Es.”

“…Ah.” Jolting awake from his musings the chameleon flicks his tail. “Mayhaps, love.”

“Don’t ‘mayhaps’ me, I can feel it.”

With an amused laugh of his own Espio reaches over, his fingers brushing over the hedgehog’s twitching little nose. “Your powers and their perceptive nature.”

“Hmhm,” his beloved huffs back, a pink tongue peevedly battering at Espio’s finger tormenting his poor snoot. “Why are you? Isn’t the sky much too lovely to not look at it?”

“I just so happen to be around a being that makes it far too easy to get distracted with marvelling at him,” Espio notes, scooting himself a bit closer and smiling as Silver curls into him as by instinct.

“Flatterer.” But Silver’s face tucks itself underneath Espio’s chin so perfectly, a content little sigh breathed out against his chest.

~~~~~

[edwardseymour]

15,16,17,18,25

🔥 choose violence ask game 🔥

15. that one thing you see in fanart all the time

the ariana grande-ification of anne boleyn in fanart is truly something. and as an olive skinned white woman, i don’t think white tudor fans know what olive skin looks like. also i think there is a frankly bizarre relationship certain tudor fans have with race (ab as an Other™️ because she was supposedly swarthy, trends surrounding coa being fair and spanish, jane seymour being ‘so fair that one would call her rather pale than otherwise’).

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

i truly do not understand the appeal of characterising female historical figures (largely royal, aristocratic) as powerless victims — with no thought to their complicity in an inherently unjust institution. catherine of aragon (as one example) was immensely privileged to the detriment of the majority of people: she believed in this superiority as morally just and fought for it. remembering what her queenship meant should colour how we talk about her: lauding her as brave for fighting for her status can and should coexist with acknowledging what she was ultimately fighting for.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

i myself am guilty of this, but we absolutely need more content about non-courtiers (and content in general that is active and honest about acknowledging the fundamental value of those outside of the aristocratic sphere). wolf hall came close but veers into trying to have it both ways; ‘she [Mantel] wants to relish the bejewelled surfaces, the highly wrought fabrics, the flashing beauties of the Henrician age, while also having a go at the people and the institutions which enabled that agglomeration of riches. The aesthetic delight and the political outrage are on a collision course’. becoming elizabeth’s take on kett’s rebellion was hateful. one of the best jobs i ever had was transcribing local court records for an archive, and getting to meet dozens and dozens of men and women, and hear them talk about their lives.

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

critical thinking skills 🥴

i would be remiss if i didn’t plead katherine howard’s case yet again. she’s such a force of personality — charming and delightful and ‘fired with ambition’, when i think her ability to be as successful as she was as queen, given her lack of experience and the brevity of her reign, is nothing short of remarkable. i think people are genuinely missing out on someone so engaging when they dismiss her as either whore or victim. it’s a constant frustration, for me, that the way we talk about her remains so superficial.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

god, i have so many of these; you could just send me 25s repeatedly atp haha. i think the most annoying thing though is the people who get weirdly offended by the insinuation that this fandom is, indeed, a fandom. there is this hypocrisy over how legitimate engagement can be — but ofc., certain people can be called ‘stans’ (indeed, ab fans can invent terms like ‘heneven eleven stans’ and ‘seyhive’, because people are just that painfully uncreative) but god forbid somebody, in turn, calls them ab stans. ‘i’m not a stan, i have a BA/BS/BE/LLB’; you write fanfiction — you are not serious people lol. it’s not an academic conference… nobody cares about you. you can leave if you’re not having fun, nobody is forcing you to be here.

[muriel-not-the-dim-one]

Mr. Crowley 💔✨🪽

~Muriel looks outside the bookshop window, the Bentley parked in front of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. They didn’t think it was going to be this easy to give something to Mr. Crowley.~

The sun not yet coming up over Soho. The moonlight and fog causing the evening dew to glitter like diamonds on the Bentley in the soft street lamp glow.

They had found this a few days ago, only it was an LP, as Mr. Fell and Maggie called them. They were glad they hadn’t traded, but managed to order a CD from Maggie.

Wrapping it tightly in their meticulously handwritten note, they bravely walked out the front door, headed towards the Bentley.

The sunshine just cresting above the rooftops, cast thin rays of sunshine that colliding with the window of the car, caught the scarlet, carmine, and vermillion hues of Crowley’s hair as he slept. How could anything so beautiful ever be considered evil?

Quietly Muriel slipped the cd and note under the wiper of the Bentley, turned and hurried back into the bookshop.

A soft smile on their face, content they had done the right thing.

**Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes

And save these questions for another day

I think I know what you've been asking me

I think you know what I've been trying to say

I promised I would never leave you

Then you should always know

Wherever you may go, no matter where you are

I never will be far away

Goodnight my angel, now it's time to sleep

And still so many things I want to say

Remember all the songs you sang for me

When we went sailing on an emerald bay

And like a boat out on the ocean

I'm rocking you to sleep

The water's dark and deep, inside this ancient heart

You'll always be a part of me

Goodnight my angel, now it's time to dream

And dream how wonderful your life will be

Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart there will always be a part of me

Someday we'll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on

They never die

That's how you and I will be**

**Transcribed by Muriel, 37th Scrivener**

Mr. Crowley, I found these wrapped within Mr. Fells journals. I thought you should have them. ✨🤍

Faithfully Yours,

AJC

@secretdiaryofcrowley

@aziraphalesdiaries

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (upcoming, minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read (you can skip parts if you think it is too much). Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn't utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics.

Chapter 3

You couldn't dream at all. Or so you thought.

Your first encounter with Dream of the Endless went better than you had foreseen. The apprehension you felt when you walked into the basement had soon faded away, as you came up with your own makeshift plan to do what Mr. Burgess had requested without giving up your honor code. For all you knew, Dream didn’t believe a single word you said, but he didn’t look displeased when you volunteered to offer him your companionship.

Admittedly, there wasn’t much that you knew about him or what his magical presence in the world signified. There were many different stories that portrayed The Sandman in various ways and none of them seemed to be accurate with how they had been transcribed. In 1818, a German author named Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann created a horrific version that described Dream as a monstrous mythological figure throwing sand in the eyes of children, which would fall out if they couldn’t sleep. On the other hand, there also was a much lighter fairy tale written by Hans Christian Andersen, displaying him as an entity who made the little ones drowsy and sent them off to sleep, only punishing the bad kids with no dreams at all. Modern myths and folklore were crafted to answer any child’s question about why people have grit in their eyes upon waking up.

The beautiful tale you loved as a little girl represented Dream of the Endless as a bringer of stories, maintaining the balance of humanity intact. However, most parents had twisted that concept and turned it into a pretext to keep their kids under control. They wouldn’t act badly if they knew The Sandman could come at night to stain their dreams with darkness and fear.

You hadn’t read that volume in a long time, cherished once and forgotten over the years. The urge of going through those pages again was growing within you, eager for knowledge and a trip down memory lane.

The following day, Mr. McGuire inquired how your meeting with Dream had played out. “It’s quite early to speak about trust,” you told him, “But I can assure you that he listened. I might need a bit of time to get through him properly though.”

For his part, he appeared to be satisfied with the little progress you reported. “Take all the time you need, we do not expect you to succeed in a day.”

The second time you talked to Dream, it was during your lunch break with no guard on duty downstairs. Alex and Paul were expecting their usual guests in the afternoon, so you knew you would end up being too exhausted to pay the Endless a visit after a chaotic day.

As usual, Dream was a sight to behold. The encaged physical entity was very attractive and that could not be denied, but the way his marble-like skin glowed under the dim light of the platform made you feel strangely calm and secure. You perceived an invisible force drawing you to him since the first time you met him, a magnet that was glued to your heart and accelerated it, pulling it out of your chest whenever you got lost into his eyes.

“I wish I knew how it feels like to have dreams.”

He stared at you in silence, but he was considering and processing your words.

“I guess I will find out soon, huh?”

Your smile dropped the moment you saw him clenching his jaw. You mainly wanted to be encouraging, reassure him that sooner or later, one way or another, he would get out of that prison as you promised. To him, those were just volatile words with no real foundation, because you didn’t have any tangible proof to give.

You sighed. You were getting goose bumps from the lower temperature around you, and while you tried to contain your shivering since you arrived, your uneasiness could be well spotted along your arms. As soon as you finished your meal, you rushed down the stairs and into the basement without the sweater you had strategically prepared into your room and the skin along your limbs was once again left unprotected due to your forgetfullness. The tights you were wearing had a thin fabric that could barely warm up your legs, the humidity seeped into your bones, stiffening your muscles and almost giving you a running nose.

Dream moved, unfolding his own lean, yet strong legs and pushing himself up from the sphere floor. You looked away from his body Instinctively, now practically fully exposed in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that his right hand was raised in the air, fingers grazing the glass and requiring your attention back.

(gif by aceofwhump)

You quickly glanced at his face, perplexed and inquisitive. Dream waited, looking at you with his beautiful, deep blue orbs. You followed his lead, brushing your fingertips on the cold material of the bowl and meeting his indirect touch. You were captured by the intensity (and intimacy) of the moment, before an incredibly warm sensation washed over you. Your skin returned to its normal state in an instant and, as if by magic, you weren’t cold anymore. The warmth that embraced you was like delicious honey, coating your chest with its remarkable sweetness. Your entire essence melted into that feeling of comfort and relief, the tension in your shoulders was also gone and your bones no longer felt heavy.

You were left speechless. Amazed. The tips of your fingers were on fire, but the kind of fire that didn’t burn. If he could do such a thing without the majority of his powers, you could only imagine the greatness he would be able to achieve without any binding circle blocking his capacities.

But there was more. Your whole hand felt electric and you sensed a connection between your bodies despite the glass separating you. Dream noticed it too, his eyes widening and watering as his breathing came to a halt, it was something so powerful that it travelled farther down to your toes.

Then, the way it came, it stopped abruptly when he jerked his wrist back and your palm was left alone, empty, pressed against the sphere. You didn’t know how to react, what to think of it… and clearly neither could he. All you knew was that Dream noticed your discomfort and somehow he managed to dissipate it.

You were about to thank him, when the indistinguishable hammer sound of a Revolver echoed behind you and made you turn in shock.

“Get away from there, Missy!”

The now familiar guard was pointing his weapon at Dream in a fighting stance, looking up and down between the two of you in alarm. You put your hands up in a placative manner, walking away from the cage and breathing out. “Sir, you can put that gun down. He wasn’t doing anything, I assure you.”

“Didn’t look like that to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? He’s locked into a fucking cage! What do you think he’s gonna do?”

The guard hesitated, but he adjusted his grip around the gun. “Don’t care, don’t want to know. Just gotta do my job.”

Your arms dropped along your sides in exasperation. “Yes, you are oh so big and scary, we got the message. I’m asking you again Sir; can you please put that thing down?”

The guard nervously licked his lips and stepped forward. “You should get away from him, this instant.”

“What is it, you’ve been confined to this house for so long that you miss the action?” You inquired. The anger was bursting inside of you, thundering and exploding like a firework. “If you want to pull the trigger that badly, then you’ll get a lot of explaining to do. Because I’m not going anywhere, just so you know.”

You took a step back, grazing the cage with your knuckles. Dream slowly knelt down, you could feel his presence close to your shoulder as he approached the glass once more.

All the blood was rushing to the guard’s face. The man grunted and put his gun back into the holster when you stayed true to your word, standing firmly onto the platform. “Bloody hell.”

You responded with a triumphant smile. Your nails were absently drawing patterns on the sphere, your back against it felt tingly and heated.

The guard's eyes were boring into you.“I’ll have to report this,” he said. “Just so you know.”

Oh, such a bad game he wanted to play. “The cage and the binding circle are fully intact. What is there to even report?”

You could hear the guard growling from the other side. His fingers were twitching in irritation, but he decided not to argue further and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from responding in kind.

In the end, he tried to get rid of you the easy way. “Shouldn’t you get back to work, Miss?”

As much as you disliked it, you had to admit that he was right. You were only supposed to be there for a few minutes, but you probably already exceeded the time at your disposal.

“Yes, I should,” you confirmed. Turning to Dream, you lowered your voice so that only he could hear you. “Will you be okay alone with that prick?”

Dream nodded at your question, almost imperceptibly.

“I’ll be back soon.”

When you left the platform, you looked at the man taking his usual place next to the table. He was unfolding the daily newspaper, complaining under his breath.

“Try to be a little nicer to him,” You told him, to which he answered with a tight smile that looked more like a twisted grimace.

He didn’t like you, clearly, and the sentiment was mutual.

Dream’s attention was fixated on you as you left and he didn’t look away from the open gate not even when you disappeared behind it.

(gif by stephendorff)

“I want to be a friend for you, if you will allow it.”

The words you said had been lingering in Morpheus’s mind since the night you visited him alone. He wanted to believe you, to trust your promise, for you seemed to be the most sincere and honest human to walk into that hellhole in a century. Still, his doubts about you could not be fully dismissed; it would be so easy for you to betray him, defy him, go back on your word when more profitable opportunities presented themselves. You had all the incentive to keep him where he was, while your reasons for doing as you were told could be understood, trust was definitely a hard thing.

But then you had returned and something unexpected happened.

Just like the night you first met, he could see the coldness you were suffering from on your skin and in the shivers you did your best to hide. As you talked to him about all the little adventures you were living in the Waking World, Morpheus found himself captivated by your stories, considering your narrative skills quite compelling. You spoke with such vividness and humor, the way you described the general hardships you faced and the challenges you overcame was bizarrely entertaining.

You provided a good companionship in the little time you spent in front of his cage, something he was not used to after 106 years of loneliness. A mortal had come to him with kindness and understanding, with no demands and no desire to get something out of him. You were there to do a job, but you simply wanted to talk and he was comforted by it. There was something different in you, he could see your sincerity and the will to stay despite your physical uneasiness.

Morpheus couldn't leave you like that. While his magical tools had been taken by Roderick Burgess the day he was captured, he was still left with a fragment of his power, so he stood into the sphere and reached out to you for the first time. It was surprising that you looked away to respect his state of undress. To him, clothes were just a form of expression, not a way to stay covered or warm. He wasn't concerned about being naked in front of others, but you were, again, the only one showing him a bit of decency.

When your hand met his over the glass, Morpheus could see the relief spreading onto you as the coldness disappeared, but the little contact he enstablished ended up affecting him as well, contrary to what he had predicted. As you closed your eyes and let yourself lull by his warm energy, Morpheus saw through you in a way he didn’t think possible. He had always known everything about any living being, their name, their story, their wishes and their dreams, but the binding circle had prevented him from exploring your background, so you remained a partial mystery from the beginning.

He saw it all and more that day. He searched into your heart and found nothing that would taint it. There was no darkness, no lie, no deceit. He could only see light, a brilliant and beautiful light, that seemed to fill every corner of your being. He saw the gleam forming around your figure, as bright and calming as a shining star in the sky. Your fears became his own and he felt the love that resided in you, a love so strong and so true it felt almost overwhelming. You had the purity and innocence of a Goddess enclosed within your delicate human form.

Morpheus was inspecting his hand now. The tingles in it were dissipating, yet his chest was still burning hot. The guard was watching him from his seat, but Dream’s thoughts kept wandering back to you and the way you glowed, the way you smiled, the way you bravely challenged that man to protect him.

Morpheus came into existence once lifeforms capable of dreaming appeared in the universe. He had seen it all, gained and lost a lot, discovered and learnt everything there was to know about mankind. Never before had he encountered a mortal such as yourself, not even when he got acquainted with Nada, his fragile human lover from a very distant lifetime.

You were undoubtedly speaking the truth about your intentions, your unwavering determination to save your father was undeniable, but you didn't want to do it at the cost of Morpheus's freedom. He couldn't help but believe you.

He was intrigued by your strength and courage, by your gentle spirit that exuded from you. Morpheus wanted to know you, to see more of you, to understand you. You were like a fresh book that he couldn’t wait to leaf through.

Curiosity killed the cat, he knew that proverb very well. But he could not refrain himself from wondering what other marvels you had to show him.

For a very short moment, you made him forget about his captivity and the eagerness he had of being set free.

As it turned out, the guard wasn’t just babbling about and effectively disclosed whatever he thought he had witnessed into the basement. Mr. McGuire came looking for you that same day, curious to hear your version of the story and to make sure your safety with Dream wasn’t compromised. Nor was theirs.

You told him about your haste and distracted mind. You described the way Dream had placated your discomfort, but left out the rest as you wouldn’t even know how to explain it. And you didn’t really want him, nor anybody else, to know how powerful it was and how good it made you feel.

Mr. McGuire blinked a few times, analyzing what you had just said. “That’s it? Is that what he did?”

“Yes, what else? He’s not the monster you all think he is.”

“It’s not that, just… he didn’t try playing tricks with your mind or controlling it, did he?”

“No. If that were the case, I doubt he’d be still locked downstairs.”

With the guests arriving at the mansion, the amount of work on your side had magnified and you had to incessantly run back and forth throughout the evening. Paul’s interruption and interrogation only served to slow you and your tasks down, so you reminded him of the importance of your deal and the fact you couldn’t have him looming over your shoulder whenever the guards felt like reporting every single change in Dream’s demeanor. Thankfully, Mr McGuire agreed with you and he guaranteed that he’d personally have a talk with those two to soften up their rigid attitude. He also highlighted the peculiarity of Dream’s action, or rather spellcast, addressing it as the very first contact he ever had with a human in over a century.

When Alex was young, Dream had tried to break into his mind in a similar fashion. The young boy managed to snap out of that hazy state and regain full control of himself before touching the glass, but he described it as an incredibly strong pull that clouded his judgement, enchanted him to the point he no longer remembered his own name and almost made him fall into Dream’s clutches.

He had the perfect chance to try the same trick with you. Maybe two private encounters were barely enough to define you as his friend, or anything relatively close to that… but you could tell with absolute certainty that he wasn’t concocting any sort of evil plan to harm you. In fact, he did the exact opposite.

In the evening, you poured drinks and brought an unimaginable quantity of food to the guests in the living room, lost in their various conversations with Mr. McGuire and Mr. Burgess who had finally come out of his room. The man didn’t talk much. One would think he would relish the company after so much time spent by himself, but even though he was looking at everyone, it was as if he didn't really see them. He was lost in his own world, listening without catching any of it.

Mr. McGuire was sitting at his side, participating in the random, boring talks taking place. One of the men, sprawled in front of them on the leather couch, raised a glass full of wine and let out a satisfied sigh. You lost count of how many drinks he had since he arrived, saying he looked nasty would be an understatement. “My word Alex, your house never ceases to amaze me. Cheers! Your hospitality is appreciated, my friend.”

Mr. Burgess showed the hint of a smile, but did not respond.

“I was thinking, is it true what they speak about ol’ Roderick? About here? I’ve been hearing a certain rumor for quite a while, you see.”

Your ears pricked up and your motions slowed down. You didn’t like where this was going.

“They say you hold the bloody Devil into your basement, that he is granting your family riches and longevity.”

The empty bottle of Whiskey you were holding slipped from your grip, but you promptly catched it before it could fall and shatter on the floor. Paul’s eyes met yours for a moment and you quickly adverted your gaze, the guest continued with his investigation without paying attention to your mishap. “Tell me, is it really just a rumor or…?”

Mr. McGuire let out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid that’s all it is, just a rumor. Nothing more.”

The man eyed the couple with a look of barely-concealed contempt. He drank more of his wine and emptied the glass in one fluid movement, like it was some kind of competition. “Ah. That’s a pity."

Mr. Burgess was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, wanting to be anywhere but there. “Miss Y/LN, “ he said. “Can you refill his glass, please?”

The man's eyes lit up at the prospect of more wine and he extended his hand to you. His lack of coordination almost smacked the glass right into your cheekbone and you dodged it in time. “Thank you, thank you!” He exclaimed.

You complied, putting on your mask of innocent and condescending housemaid. “Right away, Sir.”

You were exhausted, more strain on your emotions than on your physical body. You didn’t hate your job, you had grown accustomed to it and you had to admit it was keeping you in shape, which was a benefit you were thankful for. The most draining part was having to listen to the obnoxious speeches of the drunken guests every single week and it was taking its toll on you.

Mr. Burgess and Mr. McGuire were apparently as frustrated as you were. It was astonishing that people could show such a lack of interest and respect in their home and you couldn’t understand why they were so keen to socialize with a bunch of total morons. It was easy to see their intentions when the man mentioned the rumors about Dream; they were only driven by their own opportunism, taking adventage of the Burgess family’s financial abundance, quality drinks and expensive meals. Chances were they also hoped to make a deal with Mr. Devil, gaining power and gold for themselves. You could taste the vitriol on your tongue at the thought of Dream locked into that cage and mistaken for a filthy demon. The Endless deserved better than that.

The night felt as if it would last forever. The mattress beneath you was very soft and comfortable, yet your eyes couldn’t remain shut for more than ten seconds. Your insomnia had kicked in like it did practically every night, leaving you distressed and impatient with your throat getting dry.

You turned on your back, then on the other side. You sat on the edge of the bed and took a walk around the room, careful to not make any noise. Back and forth, left and right. You paced around for a while, the darkness of the night was enveloping your senses and the lack of sleep weighting down on your mind.

You climbed back to bed in a fetal position, same ritual and same result, every damn time.

Eventually, you tired yourself out so much that your eyelids finally started to get droopy. Your breathing became slow and steady, your body slowly sinked further and further into the mattress. You pulled the bedsheets to your neck and let yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Or so you thought.

(gif from here)

Everything was dusty, gloomy, hazy. You were standing in a field of sand, stretched out as far as the eye could see. You had no idea where you were and you felt disoriented. The wind howled around you, blowing into your face. You pushed your hair away as you attempted to look ahead. You made out the shape of something big and white in the distance, it was calling your name, silently and strongly, beckoning you forward.

You walked into the unknown, one hand cupped on your forehead to protect yourself from the sandstorm. The dark fog began to subside, the wind died down and you could see what stood in front of you more clearly. So high and imponent, so beautifully made.

Everything was appearing a little blurry and you had some trouble putting it into focus. You could feel the warmth of the blazing sun rising behind you, but its comforting presence was mixed with thunders reverberating through the menacing clouds. As you stepped close to the large object, your curiosity grew and you noticed it was a stoned barrier. It was the entry of something you were feeling attracted to, but you were not yet allowed to discover it.

You squinted, inspecting every carving that had been masterfully created on those gates. There were complex ornaments, symmetrical sections and birds of prey on both sides, a weird alien-like mask built at the top and reflected like a mirror. But what truly captured your attention was the detail in the faces of someone imprinted into the stone, illustrating what you perceived like a distant memory, a heartbreaking love story. One of the faces was strangely familiar, although your mind was all fuzzy and you could barely think straight.

You reached for one of the two doors, feeling the hardness and roughness of the stony material under your skin. You hoped to see it moving, opening at your touch, but something about that whole situation was somehow completely wrong. You stared at your fingers in utter confusion, as you suddenly counted more digits than you were supposed to have in one hand. It was like watching a glitchy monitor with an out of focus slide where things looked overlapped, your eyes couldn't adjust and your overall awareness had considerably started to fade.

The gates blew away, slipping between your distorted fingers in a handful of grains. The wind picked up again, swirls of sand engulfing you and dragging you into an expanse of pitch black before you woke up.

You opened your eyes and stared at the ceiling, your mind lingering on the images of the mysterious land you had just visited. You tried to remember every detail, but with each passing second the memories dissolved, until all that was left was a sense of wanting and nostalgia. It was all gone and forgotten, sent far away and locked into a remote corner of your brain, never to be recovered.

You didn't have the key to access that again. It was lost, gone, evaporated… and you remembered nothing. To you, it was as if you never dreamed.

You turned from side to side a few times more, fixing the pillow and slowly falling into another restive slumber.

It was a foggy morning and the birds were just starting to sing their songs in the still air. You discended the stairs to the basement, eager to check on Dream again before taking your leave for the day.

The guards snorted when they saw you arriving, but your visit to the Endless would be a brief one, which is why you allowed them to stay without paying too much attention to their mockeries and the derision emanating from their throats.

Somehow you felt more confident now, striding to the platform without any hesitancy in you and focusing on the task ahead.

“Good morning Dream,” you greeted him with a newly formed smile. “How are you holding up?”

Dream’s back straightened as he looked at the guards and you followed the rapid movement of his irises. “I know, poor choice of the personnel right there,” you scoffed.

Dream pouted, his lips so plump and pink, so soft-looking and totally kissable. You stared shamelessly, your teenage attitude bubbling beneath the surface. You gulped it down and touched the glass, your fingers gliding along the smoothness of the sphere.

In that moment, you thought about all the fingerprints that had been etched onto the surface.

“Just hang in there for a little while longer,” you murmored softly. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

His staring shifted onto your hand, but he didn’t reach for it this time. A part of you wished he would. You ignored it.

“Take care, Dream. I’m in a hurry right now, I’ll come back to see you again tomorrow.”

Your heart melted when you noticed the slight desperation in his altered posture, looking at you like a pleading child. Not a single word came out of his mouth, but his glistening eyes and stiffen shoulders spoke volumes about the frustration he was feeling.

You wished you could have stayed, but unfortunately you had matters to attend to. The temptation of postponing your plans just to be with him for the entirety of the day was poking your head, but your father was expecting you and so was your friend who you promised to have lunch with.

You gave him an apologetic smile and waved your goodbye. Your boots resounded into the basement with each quick step over the brick floor, you went back up the stairs in a haste, grabbed your bag and scurried out of the silent house, the cab already waiting for you in the morning haze. The sun was just beginning to show its first light over the horizon, the thin rays peeking through the trees and brushing against your cheeks.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the Endless all the way back to town. And even after that.

Upon arriving at your father’s place, the man came running at the door to welcome you inside. The physical boost he was proudly showing off since waking up had the nurse’s hair standing, only 72 hours after the first administration. Doctor Mills happened to be as astonished as you were, watching him dancing and singing in the living room on the notes of Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. He had calculated between 20 to 30 days of treatment before noticing a proper sign of recovery, but the fatigue had considerably reduced, his appetite was going back to normal and his blood pressure was no longer displaying alarming values. Doctor Mills clarified that three days were purely indicative and a relapse wasn’t feasible to exclude. He preferred to stay with his feet planted on the ground, monitoring the entire progress without feeling overly excited ahead of time. Still, he praised the strong willpower that your father clinged to since the first diagnosis, considering it a huge factor playing in his favor.

Trying to convince him to stop jumping around like a spring and follow the doctor’s guidelines made you feel as if you were handling a disobedient toddler. He was still a little underweight, but the color had returned to his face. You had hoped to see him going back to his old self for a very long time and almost stopped hoping for the failed attempts. None of the medicines he took in the last couple years produced a similar effect before.

The rest of the morning continued wih the two of you catching up and chatting about your everyday lives. The poor man didn’t have a lot to tell beside the summarized plot of his favorite TV shows, so you did most of the talking and carefully avoided anything that could accidentally lead to the basement and what it contained. Your father snorted when you talked about your job, reiterating how disappointing it was to see you wasting your talents for his sake. You couldn’t yet decide to drop your fruitful position for something else, something that you could hardly see happening. And most importantly, you couldn’t abandon the Endless to his fate, a fate that you wanted to change with all your might by giving him the freedom he deserved.

You reached The New Inn to meet a special friend you hadn’t seen in a long time. The place had an antique style, the smell of wood mixed with freshly brewed coffee was always a combination that never failed to inspire you and make your creative juices flow whenever you wanted to work on your Portfolio.

You missed that immensely. Coming back after over a month of absence was refreshing and that sense of familiarity was something you were seriously lacking in Wych Cross (except maybe when you found yourselt in Dream’s presence. Why were you thinking about him again?). Your father was right about one thing; Fawney Rig would never be a place you actually belonged to.

You could already hear clinking glasses and the loud buzz of conversations coming from the door with people entering and leaving. You stepped inside, glancing at the table your friend liked to pick to enjoy some peace and quiet. And there he was, distinguished and composed, bent over a pile of grading papers. He took his teaching job very seriously, always carrying work to do wherever he went.

(gif by seniorinternaut)

You smiled brightly upon seeing him, waving at the waitress and walking past a group of customers cheerfully drinking at the bar. He looked up, meeting your eyes and smiling back with equal excitement. You could barely reach the table before you had his strong arms around your smaller frame, drowning into his cologne as you were pressed against his chest.

You returned the hug tightly, squeezing away the time and distance that had separated the two of you. “Hob! It’s so good to see you!”

You both let go, stepping back to take a good look at each other. “It’s good to see you too, Shortcake! How have you been?”

“All good! Work is keeping me busy though. Sorry for going MIA.”

It’d been far too long since you had the chance to properly talk to Hob. With you now living in Lewes, you were always unable to spare time to meet up despite all the good intentions you had to reconnect. You were determined to make up for lost time now, so you eagerly took a seat in the cozyness of the Inn.

He collected the papers partially marked with notes and grades in red, placing them into his leather bag to make some space.

“Don’t worry about it, I find you well! How’s your new job?”

“It’s average, really. And my insomnia is as bad as it could be. Have you seen my freaking eyebags?”

Hob shrugged. “You look great to me. Even more beautiful than usual.”

“Ever the gentleman!”

He winked at you from the other side of the table. “I hope they are treating you well in there. Did you find out if those rumors were true?”

Here we go again.

“Definitely not. If they had a demon locked somewhere in the house, I would know. I clean that place literally from top to bottom almost every day.”

Hob chuckled, giving your hand a light squeeze. “But they are treating you well, yes?”

You nodded. “Yes, I must say they are.”

When the food arrived, its delicious aroma immediatly filled your lungs and the first bite was even better than you remembered. Hob took your orders while waiting for your arrival, knowing all too well what your favorite meal was. He poured some quality fresh beer into your glasses, taking a quick glance at the entrance with a mournful expression. You saw him kicking down the disappointment and couldn’t really brush it aside.

“Still waiting for that friend of yours?” You asked.

Shaking his head, Hob looked defeated. “I probably won’t see him again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“The last time we were supposed to meet, he stood me up. I’m afraid that what I said back then has offended him greatly. I ruined it.”

“Hob,” you spoke softly. “It would take a lot more than a small fight to destroy a real friendship.”

He sighed. “I’m afraid this ‘real friendship’ as you call it had a completely different meaning to him.”

You put down your fork. “Look, you told me you have seen each other for… how many years again?”

He hesitated. “Too many to count.”

“Even if this guy is a very busy one, he always remembered about you, didn't he? You don’t know what happened, maybe something came up and he couldn’t make it for whatever reason.”

“I do hope you’re right, but even so, I have no way to contact him. To apologize for being a bloody idiot.”

“You don’t have his number?”

“Let’s say he’s not exactly the tech type.”

“Mh.” You resumed your eating. “Wanna bet he’ll come through that door in no time?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn't really bet on that.”

“Okay then. Call it a gut thing.”

“Again?”

“Was it ever wrong?”

“Now that you mention it…”

Your conversation moved to different topics as you consumed your lunch. Hob shared some funny anecdotes about his students, who all seemed to adore him and deeply respect his historical knowledge. It wasn’t surprising, he always knew events and facts that nobody ever taught you in class and you often joked about how he might easily come from a different century. You could listen to his lectures for hours without feeling even remotely bored, he just had a certain way with words, so polite and sometimes old-fashion, that a part of you wished you could be a student again.

When you told him about your father’s unexpected recovery, he was delighted to hear the news. The day Doctor Mills revealed his stomach conditions and general physical failure, your entire world collapsed over your shoulders and Hob was there to sustain you as you gasped for air. He held your hand in his to keep you on your feet, refusing to let you fall into that void of darkness and sorrow. Hob never told you much about his family and personal life, but losing a loved one was something he went through different times. He couldn't allow you to face that anguish alone, gulping down your despair and pretending it wasn't happening in front of him. He was such an incredible friend that, you were sure, nobody would have the balls to let someone as amazing as him slip out of their life.

You were so engrossed in your chat with Hob that you completely lost track of time. Before you knew it, you walked out of the New Inn in the chilly air of the late afternoon, a considerable contrast with the pleasant warmth you got accustomed to inside.

Since you were planning to make a stop at your place before returning to the Burgess mansion, Hob kindly offered to give you a ride, driving down the busy roads, passing trees and houses lit by the fading sunlight. You had to admit you were missing your town and old habits more than you had anticipated. The hustle and bustle of the city life, the bright lights in the night sky, the smell of freshly baked bread from the local bakery. All of those things you had taken for granted and now you were pining for them. Sitting down with your best friend, sharing stories and jokes over lunch and a cup of coffee, simply reminded you of how much you were lacking in favor of your financial benefit.

You knew it was worth it, especially now that you were finally seeing the results you were hoping for.

It was worth it, yes, but your father’s words continued echoing in your head.

“Do you know what else I’ve noticed? That you are so dishearteningly unhappy, my dear. You have dreams and an enviable creative talent that is literally going wasted.”

You never regretted your choice, truly. You’d do the same thing even if God decided to give you a second chance and send you back in time, willing to face the same hardships and give it all up again. But you often found yourself wondering about the life you could have lived if things went differently, imagining an alternative universe, or more planes developing at the same time, with just another You facing multiple outcomes.

Hob pulled over, stopping the car and parking in front of your apartment building. As the gentleman that he was, he stepped out of the vehicle to reach the passenger side and pull the door open for you, holding your hand until you were out of the car and fully standing. You thanked him with a smile and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear in a fondly way.

You adjusted the bag over your shoulder. “I’m glad we could meet today, I really missed you, you know?” You told him, tears already threatening to form at the thought of departing from him once more.

Dammit.

“Same here, Shortcake. I’m so glad to see you in such a good shape.”

“Thank you for caring. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grinned. “You would be lost as hell.”

Snickerig, you hit him lighty on the arm. “You’re so full of yourself, Mr. Gadling.”

“Aye, sweetheart,” he puffed out his chest. “Come on, have you seen me?”

Again, you burst out into a wholehearted laugh, so carefree and full of joy. The kind of joy you hadn’t felt in a very long time, the kind of joy you had almost forgotten. The kind of joy you thought you didn’t deserve anymore, the kind of joy you missed tremendously and needed like oxygen in your existence. The kind of joy that twisted into sadness, a sadness you felt expanding from your chest along your entire being.

Hob’s own laugh subsided when he saw your smile fading, narrowing his eyes in confusion. In that moment, your emotions started to run wild, it was as if someone had pressed a switch and flipped you over like day with night, light with dark, hot with cold.

Hob was aghast at your sudden breakdown. “Hey hey, what happened? Why are you crying…?”

Everything you kept buried into you was overflowing, bursting into an outpouring of tears. You tried to stop it, but the moment Hob embraced you and stroked your back with both hands in a soothing manner, you clutched the sides of his jacket and surrendered to your burning pain. The feeling came on gradually, like a wave, starting out small and slowly building until it was overwhelming.

He hugged you tightly, whispering soft words into your hair. “Shhh, it’s all right Buttercup. I’m here.”

Cracking in front of your best friend was definitely not something you had put into account. You wished you could have waited to be in the silent comfort of your private quarters before opening the floodgates, releasing all the vulnerability you didn’t know you had mounting to that extent. The worries, the tiredness, the anger, the piled up frustration… even the feelings you were most certainly developing for Dream. But there also was something else, something amiss from within you that you couldn’t quite decipher. You let all that out, flowing through loud sobs and heavy gasps. The responsibilities crashing onto you were suffocating and the fear of failing the ones who were counting on you, believing in you, had you screaming in agony.

Hob didn’t speak, he let you vent against him, keeping you between his arms until you started to calm down. It felt like an eternity, but eventually the tears slowed down, your chest felt empty and a sense of calm washed over you as your strength and resilience started to come back. You pulled away, drying your soaked cheeks with the heavy sleeves of your coat.

“I’m sorry, Hob. I don’t know what’s gotten into me all of a sudden.”

He smiled, using his thumb to brush away the teardrops at the corner of your eyes. “I hope it’s not a guy. Do I need to break someone’s nose? Because I’ll do that.”

His gentle words caused a new rush of tears, so you took a deep breath and shook your head. “No, it’s not that. The thing is, I’m already lost, Hob. Do you know that feeling of constantly walking on thin ice, as if it could break at any moment and suck you underneath?”

He let out a pained snort. “I may know one thing or two about that, yes.”

“What did you do?” Your voice was shaking.

He let his mind drift, letting the memories of his past come back to him. As he searched his mind, images and thoughts came in. “I’m afraid I don’t have a real answer, Y/N. I just knew I still had a lot to live for, so I endured. And then, it was finally over. “

“Which means, after the rain comes a rainbow?”

“It may not look like it, but it always does.”

You shoved your hands into your pockets. “I don’t know. The past couple years have been a living nightmare. I just want it to be over, I want to live the dream.”

Interesting choice of words you picked there…

“Y/N, If someone can rise of the shitty storm, it’s you.”

You let that sink into your heart, using it as the motivation you seeked to move forward without teetering. You were tempted to tell him everything about the basement in Fawney Rig, about Dream of the Endless, about your intention of setting the entity free. You knew that Hob would never doubt your words and the secret you were carrying with you was consuming your thoughts, growing too big for you to handle on your own. You let it roll on your tongue, seething in anticipation as you were about to spill it, you had it coming closer and closer to the edge, you wanted to say it, you needed to.

But no. In the end, you drew it back with resignation, as you didn’t want to involve anyone else in Mr Burgess’s affairs. It wasn’t the right time, you figured, to reveal something you were still trying to process yourself.

The last rays of sunlight disappeared, painting the world around you with beautiful orange and yellow hues that blended with purples and pinks, creating an ever-shifting canvas of beauty. The birds flew through the sky, their feathers catching the colorful lights. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze blewing through your hair, their leaves rustled and reflected the glowing tones from above. For a moment, all your worries were forgotten, taken away by the sun dipping lower and lower behind the buildings.

“Hob, about that thing you said before, that you still had a lot to live for…”

“What about it?”

You spotted a few twinkling stars, marveling at the artistry of the lively sky shaping into different colors and forms.

Almost like a dream.

“Do you see how beautiful it is?”

Hob looked up as well, the golden tones of sunset were framing his chin and jawline, highlighting their sharpness and masculinity.

“Witnessing things like this with a good friend by your side… these are the moments that I consider worth living for.”

Hob smiled to himself, supportively patting you on the shoulder and keeping you against him with a tight, reassuring grip. It was his way to let you know that he would always be there for more sunsets, more sunrises, more storms and more rainbows forming into your life.

“You’re right. It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

When you crossed the threshold of your apartment, an awful stale smell filled your nostrils and you rushed into opening the windows to let the air flow. The plastic covers you placed over your furniture prevented the dust from forming onto their surfaces, but the amount of dirt you found lying around was too much to bear and it had to go.

You rolled up your sleeves, watered the plants, took broom and mop out of the storage room, washed the floor and dusted everything off with impeccable precision. Your muscles were now accustomed to the physical exertion, allowing you to do more in a shorter amount of time.

You dropped onto the couch, feeling mentally exhausted from the emotional outburst you had earlier. The lingering headache was pressing against your temples, which you gently rubbed with your hands in a circular motion.

Hob made you promise to be more communicative in the future, either through a text or a call every once in a while. You were still trying to figure out what triggered such an exponential reaction in the first place (after an incredibly positive and fun day at that), but you both assumed that the past couple years, along with the most recent events he knew very little about, had put a toll on you and ended up breaking the camel’s back.

You looked around, enjoying the familiarity of your home. You inspected each polished decoration, all the immaculate furnishing you meticously positioned to build the perfect den for yourself. The monthly rent was not on the cheap side, but every cent you were spending for that apartment was solidifying your independence.

The fact you couldn’t spend enough time in there anymore since you moved to your workplace was bothering you to no end.

Your eyes stopped on the bookshelf, filled to the brink with books of different genres. One volume in particular immediatly crossed your mind, but you didn’t see it while dusting the library off. You bolted on your feet, scanning the titles in search of the one you were looking for. Your fingers brushed along the spines of the books as you looked high and low, only to consolidate the fact that it seemed to have vanished.

You thought back to the last time you had seen it. You took all your favorite books with you when you left your father’s house, but you couldn’t remember seeing that one at all when you opened the boxes to unpack. Since you most definitely didn’t put it anywhere else, you concluded that it probably never left your old place, so now you had more than one reason to visit your father again on your next day off.

You gobbled down the disappointment and returned to the couch, using your coat as a blanket to cover up your legs. In the deep, deafening silence of your apartment, the faint sounds of the city outside seemed to be intensified. You could hear the cars honking, music playing in the background, people talking and laughing in the street and the occasional bark of a dog. It was like an orchestra with no conductor and it made you feel a little less alone.

The city was a tapestry of lights, of people and places, of stories and dreams.

Dream…

You could almost feel the energy radiating out of the town, a sort of magnetic draw that pulled you in, as if you were part of something grand and extraordinary.

Dream.

You loved to bury yourself in nature, but you could not deny that the magic of the city was equally extraordinary. As someone who grew up in London, it was hard for you to imagine a life somewhere else. Although you didn’t want to bite the hand that was feeding you, the more time passed, the harder it was to live secluded in Ashdown Forest.

But Dream…

Yes, Dream. The one who occupied the majority of your thoughts now. If you said that you weren’t attracted to him you would be in denial and shirking away from the reality of things would only bring you to a standstill. You were determined to ignore it, to push it away and pretend it wasn’t there. You’d been telling yourself that it was all in your head, that you didn’t feel the spark when he was near, that your heart didn’t beat a little faster, like it was doing now, whenever his face appeared into your mind.

You didn’t know what he effectively did when your hands indirectly touched through the glass. He used his power to relieve you from the coldness, but you felt him delving into your deepest thoughts and fears. His eyes looked past your physical form and into your innermost being, you felt his energy flowing through you as your worries faded away and you felt cared for. He didn’t speak, but his presence alone was louder than words. That touch was a connection that went beyond any explanation, it gave you a sense of peace and belonging you never experienced with any of the men you dated.

From a realistic and objective point of view, the feelings you had for Dream weren’t safe for your heart in the long run, but your inner voice wanted you to pursue with them, to explore them and let them flourish.

You closed your eyes. His perfect, beautiful face was the last thing you saw before succumbing to your weariness.

The air around you was eerie as you awoke on a cold floor. You were surrounded by rubble and scattered pieces of colorful glass, in what looked like a destroyed Cathedral room. You stood up on your feet, but you struggled to keep your balance with your legs feeling weak and unsteady. Your mind was fuzzy, all you felt was confusion and disorientation in a place you did not recognize.

The room was a strange mix of gothic and ancient elements. Stone pillars rose up from the large tiles and they were crowned with Greek busts that seemed to look at each other with deep contemplation. A long and curved staircase, only partially broken in places, led up to an empty throne. It was a seat of power remained vacant over a scene of destruction.

The stained glass windows behind it were in a state of disrepair, but the light streaming in through them (or coming from them, you weren’t sure) was so bright it was almost blinding. The colors that remained were casting their deep blue, vibrant green and fiery orange over the surrounding devastation.

The ceiling was completely missing and the sky above was unlike anything you had seen before. It was dark, almost inky and full of blinking stars. A red nebula was crossing that infinite black expanse, dancing in its own cosmic rythm. When you took a step back to admire its galactic beauty, something cracked loudly under your foot. You looked down, noticing a triangular piece of blue stained glass next to a smaller fragment that you had just accidentally pulverized with your boot. You knelt down to take the fragile chunk in your hand, it was oddly warm to the touch and you saw your face reflected on the smooth material as you turned it over. For a second, you bizarrely saw someone else flashing in it, glowing eyes appearing in place of your original iris hue and going back to normal.

“Who are you?”

Suddenly, you heard a gentle, yet startled voice speaking behind you. You nervously turned to its source with your fingers tightened around the fabric of your shirt, jolting up so fast that you almost fell backward.

A brown-skinned woman with a shaved head and pointy ears was staring at you with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. She had a pair of round glasses perched on her nose and she was wearing an elegant black suit that made her look like a cultured librarian. She wasn’t threatening at all, but she seemed cautious and kept a certain distance from where you were standing.

She was clearly waiting for an answer, but your mind was still hazy and it took you a moment to even remember your name. So you racked your brain, drawing it from the depths of your memory. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/LN.”

She tilted her head slightly, her expression softened as she studied you intently from head to toe. “Do you know where you are?”

You thought about it, taking another look at the disheartening wreckage. The world around you was unfamiliar. “No. And I don’t know how I got here, either.”

The woman steeled her nerves and took a step foward, her hands moved from behind her back and crossed to her front. “You are a dreamer.”

Your eyes were drawn to the galaxy above, each star seemed to held a story of its own. “I never dream though.”

“You’re here now, are you not?”

Her voice was soothing, echoing in the vastness of the room.

“Define ‘here’.”

Her lips twisted into a half-smile. “The Dreaming. This is Lord Morpheus’s castle, or rather, what remains of it.”

She gestured to the ruined structure in front of you, the walls crumbled as you heard a distant crunching sound.

“The Dreaming… Lord Morpheus…”

The more you searched for any clue, any piece of information that could help you understand, the more questions you found instead. “I don’t understand… what happened to this place?”

The woman lowered her eyes with a deep sense of distress. She breathed in deeply, her chest rising and falling as she adjusted her glasses. “Lord Morpheus left many years ago. Without him, The Dreaming has started to decay and it continued deteriorating ever since. Even the Waking World is suffering from this change, in a way.”

There were pieces of the palace everywhere you looked, as if the aftermath of a war had been spread across the entire floor. There was no deniying the darkness of it all, yet you could still see the beauty in it. The colorful lights emitted by the windows made your heart swell with hope and even in the chaos you could sense the energy that had been left behind.

“I suppose it cannot be fixed in any way?”

She shook her head. “Without Lord Morpheus, The Dreaming is beyond repair.”

“Will he return?”

“I know he will.”

You carefully placed the glass piece you were still holding back on the ground. “I still don’t know why I’m here…”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Neither do I. I did not expect to see a dreamer here. Especially not in the palace… and not in the throne room.”

You stayed silent, listening to the far thunders and collapsing noises. Her dark brown eyes shone with kindness and knowledge, giving you a feeling of peace.

And then, everything began to fade, darkening and disappearing. The woman’s features became unclear as she got shrouded in a thin layer of mist, you could barely make out the shape of her lips, moving as she spoke to you. “You are waking up.”

The urge of closing your eyes and let yourself go into the forming void was traveling along your body, but you resisted it. “Wait!” You exclaimed. “I don’t know your name!”

You looked for something to hold on to, as The Dreaming was literally capsizing now. You felt her warm hand grasping yours to hold you there for a moment longer, your head was getting heavy and you couldn’t stand properly anymore.

“It’s Lucienne,” she replied. “Perhaps one day I could show you my library, I am sure you will love it.”

“Lucienne… will I remember you? And this?”

You were now suspended between two different dimensions, the sounds of the city outside your windows was mingling with the echo of her voice. “You may. Or, you may not. Until we meet again.”

You tried to respond, but you no longer felt her touch and the black abyss enveloped you in its nothingness.

Your eyes snapped open and your heart raced as you franctically took your phone from your pocket. You groaned seeing the time, massaging your aching neck and shivering for the cold air of the evening, the sun now completely set.

“Did I just doze off? That’s new.”

You grabbed your coat, took one last look around to make sure that everything was in place and closed the windows, muffling the sounds of the outside world.

You heard the click of the door lock while twisting the key, feeling a pang of sadnass for leaving your home behind yet again. Your comfortable couch, the city skyline that you enjoyed admiring from the living room, the small balcony you had spent so much time sprucing up, the bathtub in which you could relax in in a sea of foam and then your bedroom, transformed into your own personal studio for your creative works.

There was only one thing you were looking forward to: Dream. You wanted to see him; his eyes, his face, his beauty and his comforting energy.

Stepping out of your apartment building, you looked up and down the street. The taxi was already on its way, lights flashing in the darkness and illuminating the empty road. When it halted, the driver opened the back-door and you got in, giving him the address for Wych Cross and letting him take off again.

You glanced out the window, watching a few stars twinkling dimly through the forming clouds in the sky. You took in the sights, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the buildings and the people who hurried along the sidewalks.

An odd feeling was tugging at your heart and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was an unexplicable sensation, like you had lost something important and yet you didn’t know what it was.

You had no memory of Lucienne, The Dreaming or the crumbling palace you had seen in your dream - a dream you didn’t know you had.

Thank you for your patience and my apologies for the delay. I struggled a bit with this one because I wanted it to sound just right and I also took some time to do some more research (plus working and irl stuff keeping busy).

For more notes and info, go check the final notes on AO3!

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