#no. 40

[collectivelycreative]

Different art abilities (4/20/26)

PT under cut

Different art abilities (4/20/26)

[cook-a-little-chicken]

I love when the boys get to flaunt their niche area of knowledge.

These are both from the same Typewriter Terrence (what they call their narrative longforms on livestreams) titled Coronation Feet:

"Sorry what did you mean "Old Stripey", I didn't follow that" - Luke "Old Stripey is the name of the red box that is delivered to the queen with all the documents that the government thinks that she should look into" - Sam "oh god you're a fucking nerd aren't you" - Luke (1:11:29)

"well okay well I'm gonna take these feet to every Clarks uh currently open in London and- and smack the sales assistant with them until they can recognise them." - Sam "Brilliant! Sounds like a plan. Do it, come back to me with results uh- you can do this within the week?" - Luke "Within a week? Do you know how many Clarks there are in 1953 England?" - Sam "Probably not that many, because it's only 1953, and chains didn't really take off until the wartime economy has ended, uh rationing has stopped, and the economy is booming again in the 1960s" - Luke "Exactly. It won't take me a week, I'll be done in a day" - Sam (1:12:49)

[sondersalem]

i hope my absence haunts you

i hope you see me when you watch the virgin suicides

i hope you see me when your mother buys chrysanthemums again

i hope you see me when you watch magical girl shows

[goldflinches]

no. 40 (snippet)

Summary: Even unfinished things have a beauty to them, as hard as it is to believe about your own creations. It takes a bit of heart-to-heart and some poetry from an old friend to impress this truth upon Dream of the Endless.

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Square/Prompt: A2 - Comforting Insecurity | @dreamlingbingo

Rating: General

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Notes & Warnings: Canon Compliant, Comfort Without Hurt

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Some days, Dream of the Endless is an unstoppable force of nature. He carves a path through the Dreaming with a restless energy that leaves the air cackling and electric. Feverishly creating dreams, endlessly modifying and reshaping daydreams, twisting new nightmares into reality. Simply, as much as an Endless can be simple, he fills the days and landscape with the act of creation.

Some days, he is very very still.

Today is one of those days. He stands at the foot of the Rookery, which has long been in need of refurbishing. Since his absence, despite of his absence, there have been many new dreams that have roosted there. He tips his head back, taking it all in. The way the wings of small Dreams of Childhood Flying catches the light. Its impossible proportions and iridescent possibilities. The shifting plates of the shiny chrome Dreams of Flying Machines. The impatient shuffle of the Dreams of Personal Flight. All eagerness and impatience in flying form.

He spends hours simply observing. Watches them take to the skies with ease. Some by their lonesome, most with their flock. One of the last ones to go is the Dreams of First Fledge. It nervously stumbles out of nest then immediately tips off the edge. Seeing it fall a great height, Dream quickly opens his palm as a safe landing space and—the Dreams of First Fledge takes wing just before touching him at all. It rises beyond his reach, leaving Dream alone in the rookery. Palm outstretched and empty. He lets his hand drop to his side, suddenly feeling exhausted.

The quiet of the Rookery is now oppressive, pressing close and crowding out the previous calm. Dream tried very hard not to think about the last time the Rookery was this quiet. The number of empty nests of dreams of a bygone era. The fossilized dreams left behind, never to take flight. The shells of dreams which did but ones never bore witness to. The idea of it all makes his hands ache and itch, wanting to craft something, anything to fill the space—

Now, the stillness is unsettling. Aggravating. So he closes his eyes and turns his senses outwards to the squalls and rustling wings, the gales over the Infinite Waters. He lets it wash over him. Let that medley bury the familiar ache of seeing the ease his creations took to the horizon, lightness writ in their very being.

A low hum breaks his reverie. It comes across the Dreaming distinctively, even with its slight waver. Bright and warm. Dream tips his head back, savoring it. A pleasant reminder that in London, it is almost five o’clock and Hob Gadling is making his way to their usual table in the New Inn. He takes one last look to the horizon and has to bite back the urge to make one last dream, make one small tweak—but no, today he has an appointment to keep.

[everylevihan]

[kneipho]

No. 40 (1 of 2, in Progress) © kneipho 2017

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