#otherwise the exist in a dream realm and see each other then

[seiya-starsniper]

For the hurt/comfort prompts

I'd like 14 with Morphenne or 4 with Hobrintheus, please. I'm excited to what you would envision for either of them.

14 - "Thank you for sticking by my side." - from the Hurt/Comfort Prompts

This wip is MONTHS in the making, and I'm so happy to finally be able to share it! Big thanks to @sandman-rarepair-fest for giving me the motivation to finish it 😄 Go check out the other fics people are posting for the event!

Rating: General Status: Complete Chapters: 1/1 Words: 2,958 Warnings: No Warnings Apply Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hell Invasion, Post-Battle, Feelings Realization, First Kiss Summary: Hell invades the Dreaming, and in the aftermath, Lucienne is always there for Dream. But who will be there for Lucienne when she needs help?

Read more below, or over on AO3: Hopelessly (I'll love you Endlessly)

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When Hell makes its move on the Dreaming and attacks, aiming for a complete invasion, there are thousands of casualties in the ensuing battle. Some injuries are fatal, and Dream feels each last breath, every agonizing scream, as their brief lives blink in and then out of existence. Each death is a wound, more painful than any direct cut to Dream himself, and Lucifer’s demons know it. So they aim for the weaker dreams first, those easiest to kill, to maximize the quantity of injuries they can inflict on the Dream Lord before they eventually move to target the more powerful dreams who actually have a fighting chance. 

Fiddler’s Green devours a hundred demons before his pastures are burned to ash, Gault’s wings are torn from her back as she takes on a high ranked demon lord, and Cain for once does not get to kill his brother Abel, for another demon guts him first. Cain, in revenge, takes out three upper level demons before he too falls to the rage and brutality of Hell. 

It does not take them long to breach the outer walls of the castle. More dreams and nightmares fall. Dream cries in agony with each new one, and Lucienne grips him tight in her arms, her and Matthew’s presence the only comfort in the otherwise cold emptiness of the throne room.

Dream wants to fight, wants the demons Hell and Lucifer themselves to pay for what they’ve done. And they will. He is ready for them. They are ready for them.

What the demons of Hell do not know, what Dream has been carefully guarding since his return from a hundred years imprisonment is this: that the Dreaming has been refortified so that it may never fall to ruin in Dream’s absence again. Or in an invasion, such that the current situation is.

In each of the denizens of the Dreaming, Dream has placed a small piece of his power within them, effectively turning each and every one into a dreamstone, forever connected to their lord in such a way so that Dream will never be cut off from his realm again. Through this deepened bond with his subjects, they will always know where he is, and he, in turn, will always be able to call on them.

The deepened connection, however, has its drawbacks. Each new death feels like a cut directly to Dream’s body, to his soul, and he cannot help the torrent of grief that engulfs him every moment another dream perishes. But at the same time, their deaths are simultaneously a balm, an injection of power that revitalizes him. Each and every dream fallen in battle has not actually died, but instead, their essences have been called inside his body, providing Dream with a limitless supply of power and energy. Their wills too, lie intact within him, and Dream is filled with their hopes, their pain, their fury.

Only when the doors break down and Lucifer’s army spills into the throne room, does Lucienne release her hold on him. Dream can feel her smile at his back as he transforms into his Nightmare form, channeling the pain and rage of each and every fallen dream into one unrelenting attack after the other. The demons of Hell don’t stand a chance.

Lucifer flees, abandoning their own people to their deaths, when they see what Dream has done. What he has become. Dream chases them as far as the gates, and then roars in victory when the Lord of Hell disappears over the horizon. The message is clear. Dream of the Endless is more powerful than ever, and any that wishes to prove otherwise shall be met with the full strength of his power. 

Invoking such a power, however, has its own set of consequences.

When the last of the demons fall, and the Dreaming is once again safe, Dream collapses onto the floor of the throne room, crying in agony as he tries to soothe the pain of death for more than a thousand different entities residing within him. The dreams are loud in their sorrow, and it is so much grief, so much heartbreak, it is all too much. 

Fiddler’s Green is the first to be resurrected, and then Gault. It is all he can manage before Dream is reduced to a sobbing, useless mess. 

Lucienne holds him throughout the night, whispering words of comfort to Dream, and all that reside within him. It soothes the ache by the tiniest fraction, and he is grateful for her embrace. 

With each day that passes, Dream brings another dream, another nightmare, back to life. With each life revived, the agony fades, but the memories of their deaths, their feelings in those moments do not. Dream had accepted the risk of this when he had asked for the denizens’ permission to imbue himself even further into their lives. Each and every resident had given their consent, some more freely and easily than others, but all had agreed that not knowing where Dream had gone for the last hundred years was worse than what Dream was asking them to give him. 

Lucienne and Matthew stay by his side, holding vigil as Dream wrestles with the tangle of wills raging inside him. 

Eventually, Dream expels the last of the dreams from his body, and soon the only voice residing inside his head is his. He allows himself a short reprieve to rest and recover, then sets to repairing the damage to his castle. 

“No offense, boss,” Mervyn tells him days later, when Dream is feeling more himself, “but I never want to share a body with you and everyone else in here ever again.”

Dream laughs, despite himself, but when Mervyn is gone, he sobs into Lucienne’s arms, unsure why he is still feeling so emotionally fraught.

“You took on a lot to keep us all safe,” Lucienne tells him, her voice soothing and low. “You have never infused yourself so closely with us before. Of course it would overwhelm you.”

Dream knows this, and yet, still he feels like he is drowning in a sea of unending grief.

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

After he finishes repairing the castle, Dream takes some time to wander the Dreaming to assess the full extent of the damage done by Hell’s forces, Lucienne follows his lead, taking careful notes of all the things that need to be repaired, while also making sure that Dream does not take on too many restoration efforts in one sitting. Mervyn helps with some of the smaller repairs, however the large majority of fixes to the realm still fall to Dream to complete.

Dream expects Lucienne to eventually return to her librarian duties, once Dream is mostly recovered and well enough to fully dedicate himself to restoring the Dreaming to its former glory. But even after the majority of the realm has been recovered, Lucienne does not leave his side. Instead, she continues to keep vigil over Dream, never straying more than a few paces from him, when she can help it. In the days immediately after the attack, Dream had grown so used to her constantly being within his peripheral vision that it takes him some time to remember that this was not always how things had been between them. Even Matthew, who has never been more than breath away since he had become Dream’s raven, does not keep nearly as close of a watch on Dream these days. Because Lucienne is always there. 

“You do not need to be my shadow any longer, Lucienne,” Dream says one afternoon when they are alone together in the throne room and reviewing Mervyn’s latest reports of needed repairs. Most of the remaining items are small, with the exception of the Sea of Nightmares, which seems to have grown quite restless in the past few days. Though Dream would prefer to get the rest of the small repairs over and done with, so he can focus solely on the Sea of Nightmares, Lucienne has forbidden him from exerting any more of his powers for today. 

Lucienne purses her lips at his words, her eyes kind even as she frowns at him.

“I am where I am needed, sire,” she replies. Dream sighs. He had expected this.

“Lucienne, you have many responsibilities to attend to, and I am well enough to hold my own without your aid,” Dream says. 

Lucienne shakes her head. “You may need me, sire,” is all she says in response, before she returns back to reviewing Mervyn’s reports. 

Dream hates himself for not trying harder to keep Lucienne at bay, to insist that he is fine. But the truth of the matter is that Dream is tired. He is tired of his function, tired of having to defend himself and his realm time and time again, tired of carrying the weight of the entire universe and its unconscious minds on his shoulder with no hope for reprieve. 

The only time Dream feels even a modicum of relief is when Lucienne is there. Lucienne, who places his hand in hers and squeezes it to distract him from his maudlin thoughts. Lucienne, who takes stock of all the restored dreams and nightmares, ensuring that they have fully recovered from their ordeal with Hell’s minions. Lucienne, who still hums a lullaby in a long dead language from a long dead planet, in the quiet of the throne room, knowing that the sound soothes Dream’s ever fraying nerves.

So Dream does not press further when Lucienne insists on keeping watch over him, even as he feels as though she is treating him like a piece of fragile glass that could shatter any moment.

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

When Dream finally ventures out to the Sea of Nightmares to assess the damage Hell’s forces have done to its waters, the waves rush up to meet him, and Dream braces himself to be pulled within their depths. The Sea has been temperamental ever since the battle with Hell, and Dream knows it is likely questioning his competence. It is just another thing he will have to weather, another challenge to be conquered. He is prepared to remind the old nightmares that dwell beneath that he is still their master, that the battle with Hell has only made him stronger, not weaker.

But the waves of the Sea crash just past him, enveloping Lucienne instead and pulling her down into the cold dark depths.

Dream does not think twice before he follows, desperately diving in after her.

The Sea of Nightmares is vast and infinite, containing the collective fears of every being within its waters. Dream feels his own insecurities rise to meet him, threatening to swallow him whole. The Sea recounts each and every death that Dream allowed to happen, all of the pain his subjects had to suffer at the hands of Lucifer and their demons. It reminds Dream of his century long imprisonment, of how he let his realm fall to decay. It recalls how Dream has scorned and hurt those closest to him, from Nada to Hob Gadling. How he continues to hurt those closest to him. Especially Lucienne. 

Lucienne.

Dream’s eyes snap open, clarity piercing through the darkness of the Sea, as he remembers the reason he’d jumped into the water. His goal recalled, Dream starts to swim in the direction of Lucienne. Though he cannot yet see her, he can feel her, and he will not let his rogue creation take her from him.

He spots her not far south from his current location, and Dream dives downwards to reach her. As he swims closer to Lucienne’s location, Dream realizes the Sea has shifted. It is no longer showing him his deepest fears and insecurities.

No, he realizes with a sense of growing dread. It is showing him Lucienne’s.

Lucienne had always been steadfast in her devotion to him, and Dream had always believed they had an easy understanding of one another, a shared goal to keep the Dreaming alive and well, a sense of honor and duty. As Dream reaches out to grasp Lucienne’s hand, however, he realizes the depths of her devotion. Not only to the Dreaming, but to Dream himself.

The Sea shifts again, this time revealing to Dream Lucienne’s deepest fears. It shows him the countless lonely nights spent waiting at the Gates of the Dreaming, waiting, hoping, praying for Dream’s return. Another wave shifts the image to the sight of Dream, bruised and broken, as Lucifer’s minions invade. Yet another shows Dream, alone and surrounded by nothing but death and chaos, clearly prepared to sacrifice himself to some yet unseen force.

What Lucienne fears most, the Sea seems to whisper to him, is losing the one she loves most. Losing Dream.

Dream feels wretched. Undeserving. How had he not noticed that she carried these feelings for him all these years? He had always been perceptive, able to easily glean even the most carefully guarded secrets, and yet, this one has gone beneath his notice.

Or perhaps, he thinks to himself, he had simply refused to see it. 

Dream’s despair threatens to pull them both deeper into the Sea of Nightmares, to drown both he and Lucienne in the cold, cold, dark, but Dream will not let it. The Sea of Nightmares is still his subject after all, and it will heed the call of its master. Of Dream of the Endless. 

The Sea heeds his call and releases them. Dream takes Lucienne and then swims to the surface.

He breaks through to the surface just moments later, gasping for air and clutching Lucienne to his chest. She is unconscious, likely due to the shock of the Sea’s attack on her. With a single thought from Dream’s mind, they are both transported to his private chambers, and he lays her carefully on a wide bed with dark satin sheets, before replacing both of their wet clothes with dry ones. Then he fashions himself a chair to sit in and waits. 

Lucienne gasps as she wakes an undetermined amount of time later, coughing fitfully as if her body were trying to dislodge the water from the Sea of Nightmares from her lungs. But she is a creature of the Dreaming, and so there was never a true risk of her drowning.

“My lord?” Lucienne says once she’s caught her breath, turning to him. “What—what happened?”

“The Sea of Nightmares is still yet unstable,” Dream answers. “It stole you beneath the waters.”

“I—see,” Lucienne replies, her brow furrowing. “And you— you rescued me?” she asks, widening her eyes as shock then worry crosses her features.  “My lord, that was a dangerous maneuver. You could have been greatly hurt.”

“I could not lose you, Lucienne,” Dream says simply. It was true. Lucienne has always been an instrumental part of the Dreaming, of Dream’s function, but she had truly become invaluable to him when he had returned from his imprisonment at the hands of Roderick Burgess. Lucienne had shone a light on Dream’s weaknesses, had helped him see past his own pride as he struggled to adjust himself to a realm that had rotted away in his absence. She had shown Dream that change need not be a terrifying thing, that it could be beautiful, not just in his creations, but in Dream himself.   

“My lord,” Lucienne argues, “it is still not worth the risk—”

“You are worth every risk, Lucienne,” Dream interrupts her, cutting off the thought before she could finish it. “There is no one more valuable to me than you,” he adds, and realizes he means it. Lucienne had become wholly irreplaceable to him, and that could only mean one thing. 

“I have been negligent in saying so in the past,” Dream continues. “But I would like to thank you. For staying by my side for all this time. For believing in me, even when others had given up. For giving me—” he pauses, then takes one of Lucienne’s hands in his, raising it to his lips. She inhales sharply, caught off guard by the intimate gesture. “Something I still do not think I deserve.”

“My lord?” Lucienne asks, breathless.

“Lucienne,” Dream murmurs, his lips ghosting along the knuckles of her fingers. “I do not yet believe I am worthy of your love.” He looks up at her, hoping that she sees that he is serious about his declaration. “But I would like to be, if you’ll allow it.”

Lucienne’s eyes widen, then crinkle as she lets out a small huff of laughter. “I would respectfully disagree with that assessment sire,” she replies, turning her hand in his to squeeze it in return. “You do not see yourself as I do,” she adds, her voice soft and fond.

“Clearly, else I would have noticed your affections sooner,” Dream replies, feeling his own lips quirk upwards as he returns her smile.

“Perhaps that is only a testament to how well I know you, that I kept them hidden for so long,” Lucienne teases. Dream barks out a laugh, and it echoes loudly in his chambers, but he does not care. Lucienne has heard him laugh many times in the past few thousand years, so he is unashamed to let her hear him now. 

“Perhaps,” he allows. “But now you are no longer permitted to keep those feelings secret. I would have all of them, immediately.”

Lucienne rolls her eyes, but still stares at him, fondness clearly etched across her lovely face. 

“You have always been greedy with your lovers,” Lucienne answers. “But I suppose I do not mind that about you.”

Dream’s only response is to pull Lucienne into a deep, breathtaking kiss. 

[avelera]

I think one reason social class stuff is such a big part of how I write Dreamling is because, at its core if you accept them as a couple, if Hob and Dream are some level of perfect for each other, destined for each other maybe not literally but perfectly matched thanks to the supernatural omniscience of someone like Death setting them up together on purpose based on her greater knowledge of all living things, then it is such a powerfully egalitarian message for a romance.

If Hob really is the one person in all of existence that can handle Dream's bullshit, if he was only given the chance and the time for them to grow into being partners to one another, it's such an insanely profound message. It means that out of billions and billions of people over billions and billions of years, a commoner, a literal peasant was born with the qualities to be a match for one of the most powerful beings in the universe. That being born into the right class be it titles or riches or magical birth right don't actually matter as far as what makes two people suited to each other.

Even if you narrow it to just, say, the sweep of human history, that Death only picked a partner for Dream best suited for these few thousand years of written human history, maybe just for the lifetime of our planet, the message still holds without going all cosmic.

It means that an entirely normal person with no blood right at all, no inherent magical powers, no divine destiny, nothing to distinguish him even from the other soldiers at his table, someone who was born into one of the worst time periods to live through, living an entirely average life that would never make it into any history books except as a footnote, one of billions of people the great stories will simply forget, actually was extraordinary in a way that might have otherwise gone unappreciated but Hob would still have been here, his life still would have happened even if he never got the chance to explore the full potential of his resilience to immortality and his love of life.

If Hob's superpower that allows him to be a match for Dream is simply wanting to live so much that he can withstand the gift of immortality on a level that we rarely see in fiction, that alone is huge. Just some guy from a rainy little island with an entirely common profession of being some peasant soldier, manages to withstand the hardships of time better than immortal beings who were literally born into that existence and into the power and theoretically the supernatural comfort to polish away a lot of the day to day trials that would make living as a human for that span incredibly difficult, like hunger, and losing loved ones, and the daily grind of hardship.

Dream has all this power at his disposal, he is a being of the ultimate privilege. He can literally craft a realm for his comfort, people to be his companions who are best suited to serve him and his needs. Yes he is bound by a function but even that function is one of the richest parts of life: stories and songs and joy and sorrow. The things we toil for the rest of our life so we can carve out the time to indulge in those things. The truly great experiences. That's his job. Not saying it couldn't wear on you, only that it's not like he's Despair or Destruction or even Destiny, bound to helplessly watch all of time unfurl when you already know what's going to happen. Dream has one of the most desirable roles of all of the Endless, at least in theory. He's completed insulated by supernatural levels of privilege: powerful, male-presenting, beautiful, a literal monarch, with a kingdom of beings designed to serve him. The one inherent difficulty he might be argued to have is some form of clinical depression and of course the general traumas that accumulate over so long a lifetime. Not to dismiss it, or say he's not allowed to suffer, profoundly from this and what he's experienced, just to be clear that others have suffered from those things too without the other tools he has at his disposal. He is desperately alone and lonely too, which honestly makes it even more profound for him to have someone who wants to reach out to him.

So to say that Hob, who was not born with any of those privileges or tools, indeed, was born into one of history's most difficult centuries at a time when England was nothing more than a backwater and, yes, Hob is white and male and able bodied, etc, he does not have those privilege marks against him and that will mean more as time goes on and England rises to be a world-dominating superpower and being from there will evolve into a true privilege, but keep in mind, Hob's also from a time where his class, his birth mean he doesn't actually count as part of the "in crowd" of privileged people. He could never be part of his own government, he would not be invited to read or write or be any sort of force in the world. Until the century he was born into it was a vanishingly small likelihood someone like him could ever be more than a serf, legally bound to remain a serf no matter any ambition he might have had. If not for the extreme population loss of the Black Plague granting social mobility out of necessity, Hob could have lived and died as a serf, leaving no other record of his existence.

Instead, Hob's joy, his will to live, and his resilience to withstand eternity that he has as just one of his human qualities, puts him on a level with actual literal gods and creatures more powerful than gods. It means that there is no blood right or inherent structure that makes Dream better than him such that Hob would be inherently a poor match. It means just a guy, out of trillions, was best suited to be the lover of something as old as the universe and more powerful than a god. Because he could handle Dream's bullshit. Because his inherent joy and resilience made him a match to someone who more than anything needs someone like him who can put up with their bullshit, withstand it, look forward to seeing him, actually long for his presence in a way none of Dream's peers do.

That's just... wow I know I'm explaining myself in circle at this point, but I just can't get over it sometimes. Maybe it's the history buff in me just obsessing over someone so, so minor in the grand sweep of history being matched with someone so singularly powerful in this universe as Dream. But if you go with the popular headcanon that Death picked Hob just for the reason of being the best person in the world to be at least Dream's friend but maybe his lover and eventual partner, wow, that really just says something about birth and blood and magic not being the measure of any single beings actual importance to one another, I'm obsessed with it.

[tdoth]

TITANOMACHY: Dreams of the Hue | Omens 01 & 02

Art credit to the incredible Jonatan Anjos

RORY | background: WESTERN TRANSPLANT | hustle: AUGMENTATION REPOSESSION SPECIALIST | specialty: ORGANIST (L)

LYLE | background: EX-COWBOY | hustle: BUSKER | specialty: HEKATON (R)

Everybody has to make a living in the Hue, and few jobs leave your hands clean at the end of the day. Rory & Lyle represent the first of our Omens, the complex cyber/biopunk revolutionaries at the heart of TDoth.

Within Wild Words characters consist of Aspects - abilities, narrative permissions, elements of character and iconic equipment - drawn from pools that stand in for a more traditional game's classes.

Omens consist of a Background, a Hustle, and a Specialty each represented by pools of Aspects players can draw from to make their Omens their own. As we see our iconic Omens throughout TDoth's art we explore different pieces of their lives, and here we focus on the Hustles that keep Rory and Lyle connected to the Hue.

Rory represents the Augmentation Repossession Specialists, the unfortunate many made to reclaim augmentations - biological or otherwise - on behalf of one of the many corpo-lenders out there. A Biopunk riff on the classic Organ Repossession trope we (I) loved so dearly in the 00's, represented with the most

energy Jonatan could muster for Rory. It's grueling, bloody work but Rory has found a sickly synergy with their other work in the realm of the Organist, Cronenberg-esque organ artists of biology.

And then we have Lyle, chipper lad of the streets plucking away at a frutiger-aero weirdo guitar with some of his many, many arms. The Busker represents those artists who exists on the fringe of capital, and use their art as a beacon of the people. Houston is a city of liberating music cultures and iconic sounds, and the Buskers are the most unburdened by the grip of the Titans of any Hustle thanks to it.

A guiding image for much of Titanomachy is the incidental beauty of iridescence on edge of an oil slick. The Hue is one of the final tumors to a dying world, but there is still beauty to be kindled like fire. Cut throughout Lyle's design we tried to hide that sparkling, marginal beauty as often as possible.

These two are the first of many Omens that will show a fraction of what's possible within the world of TDoth. If you want to get a head start on building out some weirdos like this, or even want to hop in to a playtest or two, check our pinned post for more info on TITANOMACHY!

Thanks for reading,

Sillion L

[bookish-bogwitch]

Trope Grading Game aka Grope Trading Game

Thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, and @aristocratic-otter! This seems like a lot of fun.

@ileadacharmedlife @moodandmist @facewithoutheart @skee3000 @ivelovedhimthroughworse @cutestkilla @thewholelemon @raenestee, and everyone whose fic is mentioned below and everyone reading this, consider yourself tagged if you haven't gone!

Rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded

0 - don’t care either way

+10 -> very enticed

nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

Age gap: -2

Not into it at all for younger characters, but I don't mind for older ones. I haven't read a lot of couples with bigger age gaps but I wouldn't rule out enjoying it in the right context--though I can't see being into it for the sake of the trope itself. (I love you for you, Malcolm Grimm.) Codependency: Interdependency: +7

The template asks about codependency but I finally looked up what codependency means and it's about an uneven relationship where a partner, friend, or family member subsumes their own needs in the course of accommodating / enabling another person's destructive behavior. Is that anyone's jam? There's a reason Rainbow skipped the 12 months between the CO epilogue and the start of WS...

But if we're talking interdependency, then I'm super into it. Octavia Butler was right: "dependency is sexy if it's chosen and not coercive. Symbiosis is a kind of dependency. A dependency of equals is best." Snowbaz symbolizes this with the whole hot/cold body temp thing, which is #sharingabedgoals, and there's lots of great fic in this fandom exploring it, my all-time fave being @fatalfangirl's stunning Bound and Determined.

Obsession/Possessiveness, jealousy: +2

Obsession, sure, sign me up. What is Simon at all those football practices if not obsession?

And I can get behind jealousy as a device for revealing the depth of otherwise hidden or even denied feelings. But active, power-and-control-wheel possessiveness? Gross.

Opposites (grumpy/sunshine etc): +5

Yeah! I love watching the grump's walls come down. But with the caveat that the sunshine can't be a one-dimensional, manic pixie dream character, because the that's just boring and I don't care about them.

Enemies to lovers, Enemies with benefits: +5

What snowbaz fan isn't into this? But a key element for me is that there has to be some reason behind the initial enemies dynamic besides one or both of them just being an asshole. Maybe they think that's what's up at first and then learn otherwise, but if their enemy status is based on something real, like they genuinely hate each other based on accurate knowledge about each other, I find it implausible and probably also difficult to like one or both of them.

That's part of why Snowbaz works for me: Baz and Simon's enemy status was imposed on them by a fucked up political system and abusive caretakers. Left to their own devices they'd probably never have been enemies. The reason for their animosity is not the core of who they are.

Friends with benefits: +2

Ehhh is it benefits to full on love? I don't really connect with allo perspectives on sexual relationships, like I get them intellectually but I don't jive with them on an emotional level, so there has to be that emotional draw for me, that underlying romance. I mean tho, @fatalfangirl stacy is writing an excellent fic on this premise right now that I absolutely love because there are clearly feelings involved. But it also might fall more into the realm of the next trope on this list ... which is ...

What Ashton said 😂 also props to fandom for teaching me that I am demisexual, and that this is not a default mode of existence.

Sex to feelings: +100000000

It's the fucking BEST. You get to read all the smut and then the climax ISN'T "and then we did it," it's "and then we were emotionally intimate." You get to be horny and a sap.

I also think this trope inherently pushes writers' creativity because the relationship's progression can't follow standard mainstream romance beats. And the sex scenes usually have narrative significance by showing how the relationship is changing, which produces great writing.

Fake dating/relationship: +5

Yes, especially if there's lots of pining along the way! @captain-aralias's Unintended is a great example.

Friends to lovers: +3

I wouldn't say I seek this out specifically but there are so many great fics with this tag. Here are a few (but not all) of my favorites: I'd Gladly Eat You for Breakfast by @whogaveyoupermission What Remains After the Storm by @hushed-chorus Sixty Seconds by @artsyunderstudy Petrichor by @martsonmars And again Unintended by @captain-aralias

Found Family: +1

It's fine? I love moving proofs of love and affection outside of romance, but whether it's in something that fits the label "found family" or not is important to me.

Hurt/Comfort: +10

PUT IT DIRECTLY. INTO MY MOUTH. I am a fucking sap for hurt/comfort. It gives me the swoops. There is fucking nothing I like better than lovers (or almost lovers) comforting each other and taking care of each other, emotionally, physically, spiritually, whatever. It's sexy to me. It affects me deeply.

#WhatAshtonSaid. I literally have a WIP going where someone says "who did this to you??" just because I love it so much. I'm pretty sure Nightmares and Excuses was the first fic that made me cry. (It's not hard to do.)

Love Triangle: -8

Not my thing if there's genuine heartbreak / unrequited love floating around. That just bums me out. I get a kick out of the Agatha-Simon-Baz's confusion in CO, but only Penny thinks that's actually a love triangle. I think the only book I've ever loved with a "real" love triangle is Emma and even [SPOILER FOR 208-YEAR-OLD-BOOK] Harriet's not actually in love with Mr. Knightley, she just thinks she is.

Poly, open relationships: -4

Only if it's porn without plot and even then it's pretty rare that I'm into it. I'm not usually interested in sex scenes without a romantic/love element (even if that element is deeply repressed) and am personally very monogamous and have a hard time connecting with poly relationship themes. Which obviously does not mean that poly =/= emotional or romantic connection, not at all, it's just a tough one to wrap my head around.

@skee3000 nailed this for me in Minos, by having Simon and Baz connect with each other even as they have three-way with Mr. Minos, but now I'm conflating a threesome with poly/open relationships. Go read it anyway.

Mistaken/hidden identity: +2

Not sure I can think of a Snowbaz fic that focuses on this, although I'm sure there are some. I do like it when characters meet for the first time and are drawn to each other, only to learn that each other's larger identities make that complicated. And the trust issues that brings up. There are a couple of KJ Charles novels that deal with this really beautifully.

Monsterfucking: +5

I really love when monsterfucking is used as a way to celebrate difference and work through a character's feelings about their own body or its changes. This fandom does a great job with that. Otherwise I'm not drawn to any particular monsters for their monstery sake (but see: Minos's horns).

Pregnancy: -2

+8 for mpreg, -10 for other pregnancy.

I stalled out for two weeks on this post, wondering how to explain this without getting darker and more personal than I'd like. And then realized I don't have to explain 😃.

Second Chance: +7

Love it! I don't always have the heart to read the actual breakup, or falling out, or lost opportunity etc., but I love fics where that has already happened and we're seeing them put themselves back together. Some examples, that may or may not have this tag but definitely have this theme:

What's Left by @cutestkilla This Will All Go Down in Flames by @facewithoutheart There's Be Peace When You Are Done by somekindofpath Once More, with Feeling by fox_pitch

And probably countless others I'm forgetting.

Slowburn: +10

Yeah! I know I said I love sex before feelings but I love this too. (And I think they can be successfully combined into slow-feelings-burn.) There's nothing like a satisfying, well-earned payoff. I also admire well-executed slowburns because whenever I write a get-together fic I have to actively resist mashing their faces together in the first 100 words.

Soulmates: -1

In theory I don't love these. The red string, etc. It can just feel played out, and also the emotional logic of it is kind of alienating. I have a hard time putting my head into a world where people have these predestined connections and are trying to find each other because it's just so not how I see relationships. BUT when an author critically and playfully messes with the trope, it can be lots of fun. All This Soulmate Shit by half_witch mashes up a dozen different soulmate tropes to make something that's brilliant, funny, sexy, and feels like they are actively choosing each other rather than obeying destiny. I also adore Bound and Determined by @fatalfangirl for how it plays with the idea of free will and consent, which feel like soulmate-related theme. But it's probably not a coincidence that this fic doesn't have the "soulmates" tag.

That's a lot of me me me and what I think. What do YOU think, friends?

[blackvahana]

I don't think I can downplay the fucked up way that Grey sees things though lmfao

Like when you live in multiple bodies and multiple selves and are Awake to the point that you're conscious in fate and aspects and energies and... also things and parts of your body that don't exist, and awake in the coding in the world and the

Lev Just because my keyboard background is a sky and mountain that doesn't mean you get to send messages through it

Anyway. No wonder Black's so obsessively "I don't care it's elevator music in here". It really isn't, but Black's guarded about his mind. His mind is. complicated. A thousand doors. Also a thousand bodies, also a thousand things he's awake in... but the constant theme is dreaming. Anyway. Anyway is a him word and him habit so take that as you will

I don't see even a fraction of what they see, and yet still... every moment is writing, every movement is written in the Records. Whoops. Phone autocapitalised that. Every single breath taken has every single ounce of it recorded into points of data which document what something is and why it is and how it is and so on, and the translation of all points over every moment of time is recorded and the speed of change is recorded - except to be fair, it's not recorded. Speed of change and such are referenced, those are "kept" somewhere else. There's no point writing a thousand "changed by x/yps" "changed by x/yps" every single time, the way things change over time is recorded elsewhere and just referenced by the change because it's constant. It's why you can do mathematical equations, or... more so think of the individuality as recorded moment to moment, and then the things you can do maths with (predicting heat loss in an object by understanding it's make-up and density and temperatures of air and object, predicting acceleration by understanding forces of weight and friction and so on, etc) are... probably related to the other records. Laws and constants and rules and such are much more efficient ways of storing information in the brain of God, and the brain, loving Poles, tries to balance both pure efficiency (which, if enacted without a counter, would keep god Singular) and pure complexity (probably would shatter god into complete nothingness)

It's... Here's the thing. I don't really care about talking about Grey, we've an endlessly complicated relationship, but he's a good example for this probably because he's part of why I experience this. He's known for having inhuman understandings of boundaries and whatnot but... of course. That's because you and I are both experiences of matter. You and I on this plane are atoms, his realm. You and I are both nothing but coding written in reality referencing laws and information and manifesting it - the sky is atomic - we are all the hallucinated story to gods words. Words are arbitrarily kept apart. Spaces are just as much the same thing as letters when you look at writing as code. Hes here to do a job and his job is being transcendental laws (I don't care about masking him for .5 seconds, there's a lot of reasons he's associated with laws and this is a major one), and laws affect everyone, not necessarily equally. Gravity anchors wedding day attendees as they sit in their seat and snaps the neck and bones of someone who fell off a cliff. Oh. Cool. The bit that sounds like an electric storm in this song begins.

Either way. It gets extremely hard to enjoy a game you've coded, or have otherwise dissected the code of - and I don't mean something that can be countered with "oh but plenty of dataminers love the game still, it gives you a new appreciation and more information on it". No, I mean dissecting, studying, experiencing, becoming, and then acting as the information of how flashing lights affect your brain, about how each pixel moves and the simulated reality is illusory and... so on. These, the old men, are the ones that walked their bodies back so far they spaghettified their brains in order to peer at god, though they don't talk about that because that was a moment they knew they'd gone too far. Whoops. Either way..... When you perceive god you don't come back from it - when you go to space you see earth as a unified ball. When you walk outside reality, knowing code, having been code, which is why they were drawn to doing it in the first place - they've been infinitely called to know themselves and to become their knowledge and ascend beyond their own limits - ah. Yeah.

Anyway. I want to look at rocks in Ananyavarda

[thefivekins]

(banner photography by Neil Burnell)

MYTHOS.

The StarKin

A mysterious force comprised of the countless spirits of cats. Every star in the sky is said to represent a member of this mystical kin, lighting the way for those in the land of the living. Not much is known about their inner workings, and they are known for being rather vague. The StarKin gift knowledge to the druids in the form of symbolic prophecies and omens, for they have no power to deter danger beyond giving a warning. These spirits are able to walk in the dreams of those living when necessary; however, they have very limited power when it comes to showing themselves in the conscious realm.

On rare occasions, so rare that it's considered the things of legend, the StarKin may grant special powers to living souls. These powers usually revolve around divination and immortality; those that receive these gifts are known as Starspeakers, beings that will transcend life and death for ages to come. It is an honor to become a Starspeaker, but not many have a choice in the matter.

When leaders receive their nine lives, it is said that the StarKin cat representing each is gifting a part of their soul to them. They can only gift so many until their spirits fade out of existence entirely.

The Dark Forest

Cats that go against the Stars are forever damned to roam a murky wasteland with skeletal trees and little prey to eat, trapped in a land so desolate and labyrinthine that they rarely see the others souls trapped with them. This is known as the Dark Forest, a land beyond death created by the Stars with the sole purpose of eternal punishment, said to be created following the death of Cirrus.

Dark Forest spirits are much less secretive than the StarKin, and they too have the power to walk in dreams. They do not have the means to give out powers, but they are able to take control of living cats if there is a connection that's strong enough between these individuals. It is said that the Dark Forest is easier to reach than the StarKin, but doing so is greatly discouraged; once an evil spirit latches on to a cat, they could be haunted forever.

Seemingly unknown to the land of the living, the spirits of the Forest live on through remembrance; even cautionary nursery tales give them power. If one's legacy is to be forgotten by the Kins, they risk fading into nothingness.

The Fae

From the highlands to the lowlands and beyond, the Fae Folk (otherwise known as the Good Folk or simply faeries) are said to come from an entirely different plane of existence that so happens to intersect with that of the Kins. They are found just about everywhere if one knows where to look. It’s important to note that there is not a singular type of faerie; the Fae appear in many different forms. Such as:

PIXIES: Said to be the most commonly seen and sociable of the Fae, pixies are rather small humanoid-insectoid beings that live in gardens and woodland. They are very attracted to nature. They are known to decorate themselves in bright colors, clothes made from leaves and flowers. Pixies enjoy gifts of flowers, honey, and nectar; they will also appreciate if small dens are built for them. The Kins leave the most offerings to this type of Fae, believing it will bring them protection. If pixies take items from the cats, which they often do, there will always be an exchange of goods in the end. A faerie dislikes being in debt, especially in the realm of the Kins.

Pixie villages, as the kins call them, are well-hidden and are practically impossible to find.

BROWNIES: A type of Fae known to work alongside twolegs and cats in their very homes. It is a relationship with mutual benefit; the home (or den-owners) offer the faeries food and shelter, while the faeries come out at night to tidy the area and fix anything that is broken or torn. They are said to be easily offended by disrespect or carelessness, and will leave their homes abruptly if upset. They are the most commonly mischievous of the Fae, known to pull pranks on the occupants of the den and will even punish misbehaving kits. They are quick to anger; cats with dens inhabited by mistreated brownies have claimed to be woken in the night because a brownie was biting them.

BANSHEES: Most well known for their “scream of death”, banshees are a type of Fae that the Kins dread coming across. They are predictors of death, appearing to those who will either witness or experience an untimely demise. They are mostly seen inhabiting the moorland.

In the Kins, banshees are described as old, ragged mollies with long, tangled fur with eyes red from tears. Their cries can be heard from many distances away, and send a particular chill down one’s spine. The duration of the banshee’s presence is rather unpredictable; some may only appear for a moment, others will stay until their prediction follows through.

Similar to the StarKin and the Dark Forest, the Fae can be categorized into two groups based on their behavior; the Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court. The "good faeries", those who help cats and trade goods, although still prone to mischief, belong to the Seelie. The "wicked faeries", those who are easily provoked and want little to do with the creatures which share their realm, are the Unseelie.

Ghosts

Spirits that wander the land of the living, most frequently associated with unfinished business or an unruly death. Ghosts can be both visible and invisible, have the power to move things, (briefly) interact with the living, and walk in dreams. It is very difficult to communicate verbally with one, but not impossible.

Black Dogs & Grims

A spectre that takes the form of a large dog of pure black with red eyes, these entities are most commonly found near cemeteries, churches, crossroads and ancient sites. Similar to the banshee, seeing a black dog or a grim is said to be a bad omen. It is rare for them to be directly harmful, though the Kins believe that they can have connections to the Dark Forest.

Kelpies

A shape-shifting entity that inhabits the rivers. They are often seen as purely sinister, transforming to attract potential prey, luring them in and then drowning them in their watery homes. Their most common form is a ragged horse, said to be uncanny but familiar enough to blend in.

Will-O'-The-Wisp

Found primarily in marshland, the will-o'-the-wisp are neutral entities that are often associated with the Fae or spirits. Appearing as small, flickering lights at night, the wisps are said to both lead travelers off course and lead travelers to their destination (both literally and symbolically-- because of this, they are also interpreted as a symbol of hope). There are many stories of lost kits guided back home in the dead of night by the wisps.

[bluegekk0]

Can we learn more abour Radi and Grim's dad 👀

i don't have any specifics just yet, mostly just a general outline of him and how i picture the gods in the au. it's all still subject of change cause i haven't had the time or inspiration to really think about it from a worldbuilding lens

to avoid confusion, i'll be calling the home of the gods "the higher plane" and individual domains "realms". working names and all that. will probably contradict previous asks but like i said, i'm still working on it. and i kinda just came up with this distinction on the spot. oops

so basically: the higher plane = the dream realm (before it was split) + other individual realms

(also, i'm accepting suggestions for the name for this specific plane. i was considering just calling it "the dream plane" but it gets really confusing when you get to realms)

ok now for some more details. below the cut cause it's kinda long

i'm taking a lot of inspiration from existing mythologies, and in the case of the higher plane in the au, i like to think it's a bit like what you see in the norse mythology. a shared plane for all the gods, like asgard, with each of them having their own hall/realm. also, i imagine there are multiple planes like that, each watching over different regions of the world. so in the case of hallownest and its surrounding territories, i'll be focusing on this particular gods plane, which includes the radiance, grimm, the white lady and unn in its pantheon (as well as the two others i'm going to talk about now). possibly more, if i'm ever in the mood to design new gods. i definitely don't think it spans all over the world, otherwise the infection would've affected territories outside of hallownest. so i think this is the most reasonable option

---

grimm and radiance's father, i call him the dream lord (to match the shade lord, which will make more sense later), is kind of like odin, the most powerful of the gods and the ruler of the higher plane, as well as his domain, the dream realm

he was the god of dreams, his mission to help the mortals find hope and learn from their dreams, and to lead them towards the light. the shade lord stood in opposition, causing doubts and chaos, shrouding the hopes and dreams in shadow. for many years, the two maintained balance between light and shadow, doubt and hope, but the void was unpredictable, it feared the light and wanted to consume it. soon enough it became a threat to the higher plane, and so to protect it he decided to seal the void away, in the deepest pits of the mortal realm, too weak to return to the gods plane

but the void was powerful, and fearing that his beloved home would lose its ruler, he decided to split his domain between his two children - the radiance, and the nightmare (as grimm was then called), so that they would get an equal share of his power and responsibilities, and rule over their father's realm and protect the higher plane together. the shade lord was defeated, and the void it was made of scattered around the abyss, but not before consuming the dream lord

i once mentioned that grimm and radi were half-sibling and had different mothers, but i like the idea of them being born from just the father. perhaps he created them in a similar manner that grimm now creates his physical form. i think it would tie the two ideas together rather nicely, and would explain where grimm got that life-creating power in the first place

as for what each of them were given by their father: the radiance was responsible for the positive, hopeful dreams, and she was to guide them towards the light. the nightmare, as the name suggests, was responsible for the bad dreams, those rooted in fear and anxiety, and he was meant to guide the mortals through those nightmares to help them overcome and learn from them

but as i already mentioned, that peace between the siblings didn't last. the radiance became obsessed with sticking to her responsibilities and their father's legacy, while the nightmare had a much more independent and chaotic lifestyle, which in his sister's mind went against what their father stood for. the two would argue more and more, until they battled, and the nightmare was defeated. seeing her brother as unworthy of their father powers, she stripped him of most of them, most notably the ability to enter the higher plane. the dream realm was split in two, and the nightmare's half was separated from the higher plane. he was severely weakened, and restricted only to his own realm and the mortal plane. it was after this that he began calling himself the nightmare king - to state his independence from the sister, but also as his last attempt at spite towards her. and as we know, among the mortals, he's simply just known as grimm

---

like i said, it's still relatively vague and subject to change. and very out-there when it comes to interpretations, i think. or maybe not. i haven't actually read many headcanons and AUs that specifically deal with how the dream realm works. but considering that in the game it's very heavily tied to the actual concept of dreams (as opposed to it just being the name for the god realm, with only some gods being tied to dreams like in my au), i'm gonna guess this is probably more of an unpopular take haha

[antisolararc]

the design on the visor of the mask is just a glamour lmao he can see thru it-

worldbuilding dump under the cut, cw for discussion of supernatural disease stuff, nude guy drawing at the end (censored, no Parts) and maybe body horror (??) idk man nothing graphic is drawn but there's a goo creature inside of him

The artificial Oracles of Ranlindyr have two traits of natural oracles that are usually mutually exclusive - increased sensitivity towards magic and the ability to convene with spirits. These traits do not work well together. The increased sensitivity towards magic greatly increases one's susceptibility towards possession. Said possession can cause internal damage from large amounts of magic inside the body "working against" the host, and attempting to remove the spirit may exacerbate the injury. Only reversable with prompt magical healing, magic-induced injuries on artificial Oracles will permanently turn into a dark crystalline substance. Since Oracles present no physical abnormalities at birth, many artificial Oracles are not identified as such until a possession occurs. As the body grows weaker with each possession, they are left more and more vulnerable. Artificial Oracles are prone to developing exaggerated sensory and immune responses to more mundane things as well.

One... treatment, for lack of a better term, is to allow a relatively harmless spirit to inhabit the patient long-term, as only one spirit may possess a host at a time. Some spirits may work to preserve their "home" as part of a symbiotic relationship. However, long-term possession often causes various psychological symptoms. Finding an appropriate spirit for the host can also be rather difficult, as their synergy will vary widely depending on the individual.

Audrist, a young petty mage, was rummaging around a factory near his home when a distortion there brought a spirit called an astropod to the terrestrial realm. As a sprite, the weakest class of spirits, it has no will of their own and generally behave in an algorithmic manner. Astropods are rarely seen by humans, existing on its far fringes and feeding on the faint essence of long-past dreams. Their appearance changes based on what they consume, as does the properties of the ectoplasm they secrete. They are able to hide in extradimensional pockets within their own shadows, using their bioluminescence to later pull themselves back out to feed. Astropods are rarely seen, almost always hiding to avoid becoming prey for more powerful entities. The astropod inside of Audrist lives on a flat shadow plane against his right lung, though it does emit a faint light through his skin when it uses its magic. He was previously unaware of his status as an artificial Oracle, previously only knowing that he was "of weak constitution."

Feeding off his dreams and adapting to respond to its host's weaknesses, the astropod would protect him by absorbing harmful magic and other irritants from his body. The absorbed magic and substances are converted to inert ectoplasm, but it will start to fill his lungs and force him to cough it up. Aside from its more conventional functions, his mask emits a vapor that dissolves the ectoplasm in his respiratory system. Rather than turning to the dark crystal, his own magical injuries scar over with the substance, discolored but otherwise no different from normal scarring. It can only do so much at a time, and overtaxing it will exhaust both him and it.

After studying and experimenting with the light-based properties of the creature, he's developed a system to store items in a small, flat plane contained in a piece of glass and use a laser to bring the item back out. The rings he wears (usually hidden under gloves) emit a faint, constant light, which allows him to summon the item connected to them with a gesture. As is the case for all magical items, the source of this magical light is Mani dust melted into the glass. In order to continuously emit light and function properly, his devices must be recharged through sacrifices - usually that of surrounding light, which will be sucked into them and temporarily plunge the surrounding area into darkness. Audrist has further experimented with the astropod itself. In an emergency, the two cuffs on his thighs will prompt it to alter the properties of its ectoplasm, generally to medicate him in some way, and redirect it to the affected part of his body, but this is incredibly taxing.

[kitkatpadywaks]

In Another Universe

Mini-Series: Part 3/?

The Meeting.

Pairing: Morpheus x Fem!Reader

Story: Dancing With The Devil (Alternate path from the end of part 2 of the story onwards)

Warnings: Third Person. Will Mostly Be Referred To As She (Called Y/N When Her Nickname Is Being Used And Will Occasionally Be Called By Her 'Angel' Name). She Has Kids. Daddy Issues. Some Angst. Tension (She's Keeping Secrets and Morpheus Knows It).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Major Spoilers for the Story (Klaus Mikaelson fic), like this existing spoils the mystery of who my character is as well as her character arc.

This will also be posted to my Wattpad.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

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Y/N spends the next few weeks waiting. Waiting for the inevitable moment when she's face-to-face with him again. She waits for the Kindly Ones to tell them how to get into his realm, Dream's realm.

His name makes her shiver as she paces around the apartment. Like she had been doing since she got back from meeting Raphael's history professor friend who isn't a friend, Hob Gadling. Who she could tell was hiding something. Which she hopes is something painfully human as she knows her brother likes him, if his constant blush was anything to go by.

Oh fuck, I hope I don't look like that when I'm around Dream. She pauses her pacing when she hears the door open and close, looking at her brother in confusion when he appears in the kitchen where she stopped her pacing. "I thought you where staying with Hob for a bit longer?"

Raphael stares at his sister not knowing what to tell her, before deciding it's best to just tell her the truth, "I was, but an old friend of his turned up and I wanted to let them catch up."

She eyes her brother knowing there's more to the story, "But?"

"It was him..." He watches the confusion cross her face, then the understanding "Yeah, it was an awkward and long conversation. Cause it turns out, Hob is immortal and they've known each other for over six hundred years!"

She barely processes the information before Raphael is speaking again.

"And the Kindly Ones said to follow your instincts and they'll lead us to Dream's realm."

"Okay..." she stops him from walking away, "what happened with Hob? Did..."

"I kind of just went, 'Huh' and walked away. Then I ran into the Fates and came back here."

"You need to talk to him." She holds her hand up to stop him from interrupting her, "But for tonight, we'll eat, watch some films and then you're going to bed. Okay?"

Raphael nods, "But what am I going to tell him? 'Yeah. Hi. I'm your soulmate but get this. I'm from another universe so our relationship is doomed.'" He throws his hands into the air, groanng.

She snorts, ignoring the sting of their reality as her eyes tear up. "Maybe not that." She grabs his arm, dragging him into the living room. "Choose what we're going to watch, I'll grab the snacks."

She walks back into the kitchen and leans against the fridge as she tries to stop the tears from flowing down her face. After taking some deep breaths, she composes herself and grabs the bags of snacks she picked up from the shop on the way back from the pub. She walks back into the living room, determined to forget their inevitably doomed relationships.

The siblings decide to wait a few days before attempting the journey to Dream's realm, mostly based on Raphael wanting to be in a better mood and therefore more polite. Y/N gives him that as she knows it will be needed and she will be her usual self no matter how much time she may take to try and be otherwise.

She waits in the alleyway near their apartment for her brother, kicking around a can as she had been doing for the last five minutes, tensing up when she hears footsteps coming down the alleyway and relaxing when she sees her brother.

"Ready?"

She raises an eyebrow at him to which he just shrugs, releasing his grey wings from his back. She does the same, putting up a hand for him to wait as she takes a deep breath, trying to allow her instincts to take over. She stretches her wings briefly before taking off into the sky, Raphael following close behind her as she just flies, not thinking as she lets her wings and instincts lead the way. She closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the wind flowing through her feathers and her braided hair. Her eyes flutter open as she feels herself going through something. The feeling is not unlike when she goes through the rifts she makes to travel through universes, but softer, almost.

"Woah."

Her brother's quiet voice reaches her ears as she takes in the same thing he's seeing. The vast colourful land and the endless black beach, separated by gates that look giant even high in the sky. Raphael gestures towards an area of the beach that sits in the middle of the two different gates. She glides down onto the black sand, her powerful wings making it fly around her as she lands.

"Which one do we take?" Her brother asks as he lands behind her.

Their wings recede into their backs as she leads them to one of the gates. It opens as they draw near, revealing a woman with dark skin peering at them over round spectacles.

"Welcome to The Dreaming." She greets them with a polite smile.

They walk the long distance to the palace with the woman who introduced herself as Lucienne. The siblings walk along the path, greeting and being introduced to The Dreaming's residents they come across. Lucienne tells them about The Dreaming as they go, including what the function of the two gates is. The pointy-eared woman lets them know that the gate they went through, the gates of Horn, tells Lord Morpheus that they mean no harm to the realm and its resident. Which would have told him the opposite if they went through the other gates, the gates of Ivory.

She exchanges a look with Raphael, both finding it amusing that she had implemented something similar in Hell nearly twenty years ago so she could weed out who would be a threat to her daughter, Evie, who she was forced to raise in Hell, away from her little sister and her father.

They walk under the front gates of the palace, the siblings looking up at the living stone guards, the Gryphon, the Wyvern, similar looking to the one that watched over and protected her daughter in her universe, and the Hippogryph all watch the siblings walk into the home of their sovereign.

Lucienne leads them through the palace, through all the corridors until they stand in front of a set of doors, which open on their own when Lucienne knocks. They enter a large room, Raphael taking in the structure as Y/N stares at the man standing on the stairs leading up to a throne. They stop in front of the stairs, the siblings bowing simultaneously, feeling his inquisitive gaze. She locks eyes with the man she now knows as Dream or Morpheus, searching his expressive blue eyes while his face remains emotionless, much like her own. She is only distantly aware of Lucienne introducing him, coming back to the present when his gaze drifts over to her brother, her head turning to look at Raphael.

"It's an honour to be welcomed into your realm, Lord Morpheus. I am Raphael and this is my sister..." he hesitates

"Lucy. We've met." His eyes flicker to her and then back to her brother.

"Right." Raphael chuckles, Morpheus's intense gaze making him shift on the spot.

"Why have you sought an audience with me."

She looks up at Morpheus, "The Kindly Ones told us you may be able to help us."

He looks at her, a shiver going down his spine from hearing her voice for the first time. "And how might I do that?"

"We're looking for our father." Raphael buts in, "He's been rather difficult to pin down."

"Your father?" He questions, "Why?" Morpheus narrows his eyes at her, taking in her caution, and her pain. The pain he's felt since he first laid eyes on her, that he didn't realise was hers until that very moment. He could feel how cruel life had been to her.

She takes a deep breath as she looks at her brother. He returns the look, letting her decide what to tell him. She lets her instincts take over, glad that they don't seem to be marred by Morpheus. "Well, the short version is, he's dangerous and powerful. And he will do anything to keep that power, he has and he will threaten people and he'll kill them if he even thinks they're a threat. He won't stop, not unless we find him and bring him to justice. For everyone's sake. For every universe's sake."

"Every universe's sake?" Lucienne speaks from her position next to the stairs.

She looks at Lucienne, "We're from another universe. And we've been chasing our father across... I don't even know how many, universes. What I do know is, we have to be careful. If he knows we're in the same universe as him, he will move on and we'll have to start all over again."

The silence that follows makes her nervous, even more so when there's a tug in the back of her mind. She blocks it, glaring at Morpheus as his eyes momentarily flash silver, telling her that he knows she's holding something back.

"What do you need from me?" He asks hesitantly, letting her keep her secrets. For now.

Raphael opens and closes his mouth as he tries to think, frowning at his sister when he comes up with nothing. The Angels had no idea why the Kindly Ones had sent them to The Dreaming.

"What do you do? What are your powers?" She asks, figuring it was a good place to start.

"I hold the collective unconscious of every living being capable of dreaming. Controlling their dreams. Watching over them as they sleep. Though I'm not sure that includes your father, if he's anything like you described."

The sibling raise their eyebrows at him, as neither of them expected that answer.

Y/N's mind whirs around with thoughts, "It shouldn't need to." She ponders out loud, turning her head to look at her brother to see if he's on the same line of thought she is. He isn't, judging from the confusion on his face. "Our father can't resist boosting his own ego."

Raphael's face lights up with understanding.

"Miracles." The siblings say simultaneously.

She looks at Morpheus once again, "Has anyone been dreaming of, friends or family's miraculous recoveries from illnesses or someone saving them from certain death. Stuff like that."

There's a beat of silence, "I can't recall anything you have described."

She purses her lips, Morpheus's eyes flickering down to look at them. "Is there a way I can search through the dreams? I may be able to spot his influence where you can't."

He looks at her incredulously, "And what makes you think I would allow you to enter the minds of the dreamers?"

Her pride bristles at the question, before her common sense kicks in and she deflates. He has no reason to trust her, whether she passed the test at the gates or not, he knows she's hiding something, something big. She knows he can sense it, thanks to their bond, even if it has yet to be completely fulfilled.

"Because of what you feel..." Raphael blurs out, hoping his sister is right about them being soulmates, even if he doesn't believe it as he remembers when Klaus died. How much pain his death caused her, how much she went through to see him one last time, physically and mentally.

Morpheus's head snaps towards Raphael, his face darkening.

"The way every nerve lights up when you're in the same realm, the way you can't stop thinking about him... her!" Raphael's face flushes slightly making his sister smirk at him, "You know she doesn't mean any harm to your realm or the mortals. We're just here for our father and then we'll leave and you don't have to see or hear from us ever again."

The silence that follows weighs heavily on everyone in the room, even Lucienne starts shifting in place. Y/N examines Morpheus's face as he continues to stare her brother down, feeling as he tugs on their connection, as he confirms what he refuses to admit to himself, what he knows to be true.

"I will consider it. For now, you may search for your father in the library." Morpheus doesn't voice his displeasure at the thought of her leaving, of never seeing her again. His heart constricts as he thinks about how he can extend her stay, if he even should.

The siblings don't voice the question on the tips of their tongues, instead, they bow in respect and follow Lucienne as she leads them through a side door in the throne room, Morpheus's burning gaze following them until they're out of sight.

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Thanks for reading!

[akanesheep]

I wrote about my MC as she is to me, please don’t come for me for not writing them as gender neutral. 😥 feel free to interpret all pronouns as you wish.

My MC:

My MC is much like myself. Although she’s smaller… because I wish I were 5’2” for some reason. I’m only a few inches above that, but to me short = cute. She has fluffy soft curly hair that is a soft auburn color. She frequently dyes it all different colors though.

She’s soft spoken, and can be a bit timid with new people, but once she gets comfortable with someone, she opens up quite a bit. She’s very kindhearted, and easily gets her feelings hurt, but also very forgiving. She’s self-conscious and doesn’t see herself in the best light. This stems from the bullying and mistreatment she received in her childhood.

She’s clumsy. Like she can trip over air. She always has bruises from bumping into things, tripping on the carpets, etc. She usually has little dots of ink on her hands from writing, because she somehow manages to miss the pin cap, or bumps her hand against the end of them pen/marker somehow.

She holds little attachment to the human realm, she doesn’t care much for a place where she never felt welcome. There are a few people there she cares for, but not enough to want to be there all the time. Aside from those few individuals, if the human realm decided to end it’s existence, she wouldn’t care much.

She likes to make things, sewing, quilting, crochet, floral arranging, wreaths, painting, crafting, she loves them all… her room is always containing some work in progress, and the supplies are always neatly arranged in her closet, unless she’s currently using them.

She’s stubborn, insanely stubborn, and refuses to back down when she knows she’s right. She rushes in when her loved ones are in danger with no regard to the consequences. No matter how many times her husbands admonish her for doing so, she turns right around and does it again.

Along those lines, she defends those she loves vehemently. Don’t come to her with requests that put one of them at a disadvantage. Don’t coke to her and speak ill of those she loves, she will react poorly. This applies to her husbands also, they aren’t immune to her anger should they start trying to put themselves over the others, or just trash talk the others in general. She will hear our complaints and give her advice and if necessary, intervene, but this isn’t Jr. High, she doesn’t play games. All of those involved are adults and they knew what this was when they chose to be involved.

She listens, calm and patiently. Whether it’s Levi on a rant about a game or anime, Mammon about his schemes, Lucifer letting off steam, Satan on a tangent, Diavolo’s excited gushing about a plan… you get it. She only interrupts to ask a question, or to ward Mammon off a particularly bad idea. Otherwise, she lets them talk it out of their system. She loves talking with all of them, hearing their thoughts, wants, and dreams.

She believes in them wholeheartedly, she sees each and every one of their individual worth.

When she loves, she loves deeply. It takes a lot to shake her devotion. Because of this, her past is littered with failed relationships. Those who would fill their time with her and then be done with her. Those who would abuse her until she found the strength to leave. Those who would just abandon her when she needed them the most. Due to this she fears betrayal and abandonment, she’s anxious, and fears each argument will lead to her being left alone. She has trust issues, but is still more trusting than she should be.

She doesn’t fully believe in hearing ‘I love you’ so she needs to be shown. She doesn’t fully believe in acts of love so she needs to hear ‘I love you’. She knows this is a huge contradiction, but doesn’t know how to resolve it.

She desires a protector and defender. To be protected from and defended against the pain she has suffered and those that would bring more to her. She doesn’t seek fame, glory, and isn’t on a quest for power. She simply wishes for happiness for herself and those she loves. She can’t but to meddle and try to help those around her.

She is very self-sacrificing. She’ll give whatever it takes to make those around her happy, even if it means giving her life. Her final thoughts as Belphie took her life were ‘I guess if it brings him peace, I can die…’

That doesn’t mean she was ‘ok’ with what happened. She had to take time to be comfortable around him being in the same room, much less alone… but she knew that Belphie was someone who in his own twisted way, had opened up some to her, and was hurting in his own ways. She decided to try to believe in the love he had for his sister, and the faith his brothers put into him.

She’s self-depreciating at times… she knows being poly isn’t the ‘norm’ in the human world… and until she found herself in the Devildom, she wouldn’t have believed she was poly. In those early days of finding herself falling for the brothers, as well as Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, and Solomon, she cursed herself and cried regularly, memories of untrue accusations of being a ‘whore’ or ‘slut’ would ring in her mind… except now, wasn’t it true? Is that what she was? She struggled immensely with this, even as she continued to fall deeper into her depression. She broke one night while Asmo was doing her nails, as he happily chattered about his day, and their plans for a date the next day, how they’d have outfits that complemented each other perfectly, etc. she felt tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

‘MC?’ Asmo questioned, looking concerned, ‘Oh my lamb, what is it?’

‘Asmo… I’m horrible… I’m a terrible person’ her voice shook as the tears increased, poring now down her face.

He pulled her to his lap, words of gentle admonishment regarding her words, and comfort slipping from his lips and he held her. ‘Talk to me MC, tell me what this is all about. I need to know why you feel this way’

‘Asmo, I can’t… you’ll hate me’

He chuckled softly, only a whisper of it escaping his lips as he pressed soft kisses to the side of your face, then turning you to face him. ‘Nonsense, nothing in this world could ever make me hate you’

‘You will, because I’m disgusting’

‘Love, you’re sounding like Levi…’ he teased, lifting her chin gently. ‘Now enough of that, tell me what is going on, I can’t understand if you don’t tell me’

Sobbing, she looked at his honey eyes, his face worried, and whispered her darkest truth, ‘I love you, but not just you… I’m in love with your brothers too…’ she looked away, ashamed and waiting for the inevitable explosion of anger and words like blades.

Instead he laughed…a gentle chiming laugh that he only used when he hears something he already knew. ‘Little lamb… did you honestly think I didn’t know? Me?’ He turned you to face him again. ‘Lovely, I’ve known since the beginning. I’m the avatar of Lust. Emotions like lust, and love, are my domain.’

‘But Asmo, I’m wrong, something in me is broken’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because I love all of you… that means I’m a whore’

Asmo scoffed offended ‘Does that mean you see me as a whore?’

‘Of course not!’ Her eyes look panicked, fearing she’s said the wrong thing again.

His eyes remained soft and gentle as he cupped your face. ‘Then why would you be?’

‘B-because I’m not supposed to…’

‘Says who?’

‘Everyone’ she gestured around her, then her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘Even if you aren’t, they hate me for the thought’

Knowing her past, Asmo sighed softly. He cupped both of her cheeks and wiped her tears away. ‘I’m going to tell you something about the Devildom, as well as demons, that I thought you already knew. We’re a polygamous society. Monogamy isn’t encouraged or discouraged, and the same is true of polygamy. I’m sure you realized that most of the female demons here are succubi? Did you think that just changes when they settle down?’

She looked at him, quietly crying as she listened. She shook her head at his question. Of course they didn’t, they’re succubi.

‘See? And me? I’m the avatar of lust after all. While I’m not an incubus, I still feed on the lust of those around me, as well as the lust and love of those I’m intimate with.’

‘But what about other demons that aren’t succubi or incubi’

‘Well if most females are succubi, that would imply they have multiple partners, yes? So do incubi… but rarely are they in a relationship with each other… their lusts and passion would feed into the others drives and only make them more hungry. So they seek actual partners that aren’t either.’

‘Do you have other partners’ she asks blushing.

‘You and Solomon are my only ‘partners’’ he said firmly, ‘however, I have had casual relationships when you are both away, to keep myself from becoming too hungry. Think of it like Beel’s hunger. If he doesn’t ‘eat’ he goes on a rampage. While I wouldn’t destroy buildings or eat furniture, I could cause a lot of issues if I don’t stay in balance’

She nodded, understanding the demon in front of you in a new light.

‘But your brothers aren’t incubi’

‘No, they aren’t. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t able to understand and love just as much. I can assure you that any conversation you have with them won’t be a closed-minded one’

‘How do you know?’

Asmo laughs softly and pulls you to him, ‘Still afraid little Lamb? Let me as you this… do you think that even as large as this house is, that we don’t know when you’ve intimate with one of us? As shy as you are, the adorable sounds you make aren’t what one could consider quiet’

She blushes deep red. ‘N-no… that’s so embarrassing…’

‘Eh? Not at all.’ He teases, ‘Despite this, and how much we notice the marks on your neck, have any of us confronted you or said anything to you or each other?’

‘N-no?’

‘There you have it. We also know when you’ve been with any of the others outside the house as well’

‘What?? How?!’

‘Silly,’ he pets your hair as he teases you, ‘ Lee can smell it on you when you come home’

‘Oh God’ she cries, mortified, she covers her face.

‘Such language’ scolds Asmo, acting horrified, ‘to think my girlfriend would bring up Father’s name when I’m right in front of her’

The dramatic teasing pulls her back from her embarrassment.

‘Asmo, what do I do?’

‘Do? Love, whatever do you mean?’

‘I mean, now… what do I do knowing what I know, and knowing what you all know?’

‘Nothing. Live happily and let us care for you. Live in the knowledge that you are loved and will always be loved.’

She does just that. She does have conversations with all of them at some point, because her mind needs concrete proof that everyone is in agreement. She learns that Mammon and Levi go through jealous bouts, but don’t question her love for them, and want this to continue. Even Diavolo is fully on board. Which surprised her, with the royal bloodline and all. Turns out the complication wasn’t so complicated at all.

She feels unworthy of all the love she’s showered with, but she’s also happier than she’s ever been in her life. She doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve such joy, but she refuses to part with any of them. Perhaps it’s the influence of her lovers through the pacts she shares with them… but she takes pride in them, greedily wants to spend time with them, gets envious if they talk to others, gets angry on their behalf, loves and desires them always, revels in their love like Beel at a buffet, relishes in the time she can just be there with them comfortably.

She’s prideful, greedy, envious, wrathful, lustful (and loving), gluttonous, and lazy… with some chaos, diligence, patience, loyalty, and grace mixed together. She is my MC.

I hope you all enjoyed this. I’ve really been wanting to in some way show you all my MC, but my art abilities suck. So I gave you an imperfect narrative.

[dailycharacteroption]

Planar Tour Guide: Ethereal Plane part 1

(art by T3H-5T3V3N on DeviantArt)

Intro

 Cosmologies are sometimes easy to forget in fantasy gaming until the demons show up. Sure, you may have a cleric in your party whose faith channels the power of a deity, but you probably don’t think about the fact that said deity has a home too often.

We’ve discussed the Pathfinder multiverse/cosmology and how to design your own briefly in the past, but this week, I’d like to begin a series focused on the various planes that form the cosmology of the Lost Omens core setting as well as it’s origins in previous systems and so on.

And our first subject is the Ethereal plane, as well as lesser planes connected to it such as the Dimension of Dreams, Leng, and the sahkil fortress-dimension of Xibalba.

A transitive plane that overlaps the material world, the ethereal is also known as the Ghost World, the In-Between, and the Space Between Spaces, all appropriate names as this plane is what the spirits of the dead travel through to reach the River of Souls on their way to the afterlife (or get stuck there and become phantoms or incorporeal undead) as well as being a useful plane to magically slip into as a way to bypass obstacles.

However, the plane is hardly without risks. As in addition to unquiet spirits, it is also home to strange native monsters, fear-mongering sahkils, rogue dreams from the Dimension of Dreams, Night hags, visitors from the elemental planes, and so on.

The dimension is also heavily affected by mortal emotion and thought, similar to the Astral Plane, and as such it is an important part of occult traditions and psychic magic.

The ethereal plane is mostly empty, filled with a silvery-gray fog, but it is possible to see the shadows of physical objects on the material plane and even living creatures, though they are vague and indistinct. However, no magic on the ethereal can reach the material, and vice versal with the exception of force effects manifesting on the material side, which are just as solid and forceful to ethereal foes. Indeed, most incorporeal foes exist simultaneously on the ethereal plane and their substanceless manifestation that can be seen from the material side. Of course, such manifestations can still be affected to a lesser extent by regular magic, affecting their ethereal source as well.

There is, however, sometimes matter to be found there, whether it be drawn from other planes, or created from a dream or by the will of a powerful mage. Structures are common, but any sort of place where strong emotion gathers is possible.

 The Ethereal Plane may overlap with the Material, but it does extend beyond it in the strange directions one must think in outside of three-dimensional space, and far from it lies the Dimension of Dreams, a plane accessed by the dreaming minds of mortals, which forms like a frothy film of soap bubbles along the border of the ethereal plane to form individual dreamscapes that grow and vanish with wakefulness. However, it is also possible to go deeper into what are called the Dreamlands, permanent (or seemingly so) realms formed by powerful entities that may still be dreaming to this day. The denizens of such places, including animate dreams, are as diverse as the imagination itself, and one who travels there physically or through a lucid body may be capable of the impossible.

However, once must be careful when travelling the Dreamlands lest they find themselves in Leng, a demiplane of nightmares where every denizen is a slaver or predator that either ventures out to prey upon mortals waking or otherwise, or lives in constant war with each other with visitors caught in the middle. Worse still, certain Elder Powers such as Nyarlahotep have an interest in the plane as well.

 As we can see, the Ethereal plane and it’s associated lesser and demiplanes has much more to offer than a gray void with the occasional ghost in it, and throughout the week, we’ll talk more about it!

[serenailith]

yesterday’s gone (we’ll make it through)—xxxi

on ao3 here

previous

okay, so. i know this took forever to get posted, and i'm sorry about that. truly. unfortunately, it was a pretty-much-can't-ignore forced break from writing/posting. the truth is i had a baby just last week, so i've been in hospital (3 days) and adjusting to having a newborn again. so... you get this chapter far later than i'd hoped.

yes, this is (unfortunately, again) the end of this fic. i've had such a wonderful time writing it, and i can't believe so many of you have liked reading it! the comments alone made it all so worth the time and effort i've put into writing it. thank you for being such wonderful, amazing readers. 🖤

remember: you can always find me in the dreamling discord server!

_______________

Dream smiles to himself as he strides through the corridors. The Corinthian has been remade, different and so much better than what he’d been, and Gault is thrilled with her new position. The Vortex is gone. Fiddler’s Green has come home. Even Matthew has become a trusted ally, if a bit impudent at times.

All is right within the Dreaming once more.

Even more, all–or nearly so–is right within the Waking, as well. Dreamers sleep and wake as they should. The only matter of concern is Lyta Hall. She may hold anger in her heart for Dream, but it cannot be helped. Her child is of the fabric of the Dreaming itself; he belongs to the Dreaming and—by default—Dream, should the day come. Dream, for his part, only hopes that Rose Walker can convince her friend to not seek revenge.

There is very little that can bind an Endless, but he knows too well that the grimoire is still around. Someone has it, and anyone determined enough will find and use it. He isn’t naïve enough to believe otherwise, not after the proof he’d been given for over a hundred years.

The most precious thing to him, however, the thing he carries closest to his heart, is his time spent with Hob Gadling. Now that everything has become steady once more, Dream has left the Dreaming in Lucienne’s capable hands and spent those hours in the Waking. More often than not in Hob’s bed, his arms. It is the better way Dream has ever spent his existence.

Unfortunately, even Hob cannot remove the worries from Dream’s mind. Desire has plotted against him, and he knows they will never stop. Not until they get what they want–but what exactly is that? He very nearly spilled family blood because of them, when they were fully aware that the Fates would retaliate for his breaking the oldest laws. Dream is no closer to an answer.

If he is to be honest, he can hardly pinpoint the moment his favourite sibling became his least. Or why.

Forcing himself to dislodge the thoughts, Dream steps from one realm to the next, fighting a smile when he sees Hob through the window of the New Inn. A young woman just outside the door beams at the sight of Dream. He remembers her. Rena, who dreams of escaping her toxic home and making something of herself as a pilot. She has been kind to Dream whenever they encounter each other.

She doesn’t mind the fact he is horrible at communicating with people who aren’t Hob.

“Hey! How are you today?”

“I am well,” he replies, though his focus is on the man just inside. Almost belatedly, he tacks on, “And yourself?”

Her grin grows as she pulls up the sleeve of her jumper. Embedded in her skin is ink, swirls of colours surrounding a black semicolon. The stark contrast of black against rainbow brings a smile to Dream’s face. He understands what the symbol means for mental health; it has been on the minds of many a dreamer since the conception of the idea. That Rena has tattooed it into her skin bodes well for her survival.

“Got it last week. Mum and Dad hate it, but who cares, right? As long as I love it. And I do. Anyway! You’re looking at a pilot-in-training, by the way.”

“That is wonderful news.”

Rena giggles as she yanks her sleeve back down. “Mr G is covering for Ernie, but I’m sure he’ll be so glad to see you. He bought a new wine he thinks you might enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Dream dips his chin in a farewell. “I wish you well in your endeavours, Rena.”

“Thanks!”

She doesn’t mind that she doesn’t know his name. She still treats him as a friend. He moves past her and lets out a soft sigh when his fingers wrap around the door handle. The cool metal feels like a piece of home, though the Waking will never be where he fully belongs. But Hob. . . Hob is.

At the jingling of the bell, Hob glances up from where he is clearing tables of dirty dishes, and Dream relaxes at the wide smile splitting his love’s face. Raising his index finger in a ‘Just a moment’ gesture, Hob hurries to place the plates and glasses in a bin. He disappears behind the doors to the kitchen and reappears a minute later with a dishtowel in hand. He jerks his chin toward their booth, the one they always sit in whenever Dream deigns to remain in the New Inn instead of heading upstairs to Hob’s flat.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you today” is the first thing Hob says once they’ve sat.

“The Dreaming is much more stable now, so Lucienne is caring for it in my absence.”

Hob’s lips twitch, a hand stretching across the table. Dream cares little for others’ opinions as he allows Hob to take his hand. “I’m sure she appreciates the vote of confidence.”

“It was unacceptable,” Dream starts slowly; the words come forth as molasses in the winter, “for me to return after so long and pretend everything is as it was. Lucienne has been most loyal for over a hundred years. She deserves the respect I can easily afford to give.” It doesn’t escape his notice that Hob merely stares at him with a soft, sweet smile on his face. “Hob?”

“Sorry. It’s just. . . It’s nice to see how you’ve changed. I knew it logically. After all, look at where we are. But it’s still good to see proof of it sometimes. Makes me realise this isn’t just all in my head.”

“It very well could be,” Dream says with a small smile of his own. “However, this is as real as anything else in the Waking.”

“So you were gone for a few days. Anything I should be worried about?”

“No, the danger has passed.”

Hob raises a brow, clearly unimpressed with Dream’s answer, so Dream explains about Rose Walker and her friend’s situation. How there is a child borne of the Dreaming existing where he should not. About the Corinthian and Gault and Jed Walker’s unfortunate fate for so long. Hob’s expression darkens at the mention of the abuse the child endured. To Dream’s surprise, Hob commends the Corinthian for removing Jed from his personal Hell.

“I’m not saying he was good, but he certainly did a good thing by getting the kid away from that.”

“He took him to a gathering of serial killers,” Dream reminds him.

“Okay, so there’s that.”

Dream huffs out what would be a sharp exhale for anyone else but is as true a laugh from him as anything. He continues with the tale of Calliope and Richard Madoc, and Dream falls in love with Hob more at the anger–no, rage–on the man’s face. He assures Hob that Madoc has been properly dealt with. He will no longer be capable of capturing anyone else.

He can no longer do much of anything.

With no warning, Dream laces his fingers with Hob’s, squeezing gently, then rises to his feet. “I shall not keep you from your duties.”

“Don’t go far.”

“I will be upstairs, where I will await your presence.”

Hob’s answering grin sends something fluttering in Dream’s chest, and isn’t that just curious. He yearns, for a split second, for the companionship he had with Calliope, but he has it here with Hob Gadling. It isn’t the same; it never will be. But it’s enough. It is more than enough.

It is everything Dream will never deserve.

As he sits in Hob’s flat, Dream ruminates on everything that has happened since his escape from Fawney Rig. So much has occurred–he was nearly mortal for too long, his Sister returned him to his realm. Hob and Matthew, that impossibly likeable raven, had helped Dream retrieve his tools. He fell in love for the first time since the beautiful Muse who had birthed him a son.

Death always said he needed to mingle with humans more, try harder to understand them. Desire claimed he felt himself better than everyone, including his siblings. Dream is loath to admit that perhaps, only perhaps, they were both correct. Hob has opened his eyes to the wonders of humanity, the reality that comes with living. Dreams were well and good, but sometimes, seeing it yourself is what works most to change a mind.

Dream lets out a slow, unnecessary breath and runs a fingertip along a seam in the couch cushion. The fabric is soft with use, the foam padding sagging beneath the cover, and the remote sits on the far end where Hob most likely tossed it on his way to bed the night before. It’s worn in with love. Dream imagines his heart is the same way.

Hob slips through the door two hours later. Two hours during which Dream read and listened to the stereo. Etta James was a soothing voice, something he needed desperately. He was never nervous by any measure; he was the collective subconscious. There was nothing he couldn’t do, nothing he couldn’t bend to his will with the slightest effort. But this. . . This isn’t the same as warping the Dreaming or even what he can in the Waking.

Before Hob can say more than a “Hello, love”, Dream advances on him. The kiss is graceless in a way Dream doesn’t expect. It punches a quiet noise from Hob’s throat, but he kisses back just as enthusiastically. He smells of industrial cleaner and cedar, and Dream has never breathed a scent in so deeply. His head spins, another too-human response but one he relishes anyway.

He steers the two of them toward the bedroom, pulling away only to peel Hob’s shirt off and over his head. Hob’s lips move against his, but Dream only kisses away the words. They don’t need to speak. Not here, not now. He allows Hob to push him onto the bed, melts under the steady weight blanketing him. His fingers press to the mat of hair covering Hob’s chest.

Hob burns a path along Dream’s throat, whispering into the skin, “I love you, did you know that?”

“And I you,” Dream whispers back. “Until all universes cease to exist.”

Hob’s smile sparks a fire within Dream’s bones, and he pushes at Hob until he sprawls on his back. Dream straddles his thighs, leaving bruising kisses to Hob’s lips before moving across his jaw. His teeth worry at the junction of jaw to neck, and Hob reacts beautifully. His hips jerk upwards as his breath comes out in a rough exhale.

Dream loses patience with pretenses: He rushes through undressing Hob then himself before straddling his love once more. Hob grasps his hips, holds him steady, as Dream lowers himself onto his cock. There is no need to need the preparation, to act as a human would, not with Hob. He’s shown he doesn’t mind Dream’s inhuman, Endless existence.

Hob’s groan is the most wondrous music Dream has heard in centuries.

As much as he wants to drag this out, he can’t. He plants his hands against Hob’s chest and pushes his hips down to meet with the gentle thrusting. A strangled sound fills the air, and Dream glances down to see the sharp nails digging into Hob’s skin. He goes to move, but Hob shakes his head vehemently.

“No, leave them.”

“I do not wish to harm you.”

“It’s worth it,” Hob replies; his hands wrap around Dream’s wrists, pinning his palms where they are. “Doesn’t hurt much, anyway.”

“You are a true marvel, Hob Gadling.”

“Clearly not, if you’re still speaking perfectly fine.”

Dream lets out a soft chuckle and decides to give Hob what he’s silently asking for. Hob’s smile stutters, fades, as Dream moves more quickly. Jaw dropping open, Hob stares up at Dream like he’s some sort of masterpiece hanging in the most prestigious museum; Dream is intimately familiar with the thought.

Hob is more precious, more valuable, just more.

Once they are both spent and have caught their breath, Dream doesn’t hesitate before curling into Hob’s side. It should feel pathetic, as if he is weak for seeking out comfort, but Dream believes he has earned the right to this. To this happiness, this ecstasy, this security and safety.

Wouldn’t Desire be thrilled to see how their brother has fallen?

At no one else’s feet would Dream have ever imagined prostrating himself.

He follows Hob into the Dreaming, the Library where Lucienne is putting away books. She smiles widely when she sees Hob and ducks her head demurely in Dream’s direction. He wonders when his most loyal and his love became so close. Perhaps it has happened over the days that Dream was dealing with the Vortex and Unity Kincaid. Hob has proven himself a quick learner. There is no doubt in Dream’s mind that Hob will have entered the Dreaming proper whenever he wanted.

The thought warms Dream from the inside out.

They leave Lucienne minutes later, Hob promising to be back for a lively conversation over Saint Thomas Aquinas and Michel Foucault. Dream smiles at how the promise visibly delights her. The corridors are empty as he and Hob amble across the stone floor. They don’t speak–there is no need, for there is enough they’ve said many times over. Even their silence says it all again.

Fiddler’s Green is as expansive and breathtaking as ever. Hob immediately finds a spot beside the river lazily burbling by. Birds fly overhead, and branches sway gently in the breeze. Dream can feel the contentment rolling off of Fiddler’s Green in waves. His lips curve upward at the sensation, the soft tendrils of warmth and peacefulness.

Before, he would have found it impudent, out of line, but now. . . Now he recognises it for what it is: True loyalty to their Lord and a desire to see him happy. Of all things, happy. And happy he is, all thanks to Hob.

Hob slides his hand through the water, smiling at the tiny fish that swim up to nibble at his fingers. They dart away just as quickly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he grins even brighter. His eyes shine, gleam honey-gold, in the sunlight when he looks up at Dream.

Dream can no longer keep the words to himself.

“I have told you I love you.”

“Many times, my love,” Hob agrees with a quick nod. His smile hasn’t dimmed.

“And I mean those words far more deeply than you can ever know. I warned you that love with an Endless only ever spells doom.” Dream holds up a hand when Hob opens his mouth. “Please, allow me to finish. I have been considering what you claimed, that you were no mortal. Perhaps you were correct.

“However, even if you were wrong, I. . . I would cherish the opportunity to have your love for as long as I possibly can. Even if it ends in unbearable agony, your love for me—you are worth everything that may come.

“You came to my aid when I escaped my captivity. When we entered Hell for my helm, you stepped forward to defend me without hesitation. Without my asking it of you. Hob Gadling, there is no universe in which I could not love you were you to exist there.”

“Dream. . .”

He reaches for Hob’s hand, gesturing with his other. The band rests there in his palm, and he carefully slides it onto Hob’s finger. The gem, a shard of the ruby which held his power not so long ago, glitters against the black, and Dream nods slowly at the sight. It suits Hob perfectly.

“You are aware that I rarely make promises I cannot keep.” At Hob’s nod, the quick glance between ring and Dream, he continues, “So believe me when I vow to love you as you deserve until I physically cease to exist. I will do all I can to make your life, both in the Dreaming and Waking, all that you dream of.”

Hob lets out a quiet laugh and shrugs. “Perhaps not the nightmares.”

“No, not the nightmares,” Dream concedes, though it is no hardship.

“Dream, I—I don’t know what to say. You know I love you and have for as long as I can remember. Centuries ago, I realised I needed to know more about my mysterious Stranger. That desire became love somewhere along the way, even when I knew I didn’t deserve to want such a thing. I wish to make you happy.”

Dream clutches at Hob’s hand, tight and unrelenting. Hob must know: Dream has not held such joy to live since Calliope, since Nada, since Killala. Those ended in tragedy, but this? This will be different. Hob has given him reason to live, much like he’d said Dream had given him reason to die.

At the assurances, Hob launches forward, dropping Dream’s hands, and kisses him soundly. Dream lets himself fall backwards to lie in the sweet-smelling grass. Sunshine beats down on the meadow, warm and relaxing and perfect as only the Dreaming can be. Hob rests over him, still kissing him, still sending sparks through Dream with every second of contact.

Abruptly—far too soon—Hob pulls back and frowns. “Wait, are we married?”

“Of course not,” Dream murmurs as he reaches up to brush hair behind Hob’s ear. “We are nothing so temporary.”

Hob stares at Dream, unblinking, before shaking his head. “So what are we?”

“We are bound, dear heart, until eternity meets its end.”

Hob beams, hands coming up to cradle Dream’s cheeks. The kiss he graces Dream with is soft, sweet, tender, and Dream cannot care that Fiddler’s Green is witness to this. With a wave of his hand, sand swirls around them, and then he and Hob are blessedly alone in his chambers.

He takes his forever love to bed.

[lostinthought44]

1990

If I was given the opportunity to time travel

To find out exactly how my future turns out

To discover the truth of what was before I knew it

I would send 18 year old me back to 1990

I would venture the streets of Toronto

I would walk up and down the blocks I’ve heard countless stories about, meet the people who faces I would otherwise never be able to place as time slowly rid them of their youth

I would eat at the small shops and stores long since closed, torn down and abandoned

And I would meet you

14 years sooner than the universe had intended for me to

And I would love u just as much then as I do now

The way u laugh, and smile, the way u say my name and the way we know each other inside and out

I would tell u all about my life, all about it, every single detail, every emotion, every thought

And u would tell me urs, ur secrets, ur dreams, ur hopes, ur wishes

We would be the best of friends inseparable for one summer

The summer of 1990

We would help each other pick out outfits, we would style each others hair, get out nails done together

I would tell u of my love for u how deep it runs how it is woven into the very fibers of my being how there is no universe that exists that my love for u doesn’t also exist

U would laugh and call me dramatic and we would get an ice cream

And on the last day of summer, the night before we ventured off to university

I’d ask u if u ever wanted to have kids in the future

U would tell me yes proudly

And I would remind u that there is more to life than motherhood

Than a voluntary servitude

That u can exist outside of the realm of motherhood

That u can be more than what u think u have to be

And just like that I would be home standing outside of my front door hoping u listen to what I’m telling u

That u make decisions for urself

Hoping that u remember me

Remember everything that I told u

The way I’ll remember every last detail about u

We would hug one last time, I’d squeeze u as tight as my arms could

Wrap the moment up in my heart as tightly as possible

And I’d watch u walk down the dimly lit street heading back to ur childhood home

The one id only ever seen in photographs before this summer

And I’d walk into my house and into my bedroom and before I went to sleep that night

For the last time in 1990 I would remember all the people I had met all the places I had been that were such important parts of ur story I would remember u and I would finally rest my eyes

What came next would be up to u as u travelled through the next 14 years

I didn’t leave a note or a card or a phone number

When u came the next morning to say goodbye before u left for school my family was gone, I was gone, my house once lit with warm light, where we shared countless laughs, and stories, where we did each others hair and nails was vacant

Abandoned

And the longer u stand there the harder it is for u to remember why u were there in the first place

If I never made it back, if I never woke in the morning I wouldn’t be upset

No just the opposite actually

I would be so thrilled that u went and made something of ur life

Something beyond what u were supposed to

Something big and grand or little and small

Something that u wanted something that u made only for u

I was built to find u and I did for one fleeting summer and although that was not much time it was enough

If I did wake in the morning

I’d be back and no time would have passed and I’m 18 again in the summer of 2023 and there u are 32 years older than the last time I saw u but ur still the same

Time may have warped the way I recognize u but I still do it’s my job it’s written into my very dna

We understand each other much more now we see each other clearer with more love than before

And every once in a while in a very quiet moment after a long laugh or a nail appointment after a long dinner u look at me with a fondness in ur eyes and say, “ u remind me of a friend I had many years ago, I was around ur age.”

And without missing a beat without hesitation with an unwavering voice u will finish with “ but that’s probably because I’m ur mom and I see a piece of u in everything”

Ken 🫧

No permission is given to republish, repost, copy, or steal my work without proper consent likes and reblogs welcome

[brooklynislandgirl]

😏 - Mischa, with sex being a broad word

Love, Love Me Do… || Accepting

How physically attracted they are to your muse:

"…if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me…" She whispers the poet's words with each stroke of her brush. Each dab of oil paint caressing the canvas to tease out the shape of him. The beauty of his bone structure, the gleam in his eyes like polished dark tourmaline. The candlelight casts its shadows on him and he envelopes them in his stillness. Porcelain skin. Supple curve of lip. Long lithe muscles. Even as she is she can see he is beautiful, in body as with soul. Even as she is, she knows better than to sink down beside him and while away the night. But she grows moth wings still. Dares to flit closer and closer. She sets the brush and her palette down. Pours herself over him and casts her head to the side. Lets life thrash and pulse beneath her skin and speak to him.

2. How romantically attracted they are to your muse:

…Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores… She drinks the words of Keats from his tongue, copper-tinged her essence wets it like honey, instead of what now flows in his veins. These are entirely different sorts of kisses between them. His of satiation, and hers the eternal hunger to partake of him as easily as he does of her. But he won't allow it. He brushes his knuckles over the arch of her cheek and maybe just once she sees a certain kind of sorrow in his eyes. He tells her she is Enlightened in her own way, that his would drive the light straight out of her soul. She acquiesces for the sake of peace but her dreams remain fitful. She would not mind so much the consequences, even if he swears it could strip her of her will. Doesn't he see it is already done? And this is how all the cautionary tales are born. With a smile, with the softest touch of a hand, with the desire to be more than a passing occupation of time. She cannot be the first of her kind to become so enchanted by his, otherwise there would be no whispered rumours and dire warnings to try and dissuade. Her ancestors tell that nature is all things but even in nature is balance between life and death. And what are they if not this dichotomy made flesh?

3. How often they would like to have sex with yours:

…Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thy minutes.

Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait.

Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.

We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for a chance. We are too poor to be late… His head is buried in the crook of her neck and she glides her fingers through his hair as the ecstasy of the Kiss sweeps through her. She doesn't know if its minutes or if its hours strung together and pulled apart like liquid glass. She only knows that no matter how long they remain like this, it is never enough. Dawn comes far too soon and for maybe the first time in her life she wants to curse the sun in all its entirety for stealing Mischa away from her. Though he does his level best to keep himself warm, his skin is cool except where it rests between her thighs. And she finds herself daydreaming of what it would be like if…just once… he could redirect his efforts elsewhere and let her feel him sink into her with something other than his fangs. But even as he licks the wounds he's made until they close, as they come back down into themselves from whatever aetherial realm they've climbed to outside of themselves, she doesn't ask. She doesn't know if it is even possible, all things considered and so, she remains as shut on the matter as the gates of the Winter Palace that he's described down to the smallest of details. And in the grand scheme of things, maybe it's better this way. After all, that desire only seems to crop up when he drinks from her. Otherwise she enjoys his companionship for what it is, and his mind is more than enough for her. 4. Where they would most likely have sex with yours:

…Upon my flowery breast, Kept wholly for himself alone, There he stayed sleeping, and I caressed him, And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.

The breeze blew from the turret As I parted his locks; With his gentle hand he wounded my neck And caused all my senses to be suspended.

I remained, lost in oblivion; My face I reclined on the Beloved. All ceased and I abandoned myself, Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies… She wonders if his sanctum, that place where he sleeps the day away, has space enough for two. It isn't that she objects to him coming to her, makes it easier not having to find continual excuses about where she's going once the sun is set. She knows it's more than coincidence that Andy is often out on shift or busy with something else when he chooses to spend his longest hours with her and they aren't out soaking in the false day of Manhattan's brightest lights and billboards. She doesn't ask about that, either, as it feels so intrusive, so pushy that it would make her feel somehow dirty. Besides, he's given her free reign over his library and has hinted that there might be, amongst the tiered treasures, some written in his own hand. That alone could keep her occupied for years. 5. Whether they think yours would be “good” in bed: …I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young, And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine, With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove, Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart, Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part… The pangs of passion, he tells her, close to her ear, his mouth moving against her skin, were wasted even in his youth…and while she writhes like a living kelp bed swayed by his currents, Beth cannot help but to think of what a sad, lonely existence that he must have lead. She reads enough romances ~classic literature and lurid modern tales~ to know that part of the human condition seeks to find a mirror of itself in pairing off; love is love and nearly every person is fundamentally programmed to dream of such things. Even a bonafide monster still retains that spark. After all, wouldn't he have simply drained her and discarded her remains somewhere if she'd not captivated his imagination? If she did not provide him with something he could lose himself in? But in many ways she thinks they are alike; the sensations and the emotional nourishment of the Kiss goes beyond mere flesh and the ways they can interconnect. It is fulfilling in and of itself, and even if Mischa could, she is not so certain she would want to…well. Make love to him in a conventional sense. It would be a waste of his limited resources in that regard and…she's honestly not sure that either one of them would be very good at it. The idea of taking so much time and care to do…it… and then it turning out to be a monumental disappointment? It's a little more than she can bear. It has absolutely nothing to do with her being able to tell herself that his fangs in her flesh and her blood in his mouth is perhaps less sinful than sex outside of marriage, and the will of the Church. 6. What titles / nicknames my muse would like to call yours during sex: …What is my name to you? 'T will die: a wave that has but rolled to reach with a lone splash a distant beach; or in the timbered night a cry …

'T will leave a lifeless trace among names on your tablets: the design of an entangled gravestone line in an unfathomable tongue… "…Jus'…no." "Mmm?" Like a wave, one sleek dark brow raises above an eye, and there is a hint of amusement in both his tone and his expression. She hadn't realised that she'd broken the silence for the first part in over an hour. Theirs is a companionable sort of nightly ritual, each allowing many hours to the other to go about their interests and business with the constant need to interact. Hence the bright flourish of colour in her cheeks as she looks up from her phone, guilt stricken. "I…a friend…jus' aks me if…I had any pet-names for my secret paramour. Dey gettin' nosy about you, apparently. I'm a little mortified t' admit…dat she suggest I call you…" A shudder of revulsion shakes her from base to summit of her small frame. "…Daddy." She can already see him starting to inform her that they have no familial relationship, paternal or otherwise, and that he'd have no intention of claiming her for his tradition in the future but she holds up a hand to stop him. "Please…jus'… let's pretend I nevah say any kine li'dat." In her mind, she associates him with the word Naʻauao, which means enlightened but it isn't really so much of a pet name as it the virtue she sees most in him. She already has the diminutive Mischa that he's come to accept over Mikhail, and if she might venture off the beaten path, she might let slip a soft miliy, or darling.

7. Up to 3 kinks they would like to explore with yours ( with consent of course ):

…Moments after you curated my undoings on your tongue, we lay in silence. My bed sheet a museum

of introductions—your palm greeting the ditch between my thigh and backside, your two-fingered

come-hither to which I said hello, hello, and oohh—the silence in which my neck buttered

itself with your teeth’s sickle-curve. I should tell you, no one prepared me for this; the tension…. She's never seen Mischa sleep before. She can't call it anything else, it hurts to know that while the sun sails across the sky, he is as dead as any of her ancestors, but also still alive in the same way. And while normally he would never be caught in so vulnerable position ~on his back, his hands folded in funerary fashion above where his unbeating hear is lodged~ this is a testament to his trust. While she'd bought the most expensive black-out curtains and put foiled cardboard into the windowpanes to blot out the sun's rays to any normal eye, she's also woven enchantments from the Arts of Elements to ensure there are no mishaps. No light pours in. No sounds drift up from the Brooklyn streets. No slight inconvenience to disturb him. And better yet, the Crone's Cloak that protects her by fading her from the memories and thoughts of others ensures that there will be no uninvited guests. Even Andy. Maybe especially Andy. He's flown Tabby out for a weekend in California wine country. He proposed it as a business trip, and maybe he'll actually incorporate her work into it, but Beth knows her brother better than that. Which means she has a blissful week to herself with no surprises or intrusions. She looks down at Mischa's arresting features. He is achingly beautiful. She wonders what it would be like to watch him feed off someone else. Would his face hold ecstacy or would it be a mask of intense hatred and self-disgust? Would he feel it a chore? Would he shy away from the mere suggestion? Would she feel murderous envy that he'd be so intimate with someone else? She can't say for sure but as curious as she is, she can already feel the teeth of jealousy nipping at her heels. Maybe she's not ready for that kind of openness after all. Despite the chill of his flesh, she curls up beside and rest her cheek on his still chest.

8. What sort of sex they’d prefer to have with yours ( slow & sensual, quickie, etc) : …Desire to us Was like a double death, Swift dying Of our mingled breath, Evaporation Of an unknown strange perfume Between us quickly In a naked Room… Mischa's fangs retract and ever so carefully he licks the last traces of blood from the inside of her thigh, then closes the wounds. Somewhere in the passion-fogged recesses of her brain she wonders if it's a matter of habit or if he simply let her be if the wounds would seal up of their own accord, even if they didn't quite so quickly as when he does it for her.

He kisses his way back up to her shoulder, tracking the expanse of her skin the way a man might wander the desert. Contemplative to his existence and his place in the world. She never knows what he's thinking; not where lover intersects with monster nor where madness is merely heightened inspiration. Regardless, Mischa tries his best to ensure she is sated, she is nurtured by the castoff of his dreams, that she is welcoming him back the next time they end up in her sheets. When he collapses back onto the pillows, she nestles her head onto his chest.

The tentative question hanging off her lips catches his eye and he nuzzles her hair, bidding her to ask. "You're…always so careful. Like I know ya nevah wanna hurt me an' it's all very roman'ic, you know? But…what would it be like…ya equivalent of quick an' dirty an' gone wi' lust or hunger or…ya know. Wha'evah ya call it?"

9. What type of relationship my muse would like to form with yours. ( typical couple, friends with benefits, etc.) :

…To live in this world

you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it

against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go…

She pushes her food around on her plate with the ease of a chess grand-master plucking victory away from an opponent so as to hide the fact that she's not really eating it. The last thing she wants is for Andy to start some kind of Inquisition about why she's not hungry, that she's looking a little pale and run down, that she's not been herself lately.

She can't tell her brother that she's having boy problems. First he'd insist on meeting the man and putting a Templar and a Vampire in the room together is not exactly what she would consider a good time, especially knowing only one of them would be likely to walk out from it.

She and Mischa haven't had a falling out, nor has he been in any way inattentive. If anything he's oft willing to give her as much time and space as she might ask, is very aware of her work schedule and they make time for each other more often than most couples.

But Nan from Radiology was flashing her new engagement ring at work. Sherryl in Maternity asked if Beth could cover her own leave and considering the woman's as big as a beach house, Beth couldn't say no. Other happy occasions flow around her. Anniversaries, group dates, lives lived openly. She's happy for them all, really, she is.

Until she gets home. She and Mischa will never get married. Even if she weren't broken on a fundamental level, they'll never have children. They will not grow old and grey and retire to some quiet place where they'll sip coffee together in their rocking chairs on the porch and watch the sun come up.

Beth knows that they can both be killed ~and if each of their Traditions knew about them, the likelihood of that would skyrocket~ but she doesn't know how many mortal years she has. If like her maternal grandfather she will swim Sea or rove grandmother's land forever unchanged, or if she will have more or less a human lifetime, or most likely…something in between.

Mischa…will remain Mischa until he is consumed by the beast inside or he grows too weary of the world, unable to stomach centuries of sleep. There is too much treachery in his circle of associates and some day he might be toppled from his throne before he can abdicate to someone more envious of it. So many things could happen but the most common thing she can imagine is simply… he grows bored and disenchanted.

"So what do you want?" Andy asks her.

She blanches. "Wh-what?"

"I said… what do you want? For dinner tonight."

"Oh."

She doesn't really know, and certainly can't ask him, can she?

"Wha'ever's fine. Not really picky."

[jonathankatwhatever]

It’s late on 17 Feb 2024, and I’m feeling uncomfortable with my sensations. I can’t call them feelings because that implies emotions of a specific type. BTW, if I forget, I’m really tired of the whole ZF schema, and I want to formulate choice better so it’s truly global, meaning beyond ZF, which it is because gs constructs and ZF describes what is constructed through the lens of the set conception. In fact, we can describe sets using 1-0Segmentation. That also generates the connecting and relating algebras.

You see, this is why I’m uncomfortable: this sense of being extremely close to being in control over the terms by which existence occurs has aspects I don’t like. The one that motivated the urge to type is the sense that this is superior because it assists you, attaches you to layers which extend your reach substantially, way beyond any hotness of the moment, as well as being the biggest gesture one could ever conceive, a story for the ages. And doing that is exactly what I see as my mission, so we’re in this together, but I keep feeling weird like this is somehow a put down. I think that must be because there is an alternation on the pathway and that necessarily brings out the negative aspects.

I’m also bothered by the way I spend useless time wondering what you are doing when I’ll find out when I find out. This is where I start thinking there’s a hole there and this fills the hole, like the way backgrounds fill in during visions and dreams. And that means there must be a converging series which disappears but which contains that potential for suddenly appearing, which I think may be a convergence to an infinitessimal, because if you look at the definition, it uses the epsilon concept, and we then treat that epsilon as appearing in a perspective shift, meaning we’re actually generating these threads so seamlessly because they come out of infinitesimals. And they in fact must, which is really mind-blowing, because otherwise there wouldn’t be holes. Think about it: if there were visible things there, represented as real and complex numbers, then there would be something there, and what isn’t there until it generates is whatever is contained in the infinitesimals related to that hole.

Holes aren’t location mapped alone but are mapped by characteristics so they can draw on the same loops and other calls which fill the hole.

This is mind-blowing math. I’m in awe and I’m the one typing. Sometimes I goad myself about how I never get credit from you, and then I think that must be torture, because what tortures me tortures you.

On that front, I ran today and it went really well. I ran to the Mendum St gate, half road, stopped there, then up and over the shoulder of Peters Hill on trail over Bussey Street and up and over the Conifer Path, then up and over the shoulder of Bussey Hill, and then around and up Hemlock Hill, where I sat for a while in the cold, before running home. That’s only 2 stops.

Stalled at ellipticals because those are typically genus 1 hole defining curves. So in that sense, we’re defining the 1 of the 0-1-0 as appearing like a hole because it is filled with the invisible because the perspective shifts.

So that says the same thing happens to tObjects because each tObject is a 1 of 0-1-0. I’m starting to get that, because we’ve opened the conceptual door to a entire realm a perspective shift away. That explains a lot, including the concept of a soul and the more mathematical description of the intangible associated to any tangible object. This is organizing itself faster than I can type.

Oh, a missing piece in the choice formulation is this, that this shows choice as constructive from the infinite.

I’m running out of energy.

The amount of pure sexual feeling I get from you.

[selenafreshfriendkidoaf]

Cancer Man and Gemini Woman Compatibility

Malignant growth Man and Gemini Lady: Nature of Holding The Malignant growth man Gemini lady love similarity is a wonderful excursion for certain turns which can be dealt with, whenever caught appropriately. The forward indication of the zodiac forward indication of the zodiac is controlled by the Moon, which addresses one's actual self, the feelings and is associated to the oblivious condition of the brain. Then again, the female Gemini is controlled by the planet of Mercury, otherwise called the Courier of Divine beings, addresses viable correspondence of thoughts and sentiments in the everyday life.

Cancer Man and Gemini Woman Compatibility

The Malignant growth man is administered by the component of Water, which makes them everflowing, turning and limited by profound feelings. While the Gemini lady is governed by the component of Air, and can be portrayed as individuals who are extremely clever, savvy and scholarly in their attributes. The Disease male is extremely wistful and profound. He shows a great deal of empathy, is thoughtful and has faith in instinct. He cares very much, and on the off chance that he is with the right accomplice, he will be particularly engaged with her. While, the female Gemini is additionally very close to home, she is likewise extremely scholarly in nature. She guzzles characteristics of being shrewd, carefree and one can never be worn in her organization out. He is generally exceptionally heartfelt, delicate and is very creative like her, who is additionally extremely nostalgic and frequently wandering off in fantasy land too, Disease Gemini similarity causing the Malignant growth Gemini similarity to have solid roots to adjust the connection.

Malignant growth Man and Gemini Lady: The Relationship The two of them are very familiar with each other which they additionally like about one another. They respect the way that easily overlooked details are dealt with by their accomplices as far as communicating their affection to the next, personally. The female Gemini might appear to be two-natured as portrayed by its twin substance in the realm of soothsaying. This might be a worry for the Gemini and Malignant growth love match Disease male Disease male, who may be confounded seeing her wandering in the field and playing with the little dogs on one side and, investing quality energy with her accomplice to share snapshots of bliss and joy, on the opposite side. She may at times get up to speed with her whimsical dreams and disregard her dearest, however she has the ability to help herself to remember her adoration, and the male Disease being extremely delicate, will most likely be unable to hold the outrage for a really long time. He will be exceptionally delicate, delicate and caring towards her which she will see as extremely ameliorating. There exists an extraordinary relationship among Gemini and Disease love match Gemini and Malignant growth love match remembering the irregularity that they might need to look in their relationship. Be that as it may, the Gemini lady and Disease man similarity makes certain to develop as time elapses by. Her twin nature, and his whimsical and shifting mind-set changes might make a few distinctions however they should manage these and rejoin everytime the distance turns out to be excessively lengthy, to coordinate again to show the affection and care that one holds for the other

Malignant growth Man and Gemini Lady: Level of Understanding Both the male Malignant growth and the female Gemini can support and adjust each other regarding their faltering feelings. Sharing their feelings and living them together is an approach to shaping an incredible bond with each other, making their a piece more straightforward to determine. As a rule, in light of this specific blend of zodiac sun signs zodiac sun signs, the male Disease will be holding back a ton with the female Gemini, and comparably, she will attempt to be more persistent, cool as a cucumber, getting these characteristics from him, to keep a quiet equilibrium and congruity in their affiliation. She likewise needs to take care on how much spending she does as she prefers burning through cash luxuriously and then again, he is very calculative about his financial prerequisites. Both the Malignant growth man and Gemini lady, will share a lovely close connection ahead later on by sharing and supporting every others opinions. The creative and inventive psyche of the Gemini lady will uphold the delicate and the erotic Disease man which will get the job done their actual relationship and keep them fulfilled all through their lives.

Disease Man and Gemini Lady: Advantages and Difficulties The similarity of Disease man and Gemini lady is practically similar to an emotionally supportive network for each other. The force of one can be the main thrust for another, which makes the Malignant growth man similarity with Gemini lady an effective connection. The male Disease is somebody who is a loner and a bashful individual, and on the contrarary premise the female Gemini is very straightforward which will assist them with offsetting activities, helping each other to learn and develop. The two of them will likewise cherish voyaging together, and consequently having some time off from work and partaking in a vacation together will be extraordinary tomfoolery. She might give him a ton of affection, particularly through gifts which he will truly appreciate. Then again, he will treat her with a ton of friendship and warmth, deal with her and be the most delicate and delicate cherishing accomplice, which she will revere. On the off chance that they see one another and act likewise, this adoration match will be a truly cheerful couple. He really should secure that she wants her own space and opportunity to elevate herself, and she likewise needs to fathom that he is delicate and must be dealt with, similar to a youngster. On a genereal note, the Disease man and Gemini lady relationship will bloom like a lovely blossom whenever furnished with the ideal daylight and water.