#unmaking the heart of the world

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

Unmaking the Heart of the World

Chapter Nineteen

Pairings: Darklina, Nikolina, Zoyalina

Post R&R, S&B redux, time loop AU, grief, angst, canon typical Darkling tantrums ✨

In one timeline Alina marries Nikolai and becomes queen of Ravka, but in another, she’s only just been brought to the Little Palace following the discovery of her powers.

[bulletblessed]

tags

[choices-and-voices]

Assorted screenshots from The Cursed Heart Book 2, part 19 of ?

[sapphicbookclub]

Mortal Follies by Alexis Hall

It is the year 1814 and life for a young lady of good breeding has many difficulties. There are balls to attend, fashions to follow, marriages to consider and, of course, the tiny complication of existing in a world swarming with fairy spirits, interfering deities, and actual straight-up sorcerers.

Miss Maelys Mitchelmore finds her entry into high society hindered by an irritating curse. It begins innocuously enough with her dress slowly unmaking itself over the course of an evening at a high-profile ball, a scandal she narrowly manages to escape.

However, as the curse progresses to more fatal proportions, Miss Mitchelmore must seek out aid, even if it means mixing with undesirable company. And there are few less desirable than Lady Georgianna Landrake—a brooding, alluring young woman sardonically nicknamed “the Duke of Annadale”—who may or may not have murdered her own father and brothers to inherit their fortune. If one is to believe the gossip, she might be some kind of malign enchantress. Then again, a malign enchantress might be exactly what Miss Mitchelmore needs.

With the Duke’s help, Miss Mitchelmore delves into a world of angry gods and vindictive magic, keen to unmask the perpetrator of these otherworldly attacks. But Miss Mitchelmore’s reputation is not the only thing at risk in spending time with her new ally. For the rumoured witch has her own secrets that may prove dangerous to Miss Mitchelmore’s heart—not to mention her life.

Genres: historical, urban fantasy, romance

Order from Blackwell's and get free worldwide shipping!

Listen to the book on audiobooks.com here!

[ray-nintendo]

maybe one of my favorite fun facts is that, technically speaking, luigi could win basically any of those "if these two video game characters fought each other to kill at their theoretical most powerful, who would win" and for most match ups it's not even close

there's a storied history of mario and luigi just having an insane skill set throughout the series, Especially in the spinoffs, but you don't even have to get into all of that to prove the point

and that's because of one game in particular

super paper mario is a storyline in which reality itself is slowly collapsing, entire worlds being completely unmade into absolute nothingness. and mario (along with peach and bowser) is the chosen hero in an ancient prophesy that says that they will undo this with the power of the pure hearts.

However. there exists in that game a Dark prophesy, one that says The Man In Green is the perfect vessel for the chaos heart. an ancient artifact that, while we don't know the full scope of it's powers, apparently has the ability to both destroy all worlds (all realities) and create infinite new ones

something that nearly happened when luigi was fused with it into This Thang

in the context of the game itself luigi was being mind controlled. but Theoretically if we're saying that this is luigi at his most powerful (fused with the chaos heart), with the caveat that he Must want to kill his opponent (luigi is a pure soul who would never hurt somebody if it wasn't self defense or for the greater good), then he could simply unmake reality in that instance and create a new one

[yourheartonfire]

“A hero who can see the future. They usually don’t look farther than a day or two, because it’s exhausting to look even that far. One day, they’re with villain/sidekick/whoever, and out of curiosity they ask hero to look a few years in the future to see if they win the fight with villain/supervillain. The hero disagrees, at first, but over time they get more and more curious. When they finally do look, it’s definitely not what they expected. There is no future.”

Prompt surrendered by @some-messed-up-writing-for-you

When the hero woke up, they were in a bed. That was alarming. They had definitely been on a roof when they'd looked forward, and forward, and...

"You're awake. Finally," It was villain who swam into focus through the shimmery aura that was the hero's vision. A moment later, an oversized thermos cup and a plastic straw scratched against the hero's dry lips. "Drink this."

Water, room temperature and plasticky-stale tasting. The hero sucked it down like it was nectar.

Only once the hero could drink no more did they clear their throat, think back on their memories, and shudder. "How long...?"

"Two days," the villain said. "Thirty-eight hours to be precise." They gave the hero a half-hearted smirk. "I beat you that bad in the future, huh?"

The hero looked at them. The villain's face glimmered in the post-trance aura, but even through the ripples, the hero could see their gaze drop.

"Nothing." The hero tried to sit up, and quickly gave that up as a wave of nausea washed over them. "I saw nothing. Not even rubble. Emptiness. Void."

"Ah," said the villain quietly. The color had gone out of their face. "The great unmaking."

"You knew." A rush of adrenaline and the hero sat up anyway, despite the pain. "That's why you wanted me to look that far forward. Send me hurtling into a void, for something you knew!"

The villain shrugged. "I suspected. Now I know." They cleared their throat. "I would not have risked you like that for anything less dire than the end of the world."

The hero squinted at villain. Usually so light and cheeky, usually so quick with a quip. "Not you that ends it all, I assume?"

"Of course not," the villain snapped. "Even if I could. I like the world. It's the only place you can get ice cream and money and sex. No." They sat down heavily in the chair by the bed. "There's rumors about a new powered individual. Somebody they're calling the Ultimate Weapon. Rumor has it that for once, the name is no exaggeration."

"The Weapon," the hero repeated. "Not the Warrior, or the Killer, or a person name. A thing. Somebody already has them?"

The villain nodded grimly. The hero shut their eyes with a groan. They could guess now why the villain had set this up. They could guess who would give a powered individual such a dehumanizing name.

"We have them," the hero said wearily. "My side."

The villain tilted their head. Confirmation. "Your Agency has never met a weapon it didn't want to use. At some point in the next few years, they're going to use it and end us all. So. What are you going to do about it?"

"Me?" The hero eased themselves back down into the pillows. The pain was receding rapidly now, but no need to let the villain know that. "Obviously somebody on your side provokes it."

"Somebody on-?" The villain sputtered to a stop. The hero shut their eyes and waited. "Okay, fine. Fine! What are we going to do about it?"

The hero squashed their smile. "Well," they said, and started outlining their thoughts on how to start.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

jacklesverse bingo 2023 | MASTERLIST

most of these will be 18+ stories that include sexual or dark themes, individual warnings will be added for each one

hello y’all this is my first bingo and I’m so excited to start and finish my @jacklesversebingo card.

— eris

guidebook for sinners turned saints [smut, 8.8k]

description— dean uses the sexiest seduction methods to get laid when he keeps getting cockblocked by his gaming girlfriend.

mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix [smut, 5k]

description — aka. part II of mattel. finally, in the privacy of your home, you find the willpower to make the afternoon all about dean (as you’d originally hoped) when he tries to distract you from your plans.

and their name was treason [gen, 2k]

description — with the help of charlie, sam and Dean have become prolific con artists. but after losing his work, dean’s left wondering how do you con a con artist?

the love letter collection : part II [fluff, 2.6k]

description — being a dreamwalker, seeing every universe, having a hot boyfriend. there’s a million perks to that. this is the soft version.

seven [smut, 5.2k]

description — dean would rather be doing something else with his time rather than doing research, he’d rather be doing her.

the politics of knife fighting [flangst, 4.5k]

description — tom tried to live a normal life after getting away from his hometown, but he should’ve known his little slice of heaven would go bad eventually.

closer than this [smut, 2.2k]

description — something quick. something hot. in between busy tasks. when everyone else is distracted.

hero of the half-truth [smut, 3.7k]

description — you can’t decide whether it’s a punishment or not when you go to see soldier boy knowing that he’s trying to keep you safe from everything in his life

demonology and heartache [smut, 4.9k]

description — dean is a devout catholic and has never known a life outside the church, all his resolve is broken by the temptation of a hellish seductress.

mattel [smut, 2.9k]

description — looking for some new toys to spice up the bedroom, Dean discloses his insecurities and leaves you thinking of ways to help erase them.

same book but never the same page [fluff, 5.6k]

description — part III of the love letter collection. still dreamwalking. chasing after someone who can destroy worlds. and dean is jealous of his variants. what could go wrong?

two hearted [smut, 4.8k]

description — playing pretend, doing risky things, improv, Valentine’s Day is more than “unattached drifter Christmas” now.

sweet kansas honey [smut, 1.5k]

description — invited by her friend to a bee farm, but Dean wasn’t invited to their cute day out. Dean gets pouty… and, ya know, horny.

colder than my heart, if you can imagine [gen, 2.3k]

description — you and soldier boy can’t seem to get along, but it may be because of something deeper than hatred or jealousy.

the love letter collection : part I [smut, 11k]

description — being a dreamwalker, seeing every universe, having a hot boyfriend. there’s a million perks to that. this is the sad version.

god, if you are above [smut, 1.8k]

description — technically part two of demonology and heartache (which I haven’t posted, yet). an au in which dean is a priest and the reader is a demon with an obsession to corrupt him.

the pros and cons of breathing masterlist [smut, ?]

description — dean gets his bloodlust under control and becomes a baker. then he meets you and there's a whole other lust that takes him over. were you his unmaking or purpose?

stone flower [fluff, 1.9k]

description — aka. part II of I believe in a thing called loved. quickly attempting to find out what’s wrong with his girlfriend, dean makes a dreadful (objectively funny) discovery about what’s actually going on

I believe in a thing called love [smut, 4.2k]

description — dean thinks you’re playing a game but he slowly realises you’re not.

right people, wrong place [smut, 3.3k]

description — aka. part II of and their name was treason. confrontations and unexpected turn of events. the truth and the consequences.

when broken is easily fixed [fluff, 2.7k]

description — priestly broke up with tish (yes!) uh, i mean… you watch him be pathetic and sad with his big wet green eyes and decide to do something about it.

taglist

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

beau arlen masterlist

soldier boy masterlist

jensen ackles masterlist

jake gray masterlist

boaz priestly masterlist

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[theresattrpgforthat]

I'd be interested in any dieselpunk or clockpunk recommendations you have, particularly if you play as some sort of inventor.

Theme: Clockpunk & Dieselpunk

Hello friend, I’ve got a decent number of Clockpunk or Dieselpunk settings, and while I think there might be be individual character options that allow you to play something of an inventor, I don’t think there’s anything in which you solely play as inventors. Perhaps some of my followers know of some though!

Tomorrow City, by Osprey Publishing.

Tomorrow City was one of the cities of the future, built to usher in a new age of prosperity, seizing upon scientific achievements at the dawn of the twentieth century. Then came the War. Radium-powered soldiers assembled, diesel-fuelled nightmares rolled off production lines, city fought city, and the world burned in atomic fire.

Tomorrow City still stands, an oil-stained beacon of hope, part-refuge, part-asylum. Beset by dangers from both within and without, a secret war now rages on its streets. Diesel-born monstrosities stalk the alleyways, air pirates strike from the wastelands, mad scientists continue their dark work, occultists manipulate the city’s strange geometry, and secret societies plot in the shadows.

Tomorrow City is a roleplaying game of dark science and dieselpunk action. Swift and simple character creation and an easy-to-learn dice pool system places the emphasis on unique personalities and the momentum of the plot. Join the Underground and fight the crime and corruption at the heart of the city. Sell your dieselpunk tech, occult knowledge, and sheer grit as troubleshooters for mysterious paymasters. Hunt down spies, saboteurs, and science-run-amok. As weary sky rangers, fringe scientists, and radium-powered veterans, you might be all that stands between a better tomorrow and no tomorrow at all.

This is a game that pools together your positive and negative character tags, has you roll for both and aim to come out on top. Gear is very important here, and acts as a great vehicle for communicating the kind of world that you’re living in. I don’t own this game so I can’t speak to much more than that, but if there is a big focus on gear, I’d assume that having a character that can create that gear or make it better would be fairly easy to make in this game.

Age of Steel, by Isolation Games.

Age of Steel is a dieselpunk roleplaying game set in the world of Neres; a world not unlike our own in the first few decades of the 20th century. Neres has just emerged from its first global conflict; the ‘Great War’ in which hundreds of thousands of men and women died in the mud and horror of the trenches.

Technology in Neres has taken a slightly different route to our own world; personal mecha powered by diesel engines are used for numerous applications from war to common labour; huge airships ply the airways; bipedal automata act as servants for the rich and gadgeteer inventors construct homemade ray-guns in their basement laboratories.

In the wake of the Great War, Neres is a hotbed of political scheming and economic growth. Industry and commerce have come to rule the world which, thanks to the airship, aeroplane and radio is rapidly becoming smaller. Little do the majority of people know but an ancient evil is at the heart of the conflict in their world. Eldritch monstrosities from before the dawn of time seek to unmake reality, aided by cults of insane worshippers. Into this world come the heroes -the players- who are the only thing standing between the cosmic evil and all that they hold dear.

Age of Steel uses d6s as the base for their rules, and characters are built using a point-buy system, meaning that instead of character classes, you can custom-design your character as you see fit. I think that since everything about your character is customizable, there may be some options that would help you construct an inventor-like character.

One piece of your character is your backgrounds - that is, what assets your character has to pull from as they play. Some of these assets include Cash, a Job, a Reputation, and a Personal Vehicle. Since the release of the base game, the designer has also added a free supplement called Better Backgorunds, which also includes some more character options when it comes to assets.

Steel Horizons, by Wandering Pilgrim Games.

Steel Horizons is a Dieselpunk TTRPG set on the continent of Algara. It has been 43 years since the discovery of the powerful mineral, Pyricium, which jumpstarted technology ahead decades and began the 3rd Age.

In this new world, the nations of Algara have barely survived the Great War, fought over the precious Pyricium deposits, and now seek to rebuild themselves even greater than before with the might of their technologies and cultural advancements. Using the combined power of diesel fuel, pyric energy, and the brute strength of man, the world presses ever forward.

You play as a Wanderer, a traveller making their way across the land in search of their own legacy. By choosing your own Archetype and customizable Background, you can create the Wanderer you want to tell the best story!

This is a custom system that uses d12’s for all of your rolls. While Steel Horizons is meant to be a complete setting, the creator’s overarching goal appears to be a core set of rules that can be used in a number of different settings. Currently there’s the Quickstart Guide (linked in title) that is meant to bring you through character creation and gives you some example encounters, but you can also get the Lore Keeper Codex for the Hydra System, which is the base rules without setting details, as well as the Player’s Guide, which introduces new character options for you to play with.

Clocks and Punks, by Ikari.

You are misfits in the mega city Meccavena, dwelling in your precious hideout, the Sanctuary, looking for your next gig. Your gang leader, Archelle, has dosed into an endless sleep after she stole the Anomaly Device from the Clockmaker's tower. Now, it's your job to regroup and explore that crazy, conspiracy-infused, clockwork powered city, and maybe find a way to wake Archelle up!

Clocks and Punks is a rules-light, clockpunk inspired hack on the Lasers and Feelings RPG by John Harper. As is the standard for games of this type, your characters will enter play with a goal already in mind, but how they decide to go about achieving that goal is up to them.

If you want to create an inventor character you certainly can - there are Artificer and Alchemist roles that might fit that niche, and you can create a character goal that encourages you to create or invent. You can also make your character better at CLOCK tasks, giving them an advantage when performing tasks that require precision or technical aptitude.

This game is best for a group that wants a short session, or minimal bookkeeping. It’s probably also easier to run if you have experience playing ttrpgs before, just because there’s not a lot of room for GM guidance on a single page,

Flying Fortress, by Planet Gnome.

Flying Fortress is a trifold pamphlet RPG about pulp adventure, diesel punks, and airship pirates.

This is a hack of Into the Odd and Electric Bastionland by Chris McDowall, and should be compatible with any other Mark of the Odd games.

What I really enjoy about pamphlet games is that they provide a lot of neatly organized information that is easy to navigate. This game has your character sheet on one tab, rules on another, gear on another, and then information on the back for the person running the game - things like potential enemies, factions, and roll tables. There’s no particular inventor role per se, but there are Aristocrat and Mechanic options that I think you could tailor to be more about invention if you wish.

The biggest downside to this game is that it dedicates all of its space to game info, and leaves no room for world-building, so the setting you place yourself in is going to have to be crafted whole-cloth by the play group. Then again, if your GM is a natural world-builder, maybe that’s an asset rather than a downside!

Goblins in Shadow, by Color Spray Games.

GOBLINS IN SHADOW is a roleplaying game about goblin resistance and revolution in an age of elven oppression. It’s a world of clockwork and magic, of smoke and shadow.

Players will take on the roles of a cell of goblin revolutionaries, working to undermine the elves and humans who have conquered their homeland and built an empire on its corpse. They’ll advance their goals by taking on scores, missions that gather sympathy for their cause or take direct action against their oppressors, ending in a final attempt to assassinate one of the elven ministers ruling the city. To do that, they’ll need to avoid being caught by the Watch or the Hounds, the elite special police of the city; they’ll also need to balance their obligations to the various factions of the city, as well as their own personal obligations.

The rule of elves will be broken by goblins in shadow.

As a Forged in the Dark game, this will likely be familiar to anyone who has played Blades or similar games. The core of this game is about combat, and the setting around it is clockwork. If you want to play an inventor type character, there looks to be a playbook called The Hand, equipped for sabotage and front-lines engineering. Just through skimming the playbooks I feel like a lot of pieces of the world around you are baked into your playbooks - for example, the Hand might have been branded by an entropic form of goblin magic that allows you to invoke rapid decay or drain life. Now that’s evocative!

[el-tur-el]

like a heathen clung to the homily.

Pairing: Harper Geraldus x F!Tav

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content. 18+, Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1,102. Read it on AO3.

Little bit of a schedule swap - Rolan piece should be up on Sunday. Have this in the meantime, the brain bees said 'must write sad wet cat man'. (This is not the fic I have planned that involves edging, that will be coming later.)

Warmth. Patchouli and some kind of flower that she doesn’t know the name of, essential oils pooling in little slicks on the surface of the water. She sees herself in them, iridescent and raw, constantly changing shape. Home can be whatever you make it; she learned that during her time fighting the Illithid threat, when it came in the form of purple robes, of quietly murmured prayers. Of the flash of a silver sword, the peek of fangs from between pouty lips. The most elegant horns she had ever seen. The smell of peat moss and petrichor. Brimstone and something sweet.

It looks a little different now. A solid torso, a wiry frame; his back pressed against her stomach, his head tilted against her shoulder. His eyes are closed, and she can’t help but think that it was all worth it. For this. Just this. To be able to hold him, to be able to contort herself into the shape of his home.

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

She presses her lips to the crown of his head, and he smiles, slow and lazy. Sweet in that sort of way that makes her heart seize up behind her sternum. He deserves the world - she only wishes a human being could be capable of offering up something of that magnitude. She would move mountains. She would write sonnets. She’d kiss every freckle, trace the constellations mapped out on his skin, document them all to memory.

What a beautiful, fragile thing a heart is. What a privilege to be able to cradle one in your hands.

“I love you.” She murmurs against the soft black of his hair, slick with sweat and water and oils that were far, far too expensive. Indulgence breeds complacency, but he’s worth it. “Can I take care of you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” He rasps, all wet-eyed wonder, thick and tempting, pools of honey.

Her palm splays out flat between his pectorals, soapy and damp, and she drags it down the dip and curve of his stomach, his flanks. Past his navel and southward, to somewhere warmer. Yielding. Her fingers loosely wrap around his cock, and she swears she will take him apart piece by piece with the reverence he deserves.

He lets out a shuddering breath, tilting his head to press his lips against the soft column of her throat. Such a pretty thing, soft and pliable against her. Malleable like clay, something to shape with her hands, make and unmake. She moves, slow, and he whines against her skin. She could bottle that sound. Drink it down every night. Headier than wine. Sweeter than mead.

“So good for me.” She breathes out, praise and prayer all in one. “Just like that, sweetheart. Look at you.”

His hips shift against her grip, the water in the tub sloshing with the movement. She’ll have to wipe up the floors later, but she cares little; another act of tenderness, another reminder of a love that she never once thought she’d be blessed with.

“Tav.”

“I’ve got you, lovely.” She moves at an achingly slow pace. There’s no rush anymore. Not now, not here, in this space she’s made for him. In the yawning canyon of tenderness that she’s so carefully crafted. A house of worship. A church, an altar, a prayer. Communion.

He’s always been a restless thing, and this time is no different; squirming against her, pushing up into her hand. Needy. Wanton. Debauched. She studies his face, the furrow of his brow, the bow of his lips. Memorizes it, pockets it for later. Savors every little detail, every whine, every moan.

“Does that feel good, Geraldus?” Something about this man, this bright and beautiful and brilliant man, has put her in a state of perpetual motion. The movement of her lips wrapping around every syllable, the innate need to be touching him at all times. Frenetic and frenzied in her need to prove devotion.

“Y-Yes, Tav, Gods.” His voice cracks, trembles. A low heat pools in her stomach. “I want - I -”

“Anything.” She whispers, and she means it.

“I want you, please.”

And really, truly, who is she to say no to that.

She’s silently grateful that she splurged on the ornate tub for their home, nearly the size of a pool; one of the few things she’d allowed herself to be selfish about. He gently disentangles himself from her grasp, turning over so he’s facing her, his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. He presses his lips to hers like it’s the first time. Does this every time. Still so soft and unsure of himself, even now.

Her hands come to his shoulder blades, and she sighs into the tentative press of his mouth as he pushes into her. She feels weightless, here, underneath him, the heat of the water around them. He traces a fingertip between the valley of her breasts, down to her hip bone. Exploratory. Cartography. Venturing landscapes made of flesh and breath. Two fingers slowly press against her clit as he ruts into her - shallow, languid.

It is not heat and fire and fury. It is home.

“I love you.” He sighs, his forehead pressing against hers.

Even now, with him settled against her, she is sick with yearning. It’s cloying and syrupy and saccharine, the way she loves him. Her friends regularly rib her about it. But she doesn’t care.

Happy. For the first time in a very, very long time.

His breathing grows ragged, his noises a little breathier, a little higher. Her muscles tense, anticipation thrumming under the surface of paper-thin skin, bursting at the seams. To watch him unspool like embroidery thread, to hold the weight of him against her as he falls apart.

“I’ve got you.” She breathes out again. “Let go for me, sweet thing.”

He shakes against her, a thin, high whimper spilling past his lips. His fingers press against her clit a little more firmly, still so eager to please even as he dissolves into little more than broken sounds before her. She keens, heat rushing through her veins, spilling forth. Her head tilts back and her eyes flutter shut, caught between the here and not, weightless.

They settle against one another, arms wrapping around skin spattered with rivulets of water, his face tucked into the crook of her neck.

Would that she were a church, so that she may bless and keep him always.

The silk swallows her up that evening. The thought haunts her, rattles about her mind.

Milk and honey. A crown of thistle and thorn. Royalty. Deity. Lover.

[starsreminisce]

Lucien hadn’t explained the black eye and cut lip, either. He’d only asked Rhys and me if we knew of a place to stay in Velaris, since he did not wish to inconvenience us further by staying at the town house, and did not wish to be isolated at the House of Wind. He hadn’t mentioned Elain, or his proximity to her. Elain had not asked him to stay, or to go. And whether she cared about the bruises on his face, she certainly hadn’t let on.

I wonder if the same sentiment about Nesta can be applied to Elain, where people assumed that since Nesta acted like she didn't care, it was actually the reverse—she cared too much and didn't know how to process it.

Sometimes I do wonder what happened between Elain and Lucien when she noticed the blood on his clothes and asked if he was alright in ACOWAR, only to withdraw immediately in ACOSAF.

The mating bond drives protectiveness between mates. Despite the issues Rhys's parents had, we were told that Rhys's dad saved his mom, and when Rhys's mom was killed by Tamlin's dad, Rhys's dad immediately sought vengeance for a female who supposedly hated him.

So, for all that we know about Elain, here is this male that she knows little about, yet she will always have this pull that follows her. She will know when Lucien needs help or when he's hurt. She will feel his loss profoundly when he's dead.

And it scares her—that she can feel this anger, this drive to protect, especially towards someone she does not know. It scares her to feel so deeply for someone when she already feels deep as it is.

Maybe it's because Lucien puts himself in this situation, driven by his need to help. Perhaps it's because Lucien is in the human lands where she knows he faces extreme prejudice. Or maybe it's because Lucien is connected to their politics, and she knows firsthand the climate he's willingly a part of.

Lucien also seems adamant about not wanting Elain to find out. He asked Feyre not to tell her about Calanmai to Elain, and he stopped himself when he was telling Feyre about Jurian and Vassa.

I wonder how Elain would react when she found out that Lucien had been permanently stationed in Spring by Azriel and the storm she'll bring when she comes down, considering SJM has hinted we'll be returning there.

After all, Rhys being hurt was what triggered Feyre to realize how she felt was attributed to the mating bond

Because he’d been injured, and I’d gone out of my mind— absolutely insane—when he’d been taken from me, shot out of the sky like a bird. I’d acted on instinct, on a drive to protect him that had come from so deep in me

and Cassian being hurt is what drove Nesta to Unmake Briallyn.

And as the sun broke over the horizon, as Cassian’s knife plunged for his chest, Nesta erupted with the force of the Cauldron. There was nothing in Nesta’s head but screaming. Nothing in her heart but love and hatred and fury as she let go of everything inside her and the entire world exploded. The baying of her magic was a beast with no name. Avalanches cascaded down the cliffs in seas of glittering white. Trees bent and ruptured in the wake of the power that shattered from her. Distant seas drew back from their shores, then raced in waves toward them again. Glasses shook and shattered in Velaris, books tumbled off the shelves in Helion’s thousand libraries, and the remnants of a run-down cottage in the human lands crumbled into a pile of rubble. But all Nesta saw was Briallyn. All she saw was the slack-jawed crone as Nesta leaped upon her, throwing her frail body to the rocky ground. All she knew was screaming as she clutched Briallyn’s face, the Crown glowing blindingly white, and roared her fury to the mountains, to the stars, to the dark places between them.

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

too lazy to make a legit post but new unmaking chapter ✨

[rocks-in-space]

TRUE FRIENDS

1. A Little Life, Hanya Yanagihara // 2. "Ribs," Lorde // 3. "Catalog of Unabshed Gratitude," Ross Gay // 4. Unknown // 5. "Contradictions: Tracking Poems No. 28," Adrienne Rich // 6. @kit-tempo // 7. "Ribs," Lorde // 8. You Don't Have to Like Me: Essays on Growing Up, Speaking Out, and Finding Feminism, Alida Nugent // 9. "It Will Come Back," Hozier // 10. Unknown // 11. The Snow Queen, Hans Christen Andersen // 12. A History of My Brief Body, Billy-Ray Belcourt // 13. Us Against You, Fredrik Backman // 14. "The Essence of Peopling," Sarah Perry.

The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One web weaves:

Eursulon Suvi Ame

[Image IDs:

Image 1: Text reading, “Wasn’t friendship its own miracle, the finding of another person who made the entire lonely world seem somehow less lonely? Wasn’t this house, this beauty, this comfort, this life a miracle?”

Image 2: Text in all caps reading, "You're the only friend I need / sharing beds like little kids / and laughing 'til our ribs get tough / but that will never be enough."

Image 3: Text reading, "I just want us to be friends now, forever. / Take this bowl of blackberries from the garden. / The sun has made them warm. / I picked them just for you."

Image 4: Text in all caps reading, "Let's go to the garden. / Let's be kids again. / I'll chase you if you / chase me."

Image 5: Text reading, "We'll dream of a longer summer / but this is the one we have: / I lay my sunburnt hand / on your table: this is the time we have."

Image 6: Text reading, "The trauma unmakes me at the end of the summertime,"

Image 7: Text reading, "This dream isn't feeling sweet / We're reeling through the midnight streets / And I've never felt more alone / It feels so scary getting old."

Image 8: Text reading, "You still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn’t satisfy you as much as it used to. You still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago."

Image 9: Text reading, "I've known the warmth of your doorways / through the cold, I'll find my way back to you."

Image 10: Text reading, "What now? What comes / after the tragedy? / What choice is there but to keep going, despite? / You remember the good times, I know you do. / That beautiful summer we met in. I've lost my / tenderness since then, don't you agree?"

Image 11: Text reading, "And they both sat there, grown up, yet children at heart; and it was summer, - warm, beautiful summer."

Image 12: Text reading, "To love someone is to firstly confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you."

Image 13: Text reading, "The best friends of our childhoods are the loves of our lives, and they break our hearts in worse ways."

Image 14: Text reading, "In conclusion, drink tea, together with your friends; pay attention to the tea, and to your friends, and pay attention to your friends paying attention to the tea. Therein lies the meaning of life."

end ID.]

[choices-and-voices]

Quotes from Kieran that straight-up sound like Shakespearean love poetry: a comprehensive list

‘None may touch me. None but you.’

‘What is left of my heart belongs to you. When you leave, it will shatter anew.’

‘Tell me I did not hurt you.’

‘How am I expected to pass another century without the taste of you on my tongue?’

‘After so many decades spent hating each sunset, knowing nightfall would take my freedom from me... I began to yearn for the moonrise instead of cursing it. Because dreams of you might be waiting on the other side.’

‘I would rather be cursed to roam the wilds as a beast every night than live endless lifetimes without you.’

‘Wherever it is that souls may go, you will find mine waiting for you at the end of all things.’

‘You shall pay dearly for every spilled drop of her blood.’

‘I was not lying. Were you?’

‘Just this once, beloved... I wish you could not lie.’

‘You hold all of my heart, beloved. Now, and always.’

‘I would make and unmake the world for you, beloved.’

‘Believe me when I say I want every part of you. Every version. Now and future.’

‘Look, beloved. Your skin is a canvas covered in stars.’

‘If I were you, I would begin by thanking her and throw yourself on her continued mercy. Because you’ll get none from me.’

‘What would be the point of immortality without you?’

‘No magic. Like an everyday mortal.’

‘Insult her again, and I will carve my refusal into your flesh, so that you may never forget it.’

‘I don’t care what your title is. Every breath, every beat of my heart belongs to you. You are mine for life.’

‘Thank you… for sharing the sky with me.’

‘If you lay a single hand on her, there will be nothing left of this place but a hole in the ground.’

‘Let us live in this moment long enough that I may love you the way you deserve.’

‘I will let nothing separate us… I shall always find you. Your heart calls to mine in a language beyond words.’

‘For you I would set worlds aflame, tear the sun and moon from the sky. I did not live before I met you.’

‘Perhaps you are the most courageous of all, for choosing to live among us. A mortal among gods.’

‘Welcome home, beloved.’

‘You helped me find peace in my grief. I will always help you find peace in yours.’

‘You sacrifice too much for me, beloved.’

‘I cannot give you my heart. It already belongs to someone else.’

‘There will always be tasks vying for our attention. But you are more important to me than any of them.’

‘I like being in here. I always want you to have the freedom of a place to call your own… and it means everything, that you welcome me in.’

(And finally, BONUS: Quotes from *other* characters in The Cursed Heart that straight-up sound like Shakespearean poetry, because the writers of this book just do. not. rest.)

‘I know you. I’m not afraid.’

‘I love him so terribly, it hurts.’

‘You are so much stronger than you know. And a love as strong as this is worth fighting for.’

‘Even if you kill me, I’m glad I met you. Because you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. And I will love you until my very last breath.’

‘The world is rarely gentle to those who are so kind. It is you who must be the strongest of all.’

‘What do you want with that cursed thing?’ / ‘To cut the Sun and the Moon from the sky.’

‘Anything here that wishes to eat me had best prepare to choke.’

‘I know you. And I love you. Both your darkness and your light.’

‘You are everything I want. Just you. Just like this.’

‘If love could forestall death, we would all be immortal.’

‘All stories end. Even ours. That’s what makes them beautiful.’

‘I don’t care where I sleep, so long as it’s beside you.’

[sallysavestheday]

Tolkien prompt for you: Sea glass glittered in his cupped palms, bright and fine as any jewel.

Thank you for this lovely prompt! It was perfect for @elrondweek, as it turned out. Have some lonely El on the beach, as thanks.

Sea glass glittered in his cupped palms, bright and fine as any jewel. Mithlond’s beaches were littered with it, still: all the delicate work of Númenor’s glaziers and craftspeople worn down to shards and bruised to opacity by the numbing pulse of time.   Elrond sorted through the softened leavings of that hard-edged empire, wondering – as he ever did, helplessly, even so many centuries later – where it had all gone wrong. What might he have done differently; what word or deed or presence might have altered the tide and kept his brother’s people safe? Had he taken Elros’ road, instead, would the end have been the same? The dull ache of that separation was always there: in the back of his mind, in the tender corners of his heart where Elros had made his home from the very first, twinned and twined into him until they breathed and laughed and grieved almost as one. And there was no soothing it, not when he had chosen the memories of the Eldar, ever-clear and bright. A thousand years had not yet fully callused the blister of his loss. Each bright, beloved son of the North-kingdom tore the edges of the hole in his heart anew, treasured though they were. They all carried enough of Elros in them to be mistaken in the mists, or around a corner, or across a fire when his mood was one of particular yearning. A cheeky grin, a turn of the heel in the summer dances, and suddenly he was there: Elrond’s missing other half. He had shaped his grief to love and thrown his home open to his brother’s children’s children, but it would never be quite the same. They floated in and out of his life like moths, or moonbeams – here, for a shining moment, and then gone. Transitory as the fine works of Númenor, in all their glory and impermanence. The weathered glass chips gleamed softly in Elrond’s hands – shards from some chalice, perhaps, or a window, glorious and refulgent in the light from the West. Or chimes: a confection of variegated rods and bells shaped to dance in the wind and make sweet music. Whose hands had made them, praiseful and careful and proud? The red and gold pieces he had gathered from the flotsam spilled across his palms, mingling and shifting as the colors caught the light. Maedhros had worked glass as a youth, he remembered: singing his soul into the heat of the furnace, drawing the transformed silica into strands and spheres and stars. What would he have thought of Elrond’s long grief, who had lost so much, and destroyed as much again? His own twin brothers had died on the docks of Sirion – Amras unwilling to live without Amrod, bound to the very last. And the fire, of course, had claimed Maedhros: unmaking, melting, unmolding. Was there a lesson to be learnt there, about holding tight, or letting go? Elrond sighed as the breeze off the water caught his hair, brushing away the cobwebs of regret and washing his memories clean and bright. He straightened his shoulders and juggled the sea-glass gently, listening to the soft song as the battered drops rolled from hand to hand. That was the truth of it, he thought. Even so worn, they made music. As his own heart still did, and would, until the breaking of the world.

Also on AO3.

[pyrettawychwiggin]

Come With Me (Oneshot) - Crow x Guardian (Destiny 2)

The following oneshot contains spoilers for The Final Shape beneath the cut. Tread carefully, Guardian.

What to Expect: SFW, fluff, cute

I put this together shortly after Ch'ak and I completed The Final Shape campaign. I've been a bit of Crow stan ever since I first started playing, so naturally, I ship my own hunter with him pretty hard-core.

That being said, seeing as how my Guardian, Vera, respected and got along well with Amanda, she rooted for her and Crow despite her feelings, honestly feeling that she would be good for him (until they hit their rocky patch). If anything were to happen between she and Crow now, I feel like it would be a bit of a slow burn, so maybe eventually I'll write more about them.

Anywho, enjoy!

♡

♡

♡

The words kept echoing in her head.

Vera sat atop the overlook high above the dreaming city, one leg tucked into her chest, the other dangling over the ledge. She gazed out to the skies shimmering in hues of ammolite, a stark contrast to the pearlescent white structures towering over the misty green landscape.

Now, you tell the others that this was my choice.

She removed her helmet and set it aside with a huff, feeling more and more constricted by her grief.

My Light.

She felt her chest grow tight, and the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall.

Nobody makes my fate but me.

Her hands burned with the phantom sensation of Cayde's over hers.

You're my favourite. Don't ever forget that.

Her mind returning to the moment Cayde's Light - that bittersweet cataclysm - crashed through her consciousness and brought Doppler back to her - but at a cost she wished he hadn't needed to pay.

"Vera?" Doppler hovered just a few feet away at her side. "Maybe we should get back."

"Sorry, Dopps - just..." Vera shook her head and sniffled, using the palm of her hand to dry her waterline. "Just a little bit longer."

"Well, alright..."

Dopps' robotic tone was still full of concern. Usually his guardian was far more forthcoming with her feelings; she notoriously wore her heart on her sleeve, but ever since they'd returned from the Pale Heart for the final time since the Witness' unmaking, it felt as if her heart had been sealed off in a steel vault. On occasion, he'd see her eyes brimming with the shine of tears, but she wasn't allowing herself to fully break down like he knew she needed to; the next moment, her expression would harden again; as if she were actively reigning herself in - blocking off her feelings, which most certainly was not like her.

"I'm here," he said softly, almost as if he was afraid that breaking the silence would shatter her into dust. "If you need to talk."

Vera nodded before Dopps disappeared to give her a moment of privacy. Perhaps if she wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of him, she'd be more comfortable if there was no one else around.

The area was silent and still once more, but Vera's expression remained blank. She had no idea how long she'd been there, or how long she planned on staying, but she knew if she really wanted, she had all the time in the world; which perhaps made the whole concept all the more maddening.

"Guardian," a familiar voice broke the silence once more, making her jolt a little. "I thought I'd find you here."

Crow carefully approached her, stopping about a meter away to wait for her to respond.

"Crow." Vera rasped, keeping her back turned to him, silently hoping he'd keep this encounter brief. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, for one, you could talk to me." To her dismay, Crow sighed and took a seat on the ledge beside her, giving her a sidelong glance. "You haven't been yourself since we got back. We're all getting a little worried."

"I don't know how to talk about it. This all still doesn't quite feel real, yet."

"Mm." Crow nodded and took a heavy breath, turning his gaze beyond the horizon. "Maybe start with telling me... how are you feeling right now?"

"It changes with each passing thought." Vera frowned and shook her head, furrowing her brow as she attempted to find the words to describe what was in her heart. "I'm furious, I'm heartbroken, I'm confused, but most of all, I feel.... guilty."

"Guilty? Crow turned his head to look at her again, eyebrows raised in surprise at her choice of words. "Don't tell me you blame yourself for Cayde?"

"No, I... I feel guilty for feeling the way that I do."

"What do you mean?"

"I just can't help but think about the lightless folk. People die around them all the time - and for good - no Ghost to resurrect them from a bullet to the heart or a knife to the throat." Vera hugged her knee closer to her chest. "How many of them have lost people they'd loved and wished more than anything to get to see them one more time; to have one more conversation with them to find that closure they never got to have beforehand?"

Crow frowned and nodded slowly, allowing her to continue her thought.

"We did. We were so lucky to have gotten to hear his smart-ass voice again, and yet I can't help but feel that it just..." Vera's shoulders started to quiver as she felt herself beginning to break. "Wasn't enough."

Crow shuffled closer to the Awoken hunter and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, gently resting his cheek on the top of her head while tears finally started to trickle down her face. She leaned back against him, despite the tingling of her skin that begged her to push him away.

"No amount of time is enough when it comes to someone you love," Crow sighed, feeling his own heart ache for his own losses as well as Vera's. "Were you two really that close?"

"When I first arrived - after Dopps woke me up - I was all over the place." Vera sniffled. "Cayde was also... well, all over the place, but I think that's why I could relate to him. His chaos was like a mirrored version of my own, just so, so much brighter. He was one of my first friends."

"Just friends?" Crow chuckled, giving her arm a playful shake. "I always assumed there was more to it than that."

"No, never." Vera shrugged. She cast her eyes out across the vast landscape and smiled numbly. "He was more like a big brother in my eyes. Or, maybe a mentor - of some sort? I don't know. I loved him with all my heart - but not... like that."

The two Hunters sat in silence for a while before Crow cleared his throat.

"There's a private vigil for Cayde back at the Tower tonight; there won't be many people there, it's really just Cayde's closest friends." He dropped his arm and rose to his feet, dusting himself off and offering a hand to her. "Come with me?"

Vera gulped, staring at his open palm with hesitance. "I don't know if I'll be able to keep it together long enough to be social..."

"You don't have to be social if you don't want to," Crow replied with a sympathetic half-smile and a slight tilt of his head. "Just stick with me; I can do the brunt of the talking today if that's what you need."

Crow... Vera nearly felt as though she'd crumble. He's dealing with his own pain and grief, but he's still looking out for me...

"Okay." Vera wiped her tears off on her sleeve and took his hand, letting him gently hoist her up to her feet, his grip lingering for just a few seconds longer than necessary. "Thank you, Crow. And by the way..."

"Hm?" Crow waited for her to continue.

"I, uh... I like the hair." Vera gave Crow the first genuine smile she'd had for quite some time. "It's nice being able to see the rest of your face."

"O-oh." Crow averted his eyes, his ears darkening slightly in a soft blush. He scratched the bridge of his nose with a bashful chuckle under his breath before silently working up a small ounce of courage, reaching out to softly drift his fingers over her jawline. "Thank you, Vera."

"See?" Glint excitedly popped out from behind Crow's shoulder. "I told you she'd like it."

Crow's shoulders jumped with surprise before he turned and frantically shushed his ghost, making Vera laugh for the first time in weeks.

"I haven't seen you laugh for weeks!" Dopps returned, hovering around Vera almost as if he were dancing with glee, turning to Crow and stating, "you really do bring out the best in her."

"Dopps! Seriously?" Vera hissed, face warm and flushed at the ghost's lack of tact.

Laughing and arm-in-arm, the two hunters transmatted back to the Tower for one last celebration of their fallen hero.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster: The Nightmare's Interlude

Hello, Mr. Monster master list

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader (18+)

So, as some of you know, I've been very sick for a while. Everything's behind schedule, but then this struck me, so I thought I'd share. The Jeff fan club rides again! The next proper chapter will be out... soon? Not doing the tag list thingy for this, but that will return with the next, proper chapter, and I'll give ya'll a heads up about this blurb in case you missed it then. <3

The nightmare was older than the beds beneath which it lurked. It had slipped a cold, hard grasp around dreamer’s ankles before there were words for either. From the dawn of sleeping things, it startled creatures from fantasies and reminded all of the unseen dangers lurking in dark places. Snakes, spiders, and wicked things with tooth and talon. Worse threats, even: strangers and ghosts, murderers and curious thieves.

When the Nightmare King vanished, the thing from under the bed went looking. It was one of many, in the beginning, but others grew distracted, lost hope, or found fresh inspiration in the delights of the waking world. It did not give up its quest. Traveling from shadows under a bed to those under a low table on the other side of the planet, it searched. It saw without eyes and heard without eats. It listened from under chairs and lurked under parked cars. But the waking world was vast, and after nearly a century of hunting, it began to despair.

The Endless were not gods. And the Nightmare King did not take up his mantle with a light heart. Perhaps he’d left, abandoned his creations to wither and fade.

Was that a kinder end than simply unmaking the Dreaming in one, fell stroke?

Perhaps Dream of the Endless was captured. Or ill. Or enchanted by some fell demon. Perhaps he wasn’t in the waking world at all, and he’d been bound in the deepest circles of Hell, or drugged into bliss beyond the gates of Tir na NÒg. Without word, every possibility was as realistic as the last. The nightmare only knew its lord wasn’t dead. If he’d fallen, another aspect would’ve been given his function, and the Dreaming would not stand in ruins.

So, the nightmare kept searching, obsessed with a new purpose, a new reason for existing, and it decided not to return before its lord.

It found all kinds of things. Lost treasures. Creatures hiding from worse monsters than the dark. Other dreams and nightmares seeking refuge from their increasingly-unstable home. Bottles, buttons, and dust bunnies. Never a hint of its lord.

And then – something.

A thread of power reaching out through a sleeping mind, the glitter of sand and ancient power.

The nightmare rushed through the shadows, following the trace like a bloodhound. It would get there first. It would rescue their lord. They would return to the Dreaming and set all right. A quest fulfilled.

But when it finally chased down the source, it didn’t find Lord Morpheus. It reached up to clutch a very small, very human ankle.

The girl-child jerked awake at its touch, hiccupping on tears, and the nightmare wondered which of its brothers it had interrupted. It did not wonder long, though. It was too busy feeling a new sensation, one it was meant to inspire rather than suffer.

Horror.

This child had been… mangled. Deep within. Her mortality hung in tatters, like curtains in the windows of a haunted house, framing what should have been a miracle. His master’s name. The dream of dreams. But whatever had irreparably damaged the child’s natural place in the flow of life and death had carved over the name.

And there was the sand. In her soul. In her blood.

It must pull her deep into dreams, the poor thing.

She was fortunate to wake at all.

A strong child.

Little fingers brushed over nightmarish crusts and ooze, gentle with papery skin, and the little girl said, “Hello.”

The nightmare had never had a conversation with a human child before, and after a moment’s thought, it gave her ankle a slight, answering squeeze. Nothing to hurt her, but enough to acknowledge and return her greeting.

“Are…” Her voice quavered and died, but she tried again, determined. The nightmare hung on her every breath, waiting.

“Are you here to hurt me, too?”

It released her. Instantly. The shadows swallowed it back under the little princess bed, and it recoiled into the inky black as that new feeling – horror – brought goosebumps to its hairless flesh.

This was its lord’s soulmate. It had seen many come and go from Lord Morpheus’ embrace, but this – well. This was different. This was unique. Something that would not come again, even in another dozen millennia. The little human was precious, even if its master was not there to appreciate and protect the one creature whose wyrd twined so intimately with his.

“Don’t go!” A little face appeared, upside-down over the side of the bed, trying to see in spaces too deep for mortal eyes. Even eyes, the nightmare realized, as clever as hers. Oh, the trouble this child must find.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Are you… a nice… monster?”

The nightmare returned to the light slowly, ensuring it wouldn’t scare her, and she smiled, reaching down to shake its hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Monster.”

The nightmare did not realize it at the time, but it was already lost. Lost to the hope in terrified eyes and the smile that invited it into the daylight for tea parties. Lost to slow conversations through knocks and a hand-drawn copy of a Ouija board the girl “saw on tv.”

It explained it was a nightmare, and she explained her name meant “dream,” too. When it said it didn’t have a name in the way she did, she gasped, told it that was terrible, and offered him one.

Jeff.

He became Jeff, and without meaning to, he found a new kind of quest. Even if his lord should never return, Jeff would guard his lady. The little dreamer marked for death with terrible power because she’d first been marked for love.

Protector. Guard. Confidante. Friend, even. He’d never been such things, but he took up the role gladly as the child told him about her parents, who knew something had happened to their child, but couldn’t believe her story about the fairy under the bridge. Jeff believed her, and Jeff remembered.

She explained why her favorite foods were the best, why it was important to have a favorite color, and why swings were her favorite part of the playground.

One day she came in with a little bottle, giggling, and called him out. He stretched into the yellow sun, the tips of his fingers brushing the hem of her lavender dress.

“Mommy made my nails pretty, so now I’m gonna paint yours and make you pretty, too, kay?”

She painted his broken, half-peeled fingernails with glittery purple polish, and they made her so happy he kept them that way a whole week. Jeff would do many things to keep her smiling, because sometimes the terror carved into her young mind swelled until she became sick with it. The fear stole the breath from her lungs and the thoughts from her mind. It came most often in the dark, when she felt most alone, and Jeff held her little foot to assure himself she hadn’t shaken apart into broken pieces, and to let her know he was there.

And then came the night he failed her, the night the child lost her family and stared into the eyeless maw of her soulmate’s favorite creation. Jeff tried. He warned her not to go out, and when she didn’t listen, he pulled her under the bed.

But too late. Not enough.

The Corinthian pulled her out of the shadows and sent her running into the woods. Truly alone, where Jeff couldn’t so easily follow.

The child fled, pursued by hungry things in the night, the Not Deer among them.

The Corinthian returned to the room and smiled down at Jeff, wiping the parents’ blood off his knife.

“Nice girl you had there. Real peach.” The greater nightmare crouched low, taking off his sunglasses. “Not ripe yet, of course. It’s better this way, don’t you think? If she can’t survive a few of us, how could she survive our maker?”

He called, and summoned, and reached for every dream and nightmare he knew walked the waking world without malice. Some of them came. Jeff rallied Polyphemus, the shepherd who once carried the smallest dreamers away from the deeper shoals of Nightmare, into gentler dreams.

Enough came. Enough heard. They did what Jeff could not and snatched the plucked the girl out of reach of her pursuers. Polyphemus, and the nightmare Gault, and Fiddler’s Green – who wore a strange shape and a new name.

When that awful, terrible night had ended, when the child – Aisling – was safe enough in the hands of human authorities, Jeff began leaving for longer and longer periods, hunting ardently for his lord. The girl was not safe. She would never be safe until Dream of the Endless returned.

The fear became worse, paralyzing attacks that interrupted her waking hours.

She struggled in even the most welcoming foster homes, trying to navigate a pitying world that saw her as half-mad at best. And when Jeff reached out to comfort her, the other children screamed and ran to tell adults about the monster under the bed.

Other nightmares came to visit, and Aisling made her roommate cry after she asked to leave the closet door open “so the boogeyman can breathe.”

She did not smile so much.

She did not paint his nails, and she stopped drawing Ouija boards after one foster family subjected her to an exorcism.

Jeff listened to many would-be families plead with her to be good or demand to know why tormented the other children. They wanted her, if only she could behave. If only she’d stop lying. If only she’d stop playing sick pranks on the little ones. If, if, if. They only wanted her if. Jeff had seen her face horrors that could break the human mind and still smile after. He did not know how to help, so he held her ankle as she slept, and her hand when she was grounded.

He went with her to therapy sessions, learning beside her as she developed coping mechanisms to manage the fear. Panic attacks, the therapist called them. But the therapist also pushed her to tell a more palatable truth, to accept a human killed her parents, not a nightmare with mouths for eyes. The therapist wanted Aisling to stop talking to shadows and to make a best friend who wasn’t a monster under the bed.

The child, who was a little less a child every day, refused.

In the silvery glow of a full moon, she looked across the bedroom she – for once – had to herself, and told Jeff, “I won’t let any of them tell me what to be.”

The new families did not accept her, and she did not accept them. She wasn’t cruel, but she wasn’t right or normal, so it never mattered if she was kind (though Jeff knew she was). Rather than waiting for age to liberate her, she demanded the mortal courts recognize her as an adult two years too early. She finished her schooling, found a job near the house her parents left for her, and won her independence.

Then she began collecting folk of the Dreaming. The house where the Corinthian killed her parents was remote, far from the city where she’d been hurt. It was a good place for things too delicate, too big, or too strange for the waking world. Polyphemus came and herded them all, keeping the refugees of the Dreaming safe from the greed of the waking, and keeping the folk of the waking safe from the power of the dreamfolk.

The child who was now a woman had adventures. She traveled and developed her intuition into proper magical skill. The dreams and nightmares were her life, and Jeff continued shifting between the child and his eternal search for his master, determined to fail neither one a second time.

He could not have guessed that the child would complete his first quest without his help.