This is My Island in the Sun [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The Rift wouldn't say it's sorry for the fit it threw the other day, because the Rift never needs to apologize. It is (mostly) perfect, and all of its decisions are well reasoned and just. Obviously. But perhaps it has fallen into a bit of a post-tantrum sulk, because this dream is milder than one might expect. In fact, it's downright nice.

The dreamers will find themselves in an archipelago of small islands - most only a few acres in size - connected by narrow strips of sand or pebbles. The surrounding waters are calm. Little waves lap against the shorelines, and no rising tide will cut the islands off from one another. The islands themselves seem to have been lifted from every climate zone on Earth and several from beyond. Some are tropical, some colder and home to hardy conifers, some mossy and boulder-strewn, some covered in multicolored sand and odd, coral-like trees.

Most of the islands boast some kind of manmade or otherwise non-native structure, be it as small as a bench or as large as a pavilion, though there are no houses or shops to be seen. It's more like parkland, just civilized enough for a nice picnic. Some of the islands even have little grills, and a sufficiently motivated dreamer might be able to rustle up some hot dog or burger fixings if they poke around a bit.

And they'll have an extra pair of eyes to help with their searching, because their beloved dæmons have returned… again. Or perhaps they're being introduced for the first time. Regardless, it's the bi-annual dæmon dream party!

Comments

[subtlely]

He nods, unflinching and unblinking, his expression closing with the unmistakeable air of victory.

"I do hope you are pleased," he says, "with my end of the bargain."

Because Rumpelstiltskin never breaks a deal.

Slender fingers tighten over Johnny's and there comes a great rush, the whipping of wind, the gusting of some ethereal, unnameable force. There is an indescribable surge that jolts sharply through them like a running circuit, a hard bolt of energy snapping from Johnny to the skin the Dark One wears.

He always did have such a flair for the dramatic.

And with a crackle of power, pooled bottomless and deep with the thick smell of dried leaves and scaled claws, Rumpelstiltskin wraps both himself and lizard in amaranthine smoke and is gone.

His smile almost seems to linger in the space where he was.

[johnny_truant]

"Johnny," Nova cries, breathless, scrambling to him; he catches her like clockwork, automatic, still staring dead and hollow at the earth.

"It's gone," he whispers. "I can feel it."

"Is this permanent?" she asks, pawing at him, trying to drag his attention back. "Is it always going to be like this now, maybe just in dreams or maybe both, Johnny, what the fuck did you do that for?"

"I don't know!" He holds her closer, trying to console her, trying to shut her up, he doesn't know. "I don't know. Please, just. Stop."

She's silent for a little moment, her nose twitching against him. "I can't," she says softly. "We can't."

Yeah, he knows. Life of fear. Always glancing over the shoulder. Always waiting for the worst. That's why he's a rabbit. Bottom of the fuckin food chain. Always, in every universe.

He settles back against a tree and stares at his monstrous house creation, which he now can't remove, and pets her for a while, and they try, they try real hard, to just let themselves be.