#|| dream a dream with me ||

[the-shattered-seas]

She knew this one. She knew him all too well.

His figure in dream was always so lonely, yet so plagued by the countless faces of everyone and anyone that caused him pain. Their voices a sprawling cacophony of wicked and frightened and reassuring all at once, but they all sounded the same to him. It was all a nightmare.

He hated being here, she felt his heart as such, but there was some sort of acceptance to it, like knowingly plunging feet first into a pool of ice while despising the pain as inevitable. The taste of it was like a thick, sour wine that soaked into your tongue like a rotten stain, and his exhaustion was a dull yellow that permeated everything around him and smelled like old furniture and sounded like buzzing streetlights on a foggy night.

Tonight was The Night of the Singing Girl. Her laughter warped and stolen form her throat by the claws of a creature who drank of her desperation, her pain, her loneliness, her helplessness, the eyes that looked past her, and her cries stifled by a monster's hand. His allies scattering to the winds, his hands working in desperation, drawing forth the beast of the abyssal only to watch as fire did not fight fire, but burned it all to the ashen ground. The cold that gripped him that he had not been there just one day earlier. All it ever took was one day, one day...

It was miserable. Her heart ached for him and sung with the chorus of misery. And John could only watch as he did every time. He watched this a lot. His eyes could never forget the exact shapes that the smears of a girl painted the world in, all red and black and brown. Every drop was stained into his mind, the voice of the demon shattering his eardrums and rumbling in his chest.

His hands could not forget the weight of an arm and nothing else, the tiny delicate touch of far too small fingers. She felt the weight in her own palm as she looked into the fractured shards of his eyes.

"Dreamer, Dreamer," her voice skated through the air around John in his dreamlike form, beset upon by the warmth of viscera and the smell of iron and bile. Far be it from them to cut through a dream, awfully rude and it spoils the purity of the Dreamer's expression, but they sighed softly and snapped their fingers. Things did need a little talking about, now didn't they?

In an instant, all other sound was gone. The scene froze as if it was suddenly underwater.

"Dreamer, Dreamer, sing with me~" Her stark white and black form loomed out under the darkness, the cosmos in the pitch black of her markings glittering with stars. She was a head and chest taller than him, and all six eyes bored down from above John with an inhuman, bristling brightness. "There you are, my Dreamer~ Out of your den, out of your shadows~"

@laughing-hellblazer

[sadclowncentral]

i had a dream that time travel was invented and too many people choose to travel back in time to save the titanic from sinking (the question of whether unsinking of the titanic deserved so much attention in the face of human history was the subject of both heavy academic and online discourse), which caused a rift in the space-time-continuum that led to the titanic showing up indiscriminately all over the world’s oceans and sea in various states of sinking.

this caused a lot of issues both in terms of fixing said space-time-continuum and in terms of nautical navigation, and after a long and heavy battle in the international maritime organization it was decided that the bureaucratic burden of dealing with this was to be upon Ireland, much to their dismay. the Irish Government then released an app for all sailors and seafarers so they could report titanic sightings during their journeys, even though they heavily dissuaded you from reporting them given the paperwork it caused.

anyway i woke up with a clear image of the app in my head and needed to recreate it for all of you:

[daisyofwaterdeep]

had a dream I went to a hozier concert and mr. hozier stopped singing and pointed to me in the crowd and asked me to go get him some extra crispy tofu and a blueberry shake for after the show and then the crowd passed his debit card to me and when I got it I could see his real legal name was Horace Bob-omb

[alwerakoo]

Trans Dipper HC: Their parents are transphobic but Dipper was introducing himself as a boy from the start and Stan never even thought to question it, so when their parents called asking about their "daughters" he was like "SHIT DID I ALREADY LOSE ONE"

[lithium-poet]

the dichotomy of girlhood

[kod-lyoko]

[roseforviolet]

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[draconym]

NYC subway as a flooded cave system and all the rats evolving in isolation like devil's hole pupfish

[rainyyheart]

[the-shattered-seas]

@ascribedundeath met a dream...

The song swam through the air like a gentle call, a curling whisper of sweetness and invitation on the wind. It carried far and gentle like a whale song, and wove back and forth like a lullaby, but there was still an aching loneliness to it that reached out and beckoned again and again for company.

Over and over again. Even long since passed, the pain would not be forgotten.

It was a favorite pass time, albeit one born of the dragon's sadness so very long ago, to wait and see if someone would answer their song. Because it was always a choice, this one. Never a compulsion like the magics they could weave if they wanted to. Choosing was funner. Choosing was more adventurous. Because Dreamers were made of choices.

But still they sat at the edge of the pond, crooning sweetly into the air those bittersweet notes and watching dusk begin to fall, working the water into playful shapes in front of them to dance with their voice.

Until theirs was not the only presence, and effortlessly they worked their words into the tune, "Good evening, my Dreamer~♫"

[spyglassrealms]

had a fucking hilarious dream that tumblr replaced the "block" function with the far funnier "glock" function, which did the exact same thing except whenever anyone blocked you a random bullet hole, like a png of a bullet hole, would appear on your blog. discourse blogs were unreadable bc you'd go to the page and the sheer amount of bullet hole pngs stacked over the blogs obscured everything. I woke myself up laughing

[terrorbeauty]

[strawberryblondedoll]

[amoena55]

I let my pussy make my decisions, call that clitical thinking

[babydolllblogger]

he only exists in my dreams . ۫ ꣑ৎ . mine