#this dream was worse than the others

[purifiedseraphrim]

i jus woke up :( .. i was begging my mind before sleep to give me lovely dreams, cause ive been havin rlly sad ones .. Guess what my brain did !!! LUV IT HERE :33 no, i hate it...

[irbcallmefynn]

I'm gonna be honest I don't know why I made this. Think it was another one of those ideas I have right after getting out of the shower. Regardless...

Might keep this as one of the things he can do with his magic. He literally steals your form and puts it in a box and puts you in a new one. Maybe if you can open the box you can have your body back. But good luck getting that tape off with your fingerless plushie hands! :3

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

My controversial opinion about Hob Gadling is that I believe he’s absolutely the sort of guy that “puts things behind him”, and tries to wash his hands clean of the things he feels icky about. This is implied pretty well in the show, with him blithely moving from soldiering and robbery to printing, from slaving to… whatever it was he was doing in the 19th century instead. That being said, this is not at all the same as actively trying to atone, or even making a concerted effort to be a better person, and I really wish fandom could tell the difference!

[coolingrosa]

My concept of the fallen stars.

[sysig]

Softly, slowly, I want to love you anyway (Patreon)

[pinkgrapefloyd]

tory nichols x lady macbeth monologue

[poebrey]

probably for the best that we’re likely never going to see Michael and Book get married on screen because I would’ve been lowkey annoyed if I had to watch her get married in her dress uniform or worse and not like, the Iris Van Herpen fungi collection, or a Gersha Phillips original

[bleue-flora]

C!staged duo still harmed certain innocent people that never harmed them before cant blame if people see mad scientist vibes

I mean I never said they did nothing wrong and weren’t mad scientists, just that they were very good friends that actually had each other’s back. Their friendship had been formed long before the revive book and plan even came about. So I don’t think Punz cares more about the Plan than Dream. Mad scientists - yes, clearly, that’s canonical fact. I’m not saying they aren’t, but I am saying I don’t think they were being entirely honest with clingy duo in the finale. I think part of it was them putting on a show. And I think, while they may be mad scientists they were driven mad not by a yearning for power, but because of a fear that despite how powerful they already were even without the book, the things they cared about could be destroyed and most importantly killed forever.

Also……. their experiments were on npcs [context] sooo it’s really not that bad… ;)

[shootingstarrfish]

i'll tell yall about a funny obm dream i had a while ago, all my belphie dreams have been scams so far i want a refund >:v

so i can only assume id just been on an outing with the brothers and it was the end of the day. they were all squished into my itty bitty car to the point where asmo was sitting on my lap while i was driving (it was weird dream logic so he kept alternating between sitting on my lap and sitting on the floor at my feet??) of course lucifer being the insufferable eldest sibling was in the passenger seat beside me, belphie was directly behind me and i believe levi was beside him in the middle? i cant remember what satan mammon and beel were doing lolll they were never particularly relevant in this one but i know they were there

anyway i tell them all we're almost at the train station and ill drop them off there and it should be easy to get home by train, and i hear a chorus of groans behind me so i figure it's not too far out of my way to just to drive them directly home and decide to offer to do so, to which they all cheer except lucifer and...

i hear belphies voice directly behind me suddenly try to get my attention, and i get really excited because belphie is talking to me. i turn around as best as i can to face him "oh whats up belphie?" i ask casually, trying not to seem too excited or anything. im curious though, again it's belphie we're talking about. i have to admit im happy he's talking to me. clearly in this dream au im quietly pining after him so im delighted. he shuffles around a bit, not speaking yet. i think to myself that he looks very cute. i wonder what he's gonna say. is this the development of our dream au relationship? he awkwardly opens his mouth to speak:

"uhh, i think i'd rather walk home honestly..."

my entire world shatters. the one person i wanted to be there suddenly wants to leave? (for some reason ignoring that asmo, who i also love very much, is sitting on my lap) i try not to seem too upset tho and let him leave to walk.

i set up my GPS and play some music, i specifically decide to play anime openings because i know levi will vibe with it. he starts trashing my taste in music

and then i woke up

[karouvas]

Sorry (not) but I find anyone who acts like Blue is making something out of nothing when she’s mad Adam’s first question is about the kissing to be like. Deeply suspicious. Of course she is mad that’s the first thing he asked her! They’ve been walking on eggshells around each other and not really communicating since the last aborted kiss attempt which is on both of them to some degree, but when he comes around to her it’s only for this and when she has so many fears and insecurities about not properly belonging in the gang because she’s a girl (which is founded based on the fact aside from Noah they’ve all been misogynistic towards her at some point even if it was passive) and not being respected, when she’s also an outsider at home because of a different thing she can’t control. And you can not say that her feeling Adam is treating her like a thing to have and not a person he connects with is unfounded he again literally “I got Blue without you!” screamed at Gansey, consistently going to her after they fight (he did it end of TRB after repugnant too) to validate himself or just generally when he’s falling apart looking for validation from her like in the apartment scene. It’s not a bad thing to seek validation from your partner and in TRB before I’d say the last quarter I think Blue and Adam were genuinely connecting and developing a friendship while also exploring their feelings/attractions to each other, which did always have elements of seeking escape or validation for both of them in different ways, but it’s dissolved into that so much now. And I do think Blue is to some degree mad at Adam because he’s here and available to be mad at when she’s also mad at Gansey for it (I don’t think they’re *in the wrong * for not inviting her but they are in the wrong for not even considering she could want to go or at least want to be in the loop, also even though it’s Gansey’s party if Adam is trying to be her *boyfriend* it was kind of his place to ask her) so she’s conveying anger at Adam when the anger is for both of them, and also more general factors she’s frustrated by, but also Adam has the exact same response of channeling emotions that aren’t solely about Blue through their fights (and to his credit he is self aware that he does this) so again crucifying Blue for it is whack imo. Also to check myself on shipper-brain for the Adam-Gansey aspect of it, well obviously I read that here as a factor because I’m me, but for arguments sake on the premise Adam has No feelings about Gansey that are anything other than platonic Blue would still have a right to be mad about him prioritizing his platonic male friends over her and treating them with more respect, obviously, because misogyny exists (also these are not two contradictory readings in that I think they’re both factors. Signed an Adam Stan).

[knightelf]

maybe i do need to go to therapy bc its probably not good that ive been living on autopilot and the last 7 years went by so fast but also bc i was deliberatly Wanting the time to go by to put as much space between me and the events of 2017-2020 as possible all while somewhat knowing my young adulthood was slipping me by and now both my teenage years and my early 20s are gone and i still feel like my 19th birthday was yesterday yeesh!!

[a-s-levynn]

So i had a dream last night which wasn't a nightmare and i even remember most of it! which is super exciting. I barely ever remember dreams that are just simply that so this is a fairly rare occasion for me.

It was weird tho

But it was.. i don't even know what it was so let me ramble about it in the tags a bit

[jynjackets]

im gonna need osha to have the word faggot fall from her mouth before i even hear anti-sapphic allegations

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[kisuminight]

For the record, Staged Duo is... even more of a mess in this AU. DSMP canon is already pretty fraught with them--no matter how willing them may have been, both c!Punz and c!Dream spent a long time killing each other, in as many different ways as they could imagine and achieve. Maybe at one point or another, one of them felt wrong about doing it; didn't want to kill their partner, was scared about dying at their partner's hands, and accepted it anyway out of a mix of sunk-cost fallacy for the Plan and the fact that both of them have such strong masks it would be hard to say if speaking up to say "No more" would break their relationship. When they were the closest things to friends that they even had anymore, even with it all tied up in blood and death and a near-impossible goal.

I wonder how many times the experiments felt less like murder and more like assisted suicide? Especially when they would've tested those types of death to find the limbo they produced.

And in this AU, they are emotionally tied together in a very literal way by the Resonance.

The bulk of Dream and Punz's experiments with Blade memory come in the 6 month-ish period after the Staged Finale and before the Red Banquet really kicks off. Dream spends the majority of it in Resonance with Punz, meaning they both feel each other's emotions and they both feel a Blade's instinctual need to protect the other members of the Resonance.

Blades don't get different limbos, so there's no need to test multiple types of death. They just need to do enough damage to overwhelm a Blade's natural regen. And since Punz is the link to Purpled as the main Driver in the Resonance chain, Dream is the only one it is safe to test the deaths on.

Punz's Soul Weapon is a sword, and it's strong enough to complete the task as long as the blow is to the neck or heart. They negotiate what will happen beforehand, but that doesn't stop the fear. That maybe this time the Memory Patch won't work, that the new version they're trying to make will be bugged. That maybe Punz will leave Dream as a core crystal and he will be put behind glass in a display case, never to be reAwakened.

~

Imagine the scene. Dream is sitting in a chair, waiting. Punz is across from him, standing. He calls his Soul Weapon to his hand with a curl of darkness. The emotional bleed of the Resonance starts screaming.

"I'm ready," says Dream. He is still and his breathing is even. His voice does not shake. But his eyes are shadowed and the aether lines on his body are flickering with the echo of terror terror terror. Punz can feel the way it catches him in the back of his teeth, feels his own instincts as a Blade roar that he needs to protect his Resonance partner, needs to find the threat and kill it.

Punz is the threat.

Punz uses a piercing thrust to destroy Dream's heart in one blow. Going for the throat would be easier. Going for the throat was how Tommy ended Dream's previous life. Dream shatters into light, and the core crystal thumps softly on the cushion of the chair.

Everything aches, but Punz can already feel the diamond-edged ruthlessness taking over, guiding their hands to dismiss their sword. They need to check the core crystal. Make sure the readings are okay. Make sure everything is ready to reAwaken Dream when he's recovered enough aether. It shouldn't be long; as a powerful healing Blade, Dream's recovery time runs closer to two days than the three-and-a-bit of most others.

Is this what a Heartstealer feels, the moment they pry open their Driver's chest?

~

It doesn't really get better, as time goes on. Both of them are secretly relieved when they reach the point where no more death trials are needed. Except it's not a secret, when they're living with each other and half in each-other's heads.

This is the kind of situation that creates a co-dependence, even with EW!Ranboo checking up on them and trying to provide something of a balance. It does not help that Blades are predisposed to that kind of thing anyway.

It turns out that a lot of the blind obedience of a newly Awakened Blade is because the Blades don't have any reference point to what a Driver should be like, or what kind of relationship is healthy. Dream is grateful enough to cry. Punz tries to ignore the way homesickness for the Resonance with George eats at what they've built now.

Purpled only reaches out once about the mess the experiments are making of the Resonance. Punz tells him it's something they're working on, and that Purpled shouldn't worry about them. He doesn't reach out again, and Punz tries to ignore how that hurts, both their hurt and faint whispers from Purpled. The problem with Dream and George was that they misinterpreted what feeling they were receiving from the emotional bleed. Punz knows every emotion. He can name them in all their intensities and shades, and usually even what caused them. But he doesn't know how to fix it.

[crimeronan]

grown ass woman and you didn't even know Rhodesia? Please pray some Paradox Interactive games like eu4 or hoi4. look it up. Please this is depressing if even weird smart girls don't know basic history

hey guys. get a load of this fucking moron.