#waking up dreaming

[saintbrown]

Waking Up Watching And Dreaming

Waking Up Dreaming - The Owl House AMV

Thanks to @rewandemontay for suggesting the song, I couldn’t make it completely Lumity focused but I squeezed in there as much of it as I could.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[clemenlush]

i hope this isnt a dream

[anna-scribbles]

emma dupain cheng on the brain😽🎀

more:

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[toyogamii]

”don’t do this.”

you’re desperate, satoru can tell. he has his blind fold pulled down over his eyes so he doesn’t have to face you fully.

“toru, please, we can talk about this,” your breath is picking up, there’s tears threatening to fall. god, he wants to hold you so bad. he feels himself leaning towards and forces his body to stop. he shudders slightly.

“i cheated on you.”

he could never, there’s no one in this world he’d rather be with than you.

you freeze, you don’t know how to handle it.

“oh.”

he can’t help but flinch at your tone. he wants to beg you to stop looking at him like that, scream that it was just a lie, he didn’t mean it; he could never dream of hurting you.

but he doesn’t, he drives the nail deeper, rubs salt on the bleeding wound.

“they were prettier than you.”

no one could ever be prettier than you, he thinks.

you gulp and nod, still looking numbly at the ground,

“okay… get out.”

you’re pointing towards the door and it hits him, you’re making him leave. he doesn’t want to, something inside of him is begging, screaming for him to turn back around but by the time satoru gets the courage look back he’s on your porch, staring at a closed door.

he shudders again, there’s no sense of relief like he’d thought there would be. hurting you so badly that you’d leave him had been his intention, he accomplished his goal.

it’s too keep you safe he tells himself, he’s leaving because he loves you so much.

he’s the strongest, he’s not allowed to have weaknesses like you.

pt. 2

a/n: @kissagii I had to

[bittsandpieces]

[antlergrave]

uh oh

oh damn he was just dreaming

[archiepelago]

You’re on a path—

Hey wait that’s not a princess.

[lovestruck-lamb]

[marisashinx]

How long have they've been sleeping?

[paintedcrows]

they make me feel unwell

(continued: Stan & Young Ford)

[knifearo]

being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

[flora-of-the-moon]

(Part 2 of my other post)

More chaotic Soulsborne/Arcane snippets from my disaster of a dream

[somewhatsentientspellbook]

There's just something so fascinating about the way the Exandrian pantheon has decided to handle the Aeor Situation™ - by electing a few of their kind to be born as mortals in order to infiltrate the city.

The first to bring herself low was Ioun, and I can only imagine how lonely that must have been for her. To feel infinite wisdom creeping into her adolescent mind? To rise through Aeor's ranks knowing what they'd do to her if the authorities discovered the truth of her existence? Waiting, hoping, perhaps even praying that the other gods would follow through with the plan.

Sarenrae has a husband and children as Trist. I can't help but consider the parallels to Liliana Temult, with a 'higher calling' pulling a mother away from her family. The conversations in the temple suggest that she would have been aware of what she was by the time she started her family. Yet she loves them, cherishes them, even knowing that she might not see them again. Will Amaris, Haylie, and Topher learn that Trist is a goddess? Or will that only be discovered when they find their way to her realm in Elysium?

The Matron was once mortal, and she willingly returned to that form in order to help her newfound siblings dismantle the Aeorian threat. Her steward since childhood was Purvan, helping raise and guide her despite his old age. Imagine being a little girl, guarded by the Champion of Ravens himself and his wolven companion, completely unaware of your own divinity until later in life. Imagine the night she woke up, remembering her ascendency, seeing Purvan and recognising him.

And what of the families that gave birth to and raised the four Betrayer Gods? What of the halfling family who watched their precocious daughter scale a fence with far too much ease than it should be? The day the tortle's parents found him crying in pain and tearing at his skin to distract himself from a memory so distant and yet so real? Or Milo, who became a priest, not to follow in the light of the Dawnfather (like his parents may have thought), but to mock his brother even as a mortal?

These gods spent entire childhoods with families and friends, taking refuge from the skirmishes caused by their other siblings. Who, despite those similarities, have very different opinions of humanity, of Aeor, and themselves.

[draconym]

Last night I dreamed there was a Saw sequel in which John Kramer (the guy who makes the traps) has a boyfriend and he's trying to hide the fact that he's running a Saw trap while they're hooking up.

And the boyfriend is THE most oblivious motherfucker in the whole world. He takes a wrong turn trying to get to the bathroom and walks into the trap and thinks John is a theater teacher and the victims are his students. He tells them how impressed he is and awkwardly quotes RENT before politely excusing himself.

Later in the movie it was revealed that originally the boyfriend was IN this Saw trap but he didn't wake up from being drugged in time, so he slept through the cassette tape instructions and got left behind by the group. Then, when John came in to remove his handcuffs, presuming he was dead, the boyfriend woke up and was like "oh, kinky! What happened last night?" and started seducing him and John fell for it.