(open dreamshare log) (muffled twilight zone playing in the distance)

[hackitude]

WHO: EVERYBOOOODYYYY (yeaaah) (rock your booodyyy) (yeaaah)
WHERE: DREAMSPACE
WHEN: The night of November 1st (slightly forward-dated to give people more time to play out threads mmk)
WHAT: DREAM SHENANIGANS (event info here!)
WARNINGS: None up here, but players please tag the subject lines of your dreams if they have NSFW or triggering content in them.

It's Saturday evening. What are you dreaming about, imPorts?

Some of you might find strangers intruding on your regular dreams. Others might find themselves suddenly in the dream of someone they've never met before. Or perhaps someone they're close to...? Either way. Seems like you're in for a bumpy night.

Comments

OPEN TO ALL except kids omg please no // CW: sex, body horror

[hostage]

[It's a nightmare straight from the canvas of Hieronymus Bosch. A party more like a taste of Hell, populated with all the scum who were too unworthy to end up someplace better. For Jesse Pinkman, this is a familiar location: his living room, back in his own home, in his own world, as it was a year ago when he used to host such depraved parties. Only here, within his mind, the memory's intensified and made all the more twisted.

It's an orgy of violence as intimate as it is sick. Bodies writhe upon the floor, their pockmarked and boil-covered faces contorting with pain or ecstasy or both. Some are fighting, some are fucking. Some are caught mid-seizure, twitching and jerking and vomiting. The floor sticks with all manner of bodily fluids: semen and piss, bile and blood.

On the far side of the room, a towering speaker system blares noise that isn't quite music. The tempo is sluggish, the bass overwhelming. With the vocals distorted as they are, the rapper's words are difficult to distinguish. It's the muffled memory of a song rather than a song itself.

Amid all this sits Jesse, poised upon a throne of jagged glass, looking out over these pathetic subjects of his. He seems bored, listless and dead in the eyes, slumped to one side with his cheek resting in his palm. His hands are slick with the same fluid that's covering the floors, and occasionally one of these partygoers climbs up onto his lap and seizes him by the chin and kisses him. He lets it happen - because why not? What else is there besides this festering, filthy existence?]

you are the worst

[hackitude]

[Dream logic is the sort of logic that doesn't question when one moment you're on an epic fantasy quest, Lord of the Rings Style, one moment and then in Jesse Pinkman's hell party the next. Still. Even for Dream Skye, this is weird.]

... Uh. What the fuck.

[She hasn't even spotted Jesse yet. She raises her hand, suddenly carrying a torch in it, and immediately regrets it. She turns the torch off and it disappears.]

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Gandalf. ... Gandalf? ... Frodo? Shit.

Open, CW for possibility of violence

[huitzilin]

[ it's a field of blood red flowers. they reach toward the sky, their petals spread outward. there's no ending and no beginning, it seems to go on forever. the sky meets the span of flowers, the sun lowering and melting into the horizon. it lingers but stays as it is, the clouds occasionally rolling in front of it, reflecting the light of the dusk.

there's the sweet smell of nectar in the air, accompanied by the floral scent of the red blossoms. there's feeling of beauty and tranquility here. it's ancient, and even though someone foreign to the dream may feel like an intruder, it's just the opposite. it's welcoming, gently enticing someone to stay for a little while.

there's no where else to go. no where else to be.

there's just this place. ]

[doneproperly]

[The twelve year old Mandrake wanders into the field of flowers. He's totally unrecognizable from the seventeen year old boy Aracely knows. Instead of expensive flashy suits, he's clothed in worn and ill-fitting plain garments. School boy shorts and a frumpy knitted pullover. Instead of the neat military crop, his hair hangs long over his eyes, desperately in need of a haircut. He doesn't walk with the confidence of assured authority and power, rather, it's the gait of a downtrodden child. His eyes, however-- his eyes are still the same. Serious beyond his years.

He sits down in the field, eventually lying back to just look up at the sky. If he were awake, Mandrake would deride such an activity-- even as a twelve year old. He had no time for such nonsense.

But this is his subconscious, so the walls have come down a bit. Why not relax in a nice field? It seems like forever since he's done anything calming with no purpose.]

Open! (cw: blood, gore, horrible things)

[shittybirthday]

[ It's a nightmare that often haunts Joel in his sleep. The details are usually different every time, but it's almost always the same recurring theme:

He is lost and trapped in an old, rotting building with seemingly endless corridors that turn here and there in a confusing labyrinth. There's a strong smell of musty decay and mildew in the air, like the building has been in a state of decay for many years; every now and again, the bones of the building groan, old and tired, like it's going to collapse at any moment. Moonlight struggles through the grimy, cracked windows, throwing eerie shadows along the walls that are flaking with old paint. Doors hang off their hinges. The ceiling hangs collapsed in places, electrical wires spilled out, frayed and tangled like veins. Moss and weeds have pushed through cracks in the floor and the walls.

He doesn't know how he got here or why he's here, but he's running for his life with Sarah clutched in his arms. She's clinging onto him, arms wound tightly around his neck and her face buried into his blood-splattered shirt. His heart is hammering heavy as lead in his chest, and his throat is dry and tastes coppery with panic. Sweat runs down his temples, down his chest, his back, his shirt damp and clinging to his skin. His feet pound on the creaking floor, kicking up years-old dust. The corridors seem to lead fucking nowhere. He feels like he's running frantically in circles: every corner he turns leads into another identical corridor. His arms are getting so damn tired carrying Sarah but he can't put her down. He can't. He's got to get her somewhere safe.

Somewhere in the distance, the spine-tingling, screeching chitter of Clickers echoes through the hallways. He turns another corner. Another long, endless corridor stretches ahead of him, identical to the last. There's a terribly ominous feeling hanging heavy in the air that there's not another living soul for miles around. Perhaps it's the thick, stifling silence that fills the air in between the nightmarish shriek of Clickers. Perhaps it's the fact that, if one were to look out the windows, it's completely pitch black, save for the pale moon in the sky: no streetlights, no car lights, nothing.

God, Sarah is getting so heavy in his arms, so goddamn heavy. Joel becomes aware of a panic building in him that he's not going to be able to save Sarah if he doesn't keep running, if he doesn't keep hold of her in his arms. Fuck, he doesn't know which way to go.

The Clickers screech and shriek again. They're getting closer. ]

[hackitude]

[Skye comes barreling into the corridor's Joel's running down from an intersecting corridor, also running from that terrible noise-- though she doesn't know what it is yet. She just wound up in this dream and knew intuitively she had to run for her life.]

Joel! Joel, oh my god, I am glad to see you. What the hell is that sound? How do we get out of here?!

OPEN || Cw: blood, nudity and eventually it'll have cannibalism, violence and gore

[anthropophagite]

[ It starts with water. You don’t know if it’s an ocean or a river, a pound or anything like that, but the water won’t taste salty; however, it’s surprisingly deep and you will drown if you don’t come up for air soon. Up above, the water is blue, bright; it's the surface that you will need to reach for air, and lower below the water turns red and heavy, blood-like (it IS blood).

This is where Kaneki is, neither going up nor going deeper, simply floating like that, eyes closed, looking as if he is dead; he is wearing no clothes and has no expression on his face. If you decide to spread out your arm, you might reach for him.

But before you do, something happens. Deep below, there is a darkness rising, engulfing everything it comes in touch with, and from within that darkness, someone swims up to Kaneki. A young girl (also nude) with long purple hair now nestles against him from behind – specifically presses against his waist – and reaches for Kaneki’s left eye, touching it almost gently. She has a smirk on her face, and if you look closely her eyes are very different from a human’s: black sclera and red iris.

And then she will will look at you, laugh with no sound coming out of her mouth, and after she tries to pull Kaneki down towards the darkness ]

Visuals for this scene .att. nudity
1 + 2 + 3 + 4

[hackitude]

[Skye's swimming at the beach. That's how her dream is going. Floating in her bikini, bouncing on the waves. Until she sees something beneath her...

Strange.

She takes a deep breath and drives down to investigate. It's a dream, so the salt doesn't sting her eyes. Instead, what she sees there makes her eyes widen even further.]

Hey! [She yells out underwater, defying logic.] Let him go!

open, mild spoilers for the first book of the bartimaeus series

[doneproperly]

[He is twelve again. Twelve and small and powerless, dressed in shoddy, second-hand, ill-fitting clothes. He's familiar with this dream. Once again he stands trembling with fear in his old master's study. In front of said master, Arthur Underwood, and his old nemesis Simon Lovelace.

"I am not stupid, John," Simon Lovelace speaks down to the twelve year old Nathaniel. "It is possible that you do not know what this amulet really is, but frankly I cannot take that chance. And certainly, poor Arthur knows."

Underwood's voice is cracked with panic. "Yes, but I will say nothing! You can trust me, Lovelace! You may keep the Amulet for all eternity for all I care! But the boy is a meddling fool; he must be silenced before he blabs. Kill him now, and the matter will be finished!"

A smirk extends across Lovelace's face. "Such loyalty from a master to his apprentice! Very touching. You see, John, Underwood and I are giving you a final lesson in the art of being a magician, and perhaps with our help you will understand your error in owning up to me today. You believed in the notion of the honorable magician, who takes responsibility for his actions. Mere propaganda. Such a thing does not exist. There is no honor, no nobility, no justice. Every magician acts only for himself, seizing each opportunity he can. When he is weak, he avoids danger-- which is why second-raters plod away within the system. Your master knows all about that, don't you, Underwood? But when he is strong, he strikes. That is the truth of it." Lovelace's glasses flash and he raises a hand, ready to begin a summons. "It may console you to know that even before you arrived, I was resolved to kill you and everyone in this house. So your stupidity in coming here has actually changed nothing."

An image of the kind Mrs. Underwood, downstairs in the kitchen, flashes through Nathaniel's mind. Tears flood his eyes. "Please—"

"You are weak, boy. Just like your master." Lovelace claps his hands once. The light in the study suddenly darkened. A tremor ran across the floor. Nathaniel sensed something terrifying appearing in the far corner of the room, but fear froze him in place-- he dared not look to see. At his side, Underwood uttered the words of a defensive charm. A shimmering green net of protective threads rose up to enfold him. Nathaniel was excluded, defenseless.

"Master—!"

At that moment, Lovelace's demon materializes, his voice a terrible booming echo. "YOUR ORDERS?"

Lovelace's voice: "Destroy them both. And anything else living in the house. Burn it to the ground with all its contents."

Underwood cries out, "Take the boy! Leave me!" He pushes Nathaniel in front frantically, and Nathaniel sprawls forward. Stumbles. Falls. His eyes are blind with tears; he tries to rise, conscious only of his utter helplessness. Close by sounded a splintering noise. He opens his mouth to scream, but at that moment, the house goes up in flame around him.]

let me know if this works!

[lyingheart]

[ She hasn't heard most of what's been said. Annie doesn't know how she got here, standing in a house she doesn't recognize. Why someone's voice is booming around her, or who the people are around her, or who the young man sprawled across the floor is. There's an echo of familiarity, but it's that familiarity that comes in dreams saying this is what you know when waking you'd be left puzzled by circumstances.

She doesn't seem fully real, fully part of anything, until the fire starts. There's been too much fire in her life recently, and the response is immediate, as is the surge of adrenaline laced with fear.

Get out. She moves to grab a fistful of the young man's shirt (just only enough, she thinks, to join the military), pulling him up and along and bringing him close when she throws herself through a window that may not have been there seconds before. The sound of a train horn screams in the distance, slowly morphing into the sound of a woman's cry as they fall. ]

Open || CW: it might have blood and dead puppies )8

[onewiththewild]

[ Wolves do dream and Toboe's dream is of Paradise. His Paradise, the one he imagines and the one he saw before he died. He is laying on a green field, close to an old woman; she is smiling sweetly, petting Toboe's head as he rests it on her lap. And not too far away, there is a field of white flowers (The Lunar flowers) that fill up the air with a sweet and gentle smell.

There are two options:
a) the dream may continue as something gentle and kind, OR
b) the dream might turn into a nightmare

Feel free to choose if you'd rather have something lighthearted or something sad and probably painful ]

take it wherever you want it to go

[handwringing]

[The field is beautiful and inviting, and Elsa walks through it, looking around at the pleasant scenery. She doesn't know how she got here, but there are worse places to be.

She sees Toboe and the woman in the distance, and approaches them slowly. It seems a bit rude to interrupt the peaceful scene, but she feels compelled to speak.]

You look happy.

[She's not sure if she's addressing the woman or Toboe or both.]

open

[gonfreaky]

[All in all, he had had a good night's sleep. Sure, a few times he woke up, but he couldn't truly remember why and that was fine with him. It wasn't important anyway. Breakfast was much more of a priority and required a lot of thought. For instance: sausage was definitely required, but did they have any? He was sure he had told Tony the Ant to get some from the store on the way home last night, but he wasn't sure if he ever did. If they didn't have it, he would have to resort to bacon, even though the only bacon they had was that flaccid generic brand that Jamal picked up. While still edible, it wasn't actually that good, no matter how crispy.

By the time Gon got to the bottom of the stairs, he had decided upon cereal as a definite choice and was then wracked with the trouble of what cereal to eat. After all, their smoking room had a full library of cereal choices which, on one hand, was great but it frequently led to indecision. Gon decided to deal with it later, walking past Jamal eating his special, unicorn-brand magical hay off the island counter. With a nod and a mumbled "get your hooves off the counter", he opens the refrigerator and pulls out the carton of milk, unscrewing the cap and taking a good, long swig.

It was the middle of the night and he had not been sleeping well. Milk would help. Or was it warm milk would help? He couldn't remember. Didn't care, either, settling down next to Jamal with a bowl of cereal as the kitchen door creaked open. Leaning past his unicorn roommate, Gon looks to the new arrival with a smile and a confused wave.]

Hey! What are you doing here? It's late, you know.

[theoryandcalculation]

[Rei has no idea where he is, or what he's doing here, but he looks at Gon when the boy speaks up.

There's a unicorn at the counter. Rei doesn't spare it much thought because why wouldn't there be?]

I don't know. I think I was trying to find my own kitchen.

[Rei shrugs, sheepishly.] Sorry about bothering you.

cw; animal violence; violence in general

[guerrilla_morph]

[ ooc: couldn't figure out if I want to do a nightmare or a nice dream, so I did both as options. YOLO. ]

DREAM

[ Starts out innocuously enough. This dream starts out in the clear blue sky, with an osprey, riding on a thermal. The trees are nestled against the river, mere green pinpricks from the height Marco is in. The sun is far above him, giving off its midday heat.

Marco can see everything with his sharp eyes. He can see a coyote lurking in the underbrush. Two hunters further away from the river, waiting for a deer to walk past them. More importantly, he can see fish just below the surface of the river, shyly touching the surface with their lips. ]

NIGHTMARE

[ Marco briefly wakes up from the dream of an osprey, and then enters another dream. This time, a nightmare.

A battle is going to happen. Marco, as a silverback mountain gorilla, is tense, seeing an approaching seven-foot-tall Hork-Bajir shock battle troop bum-rushing at them. Along for the potential free meal are Taxxons, giant centipede-like aliens that can eat anything, dead or alive.

The anticipation is the worst part of the battle. But the sight of the fighting is even worst if you are not ready.

As though trying to intimidate the fear away from him, Marco stood up and pounded his heavy fists on his chest, a challenge. The aliens are still coming, still rushing to kill him, with blades flashing and teeth gleaming. ]

[lyingheart]

[ Flight is limited in her experience, but the thought of it going on forever, not coming down, being lost in the clouds is the kind of fancy she'd try to avoid for being too appealing. Dreams take away that sense of dedication to reality, letting the improbable and impossible simply be.

As a second osprey, she flies fifty feet or so to Marco's side, riding a thermal higher and higher. It's a beautiful day. ]

< I wonder where it ends. >

open! cw for asphyxiation in the first dream i guess?

[fistofthejoestar]

nightmare;

[since arriving here, Jonathan has been regularly plagued by a nightmare that he thought he'd left in his past, back when Dio and he were still pretending to get along. it's modified itself somewhat - he now finds himself reliving memories over and over again, moving through them at distorted and irregular speeds. their fight as children, Danny's death, the burning of the Joestar mansion, the confrontation on the castle balcony...all of them the same as in life, except for the fact that at the end of each he loses, dies.

in the end it always comes back to the same scene. he awakens in his old bedroom, velvety dark and quiet in the middle of the night. the tranquility quickly evaporates as he looks up to see Dio straddling him, the Dio from their college days, hands wound tightly around his throat. Jonathan thrashes and claws at the fingers choking off his air, but he can no more throw Dio off than he could his own limbs.

Dio seems cruelly amused by his futile efforts, smile causing the shadows to sit disconcertingly on his face as he leans in to whisper in his ear.]

You should be glad to give me everything, Jojo. After all, we're brothers, aren't we?

[Jonathan can't reply, can barely focus on the words as his entire world begins to grow fuzzy at the edges. he jerks and twitches, practically rises off the bed in his throes, but Dio never seems to even lose his balance. in the distance the sound of distressed voices, voices he knows are the people he love, grow in intensity as the flicker of fire dances behind the closed bedroom door.

but none of this ever seems to reach the pair. they remain in a world of their own, surrounded by a silent bedroom that's become more of a tomb.]

notmare;

[normally Jonathan can muscle through the nightmare when it comes and sleep through the night, but sometimes it hits him with painful intensity. considering that there have been people traipsing through his mind tonight...well, this is one of those times.

after a little pacing and a few breathing exercises, Jonathan is back in dreamland. this time his dream takes the form of something a little more pleasant; he's on an archaeological dig in the middle of a Mesoamerican temple, happily photographing murals and taking notes like the nerd he is.

at the center of the room is a pedestal upon which sits a golden idol...which looks suspiciously like Gon. after meticulously documenting the rest of the room he moves over to it and, after snapping another picture, carefully removes it from it stand. because he has no idea who the fuck Indiana Jones is, he has no idea what a terrible idea this is.

for a moment everything seems like it'll be fine, but then the entire temple begins to shake. Jonathan dashes towards the exit, but not before a glance behind him reveals a gigantic Pacman ghost wearing a police hat barreling towards him with a vengeance.

the hall seems to stretch endlessly, studded by shattered statues showcasing pairs of legs clad in Dio's hideous crotchless pants. in his rush to reach the end Jonathan doesn't really notice this until they spring to life and leap from their insets, aggressively rushing him and hip-thrusting all over the place. he falls to the ground and attempts to crawl around all of the stone crotches being knocked against his skull as the temple entrance begins to slowly grind shut for no discernible reason.

the Dio legs seem to multiply the further he moves, to the point where he's a few feet away from the door and unable to go forward anymore. as he reaches futilely out to try and stave off the inevitable, he can faintly hear what sounds like his grandson's voice from the other side of the door.]

...yeah, I could open it for him, but he has to learn this for himself sometime.

[HOW IS ANY PART OF THIS DREAM LESS STRESSFUL]


[ooc; feel free to have your character jump into the middle of a dream rather than the end if you think it'd be more fun! I just want to give everyone as much to work with as I can, haha.]

[dionychus]

What are you doing?

[Asks the six-year-old boy riiiiight before Jonathan picks up the statue.]

Batman | OTA - possible violence idek bats

[chiroptophobic]

[ The bats. That's how it always starts. Their mercury wings make no sound through the air, but together the mass of them displace so much of it that there's a rushing noise, like water, and angry rodent voices, hundreds of them at once, screech at the imposition of daylight pouring down from above. It comes in staggered flashes at first, breaks into your dreaming, a circle of light pouring down and fear fear fear, the kind that makes your heart beat in your throat and leaves room for nothing else and black bats swirling, flashing, beating their wings, never touching or jostling, but sweeping in dark tides of animal bodies, sweeping and rushing.

---

The dream debuts finally with a sudden glow of orange, quickly supported by furnace like, blistering heat. There's fire in every direction; a wooden structure on fire, on the verge of collapse, and you stand inside it; blackened timbers burned through, the occasional distant explosion. Even so there's a peacefulness to it, as though the flames can't reach you.

Batman stands in the fierce glow, black from ears to toes as though the light doesn't reach him. He doesn't move. He watches the building burn, and stands on the wooden platform suspended over a twenty foot drop as though it's the most secure place to be in the world. Flames lick across and blacken the narrow balustrades. Beyond the flames, but not pressing close, a thick smoke obscures much of the building, letting through glimpses here and there, interminable roar of the fire, the occasional yell in some foreign language.

But squint, and the smoke seems to undulate as though it's alive, and occasionally a flutter of bats will become discernible swirling through it before they vanish again. He's waiting for something.

The fire is very hot. ]

[crabcake]

[ Rampage is never a man when he dreams. In his mind, his subconscious, he's still a Cybertronian. Sometimes his body flickers, parts of him - like the crab-like legs and claws decorating his back - disappearing for a moment, leaving a much plainer robot body behind. Sometimes, briefly, his entire body disappears, leaving only a glowing blue sphere where his chest should be.

He nods impassively at the burning building surrounding him, as if things being on fire is just the natural order of the universe. Reaching out a metal hand, he touches a blackened beam, looking confused when he realizes it's wood and not metal. Then he turns to stare at the black figure watching over the conflagration, glowing green eyes piercing through the writhing smoke. ]

What are you waiting for?

[ Because there's a deep certainty that the unnaturally shadowed figure is waiting, but for what, he has no idea. ]

open | gore, violence, tlou things

[vaccination]

[You're on a carousel.

It's aged and covered in moss and half the lights don't work or are flickering, but it does work. As it spins in a slow circle, you take in your surroundings--you're not outside, though above you some natural light trickles in. You're in the remains of a shopping mall, but this mall hasn't been full of people in a long while. A tree has burst out of the ground near a small collection of water. Broken and abandoned store fronts are overrun with greenery. Twenty years of nature reclaiming the land. It's a mix of eerie and beautiful.

You can try to get off, but it may prove to be difficult to leave the platform. There's inaudible whispering coming from somewhere, but laughter is much closer.

Sitting on a horse on the other side of the carousel is Ellie. A little brighter, a little younger. She's in a sleeveless top to fend off the sticky heat--oddly enough, she never has had bare arms in Heropa's muggy weather. In her hands she holds a small book. The source of her amusement.]

What did the triangle say to the circle? You’re so pointless.

[dionychus]

[This even younger child has taken to the carousel just fine, mounted on the fake horse as if he were a professional rider. The atmosphere doesn't seem to bother him either, but that's probably because he actually likes Ellie's jokes totally unironically.]

Haha! That's a good one.

[What do you want from him, he's only six.]

Diego Brando | OTA

[dionychus]

[That Dream has been coming back again. It's no surprise, considering what's been happening here. He's brought here without his consent, but as soon as he's seen as inconvenient, the abandonment begins. How utterly unsurprising.

It doesn't feel like a nightmare, not really. Outside observers would first notice how tranquil it seems; a nice, picturesque English farm. It's high summer, with sweet heather and tall meadow grasses blowing in the breeze, perfect for the horses and cattle out grazing right now. The farmhouse itself is just over the next hill, and the closest buildings seem to be the stables and the servant cottage next to them. Really, the only thing that might show that this is a dream instead of just a memory is that the color of the sky keeps shifting every few minutes, from blue to neon green to orange to pink and so on.

If you go into the cottage, that picturesque feeling goes away. It's pretty rundown, with only a couple of beds, worn out and peeling floorboards, cobwebs in darker, unreachable corners, and it's very barely furnished. There, in one of the corners of the room, is a six year old boy, wearing his Sunday best. He doesn't notice you, or anything else around him for that matter. That's because he's looking for something, looking under the bed, the mattress, in the trunk at the end of the bed, behind the trunk, all over that area. The more he looks, the more he panics and the more he tears apart the area trying to find what he lost.

This dream is different from the others, though. You see, a tiny deinonychus, about a foot tall, is wandering around with him and helping him look. Sometimes it brings him random objects, like rocks, a stray bridle, or a blanket. Other times, it runs outside and brings back whatever dead animal it just killed. All of these are angrily tossed aside and the further the dream goes on, the larger the pile gets.

Neither of them seem to notice what you do, though; a woman's hair ribbon quietly inching away from them, almost as if it's trying to hide on purpose. Maybe you can get it for them, though...]

[ooc: Feel free to interfere at any point in the dream! Diego's certainly not going anywhere for awhile.]

[lyingheart]

[ Annie pins the ribbon down with her toes, barefoot and staring with wide eyes at the deinonychus. The pile of tossed aside objects and the young boy, too, but inevitably, the deinonychus. ]

What... is that?

[ The ribbon is tickling at her toes, Annie crouching down and picking it up, winding it around her fingers without thinking about it, watching the odd reptile-bird creature. She hasn't spent much time looking at dinosaurs. They're such a footnote in history that she's thinking this is possibly some severely mutant turkey? ]

Benton Fraser | Open

[dogsled]

[ Benton Fraser does dream, it has to be said, although in his case this is not an excuse for nightmare fuel. Well. Probably not. His imagination is wild, his mind goes to wacky places, presents his insecurities as bizarreness ad extraordinaire. It can be dark, but it can also be...strange. So be prepared for anything.

For example:
1/ A severe looking woman dressed head to toe in cold weather uniform, looms in the darkness. She says something unintelligible in Russian and for some reason snaps a whip on the table in front of him, where he sits shackled in a hot spotlight for interrogation. "I beg your pardon?" he says, hopelessly. "Could you speak a little more slowly? Perhaps enunciate?"

2/ For some reason you are in a rubber dinghy on a large expanse of frigid water. In every direction the coastline seems to be nothing but ice; white and gray and blue, cold and impenetrable. The little boat bobs helplessly on the surface, and Fraser is crouched low and wide in the bottom of the boat looking up. On the nearest part of the shoreline there is a man holding a rifle. Running along the ice flow is a white wolf. The man raises his gun and fires, and then there's only the echo of the gunshot, and his laughter, and Fraser saying "Oh dear."

3/ Everything is white in every direction. Snow, perhaps hundreds of feet deep, and yet it makes strange shapes and peaks amongst it. Once again Fraser, dressed in red, is making steady progress across this landscape dragging a sled packed with gear behind him, Diefenbaker at his heel. He puts a hand out suddenly to stop you. "Watch out for the train." And sure enough a Chicago L train clatters noisily across the path just ahead of you, leaving the rail line in its wake. Only then to the peaks take shape as the city of Chicago, hidden under a wild wasteland of snow perhaps dozens of feet deep. ]

[askedtobe]

[ Peter knows where he's come from - the disastrous nightmare of his own dream - and wherever he suddenly finds himself, Peter thinks he's going to vomit. He'd much prefer to wake up, even if it's shouting whatever morbid thing that usually comes to mind before anything else, but for some reason it seems as if he isn't about to. Instead, he steps inside of a dream that hardly seems like it's his own. Something unfitting and uncomfortable because it's all too new. His own nightmares have become his company; he always finds them in his sleep, always knows what waits when he closes his eyes.

This isn't going to be fun. But at least it's better than stepping over dead people and watching Adam's face melt.

Or maybe it won't be.

Peter takes a bursting step forward through his own dream and faceplants into snow deeper than he's seen in a number of winters despite New York's propensity for far too many inches of powder. Peter rarely dreams about snow in the first place and this is definitely... different. Finally, somehow, managing to stand up and find his own feet, Peter takes a few steps forward before Fraser flings an arm out, stopping him from going any further. The barreling train hardly seems like a threat but Peter waits willingly. He only blinks for a few seconds, watching the train go by before he finally takes another step forward, sinking deep into the snow. This is a pain in the ass.

Thankfully, he isn't freezing to death. But that doesn't mean anything really, still looking a bit green around the ears as he stares into the distance before looking back at Fraser. ] I'm not sure I can do another city. [ Not after the destruction of his own. ]

ota | action or prose ok

[lyingheart]

They're sitting in a box, large enough that they can sit up straight without hitting their heads, but small enough that raising an arm over their heads will bring them in contact with the top of the box before their arm can more than half straighten out. The only light from inside this box comes from a dying lantern perched between Annie and them.

If they listen outside through the box, they'll hear groans. Inside the box, they'll only hear Annie's breathing and an ongoing, soothing purr.

[proteus]

For a moment, Bader believes she has died. Then she realizes what a redundant line of thought that was and concerned herself more with the fact she was locked in a box with only a lantern and a girl. The girl had a name, and between the white noise whirring behind Bader's tired eyes she can almost remember it.

The words Queen Anne's Revenge push to the roof of her mouth but fall silent and unspoken. Again, in a box with no recollection of what comedy of events put her in there has rendered Bader a little slow.

"Do I owe someone money?" Bader can speak but her muzzle does not move with the flick of her ears her stand-in for human expression.

OPEN | potential for violence, #justaotthings

[alofts]

[ The sun sets bright between the cracked wooden shutters of a house beneath the earth where only a fissure in the impossible high natural rock ceiling catches a second of bursting red light before its extinguished. In the house, carved from rock and wood wedged between hundreds of the same extraction lined up in narrow straits along thin roads, is clean. Despite the Underground's best efforts to keep its rejected populace buried in refuse and mud, Levi had kept the place clean.

Levi is younger with less muscle through his arms and chest, but the burdens of his life still begin to show in the hint of crows feet and halo of silver running along the back of his hair sheared short. Something shapeless and white moves behind where Levi sits at a lopsided desk, writing in the light of a bulbous wood fire stove beside him. Shuffling around him, the thing comes in the firelight and it comes into few as something small hiding under a white sheet. It becomes apparent Levi is purposely ignoring this not-so spectral interloper.

With a shout, what was hiding beneath the sheets burst out with the white linens trailing behind them like banners. No more between the ages of five or eight, impossible to tell with how small she is, with bright eyes the color of summer leaves poking behind a mess of auburn hair- is Isabel. The linen shirt she wears over cotton pants hemmed and tied around her skinny waist are too much for her, revealing knobbly knees and thin shoulders. Her smile is wide and her laugh triumphant when Levi at last turns in his chair, regarding her with a neutral expression. In her hands so small they barely have a hold on it, is a large red apple. ]

Did you steal that from Farlan? [ His thin black brow quirk upward when Isabel nods, her stubby red pigtails bouncing and her smile unwavering. ]

Not bad, he usually keeps a better watch on the larder. Come here.

[ Levi kicks the chair away from the desk with its back against the wood fire stove and without further prompting, Isabel pads barefoot across the room and jumps into his lap. Levi is as slight as ever but she fits comfortable on his knee with his arm secure around her back. ]

Ah- ! [ Isabel protests when Levi takes the apple from her and sets it on the table. Her smile wanes and instead of crying or arguing, she growls through clenched teeth. Levi appears unaffected by her antics as he reaches for a dirk he has being using as letter opener from the table and sets it by the apple. ]

You're not a stray animal. If you're not quick enough to steal and you have to ask for something, then you need to learn to say it. [ Levi points to the apple then taps his thumb and forefinger against his bottom lip, miming the action of eating. ] Apple. Eat. And you want...?

[ Isabel's bright green eyes cloud with frustration, hands tugging at her pigtails as she mimics the shape Levi's mouth takes with each word sounding them out, and manages to say she wants to eat the apple. Her voice is clear as a bell even if the pronunciation is a little stunted. ]

Better.

[ Levi whom had yet to smile instead tousles her hair, inciting her to giggle as he reaches back for the apple and knife. Sitting in the fire light, Levi explains how not to steal something to big carry and how to leave the blades in the house well enough alone for now as he starts cutting the apple. Arms around her, hands guiding her own as Levi let's her help keep the knife steady, Isabel has her undivided attention being cut into little wedges. ]

[hands4healing]

[This is a strange place, and Winry doesn't recognize it at all. She watches from a corner as a child in a sheet stalks another person, a young boy. They are so wrapped up in each other, she is completely ignored.

But that bright red apple, it's beautiful, and looks so tasty. Still, she's leery of asking for any; they both look starved. Her stomach ignores her thoughts though, letting out a growl.]

[theoryandcalculation]

A: The Less Serious Option

[It's a classroom. Nothing too scary there. Math, probably, since there are numbers on the board, but the math itself doesn't make that much sense. 2 + 5 = tuna? Then again, this is a dream - it's a completely sensible answer here.

Rei's sitting at a desk near you. He's keeping careful notes, bent over his notebook and peering up at the board every now and then.]

Who wants to answer this...? Ryugazaki!

[At the teacher's call, Rei snaps to attention, standing up quickly.] Yes!

[Except...

he's not wearing any pants. Just boxers.

This is one of those dreams.]

B: The More Serious Option

[It's some kind of dark space, with a cold metal floor and high, oppressive walls. The ground starts to rumble a little, and it becomes apparent that this is some kind of vehicle, though twisted through the lens of a nightmare.

The back door opens, though it doesn't let in much light, and Rei comes tumbling inside, almost like he's been thrown in. A very tall, shadowy figure stands in the doorway, cackling in sick amusement, before slamming the door again.

Rei scrambles back and curls up into a tight ball against the wall of the van, hiding his face in his knees and breathing heavily. He's been here before.]

B

[databoner]

[And perhaps to Rei's benefit... (or maybe not, considering who it is) Inumuta is also in the back of that van. It seems he's already been in it for some time now, at least longer than Rei has. There's no handcuffs, nor chains involved, and so Inumuta isn't very worried. He's sitting in one of the corners of this van, as Rei scrambles to the wall and starts panicking.]

Ryugazaki Rei. Calm down.

[handwringing]

[You're in some kind of large castle, rising high up into the sky. The walls and floor are clear and sparkling, and closer inspection reveals they're made of ice.

If you move towards one of the windows, there's people in the distance, shadowy, featureless mobs that call out promises of violence and destruction. But inside the palace, things are calm, peaceful. The voices can't penetrate the walls.

Elsa's here, standing at the top of a large flight of open stairs. She's wearing a long, flowing blue gown, also made of ice. She looks surprised by your presence.]

What are you doing here?

[gevurah]

[ At the bottom of the stairs is Kate, her bright hair alone setting her out of place in the coolly tones of the ice-made castle. She looks confused momentarily, trying to place the location in her memory, but coming up with nothing. It's new... and strange, even for Kate.

Her gaze extends to the top of the staircase, locking onto Elsa's form. She cocks her head, quickly peering at the windows from the corner of her eyes and watching the shadows shift back and forth dangerously. ]

Elsa? [ Her eyes trail back to the young woman. ] Where am I?

OPEN | CW: blood, gore, body horror

[viced]

When machines move, there's either the smooth, soft sound of two pieces working together in tandem, or there's a grind, a ground sound of metal on metal, two pieces no longer working together the way they're supposed to. That sound, grinding machines never stops, nothing works the way it's supposed to. Nothing moves in tandem. Machines grind because they're rusted -- caked with blood. Scent was acrid, like iron that baked for too long in the fire -- like burning flesh and molten metal, acrid and biting.

And everything burns. Corpses, buildings, everything that stood tall and proud, like fresh ruins, before the test of time wears away the open wound, seeping and gaping, pulsing with that pain, and in every direction, there's no sign of any hope. Just columns of smoke, the occasional stirring rubble, and there are figures, shuffling closer, moving faster than they have every right to. Machines and humans, after all, shouldn't be melded. The metal and skin is never perfect, hints of muscle where the skin ends, or metal burned into skin, motions not right, toppling or shifting with the inability to move right.

And he's running, as fast as he can. Which, admittedly, isn't very fast, scrambling over rock or rubble, hands bloody from sharp surfaces, and there's a seeping wound on his head, right where the normally faint cybernetics meld with skin -- the wound bleeding, but the cybernetics aren't faint, they're bright -- green -- and where the wound cuts deep, there's a hint there of something else, muscle that isn't muscle, sharp mechanics, something green and thriving.

He murmured curses under his breath -- as under his breath as it could be when breathless -- before he tripped, crashing into the rubble, suit already torn, and he turned, to back up against a surface eyes wide and scared, but even while he opened his mouth -- the interference started, that sound that signified he was using his powers cut, and died.

[brushoff]

Dorian had been looking at nothing and everything at the same time. His eyes weren't focusing on anything in particular, just scanning around the area, taking in the shapes, the ruins, the ruble and the fire. All the fire. His mind idly flashes back to World War II, right in the middle of the blitz. Was that where he was? Was that why he was here? Of course, he can't place the noise, that grinding noise that he keeps hearing, that noise that he can't place but seems to be in the background of everything. Dorian stands and looks as, behind him, Mitch falls to the ground.

It's the sound that gets his attention. He spins around, brow furrowed, looking at Mitch. Ah. His housemate. His housemate currently lying on the ground and bleeding green (was he bleeding green or was that just something else? For there was definitely something green and it had to be blood, despite Mitch's red blood, because what else could it be, right?) Dorian's suit is equally ragged, parts of it burned off, parts of it ripped to pieces, though his skin remains as flawless and wound-free as ever. "Stop that," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the interference started, as Mitch made that noise that he couldn't place, paying absolutely no attention to how scared the man was (because when did Dorian pay attention to anybody that wasn't him?). "That noise, can't you stop it?"

OPEN | CW: robo-gore? does that even count.

[forcowardice]

[OPTION A: a river styx]

Cybertronians are usually much, much larger and taller than humans, but dream-logic permits otherwise. Depending on who you are, the size is adjusted accordingly; Fulcrum, the Cybertronian Decepticon, is hardly any taller than you are.

But maybe that's not the first thing you notice. Maybe more noteworthy is the environment.

The lighting is bleak and almost monochrome, but it's enough to see what's present before you. There's some kind of wheel set up, taking up most of the room. Pinned to it is Fulcrum in his true body, held down by by spikes impaled to his hands and feet while he bears a terrified look in his face. The walls behind him are lined with what looks like prison bars.

As the wheel turns, his limbs start to get pulled from his joints, cables popping and fuel lines torn as he starts to bleed precious fuel. Too frightened to really scream, Fulcrum looks on ahead as an automaton arm lowers from the ceiling, prying his chest open brutally.


[OPTION B: life's but a dream]

This is something more recognizable. A park in Heropa, Florida if one has ever been to it, open and plain and simple. It's a bit skewed by memory, some things out of place. It's not as grassy or full of trees, but it looks similar enough with some more mechanical looking statues and cyber-like plantlife.

Sitting by the fire is Fulcrum, human-sized but in his Cybertronian body. He holds a square-shaped glass with some glowing purple liquid, and he looks to be in a good mood.

"Guess it'd be too much to assume they'd be on time," Fulcrum says to himself, not yet noticing you.

A

[hands4healing]

Winry feels cold, shivering and wrapping her arms around herself. It's a strange place, another strange place. How did she wind up here? Is it some kind of prison?

As she steps slowly forward, she spots the wheel, and the Cybertronian pinned to it. She bites her lip, seeing his fear. Her mouth opens as the wheel turns, the violence starting.

"No! You can't!"

[braided_icarus]

1: Happier memories.

[Holding a book, you bring it down to smack your little brother's head, ignoring the wailing that ensues as your mother enters, hands on hips and telling you off before you run away. Sitting outside the bathroom hugging your knees you grumble. Not realizing your father is on the toilet and can hear you.]

Mom always takes Al's side. It's not fair. She's always saying "You're the big brother, let Al have the toy." I'm sure Mom hates me....

Edward. As punishment for being mean to Alphonse, stand up and hold this bucket.

[You blink, making a face at the idea. Not quite understanding what your father is attempting to do yet.] Huh?

Stand there until I say you can stop.

[Pouting, you reluctantly do as you are told, but the bucket is so heavy, you give up after a while. Before Hohenheim tells you you can stop.]

What? You quit already?

It's heavy! I can't hold this bucket for that long!

I see. So you just gave up, huh? That bucket...weighs about the same as a baby. You weighed that much when you were born, and your mother carried you inside her for nine months. She carried you and kept you safe until you were born. She wouldn't have done that if she hated you, Edward. So don't say she doesn't love you.

[It's a pretty amazing realization. One that causes you to rethink things. Maybe he's right....So you wander down the hall to find your mother and brother. Your mother mentions something about dinner, as you stop in front of Alphonse. Immediately, she assumes you are going to hit him again when you raise your hand, but you don't want to hurt him. Instead, you pet the top of his head, ruffling his short blonde hair.]

Italics are Hohenheim, normal text is little! Edward. Such a brat. :l

2: Nightmare time

[This again. Still younger, but now a bit older, Ed proudly presents a toy to his mother. Of course, it's bright and happy, a serene outside setting in the grass yard of the Elric house. Until she speaks.]

Why couldn't you do it, Ed? Why couldn't you bring me back? You failed....

[Trisha morphs, grotesque as her body changes, shifting to two forms, a little girl with long brown braids and a fair haired man with glasses. At this point, Ed is older. Around twelve, though he might look a little younger given his shorter height. The man taunts him, blames him.]

See? I told you, Ed. We're the same. You tried human transmutation too. Even though you knew it was forbidden. That arrogance, thinking you could succeed where other's failed. And you failed again. You couldn't stop me. You couldn't save Nina.

[Ed opens his mouth to protest, to argue. But then the girl's form hugging her father shifts, changing into a chimera. The one her father created when he alchemically joined his dog and daughter together.]

Big Brother. Want to play?

3: because options. shush.

[It's over. Ed's older, taller and most will note he has his arm back, flesh and whole. But the important thing is the other next to him. Another blonde haired and gold eyed boy a little younger than him. Alphonse. He laughs at something his brother said, seated around a table as Winry approaches, bringing over a pie, presumably apple for those that might have heard her or Ed mention her love of baking. They're together and whole. Even if he has lost his alchemy. This is worth it. Seeing their smiles.]

2

[hands4healing]

[It's cold and dark and strange here, though Winry thinks she recognizes the background of the dream, somehow...a basement she'd been in before. But the voices that echo around the dark room don't sound right. Finally, she catches sight of a monster, of something horrible, its head thrown back, staring at...at Ed, at Ed as a child.

The second part of the dream, she doesn't recognize at all, but sees a man with a little girl and a dog, then the man is gone, and the dog and the girl merge into something big and sad and able to speak.

Winry gasps, covering her mouth with her hands, horrified at the creature, at what it had to be.]

...Ed? [His name is hushed and somehow trembling, despite only being a single syllable.]

cw: blood, gore, body horror, dolls

[glowsferatu]

[ the desolation seems to extend on forever. all of it made up of garbage and rubble, some collapsed on the round, some stretched well beyond their height into the sky like spiraling noodles, others just floating free in the air. space is broken, and she has no power to repair it.

the ground crackles underfoot, covered in bones, in garbage, in black eggshells with candy-corn spikes, and with the occasional pool of blood, their colors swirling together. the City is dead, and all that remains is the graveyard, its sole survivor, and the sentries. they haunt through the darkness, navigating its inconsistent physics with ease, unfazed by its fickle sense of gravity. each wooden and standing at a slender eight feet tall, their long, thin limbs ball-jointed. their faces are simple, eyes emotionless and painted on, surrounded by white and purple makeup, and wide carved grins. like their progenitor, all of them are damaged, full of scrapes and notches. missing arms, limping along on missing feet, crawling over legs long gone. none of them likes a trespasser, and while they will stalk in anticipation, they won't make a move without the survivor's notice.

it's at the heart of what may have once been times square that she sits, perched atop a massive black skull. kanaya's gotten frail from lack of light and blood, like skin stretched over bone, parts almost seeming like you'd see right through her. her gown is now little more than rags, what may have once been white now faded to grey. she knows that if she stays here, if she doesn't try to help or affect anything, it should stay safe. it all only breaks when she tries to make it better.

still, it will try to tempt her. it will send a shade as if to offer her company, a face she knows, a face she knew, bodies she's had to bury before already. but only for the chance to take it away. she knows the scheme by now. even warning them away, trying to tell them what awaits them if they stay with her, that's enough of an effort to draw the ire of the sentries. even trying to ignore them. it always ends the same, as the dolls descend on them, ripping and tearing and hands and teeth until the parts are scattered. the only thing she can do for them is clean up the mess, and add another stave to her garden.

she does not forget. ]

[lyingheart]

[ annie's feet move as silently as they can over this littered ground, careful as she picks her way through a foreign, dead landscape. this isn't familiar to anything she's encountered lately, like a collection of half thoughts she almost reocgnizes. it all makes sense, at the same time - dream logic filled in any questioning gaps she might have had were she awake. ]

Kanaya.

[ she picks up a can with a string attached, the other end leading to she didn't know where. someplace relevant. important? ]

Kanaya, can you hear me?

[ she's so certain kanaya is here, and she can't say why. ]

OTA - cw; child slavery and all the things that come with that

[moded]

nightmare the first;

[It's dark, in this dream. But not the kind of all encompassing dark that night brings. No, its the kind of dreariness that comes from thick and angry clouds, clouds that should, from all appearances, be pouring rain. Instead, bits of ash float down from the sky dark and eerie and adding to what's already turned every inch of the world varying shades of grey.

You walk, even if you don't know why. Slowly, you walk across the ash covered ground, past mounds of rubble and dirt, past the remnants of what you know, somehow, must have been a residential area. Sometimes, there's the faintest skeleton of a wall, the glimpse of a door shattered and half-buried, but for the most part it's just broken rock and brick all stained and covered with the greyness falling from the sky.

It's silent, in this world. There's no background hum of technology, of people talking in the distance, of some animal skittering through the underbrush or birds singing in a nearby tree because there's none of that left. There's nothing but ruin and ash and silence that hangs heavy in the air and almost seems to weigh you down and tire you but--

Eventually, there's something. A shuddered breath, the sound of shifting and the displacement of dirt enough that little pebbles tumble down a slight incline. And around the next little pile of abandoned metal and stone, tucked up under the slight overhang of a long-abandoned home, is a child.

He sits, pushed back as far into the slight recess as he could possibly get, staring wide-eyed and silent. His skin is smeared with dirt and ash, his clothes too-big and dirty and torn in a dozen places. He has his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms slung around them in an attempt to appear as small as possible, to be unnoticed and it almost works because-- ... because he is too small. His cheeks too gaunt, his arms too bony, and his expression too calm and piercing for how young he obviously is.]

.... Are you here to take me back? [He asks you in a quiet voice, and the collar on his neck is metallic and blinks red.]


nightmare the second;

[It's the same world, but Bart isn't a child anymore. There's still ash on the ground, still the remnants of civilization broken and half buried all around him, but this time the locale is different. He's not lost in the quiet of a ruined street. Instead, he's walking in the shadow of a ruined mountain.

He's older, harder, an anger to an expression that used to be broken, that's now filled with joy and wonder and a constant spark of mischief. He's thirteen, and also not. Thirteen by age but so much older in how he acts, how he thinks, how he understands the world. Every child who's survived this long is the same way.

In this nightmare, however, there's a difference. There are other people around him, moving as slowly as they can get away with in order to conserve energy. Each one of them is wearing something similar, something dark and covered in ash and dirt, ripped and patched and ripped again. And those that can have found or fashioned gloves, gloves to protect their hands as they dig through the most recent coating of ash and grip the sharp corners of anything metallic.

And all around them, collars blink red and sit heavy on too-thin shoulders.

Bart stops and drops to a crouch, picking up a piece of indescribable machinery with a slight grunt, before turning to you, yet another person toiling away under the constantly falling ash.]

You should get to work. [He says, and there's a bite to his tone.] You know what day it is. [Satisfied with his warning, he turns to start walking his piece over towards the pile they're all assembling.]

2

[motherboxes]

[The first thing Brenda notices is the ash. Then she sees the others, the collars. She's only vaguely heard of Bart's past-future? from Jaime to be aware of his situation. Of what this might be. The Reach. That must be what the collars are about. Enslaving, brainwashing everyone on Earth, because for Bart, they'd won.

He's the only thing even vaguely familiar in this. This dream, this nightmare. But he's so different. None of that usual carefree teasing and joking now that she's used to from him. Then again, anyone would be bitter and hardened from this, from the little she knows and has heard second hand. Brenda doesn't even entirely register the warning at first, watching him and shaking her head.]

What day?

[She's not sure how much to ask, how much to say. Has no idea what is really going on that she's somehow seeing Bart's life back home.]

cw: blood, violence, death

[governorkang]

Nightmare:

[The chamber Kang is currently in is very large, and lit only by a handful of candles. It's all the light the many young draconians need to see, though - they have better low-light vision than humans. There are no doors, and the walls are just tall enough that climbing is required to get out; everything, including the ceiling, is made of rock as if the location of the chamber is underground. There are scorch marks and charred bone fragments everywhere, and only piles of hay for sleeping.

All of the draconians in this chamber are entirely unclothed with bright bronze scales, horns that are barely more than nubs, and injuries that range from minor to severe. There are, strangely, no corpses, though at least one of the younglings looks as if it is on the verge of death.

Kang is sitting on the little patch of hay he has claimed as his, with his back to the rocky wall. He's nursing a cut on his leg and watching all the others, hissing at any who accidentally get too close to him. They all back off quickly, knowing better by this point than to start a fight with one of the largest bozaks in the group.

Everyone stops at the sound of footsteps and laughing voices echoing in the distance with their heads upraised. Their nostrils twitch at the smell of fresh meat, as if they haven't eaten in more than a day, and almost every single draconian starts sizing up those around them. Only the most severely injured don't react, having given up any hope.

There is never enough food for everyone.]

Open - CW: violence, possible murder attempts

[extirpations]

A - war, what isn't it good for?

[Like he so often does, Kimblee dreams of the war, of Ishbal. The desert sands soaked red with blood, the air filled with the roar of explosions and the screams of the dying. Around him blue uniformed soldiers gun down fleeing civilians - women and children, young and old, it doesn't matter. Their orders are to wipe out every last one. Orders the Crimson Lotus Alchemist follows with pleasure.

He has the Stone again, that wonderful fragment of destruction. With it he's untouchable, powerful enough to destroy city blocks with a single clap of his hands and the bodies pile high in his wake. An armed man raises his gun and is blown away. A fleeing family, child in arms, suffer the same fate and he throws his head back and laughs. It's beautiful, a symphony of his creation with his victims for an audience.

Finally he stops, hearing footsteps approach and turns to face the newcomer. His eyes shine with a fervid light, mouth stretched wide in a grin best described as mad. His arms spread to encompass the destruction around them, displaying his work proudly.]

Beautiful isn't it? Now don't let up for an instant, there's still more to be done!


B - jailhouse rock

[Not quite a good or bad dream, his dark little cell is just as he remembers it. Cool and dry and empty but for him and the red stone he admires. They've shackled his hands so they can't touch and they think that's enough to keep him here. As if he could be kept locked away against his will. The guards don't understand alchemy and the power he wields even without the stone they know nothing of.

As it is he sits and waits as the days drag past without number. Sometime after the first year he stops paying any mind to the passing of time. He's a dog in his kennel and there's nothing to do but wait until his masters call him to heel again. As he thinks this, the shadows begin to writhe and reach for him with hungry mouths and the air fills with screams of anguish. He smiles and hums along as they wrap around him but they don't - can't - swallow him up no matter how they try.

Eventually he turns to the door as footsteps approach. The chance for a conversation isn't something he's going to pass up. Not bothering to stand he raises his shackled hands in greeting]

To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?

b

[gonstop]

I don't really know...

[What stands before him is a kid, 12 years old at least with both hands in his pockets. He stands way too relaxed for the setting he's in now, but he's visited a prison before, now. Back in Heropa, right?

He can't remember why he came to this one, but there had to be a reason. A good reason. And it doesn't mean he has to share it, anyway.]

I felt like it, I guess. [Staring at this man shackled by his hands, he gets a really bad feeling, but he's not sure why. He doesn't know him at all.] Who are you?

OPEN | cw: wally is a little handsy in his dream

[runningstart]

[The dream always starts out the same. You are on a beautiful beach. Wally's mother, father, aunt and uncle are off in the distance, grilling burgers and building sandcastles. Wally is much closer, sprawled out on a blanket on the sand and making out with a beautiful girl in a bikini.

a) LIGHTHEARTED: If you're a teenage girl, you enter Wally's dream and all of a sudden the girl he's making out with looks just like you! Except uh you probably don't own a bathing suit that looks like that. Unless you do. Either way, you're a lot more giggly and complimentary of Wally than you probably ever would be. If you're not a teenage girl, Wally will continue making out with the nondescript girl as a strong wind suddenly begins to blow and a giant blow-up slide begins to roll in your direction like a katamari.

b) NIGHTMARE: Wally is making out with the girl, but then a thick roiling fog rolls in off the ocean and covers them both. Through the fog, it's barely visible but the girl is trying to kill Wally until he grabs a rock and hits her with it until she's still. It happens very fast. Wally pushes himself to his feet, spies you, an intruder, and throws himself at you like a wild animal while his Uncle Barry in the background shouts things like, "This is why! You're more trouble than you're worth!"

c) SPECIAL: Wally is making out with the girl, and then between the kisses the girl becomes his friend Robin. They continue making out but the sky clouds over dark gray and foreboding. Wally pulls away from Robin with his hands on his shoulders, torn; Robin gives him a hurt look. Then the sand swallows up Robin as he screams, or a shark swims through the sands and swallows Robin before diving back down and into the ocean, and Wally is left digging frantically into the sand, looking for his friend and crying for him to come back.

A

[vaccination]

[Okay, the beach. Ellie knows beaches, so it's not that strange of a place. There are some people hanging out, and when Ellie looks for someone familiar, she spots Wally.]

Hey--

[She's in mid-motion, raising her arm to call for his attention, when she sees it--herself. Being macked on. In a way that would ensure death via Joel several times over.

This must be Joel's nightmare.]

What the fuck? Ugh!