#dreamspeakers

[tlwebb]

[salems-lots]

The Train Ride + Târgoviște Kindred (AND A MAGE!!!)

The gang has met so many new people (and seen the picture of a weird, weird tzim priest)

[dreamcatcherthefox]

(Oops take two) Hmmm, Dreamcatcher, do certain types of dreams make certain creatures, or can any dream make any creature?

(no worries!)

I...wouldn't exactly know. I don't stay with creatures after they've gained sentience...it feels d̷̫̗̓ḁ̵̪̊͋n̶̩̒g̵͖͂e̷̤̒r̸̮͝o̸͈̙͝ũ̵̻̄s̵̲̳̅͛. I assume it would be the case, though.

...I have heard stories of n̵͉̈ỉ̶̫̽͝g̴͎̹̈́̃h̶̺͎̐ͅt̷̹͝m̸̩̽à̸͓̲̃͊r̴̩̮̽͠e̵̟͛̊̀ creatures being created from, well, nightmares. But that isn't my jurisdiction, so I wouldn't know. My only job, other than bringing the dreams to the Fountain of Dreams so that it can mold them into creatures, is to make sure that nightmares don't get into the Fountain.

...The whole Nightmare indecent was a pain in all three of my tails.

(…ʰᵒʷ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵗᶦᵐᵉˢ ᵈᶦᵈ ᶦ ˡᵉᵗ ᵐʸ ⁿᵃᵗᶦᵛᵉ ᵗᵒⁿᵍᵘᵉ ˢˡᶦᵖ ᶦⁿᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳˀ)

[@kirbyoctournament]

[dreamuu]

I think the genre of youtube videos that are like “[white person] tries [ethnic food] for the first time” tickles the part of my brain that wants to feed a cool ranch dorito to a victorian child

[ronmanmob]

🌌- Their alternate universe self

Muse Reactions Meme!

Quite how far he'd wandered, how deep he'd gone Ron couldn't fathom. The umbra shifted for his passing, spirits long used to his dream-walks now paying him some mind but only some; not enough to fetter or impede him. His steps were more sure now than they'd first been on this path of his. He knew better how to look and see but not be seen; not disturb. In a blink's time, space and distance folded. He travelled light, left not a ripple as he followed the tug he'd felt upon waking; upon stepping out of himself, past his boundaries and into the endlessness he found beyond. And he landed...somewhere he'd never been.

High walls, bricks and mortar, barbed wire and searchlights. It was a prison but not a prison that bit into a black sky, and there was an...echo, within...that he felt drawn to, almost called by; felt that string-bound tug drawing him towards--

In the waking world, planted firm as any oak, Ron's fingers twitched.

Beyond himself he reached forward, touched the thick wire fence he stood before, thought to push through, to ford it but then...There was pressure pushing back against his palm; his fingers that hadn't been there before. It drew the dreamspeaker's focus out of the energetics of this benighted place; bought it up to where eyes would be so he could look, could see...And he almost shrieked...for it was the ghost of himself, haggard, beaten, dull-eyed and staring at a freedom he'd not known in decades that'd pressed his palm to the wandering not-quite-shaman's beyond the fence.

All at once Ron was assailed, a vision cracking through him unbidden-

this broken version of him, books piled by his cell's door, a piece of string run through his fingers, stroked and shifted along half-inch by half-inch like a Catholic devotee might stroke each rosary bead as they prayed; drawing in the curious mage through some accident of fate or lick'a old magick that lingered around this shadow of himself

-and he knew then what that tug he'd perceived had been. Somehow this not him had touched the between through his not-devotions. Somehow he'd fallen into an implication of what Ron did - the stupor, the fervour, the not meditative meditation that let this specific dreamspeaker break out of the physical prison of his body and wander like he was now. And it looked, by the stunned but growing smile on his face, like the ghost knew it too. Like a parched man to a spring in the desert he surged forward, and with that movement, that new closeness, Ron knew...everything, all at once. He knew how this echo of him had ended up in this place. He knew who died to who and how, and why. He knew who grassed, to who, and when. He watched with perfect clarity how this alternate version of himself went down and stayed there, locked up behind high walls of brick and mortar, behind wire fences patrolled by screws with dogs and searchlights and--

Unable to stomach a second more, Ron ripped himself away from the empty-eyed spectre and slammed himself back to wakefulness with such force that his physical self lurched clean out of the chair he'd slumped in.

There was ink everywhere.

All over his skin. Dripping out his ears.

With a strangled cry Ron scrubbed at his arms, chest, ribs; his exhausted mind half in command of his faculties and half in the command of what else had its claws in his faculties -- the Committee, ever present, and now on fire with the need to cleanse. On wobbling legs Ron staggered to the bathroom, locked the door behind him, went right for the bleach, the soap, the flannels to scrub himself 'til he was clean again. Til he was right again.

And once he was...

Gangland was fixing for a purge.

[playwithmydarkestdemons]

Spy Classroom Opening 2 Creditless

[salforus]

[ilimitadoworld-r]

https://twitter.com/ilimitadoEXE/status/1613673179528019968

[tarikuta]

The Deep We And The Shallow Love (Dreamspeak II)

[1introvertedsage]

Taste of Home

I believe in cool breezes in the morning. Gently waking us with the fragrance of the garden surrounding our home. The birds singing in play. Enjoying the fresh food and bird bath we put out last night. The world is quiet, just the songs of Nature audible. As we stretch to get up - we ask ourselves as we have everyday How we were so blessed to find this place. We have known no truer peace. The serenity of this area is beyond compare. Is it beauty or Love in the air. Happy is an understatement Home is where we are. To find this kind of love Is once in a lifetime. We've waited for this our entire lives.

~Odalys M.~

[tlwebb]

[animemakeblog]

“Spy Kyoushitsu” The TV and PV

The characters Monika and Thea, who are respectively voiced by Aoi Yuuki and Sumire Uesaka, are highlighted in the Spy Kyoushitsu character videos. The feel.-produced anime for television is slated to debut in the winter of 2023.

[dreamcatcherthefox]

hi there dreamcatcher! i wanted to ask, pardon the possible pun, how you go about catching dreams! is this a difficult process that you had to learn, or are they easily tangible things for you?

Ah...hello, little waddle dee. It is pleasing to see you again.

My dreamcatching abilities are one of many...many mysteries for me. The way that they work is that, with my energy, I am able to create what i call a Star-Net. With said Star-Net, I can catch unshaped dreams that are floating whereabouts. Unshaped dreams look somewhat like...how do I describe it...cotton candy. Once they are caught, I bring them back to the Fountain of Dreams for them to be given their form. What happens afterward is...not my problem.

...As for how I obtained this ability...I have...n̸̡̦̗͐̆͝õ̵̙̭̦̺ ̷͚͘ī̷̫͘d̶͙͆̈ẽ̷̤̼͂̈̃ḁ̷͒̽̃̑.̶̭̂̏̍͑

(I Don't Remember How Or Where Or Why)

((OMG ASK FROM THE WADDLE! ASK FROM THE STAR WADDLE! WHOOOOO))

[@kirbyoctournament]

[wildspirits-art]

My new Wings of Fire oc/sona: Dreamspeaker the Nightwing! I’m still working on her lore, but she’s besties with a Mudwing named Typha and goes on lots of adventures!

[tsvwords]

I was called out once, years ago, to a farm just outside the Giant’s Rest. They had this little boy, maybe six or seven, and he lived on the top floor of the house. And every night when the storms came and he was lying in bed, he’d hear thunder, raging over him.

Clap. Clap.

It sounded like something huge was coming over the hills, sweeping towards his window, getting closer and closer - and then, slowly, fading away again, as if it didn’t have permission to enter.

And the little boy would begin to whisper,

‘It’s all right. You can come in. I’m not afraid of you. You can come in. I want to see your face.’

And he’d fancy that the sound was changing in response to his words - great long bursts and short cracks - as if the thunder in the night was speaking to him.

So the little boy would try and answer back, clapping his hands together in sequence.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Speaking the language of the thunder in the night, willing it to have meaning.

‘Come in. You can come in. I want to see your face.’

When we finally came to the farm, it looked as if a bomb had struck it from within.

Windowpanes shattered. The walls torn and dangling, stray bricks rolling down the hillside. The mother and father were lying in bed together, blood and insides of their heads pooling down onto the pillows from their shattered ears.

The echoes continued for months afterwards. Deafening rolls of thunder, shaking the hillside and snapping the police tape. Coming, now, from somewhere deep inside the house.

The boy was deaf, but it’d left him alive. He was traumatised, of course. Spent the next seven years in a ward, wracked with guilt and shock.

He couldn’t understand how his own imaginings - his private dreamspeak with the thunder in the night - had led to this.

— Chapter 3: Then I'll Speak of Champions.

[yourpostisonpinterest]

@ghostalkin

@dreamspeaker-buttercutter

i found your post on pinterest!