#the dead don’t dream

[nobunnii]

Chapter 19 spoilers from the fic Wake Up by penink

Tw violence

[fandomgodmother420]

Istg I made this back in October and was waiting or the perfect moment to post it-congratulations PUNZ on joining the ✨dreams bitches gang✨ or the limbo lads at the very least may you have many horrible shenanigans in the coming years

Anyway Wake Up is a fic go read it

@peninkwrites

[dreamingonmyown]

@peninkwrites enjoy.

[mioakem]

tommyinnit i will never hate u

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Jason learns how to dream walk and terrorizes his family before they become aware of his resurrection.

(it backfires)

[rozugold]

hi! a drawing req: c!clingy duo but they have an egg child qsmp style

I don’t remember THAT from season 4

[firstkanaphans]

I know this post is only for like two people, but I’m going to make it anyway. So, my obsession with Dead Friend Forever finally reached critical levels and I resorted to binge-watching The Hidden Character just to get more content. For those that don’t know, The Hidden Character (which they literally call “THC”) was the reality show Be On Cloud used to cast DFF. It is bad. Like really bad. And not in a it’s-so-bad-it’s-good-type way. It’s one of the most exploitative pieces of media I have ever watched. I walked into it with a favorable view of BOC, Mile, Apo, and Pond (the CEO), and walked out of it hating all of them.

A small collection of things that happened over the 11-episode run:

Everyone was told that they had to share every single aspect of their life with the viewers or they would be eliminated. And, in fact, the first person eliminated was told that it was because he wasn’t being open enough with the audience. They filmed these boys—one of whom was only seventeen at the time—talking explicitly about their sex lives. Which is, of course, fine to talk about. It’s not fine to air it on television! Even some of the games themselves contained sexually suggestive content (i.e. Which do you prefer "eating" with—your hands or your mouth? If you were to cheat on your significant other, would it be just sex or a full-blown affair?)

During the first part of the show, everyone had a secret that the other players were supposed to guess. One of the player’s secret was that he used to be homophobic. (Questionable casting for a company that only hires men, but I digress). He was praised for having changed his mind. In contrast, JJay’s secret was that he was raised in an abusive household and had once hit his father. Pond crucified the poor guy for this. He made him sit there in front of the whole cast sobbing and apologize for hitting his dad who was an abusive asshole.

After the first half of the show—which served absolutely no purpose at all—we finally move onto the acting portion. This is, after all, supposed to be a talent competition. The judges were so mean. Especially Apo. He was like the Simon Cowell of BOC. There was no constructive component to their criticism. The fact that any of these people are still acting is honestly unbelievable. I would have gone home and cried myself to sleep and then never stepped foot on a stage again.

At one point, each of the groups was assigned a scene from KinnPorsche to act out (because BOC very clearly owns no other IP). One of the pairs was given the scene where Porsche gives Kinn a handjob in the bathroom. I wish I was kidding. 

The judges constantly told the contestants to make their scenes feel new and different but any time the actors actually tried to change anything, they complained it was “too” different and the original script was already perfect so who were they to think they could create something better. Once again, Apo and Mile, the original actors of these scenes, are the ones judging them! Like of course they like their version better. What is even happening??

And finally, the whole fucking thing was rigged for Ta to win. Like don’t get me wrong, I love Ta and I think he did a great job, but he was the only one who came into that competition with a built-in fanbase and the winner was chosen by popular vote.

It was all just…baffling. Especially from a company that claims to be trying to change the industry. Like if you want the industry to stop being so exploitative to its actors, maybe start with yourself? It also makes those condescending “how dare you watch our shows just for the NC scenes” press releases they do every week even more annoying.

I have no clue what the reaction to this show was while it was airing but god I hope they never do it again. It literally makes me feel so weird watching DFF now. I feel like those poor kids are being held hostage. Maybe CEO Pond’s been the one under the mask the whole time ��

[izel-scribbles]

just finished malevolent relisten. needless to say the obsession has been rekindled tenfold its previous magnitude

[ohmerricat]

i hope ruby gets a well-that’s-alright-then-style notdeath. on the one hand it will make haters mad because oh no not another companion with an impermanent end (and i like to see haters mad) on the other it would require creativity to depict this in a new way + i love all the implications i love the dark fairytale quality of these companion exits i love my un-undead schrodinger’s women

with the way the legend of ruby sunday is titled… legends aren’t usually told about living people. legends are stories of the bygone past, of an age long since over, fictionalised and overgrown with folklore like barnacles sticking to an abandoned shell. there is such a thing as a living legend, but they’re exceedingly rare. the unmistakeable raven’s call in the 73 yards teaser, the trailer’s cut to fifteen crying alone after promising to cherry he’d protect her daughter… the foreshadowing is clear as day…

and yet. there’s one massive HOWEVER. ruby appears in s15: millie’s been spotted on set filming it. which leads me to believe — the doctor isn’t one to take the time travel route and revisit companions that in his future are genuinely dead. that would hurt too much, it would cause unnecessary trauma and could break the timeline. that must mean ruby stays alive in some way. ish. she’s alive and a legend and a mystery. girl-ballad girl-song girl-paradox

here she is, fading out.

p.s.: thesis statement on moffatgirls from the tags i left on somebody else’s post about charley pollard.. well it belongs here since it’s basically the semiotic hurricane swirling around ruby at the moment :)

[thronesoldaccido]

The World We Could Have Created

Pairing: Kyle “gaz” Garrick x Fem!Reader

TW: Pregnancy, death, Angst, Grief, Mentions of loss, Hurt /no comfort

WC: 2.6K

(I just wanted to write something sad)

The night was still, the kind of quiet that only comes in the deep hours when the world is asleep and even the wind seems to rest. A soft, silvery moonlight spilled through the windows of the modest suburban home, casting gentle shadows that played across the walls. In the bedroom, the only sound was the slow, rhythmic breathing of two people entwined in sleep, their bodies close, their hearts beating in time with one another.

Kyle Garrick lies in bed, his arm draped protectively over you, his wife. In the dim light her face was serene, a soft smile curving her lips even in sleep. It was a face he knew better than his own, every line and freckle, every expression that had captured his heart all those years ago when they first met.

Back then, he had been a young man full of ambition and promise, studying hard to make something of himself, to build a future he could be proud of. You had been his anchor, the steady presence that grounded him, the light that guided him through the darkest times. They had been inseparable, two halves of the same whole, moving through life in perfect harmony. Kyle had known that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

They had done everything right, everything by the book, they had taken their time building their relationship on a solid foundation before taking the next step. Marriage had come naturally a beautiful ceremony surrounded by friends and family; vows exchanged with tears of joy in their eyes. It had been the happiest day of kyles life, standing at the altar, looking into your perfect eyes, knowing that they were about to embark on a journey together, hand in hand.

After marriage, they had talked about starting a family, about the joy of bringing a child into the world and raising them together. It was something they both wanted, something they had dreamed about during late-night conversations and quiet moments of reflection. And when you told him you where pregnant, Kyle had felt a joy so profound it had nearly brought him to his knees. It was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever worked for, coming together in that one perfect moment.

They had been so careful, so diligent. The nursery had been painted, the crib assembled with meticulous care, tiny clothes folded and put away in drawers. Every detail had been attended to, every step taken with the kind of love and devotion that only parents-to-be could understand. They have spent hours together, planning, dreaming, imagining the life they would give their child, the home they would create.

If only that was possible

It had started as a small spot of blood, barely noticeable, a mere hint that something might be amiss. But soon, the spotting had grown worse, accompanied by a sharp, stabbing pain that had caused you to collapse in your own home. The memory of it haunted kyle, replaying in his mind like a nightmare that wouldn’t let go- the way you had crumpled to the floor, your hands clutching your belly, the fear in your eyes as you looked up at him.

He had acted on instinct, scooping you up in his arms and rushing to the hospital, his heart pounding with terror, his mind a whirlwind of prayers and pleas.

The drive to the hospital had been a blur, his mind filled with the sound of your laboured breathing, the feel of your body trembling in his arms. He had begged the doctors to save you, to do anything they could.

The nurse looked up, meeting his gaze with a calmness that seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of his frantic emotions, she offered a gentle smile and for a brief fleeting moment kyle felt a sliver of hope pierce through his terror. “She is in stable condition, Mr. Garrick” she softly said, her voice soothing like a balm to his frayed nerves. “she’s in room 122”

Relief crashed over him, he released a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, nodding gratefully at the nurse before turning down the hallway she had indicated. Each step felt heavy, weighted with the anticipation and anxiety that had been building since he arrived. But the thought of seeing you, of holding your hand, of hearing your voice. These thoughts drove him forward, propelling him through the sterile corridors.

The number on each door blurred as he passed them, his entire focus narrowing to one goal: reaching room 122. When he finally arrived, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle as if needing to steel himself for whatever could be on the other side. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was quiet, bathed in the soft, golden light of the early morning. It was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. And there, in the centre of it all, was you, sitting up in the hospital bed, your face radiant despite the exhaustion etched in her features. In your arms, you cradled a tiny, swaddled figure- so small so fragile.

Kyles breath caught in his throat. His heart swelled as he watched the scene before him the sound of your gentle laughter filling the room like music. Your eyes, so full of warmth and love, met his as you noticed him standing there. “Kyle” you whispered, voice tender and full of joy. The smile that spread across your face was like the sun breaking through clouds after a storm. You looked down at your daughter, then back up at him, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears “do you want to hold her?” you giggled softly, lifting the tiny bundle of joy just slightly. As if to introduce their newborn to the man who had been waiting so long to meet her.

For a moment, everything else faded away. Kyle felt a rush of emotions – overwhelming love, Pure happiness, and a profound sense of completeness. This was the life they had dreamed of, the life they had built together through years of love and commitment he stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the small, perfect face of his daughter and reached out to touch her soft cheek, his fingers trembling with awe and reverence, your hand found his, their fingers intertwining as they both gazed down at their child, the embodiment of their love.

But just as he was about to speak, it was gone. It was all gone. The warmth, the light, the laughter it was all gone. The image of you so vibrant and full of life, was gone. Kyle blinked and just like that he was back at the reception desk. “I’m sorry, sir….” The nurses voice trembled, each word landing like ablow to kyles chest, the pit of dread in his stomach widening until it felt as though it might swallow him whole  “ it says here she passed due to placental abruption.”

The world seemed to stop. Time, which had been rushing forward in a frantic blurt of anxiety and fear, suddenly slowed to a crawl. The nurses words echoed in his mind, the meaning clear but impossible to accept. Kyle stood there, rooted to the spot, as if the ground had opened up beneath him, threatening to drag him into an abyss from which there was no return. Everything he held dear – his hopes, his dreams, his future – shattered in an instant, leaving him feeling hollow and numb.

A single tear traced  a slow. Deliberate path down his cheek, the first sign of the storm brewing inside him. He had tried so hard to stay strong, to keep it together, but now, in the face of this unbearable truth, the fragile damn of composure he had clung to was beginning to crack, His hands, which had always been steady and strong, trembled uncontrollably as he forced himself to speak, his voice barely more than a whisper, “can.. can I see her...?” The nurse nodded; her eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored his own. She turned and led him down a different hallway, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling the air, the silence of the hospital pressing in on him from all sides. Each step felt like an eternity, every fibre of his being screaming at him to turn and run, to escape this nightmare, but his feet carried him forward, one heavy step after another, towards the moment he had been dreading.

When they reached the room, the nurse paused, offering him one last glance of sympathy before gently pushing that door open. Kyle stood at the threshold, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in shallow uneven gasps. The frigid air from the room seeped into his bones, making his body feel as lifeless as his soul. He knew what awaited him inside, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside him. On the bed, beneath a stark white sheet, lay.. you. For a moment, he could convince himself that you were just sleeping, that if he whispered your name, you would stir, your eyes would flutter open, and you would smile at him the way you always did. But the stillness of your body and the unnatural pallor of your skin, told a different story. The woman he loved, the woman he had planned to grow old with, was gone.

Kyles legs felt like they might give out beneath him as he approached the bed. His hands shook as he reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the cold fabric of the sheet. He hesitated, his mind screaming at him to stop, to turn back, to run from this unbearable reality. But he couldn’t, he had to see you, had to say goodbye. With a deep shuddering breath, he pulled back the sheet, revealing your face. You looked peaceful, almost serene, as if you were merely asleep. But there was no mistaking the lifelessness in your features, the finality of death had claimed you. The sight of you like this, so still, so cold, was a knife twisting in his chest, cutting deeper with each passing second.

He buried his face in your chest, his sobs breaking free in the torrent of pain and anguish. He clung to you, his tears soaking through the fabric of your gown, as if somehow, by holding on tight enough, he could bring you back, could reverse the cruel fate that had stolen you away from him. But no amount of tears, no amount of pleading or praying, could change the reality that you were gone, and with you, the life you had dreamed of together. The dreams they had shared, the future they had planned, were now nothing more than cruel fantasies. He could still see the vision of you holding their daughter, the smile on your face as you introduced their newborn to him. It was now nothing more than a fading echo, a desperate attempt by his mind to cope with the unbearable truth.

Hours seemed to pass in that cold, sterile room, the silence closing in around him like a suffocating shroud. When he finally found the strength to pull himself away from you, to stand on trembling legs, he knew that this was his new reality: a life defined by loss, haunted by the memory of what could have been. The light in his world had been extinguished, leaving only darkness and the unbearable weight of grief.

The days that followed were a blur, each one bleeding into the next, marked only by the rituals of mourning. The funeral was arranged in a haze of numbness, Kyle moving through the motions as if in a dream. Friends and family gathered to pay their respects, their faces etched with sorrow , but their presence brought him no comfort. How could it? Nothing could fill the void left by your presence.

On the day of the funeral, the sky was overcast, heavy with unshed rain, as if even the heavens were mourning your loss. Kyle stood at the graveside, his body stiff with the effort of holding himself together. He watched as they lowered the casket into the ground, the finality of it crushing him. It was real now, you were truly gone, buried beneath the earth, and with you, all of the dreams they had shared. As the last of the dirt was shovelled onto your grave, something inside Kyle snapped. The grief, which had been a constant, gnawing pain in his chest, suddenly flared into something darker, something that threatened to consume him whole. He turned away from the grave, unable to bear the sight any longer, and walked back to the car, the faces of those around him blurring into a sea of meaningless condolences.

When he returned to their home, the emptiness was suffocating. Every corner, every piece of furniture, every photograph on the wall was a reminder of the life they had built together, a life that was now reduced to memories and what-ifs. The nursery, once filled with hope and anticipation, now felt like a tomb, a place where dreams had come to die.

In the days that followed, Kyle found solace in the bottom of a bottle. Alcohol became his constant companion, numbing the pain, dulling the sharp edges of his grief. He drank to forget, to escape the unbearable reality that you were gone, that the future they had planned was no more. But the alcohol also fuelled his anger, his frustration at the cruel hand fate had dealt him.

One night, in a drunken haze, Kyle stumbled into the nursery. The sight of the crib, the tiny clothes, the toys neatly arranged on the shelves—it was too much. The rage that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted, and he tore through the room, destroying everything in his path. The crib was smashed to pieces, the clothes ripped from their hangers, the toys hurled against the wall. By the time he was done, the nursery was in ruins, a reflection of the desolation in his heart.

He collapsed on the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of what had once been his hopes and dreams, and let the tears come. They were hot, bitter, and unrelenting, a flood of grief that left him exhausted and empty. The house, once filled with love and laughter, was now a silent, barren shell, and Kyle was left alone to face the darkness that had taken hold of his life.

In the weeks that followed, Kyle became a ghost of the man he had once been. He withdrew from the world, isolating himself from the people who cared about him. He couldn’t bear their pity, their well-meaning attempts to help him move on. How could they understand? How could anyone understand the depth of his loss, the gaping hole in his heart that nothing could fill?

The days blurred into one another, each one marked by the same routine: drink until the pain dulled, sleep, wake up, and do it all over again. But even in his drunken stupor, Kyle couldn’t escape the memories of you, of the life they had shared, of the future they had planned. Those memories haunted him, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

And so, he drifted through his days, lost in a sea of grief and alcohol, a man broken by loss, clinging to the shattered remnants of a life that had slipped through his fingers. The future, once so bright and full of promise, was now nothing more than a bleak, endless void. And in that void, Kyle was left to face the unbearable truth: that you were gone, and with you, the light in his world had been extinguish

[fandomgodmother420]

So the new wake up chapter huh?

@peninkwrites

[picturefirelizards]

something about the cat king being related to desire headcanon is hysterical to me since dream is like basically a god for cats. do you think he’s mad about desire’s kid being the king of cats because I absolutely do

[hamletthedane]

“Isn’t it weird that we don’t use cell phones in our dreams”

That’s not weird. What’s weird is that we cannot READ in our dreams. What the fuck is with that. We don’t talk about this enough - it’s so spooky.

[stealingyourbones]

Did some sketches of things I see in my dreams and I comply can’t convey the sheer foreboding and sense of otherworldly daunting forces in my drawings

[age-of-moonknight]

“Crusader,” Phases of the Moon Knight (Vol. 1/2024), #1.

Writer: Benjamin Percy; Artist: Rod Reis; Letterer: Cory Petit