ready, willing, and able ❄ dreamscape au

  • [ let's get Funky! tw for unreality/weirdness ♥ ]


    Fat droplets of the dripping green sky splashed down on Darjeeling's skin. The immense snake hissed in some disappointment and, in a blur of color, transformed. He reached up one long arm and batted at one of the cyan clouds, unfurling a piece of the cloudyarn and chuckling a bit as it piled at his feet. Then he bent his head and began to eat, gnawing on the brightly-colored strands; they transformed into meat between his teeth, and he felt quite content to eat even as the emerald sky slowly emptied out over the plaid-patterned desert sands.

    STEADY IS THE HAND THAT'S COME TO TERMS

  • Sangria's dreamworld was far less fantastical. Less one thing morphing to the next in simple fluid motions, and more faces passing by in rapid speeds, many she recognized but couldn't put names to, and others she somehow knew the names of but couldn't see the faces. It had been a wall of faces for what felt like ages before she stumbled upon Darjeeling, hunched over and chewing on what she perceived to be simple grass and flowers. "Are we sheep, now?" she asked absentmindedly, her legs bending unnaturally slow so that she, too, could eat the weird stringy grass.


    [ TAGS ] [ PLOT ]

    [ shaymin for pokemon week ]

    no, there's nothing that i wouldn't do
    to make you feel my love

    jongria_cuddles.png

    queen sangria tormenta million, dawningcrown and healinghand of solaris kingdom

    siggie & avatar art by meghan♡

  • Galahad often dreamt of eyes before he dreamt of faces. It was an odd thing, to once be surrounded by nothing but an endless pit of swirling, spilling eyes, falling into their depths as if he was falling into an endless abyss. He feels like he is falling forever, through space, time, and anything else that may exist between that. When he finally hits the ground the weird, stringy grass turns into bright purple puddles beneath his paws, opening his own eyes only for them to be endless pits of swirls as well. Have we not always been sheep? He answers, eyes beginning to drip the same purple, I don’t feel very hungry, I think I might be too tiny, Suddenly, he turned into a mouse, squeaking in the puddles he continued to make.

    THE CHILD HAS GROWN, THE DREAM IS GONE

    . *⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆* .

  • ☆☆☆ there were a few issues marigold was facing in the lands he so fleetingly saw, no dreams of his ever boding well for long. it seemed he was metallic, magnetized, drawn towards others, for though everything seemed normal he came across the decidedly odd scene of his friends all together, eating the candy-grass of the desert. hm. also odd was the tom's relationship with gravity, as it seemed that they'd broken up without him noticing. "anybody mind tying me down? i can't seem to get set down on my feet," he said, though the words were soft despite him quite nearly yelling. oh well; marigold had long accepted that he'd float away one day.

       

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    A BUSTED WING AND A HORNET STING

    sir alcides million go deo + hp of sk + leader of dd + tags

    FEELS LIKE AN OUT OF TUNE GUITAR

  • Icarus dreams of the heavens. Clouds lap at his paws like waves against a shore — they beckon him, tugging at the very depths of his soul as the moon pulls the tides, a call he cannot refuse. He wades until the sky wraps itself around him. High above, blades of grass dot an emerald empyrean; down below, feathers whisper and sigh beneath his weight, taking flight in the wake of each step. And when Darjeeling pulls down strands of cloudyarn, Icarus comes tumbling down with it. Sunlight pools at his feet until it is blinding, but the light that sears down his spine is cold and the wind that whips past his ears is eerily silent. He can't tell whether it's flying or falling. When Icarus opens his eyes, faces surround him. Faint remnants of cloud-dust begin to meld into his fur. He speaks, and ash spills from his lips, "How can you be sure of which way is down?"