Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

[daemonomicon.livejournal.com]

Nighttime.

Or, at least, what passed for nighttime on the meatship.

A time when most of the crew was already fast asleep, dreaming away pleasantly throughout the night.

...Or, perhaps not. For you see, tonight, something particularly strange is happening.

Now it is not all that unusual for someone to have a nightmare, especially not on the ship.

Yet tonight, no one will sleep easily, for the Nightmare King deems it so.

Everyone's dreams will have a tinge of horror to them. Nothing so out of the ordinary to rouse one's suspicions, but at the same time, no one is left out.

Pleasant nightmares, meatship.

[ooc: And thus begins the start of the Nightmare King's spree of insanity. He's starting out subtle, of course. The nightmares won't be anything more than your run of the mill bad dream, but he is giving them to everyone. Posting in isn't mandatory, but if you want to have fun with your character's nightmare, go right ahead.]

Comments

[lackofdarkwings.livejournal.com]

Matt was sleeping fitfully that night. One moment he was walking along Meridian's streets and then the entire world went out of something like an Escher painting.

Groaning, he paused to catch his breath. "Will?" he called out. "Taranee? Cornelia! Irma! Hay Lin! Elyon? Caleb? ANYONE!"

"There is nothing here but weirdness," said a small green gremlin-like being that smelled bad. "Nothing but weirdness, darkness, and possibly pork sausages."

Matt paused at that. "Why pork sausages?"

"I like them. And you have to eat them before they eat you." replied the green smelly gremlin.

"Whu--?AUGH!"

And the pork sausage loomed overhead, preparing to eat Matt.

[pocketloli.livejournal.com]

"Hayate? HAYATE! Mou..."

Rein floated down the hallways of the TSAB searching for Hayate. "Where could she be?"

Pushing a door open, she saw a familiar bob of brown hair. "Oh there you are desu~!"

"Oh hello Rein-chan," smiled Hayate from her position. "Want to join me?"

"Huh?! W-wait Hayate, you can't mean...!" And then Rein suddenly found herself at five foot nothing. "Wait, no, I'm not ready! Hayate! HAYATE! NOOOOOOOOO!"

In the real world, Rein moaned and turned over. "No Hayate-chan, I can't eat that much food... stop feeding me... nooooooo...."

[potentialmonkey.livejournal.com]

"KP! You're here!" Ron called, spotting a a familiar head of red hair in the crew lounge.

And as the teen hero turned, Ron gibbered in horror. "Ron, you're the chef? Oh that's great! I could sure go for some banana creme pie..." she said. her monkey-like face fully revealed.

"AUGH!"

[potentialmonkey.livejournal.com]

Rufus whimpered as the gorcery store clerk spoke. "There's no cheese. Anywhere. And there never will be ever again."

[ladyofthesands.livejournal.com]

Arha trudged through the red sands, squinting into the sunset, the shimmer of the day's trapped heat sizzling around her. She was not dressed for this. The long cream colored gown whipped and snapped at her as she turned to glance behind her, far off into the distance where a glimmer of light reflected sharply.

She could not go back to the white dunes, that way was closed. With a slight frown, she slip-slid forward, her sandaled feet sinking into the sand, then deeper until she toppled forward and rolled down the embankment, the action careless and noisy. She could hear the way the earth shifted, rattling the dune beneath her as she struggled to her feet.

She had to run.

The sand pulled at her, licking at her thighs as if it were muck and when she looked down it was watery. She sank further and kept moving while the world shook and a roar split the air. A dark shape blotted out the dying sun and Arha looked...up.

Oct-o-pooze?

Her eyes widened as its arms twisted and curled into odd shapes, then dove straight at her, wrapping around her. Arha opened her mouth to say something.

HUNGRY!

What?

Oct-o-pooze rattled her and yelled again in a sort of weird warbling hum and then tried to bite off her head. She yelled back and the whole landscape shuddered...just as Oct-o-pooze started to melt.

With permission.

[yubyubcommander.livejournal.com]

This was when the dreamscape just got weird. The sand was slowly melting, twisting, turning into a sludge of water and sand, and then just to water. This was, of course, when Wedge Antilles floated by on an inflatable X-wing, an equally inflatable astromech bobbing along next to him.

[governorkang]

He was back in the village he and his regiment had built, in the valley between Mount Celebund and Mount Dashinak. The dwarves were raiding again; he could hear orders being shouted by the other officers, insults thrown back and forth in Common, and the occasional spell chanted by a bozak.

Kang slammed the hilt of his sword down on the back of the neck of the dwarf he was facing, knocking the hairy little bastard unconscious and taking the short breather to look around. Gloth had apparently been knocked out, slumped against a wall, and he watched as another dwarf, a runty, uglier-than-usual one, ran by laughing gleefully, clutching something it its hands. Squinting, he realized that something was his holy symbol, and growling, he chased after, shouting curses. "By the gods, Selquist, I'll have you gutted for this!"

Selquist merely laughed, dodging draconians as he headed for the village gate, "Only if you can catch me, lizard-brains!"

"Fulkth, close the damn gate!" Kang yelled, nearly tripping over another draco's tail. Instead of the usual wooden door being pulled shut, however, a rickety and rusty portcullis slammed down, and several sivaks, wearing the tabards of the Queen's Own, appeared outside. The medallion in Selquist's hand grew larger, encasing the dwarf's body in black armor decorated with symbols of death as his features shifted to that of a redheaded woman, laughing as she taunted the sivaks with her sword through the portcullis.

"Huzzad!" Kang stopped where he was, his heart practically in his throat, as she turned her head to look back at him and grin. The sivaks backed away, and he watched, paralyzed as one of them pointed a crossbow straight at his friend.

The crossbow twanged as it was fired.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

There is the thok of impact—

—and a human girl in a red cloak stands, one arm outstretched, the bolt caught neatly with that hand.

[greennotgold]

Fletcher was on the ship, of course. It was the only place he could be anymore. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he was making his way down the halls, walking briskly, almost running. There was a sense of urgency; he had to get... somewhere, he had to find something. If he didn't...

The halls had so many twists and turns and branching paths they might as well have belonged to a labyrinth. He didn't know which way to go, so he took each intersection randomly. There were doors to either side of him, but instinctively he knew there was no point to opening them. Whatever he was searching for wouldn't be inside.

This intersection was one he knew. He'd been to it before, he knew somehow. He slowed as he came to the middle and looked around; if it was possible, he was getting even more worried. Last time he'd gone left... So this time he went right. He didn't know how far he walked and how many more times he turned, but the further he went, the more the dread grew in him. It was inevitable; and he proved himself right with just one more turn. It was the same intersection again.

It was futile. No matter how many times he tried, or which turns he took, he kept winding up back there again. If there was one thing he new with absolute certainty, it was that he would never get out of this maze.

Separate, but related

[just-like-daddy.livejournal.com]

Russel was also on the ship, lost, confused, alarmed. There was the same urgency in his actions as in Fletcher's. But what he was seeking was far different. He was looking for Fletcher. He had to find him as soon as possible. He could hear him calling him. There was no pain in his voice, only an urgent desperation edging on terror. He kept telling the boy that he was on his way, just wait a little longer, that he would be there to help and everything would be okay--

If he could only get there. Where was he? He kept calling to him, getting a response, and being so very close-- But nothing.

Time was running out. He had to find him. Or he would never forgive himself.

[morphitudinous]

Green.

Billy's vision was filled entirely with green. The green pressed sharply against his cheeks, digging into him, providing an unsettling tingling sensation---oh, that was just the grass. Pushing himself unsteadly onto his hands and knees, he lifted his head and saw a most troubling sight.

The backs of Tommy, Kimberly, Rocky, Aisha, and Adam were before him, their clothing burned in several places. Wounds littered their arms and legs. Panicking, Billy jumped up and took his place beside Tommy. If Billy had paid attention, he might have noticed that he was suspiciously uninjured, or that the other Rangers never acknowledged him, but the sight the other Rangers were fixed on had completely consumed his attention.

Before them sat Angel Grove. Or, to be more precise, what remained of Angel Grove. The familiar park was completely consumed by flame, the school and Youth Center were reduced to rubble, and no sign remained that their homes had ever existed. Bits of twisted metal that he recognized as the remains of their Zords littered the streets.

"I don't believe it," whispered Tommy brokenly.

"I never thought this could happen again," mourned Kimberly.

Concerned, Billy tried to set a hand on his leader's arm. He found that his hand passed right through. Billy moved down the line of Rangers, calling their names and trying to touch them, but none responded. Finally, he stood silently at Adam's side while the apparent cause of this disaster arose from the ashes.

The five defeated Rangers glared at their conqueror, pain evident in their eyes. Billy glared too, but no amount of intense focus changed that he only saw a humanoid black shadow standing on the head of the fallen Tigerzord. That was odd, as they were in bright daylight.

"You're finished," hissed the shadow man in an oddly distorted voice. "Enjoy your miserable lives while you can, because I can assure you that they won't last much longer!" With a foreboding laugh, the shadow man vanished, his fist clenched around something that Billy couldn't see.

"This is it," Adam sighed mournfully.

"Game over," added Aisha.

"How could he do this?" pondered Rocky.

All throughout, Billy tried to scream. It's not over! I'll help you! This world still exists, we still have time to save it! But he'd learned from the past few minutes that attempts to interact with his friends were futile. He could only look helplessly on as his friends were consumed with despair. Who on earth could be responsible for this?

Elsewhere, in the world outside his head, Billy Cranston twisted on the bed in restless sleep.

[punyparker.livejournal.com]

Peter Parker sleeps fitfully, his frame sprawled face down and with a complete lack of grace across the breadth of his bead. He kicks like a dog chasing dream cats and the sound of mumbles and squeaks is muffled by his pillow.

On another plane entirely, he stands amid a street. It has the appearance of disrepair, as if there had been riots. The furtive voices of his companions talk of the undead and the apocalypse. Further down the road and devoid of any concern, a homeless man stands amid the bracken of a hedge, a shopping cart full of his findings sitting patiently next to him.

The people urge him to return to the safety of the house with them, but he refuses to go. I like my independence, he says. Without warning the zombies are upon them and arms must be taken. From the shopping cart he produces the robes of a priest and dons them, his demeanour and posture, his entire being transforming into something cold and unfeeling.

A pair of handguns appear from nowhere and he fights with passionless abandon for some time, before returning to the cart. Like Mr. Ben, it is as if each new costume provides him with a new voice and purpose. Next he is the rugged prisoner of war taking desperate vengeance upon his captors. Then he is a prim Wall Street Banker, eloquently extoling the virtues of Fore!, arguably Huey Lewis and the News' best work, as he takes to the shambling undead with a chainsaw. After that he is a Grecian fisherman, who proves rather useless and morose.

It is this disconcerting sight that finally rouses Spider-Man from his sleep, and he spasms his way onto his back, chest heaving as his eyes grope for something about the room to focus on.

What the hell was that?!

[enter-aeneas.livejournal.com]

((ooc: Warning! Long post is extremely long and full of wonderful character development! Having someone come wake him up is allowed and somewhat encouraged?))

Aeneas did not dream.

Okay, that’s a blatant lie. He actually dreamed a lot, and on a fairly regular basis; but the content of dreams, as programmed even in an alien’s brain, is to sift through memories, melding them together into a complex web of makeshift stories and scenarios as to prepare the host for the wildest of things.

Having a system completely dependant on memories, however, obviously poses some problems for someone with amnesia.

And so we come across the oddity that was Aeneas’s current dream.

He had fallen asleep, finally, inside the City. There was an old building with only two floors, the top one open to the air so that a pleasant (if not artificial) breeze circulated through at regular intervals. It was far more comfortable a place to settle down than even in one of the crew cabins, some of which Aeneas had stumbled upon during his casual walks around the meatship. Yet it was here, in the midst of ruin and decay, where he chose his new housing…

…Aeneas was far from the ship. He was far from Stacy, far from his new friends and acquaintances, safe in his own universe, perfectly safe and at ease. The regular gusts of air slowly melded together until it was all one sensation of gentle cooling; only then was he able to see around him.

He was in a room of sort. It was spacious yet quaint, distant if only because the walls were blurry and hard to distinguish from other possible landmarks, such as furniture. As a matter of fact it was mostly blank, possibly even empty; Aeneas felt that he was the only one there, completely alone, forgotten…

No, that wasn’t right. He was alone, yes, and he was feeling lonely, sure—but that would only come if he were expecting to be in the company of others. He was waiting for someone. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember…

And, all at once, someone was there. This one was…much larger than Aeneas, by at least a foot or so, and still they seemed thin, supple even, delicate and sweet and soft and wonderful. This one was, undoubtedly, female. A female of Aeneas’s species, no less.

Her name…what was her name? He knew she had a name—he knew she had a face, too, but even that was lost in the dream’s haziness. She was only a deep, royal blue blob upon the blank background, walking towards him slowly, seductively; after an indistinguishable amount of time she was next to him, gently pulling her webbed hand through his thick shoulder fur…

Aeneas was lying on his back, surrounded by his many tools and incomplete gadgets strewn about the cold floor. His back legs were in the air; one of them was twitching methodically, as if treading water. Needless to say, the creature was looking pretty happy with himself and his dream world (the clearest one he’d had in working memory)—for a nightmare, this definitely could be a lot worse.

Things were starting to clear up…

[visserbasher.livejournal.com]

Loren was back at her home. As usual for dreams, this didn't seem to bother her.

"Mom?" She called.

"In here."

Loren walked in the direction of her mother's voice until she came to the living room. She found her mother sitting on a rocking chair knitting... something.

...Knitting?

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making a sweater for the baby." Her mother replied cheerfully.

Loren blinked. "Baby? What baby?"

"Oho don't be silly." Her mother laughed. "Your baby. He's due any day now, isn't he?"

"What?" Then Loren looked down and- and- dear God, she was huge! "What the- but I'm not preg-"

"Honey, I'm hoooome." And at that moment the boy from MacDonald with the horrible facial acne walked in the room. "Don't you have a kiss for your husband?"

"HUSBAND? What about- where's Elfangor?"

"Elfangor? You've been watching too much Star Trek again, haven't you?" Her 'husband' grinned. "Now come here."

Loren was saved by the loud, wailing cry of...

A baby?

Loren spun around to look at her mother. Instead of knitting a sweater she was now holding a baby swaddled in blankets. "Oh, he missed his daddy. Look at him," Her mother held up the baby so she could see his face, which was covered in pimples. "He looks just like his father!"



Loren awoke with a start. "Aah! Oh God!"

[el-escarabajo.livejournal.com]

It's the same dream as before (http://community.livejournal.com/trans_9/154557.html?thread=11686845#t11686845). Almost. There are a few changes now.

Instead of just the GTFO team watching him, the entire crew is. They're behind the glass, trying to get to him, pounding on it, but it's soundproof and can't be broken. They can only watch.

Only now they're trying to escape from something, too. Far off in the distance, but slowly closing in is a ravening horde of undead. The twisted, naked forms of the people in podsleep. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children...

The innocents whose lives Jaime Reyes' mistake cost. They're staring too, across all that distance, as they close in, staring beyond their prey, through the glass, at him. Their cloudy eyes are somehow filled with judgment.

The crew is trapped on the other side of the glass with them, and Jaime knows, he knows his mistakes will cost more lives. He knows. The dead are waiting, they're waiting to let more dead join them, they're waiting for his mistakes.

He kneels on the floor in a blue and black jumpsuit, hands bound behind his back. In front of him, instead of the Negotiator, instead of Max Lord, instead of anyone else, there is a gun held to his head, but it's held by a retractable arm, attached to a great, glowing red eye, edged by sinister spikes of technology.

Hal9000.

[cityship]

You knew it would come to this, Reyes. You knew this is how it would end. Did you really think you could protect them? That you could protect anyone?

[playsin-traffic.livejournal.com]

Tony finds himself in Los Angeles. He's a wolf and he's running, running, running, a full moon blazing brightly overhead. All of the usual lights are gone. L.A. is strangely dark. Pavement past him, trash crunches and scatters under paw until he slowly comes to a stop. He's in an empty intersection, abandoned cars scattered around him. It's brightly lit, the silvery light cast by Luna flickering long shadows over the ground. Filled with the joy and glorious rage of Luna, he tilts his head back to howl in triumph. It catches in his throat as the sky darkens suddenly, clouds rolling over the moon. He whimpers, slowly dropping his tail and circling with a whine. He wants to go back to being human - it's what he feels safest as. Even Crinos would be better.

And then there's a hyena like cackle out of the shadows and darkness surrounding him. His fur bristles and he growls, whirling as his hackles rise. He's not alone here. He can feel it. Something clatters and then a trash-can rattles it's way out of the shadows and clangs into one of the cars. Tony - no, Plays. He's Plays-in-Traffic, always has been. Plays crouches for a leap, growl growing louder. That's when they step out of the darkness. At least three of them, all in Crinos, with sickly, matted, mangy fur and a crazy look in their eyes. Black Spiral Dancers. He has no pack at his pack and he mentally prepares himself for death, even as fear freezes him in place.

He wants to run, to move, to do something, but he can only watch as they creep closer, the cackling growing louder.

Plays-in-Traffic, Philodox of the Bone Gnawers.

The voice simply is.

Come with us. Join us, brother.

Unbidden, his paws skitter him forward a few feet, into the waiting embrace of the Black Spirals. Panic sets in and he wants to scream and yell and run Run until this is all behind him. The Spirals are strangle affectionate, prowling around him, herding him onwards through the dark and abandoned city streets, his body failing to obey him.

I'm not like you!

He screams in his own head.

I am Garou! I am of Gaia! GET AWAY FROM ME!

Echoing, hyena-like laughter again.

You didn't kill Wyrm during your first change. You're just like us. You're exactly like us. Join us.

The city morphs around him, falling into more decay, more corruption. Cracked streets and buildings falling apart. And he sees the Spiral. He knows where they're taking him.

He screams as he wakes up.

[notsaintkaiser.livejournal.com]

All around Vivio was nothing but darkness. For some odd reason, she was in her adult form, her Barrier Jacket formed around her.

"Nanoha-mama? Fate-mama?" Vivio called out. "Rein-chan? Anyone?"

Vivio. A voice called out. The girl turned to see two familiar figures.

"Nanoha-mama! Fate-mama!" Vivio called out, her lips curling into a large smile as she ran up to them. She stopped as she watched them raise Raising Heart and Bardiche at her. "Nanoha-mama? Fate-mama? Wh-what's wrong?"

We gave you a chance to be more independent. A chance to prove you were more responsible... Nanoha droned out.

It looks like we made a mistake. Fate droned as well. At that, things started to clear up... to see many of the people she met on the ship on the ground. Were they knocked out? Unconscious? Or maybe...

"Wh-what...? I-I didn't...!" Vivio stammered, confused.

You must be punished for what you did, Vivio. Nanoha said. Raising Heart. Blaster Three.

Vivio's eyes went wide as she watched the bit-like devices appear around Raising Heart.

This is for your own good. Fate said. Sacred Heart. Mode Release.

Vivio let out a gasp as she was returned to normal. She watched as her Device wandered off.

"K-Kris! Come back! Nanoha-mama! Fate-mama! Please! Don't do this...!"

We gave you a chance and you disappointed us. You need to have your head cooled down. Now.

"Mama, no! Please! Don't!"

"MAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Vivio screamed out, snapping out of her dream. She quickly sat up, panting, quickly looking around, then grabbing the concerned Sacred Heart.

They wouldn't do that. They wouldn't go that far... would they...? Vivio said as she held on to Sacred Heart, trying not to cry.

[starlightace]

Of course, her room is right next to her mothers', and the wall is very thin - it isn't thirty seconds before Nanoha (the blankets gathered around her shoulders - is knocking at the door of Vivio's bedroom, sounding concerned.

"Vivio? Are you okay?"

[notlewis]

Sera, I expected more progress than this.

The voice was oily and unmistakable-- there was no inflection that sent chills down Luis' spine quite like that almost amicable tone put on by Osmund Saddler. He was standing right behind him, watching him work-- or at least that's what it sounded like to him, because when he glanced over his shoulder there was nobody there. Nothing but a dark laboratory.

On the table before him lay a man with his head covered by a sheet. His arms and legs were strapped to the table and his body was cut wide open for surgery. He was all wrong though. His skin was jaundiced and clammy, his blood rusty-colored and smelling rotten, his organs dull and hard instead of the healthy pink of a human body.

You are the best of the best, Sera. I would have no other for my right hand, you know. We are counting on you. Don't you want to get rid of this affliction?

Luis was operating frantically on the man-- or what had been a man, at least, before the disgusting, squiggling parasite within his chest had taken hold. It squirmed violently under the bright lights, its whip-like arms reaching down into the patient's body and wrapping themselves tightly around tissues and bones. He could see where it had grown into the patient's spine, where it had hijacked his nervous system and transformed him from a human into one of the muttering savages, Los Ganados. The parasite was slowly growing upwards and where it would eventually force its way up through the brain. He had to stop it. He had to get it out.

But no matter how quickly he operated, what cuts he made or how long he had been standing here, Las Plagas kept hold. The patient bled and bled and wouldn't die. His body began to rot and still he screamed in pain and struggled against his restraints. Sweat poured down Luis' face, his hands cramped, he was exhausted, but he couldn't stop operating. Couldn't stop working.

What would your dear abuelo say if he saw you now, Sera? Wouldn't he be proud of you, of the position you've taken? You are to be the savior of your village. With your help, Los Illuminados will save them. Save them all.

Save them from this sickening humanity. And it's all because of you, my boy.

If it weren't for your work, none of this would have been possible.

This is all your doing, Luis Sera. The world has you to thank for the miracle of Las Plagas.

What would your abuelo say if he could see you now?

The sheet slipped away from the patient's face and Luis reeled back at the sight of his grandfather, screaming in agony as Las Plagas erupted from his skull.

[governmentninja]

[jesushasayak.livejournal.com]

"Ugh. Now I'm not so hungry for tofu anymore," says a voice, and if Leon looks, he'll see a young man, bald, swathed in saffron robes, with some very odd tattoo work, standing on the roof of a Gas n' Gulp.

And he'd really been craving some tofu, too.

He sticks out his tongue to the side in disgust.

[theregularguy.livejournal.com]

It is cold. Normally, Sokka does not mind the cold, but this is different. It bites through him, cuts him down to the bone. It is not cold he can escape or do away with or prevent, despite the clothing he wears, the warm parkas and furs of his people. It is cold and he is alone. The young man shivers, hunched as he is on an ice floe, drifting, drifting slowly across open seas.

He is alone. He knows it. He is totally and bitterly alone. Katara isn't hear. Dad isn't here. Toph, Zuko, Aang, Suki...Kelly. None of them are here to help him or stand by him. And so he drifts, alone and cold, in the dark, across an unforgiving sea. He huddles in on himself, suddenly feeling very small and frightened.

Wait. He knows this ice floe. It is where he and his sister found Aang. He stands, turning to face the massive wall of ice where once a boy was imprisoned. Funny...that tunnel was not there. At least, he doesn't remember it. He takes a step forward, feeling the spear in his hand, then slowly begins moving into the dark opening, sensing a bare flicker of light at the far end. His mind tells him that this tunnel cannot possibly be this long, but he ignores it, groping his way along.

As he goes, the floor of the tunnel becomes less slick and icy, becomes more firm, as if it was stone or some other material. He emerges at last into the light, finding himself on some platform. For what purpose, he can't discern, though when he looks over the edge are are odd metal tracks along the floor. What was this place?...Where was he?

And still. That terrible crushing feeling of being alone.

[cityship]

There's a roaring sound and a line shines down the tunnel. It's moving closer. Something huge is rumbling towards him.

[notadamnangel.livejournal.com]

Dean frowned in his sleep, turning on his side to curl up a little. Having Sam here helped him get some sleep, though visions of hell and the devil wearing his brother's face still crop up.

Tonight it was something else though. He winced against the bright lights overheard, and wondered about the rhythmic clapping coming from somewhere in the darkness. He then heard a pop-like sounding chord of music, and a loud voice announcing, "Welcome to Idol Dreamz!"

"Aw hell no," he stated bluntly and started looking for an escape before a spotlight hit him squarely in the face. Great, if he was stuck in TVland again, he'll sing but his own way dammit. None of this pop bullshit. He went to straighten his leather jacket, and then patted himself. He then stared at the polo shirt with a little angel shaped logo on the upper left, and the ...oh dude seriously? Chinos? AND loafers? He felt like throwing up right now.

"Dean Winchester, that was a cheery rendition of a Wham song. Now let's see what the judges think." Wham? As in cheesy 80s pop crap? They had to be kidding!

He turned to the judges, or rather angels apparently. Zachariah was sitting in Simon's position, Anna apparently was Paula and of course freaking Gabriel was on the end.

"Not bad, you could still go far. Work on that falsetto some more," the trickster angel commented.

Anna smiled, "I thought you sounded just wonderful. Especially during the wake me up chorus."

Somebody shoot him. Please. Oh maybe Zachariah's going to pull the trigger?

Nope, the angel just scowled, "You're still not fully singing to your potential. You really need to open up."

The host then rattled off a number for the audience to vote, and then announced that next week the contestants would be singing their favorite emo song.

Dean almost threw himself out of bed, yelling loudly, and panting a few times.

[telekinetic_badass]

Julian was resting comfortably in his nice, warm bed. He stirred slightly, cuddling more against the soft, warm body next to--

....wait.

I got laid last night?

Did he? You think he'd be able to remember something like that, though he could've sworn he went to bed alone. Feeling around slightly, he confirmed that he was in bed with a girl (who had some nice boobs), though he still couldn't remember who. So, tiredly, he opened one eye, and lifted up the covers a bit to get a better look at who he was tangled up with.

[powersurge.livejournal.com]

Nori stirred, groaning a little and obviously unhappy at being woken up. She was warm, comfortable, and-

Then it finally registered she was curled up in bed with someone, and she was a little less comfortable. She hadn't gone to bed with anyone, and there really were no options she'd consider on this ship that she'd met so far... She cautiously turned her head to look over at whoever it was she was sleeping with, ready to zap them out of the bed if it was some skeevy pervert who'd snuck in while she'd been passed out.

It took her a second to register the features of who she was with, but when she did she bolted upright, automatically skirting a few inches away.

"Julian, What the hell?!"

[craaazyisland]

Gunfire and sirens were audible in the distance, beyond the high metal walls that separated the prison barracks from the courtyard and the gate to the bridge across the island. A few missiles had already detonated overhead-- the sound of their explosions were ringing in his ears as he ran through the alley behind the medical building, in between the fires and piles of rubble.

"This one again. Great. Really creative, me," Steve muttered to himself. He had the Rockfort Island dream dozens of times now. "So now what, the zombies start coming out of the ground? My dad pops up behind me and starts chasing me? I get locked in the torture chamber again?"

"Steve!" A woman's voice screamed in terror from far away. "Steve, where are you? What's going on? Steve?"

Steve froze in his tracks and backed a little further into the alley.

"Oh, screw you, nightmare."

[cityship]

That's when a tattooed arm grabs and yanks him into the dark of the alley.

Wow, is he screwed that fast? Already grabbed by a zombie?

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

The sands smelled like blood and offal. Some long ago theorist had said you can't smell in dreams and somehow the notion had persisted down the years, but Sheeana very much smelled it, sharp coppery stink as faces and limbs were shovelled up from the sands by bald priests in white robes.

She was back on Rakis and once again a small, dirty, fiery Fremen child. Worms swayed all around her like tame, charmed snakes, and as each shovelful was brought up, it was tossed into their burning mouths. Tripartite, they parted to recieve the gibs and roar their approval. Here a ringed hand, there a woman's face, a foot, a child's thumb.

Noone would listen to her. Noone would stop. She felt as if she would lose her stomach's water on the sands.

Until women in black robes emerged from behind the worms. Suddenly she was not small and she was recognizing these women: broad-haunched, wiry Siona, motherly, round featured Darwi, fat, old and wrinkly Bellonda...Her mohalata, her allies in Other Memory.

"It's a trick, Mouse. Someone's in here with you." And she realized it was true. The bodies were phantom bodies. The priests were shadows of light (that is, shades of a darkness that portrayed itself as light). And she had a crysknife in her hand. And she was suddenly angry.

[forced-unlife.livejournal.com]

Not all the bodies were phantoms. One in particular dragged itself out from the pile of illusionary corpses, brushing off anachronistic and out of place armor. "Milady Brugh?" the man inquired, arching an eyebrow at the knife-wielding woman.

"Where are we?" The last thing Khel recalled was attempting a brief ethereal travel. Then something about fears rushing past him, and suddenly he'd been catapulted ... here.

[not-prncss-tldr.livejournal.com]

Suspended in glittering black, Lafiel was outside of the concerns of gravity. She hovered over the planet, above the wash of the troposphere, clear of the gravitic well that would pull her in and burn her up in the reentry.

She was in space. She was breathing.

Jinnto was not so fortunate. She spied him from the corner of her eye, a heap of brown haired unfortunate everyman hurtling towards the brilliant blue.

She had had this nightmare before. She would reach out and try to catch him and miss by a hair's width.

This time it didn't. Her slender arm shot out and their hands intertwined. She pulled as hard as she could, hearing the rush as the atmosphere rose to meet them. She called his name and it was swallowed on the winds.

Gravity still didn't apply to her so she could stay where she was. He, however, was still being pulled downward. She could not let go if she tried.

Her name on his lips was quickly replaced by an agonized scream. Their hands were bound together like welded carbon. His arm began to pop. Pop pop poppity. Elbow and shoulder joints ripped out of alignment and skin stretched taut.

Obscene cracks appeared in the skin of his arm. First muscle, then sinew, then bone, they all showed. His screams were still swallowed by the wind but his face contorted into an agonized rictus. And there she realized his arm would not come away clean. She could not let go.

She was pulling out his heart.

Lafiel woke up screaming.

[lilyofthedrills.livejournal.com]

With Yuri, there had been a bit of buyer's paralysis. So many nightmare had lurked in her subconscious, septic and overflowing, cackling at her at night, so many bad experiences, mind rapes, near deaths...

In the end, it had become a sample plate, a mashup, a clip show.

Presenting:

...Borg's grinning maw the first time she had to put him on. Tongue lolled obscenely then described a circle that licked green trails across her face.

...Cornered by the Ushigata. Hoof-arms as hard as those of an Ankylosaurus hammered at the feeble shield of Borg's wings. The impact vibrated her small bones. She stayed curled up. "Oh no...Oh no! Oh no! Stop! Stop!"

...The death of her first Borg. Ambushed in the alien depository (already a place for nightmares: dank, dark, ramshackle, squeaking of the corrugated steel roof blending with the unearthly sound of the captives there). Three boys, and they had pierced the Borg with their false imitations of him. Something had unlocked within her and her symbiont. His skin had fallen away. Out came his true body, white flowing hair. The slaughter that followed was something else. So was the all night crying.


...Kasumi plopping from the skin of the dead Yellow Knife creature, naked and slimy as if just birthed. She had lept onto Kumi and those light and delicate looking hands had closed on her friend's throat.

...The Sunflower landing on her head, spreading a sleepy somnabulant apathy over her. She no longer wanted to resist it. Those thoughts were from a previous life, an incorrect one. Now it was time to kill the aliens. No not your friends. Aliens. A-l-i-e-n-s. Trust us. You want to do this. There's a good girl.

____________________________________________________

After the initial scream, Yuri pulled the furry, living blanket back over herself. She knew better than to bother people every time she had a nightmare. Noone had time for the number she had, even if this one had been particularly vivid.

[redeyes_andblue]

It starts in the dark, but not silent dark, dark lined with whispers, promises that he'll never, ever, leave, that he's theirs for an eternity, that there is no escape -

- and she's a little girl in a fancy dress, up on her toes to peer through a window, and he was there, right there, and now he's gone, and then a heavy hand lands on her shoulder -

- and he can feel them now, clammy hands on his skin, the dead dragging him down to drown in their depths, but that's okay because he can't drown, he's already a part of them -

- eyes blazing with promise and threat, a twisted smirk on his face, a deceptively mild scold of, "Little girls shouldn't poke their noses where they don't belong," and oh Thrice, he knows that she knows -

- and then just black, but with occasional flashes of memory, of dying on a bloodied battlefield, of burning, of the ground rising up to meet him, of a sword through his heart, of blood and magic and more deaths than he can recall -

- and it's dark, and it's raining, and she's crying so hard her stomach hurts, and Impa's arms are tight around her and she can't do a thing, can't do a thing but throw the ocarina as hard as she can and hope that its intended recipient gets it -

- and the dark is receding, and he can feel again, and oh Thrice he forgot how much breathing hurts, and for a moment he can feel every mark he's ever died of, but that's okay because she is here -

- and she's losing herself and she can feel the darkness coming to claim her, but it's okay because she can see calm red eyes and even as she goes away, she knows it's alright -

Darkness and death behind them. A tanned hand with bandaged fingers closes around hers. Wary red eyes meet wide blue ones. And covered lips whisper voicelessly, "Run."

And they run.

[is-the-ultimate.livejournal.com]

All around, it was nothing but death and destruction. Buildings aflame and ruined, the sky black... or it would be the sky.

Whatever happened, it ravaged the City within Stacy. And in the middle of the devastation was one figure:

Shadow the Hedgehog.

Had he caused it? Did he mean to cause it? Did it matter? The last answer was a simple no. He saw the silhouettes within the rubble. It was those within Stacy - some were random people, some were from the Outsiders. And they all wanted a piece of him.

As the attackers descended on Shadow, the hedgehog raced off, his ambushers giving chase.

There's no telling what he did. Right now, they wanted blood. His blood

[bonnypiperlad]

"Run, Jamie!"

It's the Doctor's voice - but Jamie needs no encouragement. He's already taken off, his feet pounding against the metal floor as they both flee down a series of shiny-walled corridors. They were trying to free Victoria, but they couldn't. It had gone horribly wrong, and now she and her father were dead. And they were coming.

Jamie ran.

They came to an intersection. Two choices. Left or right. They pause, trying to catch their breath.

"Jamie, you go that way. I'll go this way, try to draw them off."

"No, Doctor - I'm staying with you."

"I'll be fine, Jamie," the Doctor says, with a kindly smile. "Now go."

Jamie, reluctantly, goes. He's only a short way down his corridor when he hears the echoing sound of their movement from the other direction. It seems the Doctor's plan worked. Jamie is about to turn back, determined to help him anyway, when he hears a horrific sound and sees the reflection of a sickly, greenish light.

There is a cry, then the sound of a body hitting the floor.

"Doctor!" The words are torn from Jamie's throat, but he knows he can't stop, he can't go back, or they'll get him too. He runs, and they, drawn by his voice, follow.

They look somewhat like salt shakers, with bumps. Their heads swivel towards him, eyestalks glowing faintly in the dim light. He can see their suction-cup capped arms on one side, while the deadly guns on the other move as they try to get a fix on him, and he can hear their metallic, alien-sounding voices rising together in unison as they chase him down.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"