In that dream, there were waterfalls and gardens
Sometimes, just sometimes, the most beautiful comfort dreams appear.
I was in some strange complex of many old buildings, many historically beautiful buildings of different styles sort of blending into each other in a maze and an old, beautiful factory that had been converted into some living space and they were all sort of glued together over these incredibly beautiful natural surroundings. One moment, you stood above a waterfall so high that you became dizzy; another, you were surrounded by endless landscaped gardens. And I was part of a group of people who were... either scouting locations for a historical/fantasy movie or already rehearsing for one--it was a bit vague. But there were *huge* amounts of people--we're talking thousands--all gathered in this complex. We were trying on costumes, and mine wasn't ready yet--it was hard to pull it on (it was some mix of green velvet and light green satin, some sort of fantasy thing that wasn't strictly historical) and some of the seams hadn't been finished. For instance, the top part of the neckline, the green satin was unfinished and the fabric was unravelling. People were setting up lights, and I sat there with other people who were involved there and they were all incredibly friendly and lovely, and I didn't feel anxious at *all*--it was like when you're at a convention and other people are on your intelligence level and you don't have to explain everything.
And Hiddles was there! He was really nice and friendly, too, and helped me with my dress. And Diana Rigg was there in some amazing Victorian widow's costume and I think I actually knelt at her feet in worship. And at one point, the younger girls and I were all running around in a garden with puddles and not giving a shit about the costumes getting messy and wet, but we were all shrieking and frolicking and laughing from the bottom of our lungs, running until we were breathless. (I'd been thinking about that garden scene in Bram Stoker's Dracula again... also, I think acitymadeofsong and pineapple_sky were there, probably because my subconscious thought of you as good examples of ladies who love beautiful things like that.) I distinctly remember being surprised how I was able to run around so much (and it's hard to not cry now as I think about it--this was one of those dreams where I was given something I do not have IRL). I was healthy and happy.
And at one point, when there was a big ball going on in the garden, and when some of us were on a balcony overlooking it (about a dozen people squeezed into a small space, watching it, enjoying the music and the lights and the amazing ballgowns and the beautiful set)--Hiddles kissed me! I was all surprised, because he did it so sweetly and tenderly and as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like that just needed to happen and that I needed to be kissed. And I distinctly remember how tender it was, and how there wasn't even that much tongue (definitely no devouring of mouths or sucking of tongues, which is weird, because I like that). And how he went on and on and on and I was thinking of how I should be embarrassed, how I should maybe pull back, but I responded, kissing his lips with mine, very gently playing with the tip of his tongue, kissing and kissing for long, long moments. And I distinctly remember thinking "there is a sniper's red dot on my head now right now... everyone here can see, there will be paparazzis, jealous fangirls will *kill* me, oh, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, I am a dead woman". It'd be a horrible fate to be the squeeze of one of the most lusted-after celebrities in the world, but at that moment, I just kept on kissing, because it was just so wonderful and nevermind the thousands who saw us.
Later, everyone went their different ways and I wanted to go up to him and tell him how nice that spontaneous, no-strings-attached kiss was, but I couldn't find him at all, and that was a shame. But I was still happy, feeling energised spiritually, like I'd just had a very nourishing meal, and remember thinking how I felt more like a woman again (what an odd, old-fashioned thing to think--I remember thinking that is something someone else would think, and this was probably the effect of reading Anaïs's diaries). But I'd felt cherished, I'd had fun, I got aesthetic pleasure and costume porn, romance, beauty, understanding and sweetness and fun and friendship and health. And I feel Hiddles just represented health and goodness and youth and energy and the ultimate polite and lovely Englishman in the dream, that part of the animus I truly needed in a situation like that.
I lay in bed for a long while after waking up, visualising how I'd find Hiddles, have a lovely weekend with him in Italy, talking history and making love for hours and just thanking him for having come to brighten up my life.
And I am tearing up as I'm writing this because my back's fucking *killing* me and all my limbs are so stiff I could barely make myself breakfast. I am trying so very hard to not fall into self-pity, because dreams like these are blessings: they are meant to help you carry on despite RL being the opposite.
The glarity Loki icon doesn't fit because it was deffo Hiddles the polite Englishman I had the dream about, but I don't have any RL pics of him, so that'll have to do.
But, yeah, wow. I need to try and sleep on my back often if this is what happens.
I was in some strange complex of many old buildings, many historically beautiful buildings of different styles sort of blending into each other in a maze and an old, beautiful factory that had been converted into some living space and they were all sort of glued together over these incredibly beautiful natural surroundings. One moment, you stood above a waterfall so high that you became dizzy; another, you were surrounded by endless landscaped gardens. And I was part of a group of people who were... either scouting locations for a historical/fantasy movie or already rehearsing for one--it was a bit vague. But there were *huge* amounts of people--we're talking thousands--all gathered in this complex. We were trying on costumes, and mine wasn't ready yet--it was hard to pull it on (it was some mix of green velvet and light green satin, some sort of fantasy thing that wasn't strictly historical) and some of the seams hadn't been finished. For instance, the top part of the neckline, the green satin was unfinished and the fabric was unravelling. People were setting up lights, and I sat there with other people who were involved there and they were all incredibly friendly and lovely, and I didn't feel anxious at *all*--it was like when you're at a convention and other people are on your intelligence level and you don't have to explain everything.
And Hiddles was there! He was really nice and friendly, too, and helped me with my dress. And Diana Rigg was there in some amazing Victorian widow's costume and I think I actually knelt at her feet in worship. And at one point, the younger girls and I were all running around in a garden with puddles and not giving a shit about the costumes getting messy and wet, but we were all shrieking and frolicking and laughing from the bottom of our lungs, running until we were breathless. (I'd been thinking about that garden scene in Bram Stoker's Dracula again... also, I think acitymadeofsong and pineapple_sky were there, probably because my subconscious thought of you as good examples of ladies who love beautiful things like that.) I distinctly remember being surprised how I was able to run around so much (and it's hard to not cry now as I think about it--this was one of those dreams where I was given something I do not have IRL). I was healthy and happy.
And at one point, when there was a big ball going on in the garden, and when some of us were on a balcony overlooking it (about a dozen people squeezed into a small space, watching it, enjoying the music and the lights and the amazing ballgowns and the beautiful set)--Hiddles kissed me! I was all surprised, because he did it so sweetly and tenderly and as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like that just needed to happen and that I needed to be kissed. And I distinctly remember how tender it was, and how there wasn't even that much tongue (definitely no devouring of mouths or sucking of tongues, which is weird, because I like that). And how he went on and on and on and I was thinking of how I should be embarrassed, how I should maybe pull back, but I responded, kissing his lips with mine, very gently playing with the tip of his tongue, kissing and kissing for long, long moments. And I distinctly remember thinking "there is a sniper's red dot on my head now right now... everyone here can see, there will be paparazzis, jealous fangirls will *kill* me, oh, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, I am a dead woman". It'd be a horrible fate to be the squeeze of one of the most lusted-after celebrities in the world, but at that moment, I just kept on kissing, because it was just so wonderful and nevermind the thousands who saw us.
Later, everyone went their different ways and I wanted to go up to him and tell him how nice that spontaneous, no-strings-attached kiss was, but I couldn't find him at all, and that was a shame. But I was still happy, feeling energised spiritually, like I'd just had a very nourishing meal, and remember thinking how I felt more like a woman again (what an odd, old-fashioned thing to think--I remember thinking that is something someone else would think, and this was probably the effect of reading Anaïs's diaries). But I'd felt cherished, I'd had fun, I got aesthetic pleasure and costume porn, romance, beauty, understanding and sweetness and fun and friendship and health. And I feel Hiddles just represented health and goodness and youth and energy and the ultimate polite and lovely Englishman in the dream, that part of the animus I truly needed in a situation like that.
I lay in bed for a long while after waking up, visualising how I'd find Hiddles, have a lovely weekend with him in Italy, talking history and making love for hours and just thanking him for having come to brighten up my life.
And I am tearing up as I'm writing this because my back's fucking *killing* me and all my limbs are so stiff I could barely make myself breakfast. I am trying so very hard to not fall into self-pity, because dreams like these are blessings: they are meant to help you carry on despite RL being the opposite.
The glarity Loki icon doesn't fit because it was deffo Hiddles the polite Englishman I had the dream about, but I don't have any RL pics of him, so that'll have to do.
But, yeah, wow. I need to try and sleep on my back often if this is what happens.