"its been a time lately" Basil muttered to himself as he walked out into pinwheel forest taking a break from the clinic. There was only so much they could do... things had been busy and he needed to rest. Not that he wasn't grateful for what he had going on.
He just needed to clear his head for a bit. Their sisters had things handled. He always forgot how often he really did need a break.
He wandered for awhile until he made his way to a clearing in the forest where he often came when he needed to think, and where his altar to Shaymin was. He left some berries he brought from the clinic on the altar then when to sit down on a log in the center of the clearing.
He was thinking of what he was grateful for. That's how you pray to shaymin after all. As he sat and thought he began to drift off, he didn't realize how tired he was.
He drifted off into a dream
The day drew onward until he just barely woke up
The sun shone on him and he took it in, not realizing he was much smaller now. All he could think was the sun felt nice on him.
Soon he woke up fully the world looked so big around him.
He didn't know how to react it felt nice and terrifying at the same time
Finally made my way to Nimbassa, it's been a little harder to traverse the region since I don't have Mortimer with me currently, I've made it to the campus, security is tight as usual but I'm not as worried about them.
I'm keeping my eyes open for that little thing, the one that's been tormenting the kid. I haven't seen any signs of it yet but I've seen the image, it's white, it won't blend in as well at this hour and unfortunately I do.
I'll look for a little bit and if I don't find it, I'll head back to Anville, check in with the kids mom.
Choking, struggling, thrashing and items being thrown.
There lay Victoria in bed, currently throwing fists into the air, kicking, screaming, grasping at her neck.
"You don't belong in this world" my hands gripped around her throat, though she swung at me, her fists passed through me, I stared at her. She had blinded me, I couldn't even close my eyes any more.
"GHHHHAAH!" She grabbed the sword by her bed and slashed at me, it passed through again, dark inky blood dripping over her sheets, pouring down the sides. Over and over she slashed.
"You don't belong in this world" her goal was to send me into this eternal sleep.
"DIE ALREADY!" Her spirit was strong, and her fury burned bright, but she was exhausted. she hadn't slept in days.
"You don't belong in this world." No nightmares. I have taken her rest from her.
Musharna Malice~ A dream (or a memory?) that isn't yours.
[Tw: Disassociation, mild body horror, themes of death]
You find yourself in your bathroom, staring down into your sink. You aren't sure exactly how you got there, but you feel like you've been here for a while. Your abdomen aches, right under your chest, deep inside, almost imperceptible. An old scar. The thought enters your mind without prompting.
You don't want to look up.
Why don't you want to look up?
Your curiosity gets the better of you, though, eventually.
A strange corpse-pale face greets you. It isn't yours. You jump back at the same time it does. You stare for a while, frozen, before you tentatively move forward. It copies you. You see the dawning horror in its black eyes, an echo of what is rising in your own chest.
You don't recognize your face.
You can't remember what you look like, what you're supposed to look like.
What is happening?
You realize you've been screaming, something is wrong with you.
You feel the emptiness that swallows all light and emotion, something's been wrong with you for a long time.
The ache turns into a jolt of pain, something will ALWAYS be wrong with you.
You are wearing a face you've never seen before. You feel sick. You aren't meant to be. You are made of dust and ash and detritus. You try to hold on tight to the little bit of identity that you can find, but it slips between your fingers like sand from a shattered hourglass.
You run.
The scene transitions, and you find yourself in a town. You like here. You hear distant voices, ones that are familiar.
You cross a patch of purple and yellow flowers, gravitating towards friends, people you like, a shield from the loneliness. People you know are here. It'll be okay. It'll be--
As you approach, they turn away, ignoring your presence. You plead and scream and even try to fight. It is useless.
No one recognizes you.
That means you have to have died, right?
Right?
Is this even your body? You feel it crumbling. Are you a corpse? You taste dust on your tongue. Are you a ghost? The emptiness hurts. ... Are you still human? Your insides feel like they're ripping apart.
Your throat tightens. So dry.
You're in the bathroom again, the stranger stares at you. You can't look anymore. You don't recognize your own face, it isn't yours, it isn't right. Three words keep echoing in your head. it isn't mine it isn't mine it isn't mine it isn't mine it isn't mine it isn't
At this point, you wish you were a corpse, you hope you are, even. At least if you were rotting, something would be happening. Someone would pay attention.
... But you know the truth. You are simply fading, ashes on wind, crumbling, silently, gone.
No bang, just a whimper.
It could happen again.
Please don't let it happen again.
No one will forget you if you have no friends, but is it worth the pain of emptiness?
//cut please work…
Paris jolts up in bed, coming to immediately regret this as pain shot up his entire body. “Gah— fuck!..” he winced, garnering the attention of Lotus, who rose up from his own bed to investigate the sudden pained noises coming from his trainer.
“I’m— im fine, buddy.” He took a deep breath, leaning over to pat the Mienshao on the head. “Just another nightmare… I forgot I can’t be moving like that,” he reassured, chuckling a bit at the end.
Lotus stared him down for a bit longer, but eventually huffed at Paris, returning to the comfort of his own corner. Paris looked on— feeling a twinge of guilt at disturbing his Pokémon’s sleep… but it was comforting to be cared about to some extent.
He sat motionless for a while, replaying the events of the nightmare. This was odd… he was so used to that same dream repeating nearly every night that he wasn’t expecting something unique…
It almost didn’t feel like his own.
Paris eventually glanced towards the open door, yellow light peeking in through the crack. Should he..? Getting up was more trouble than it was worth, but there was a gnawing sensation in the back of his mind.
Realizing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep with this on his mind, he sighed in defeat, sliding out of bed.
He just needed to check. To see…
The bathroom door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. He stepped into the darkness, turning to face the mirror before reaching out to flip the light switch. Bracing himself for the worst, he flicked it, and…
Oh. It was him.
Just him.
He sighed in relief— although he wasn’t sure what he was expecting in the first place. Of course nothing had changed. It was just a dream after all…
Sleep didn’t return easily for him, unfortunately. By the time the exhaustion creeped back up, he could already see the faint light of dawn coming in through the window.
The night in the forest of Anville. A town that has become a safe-haven for the less fortunate, with their sole protector keeping them safe from evil doers.
most of the time
this night in particular, a large Noiverns landed in the town, prowling across tents and began sniffing around, moving, its lenses balanced on its nose reflecting the moonlight as the creature examined each tent, it's nose getting covered in pink goo for a second before forming the nostrils of a Stoutland. Not him. Not him. Not here...
Their gaze moves on into the dark of the woods, the smell of human where the others tend to avoid, someplace where someone trying to hide would call home.
Moving between tents to the forest, the Noiverns body and stance shifted, wings liquifying and melting and melding into thick arms, body filling out and rounding out, bristles of thick wooly hair covering the body from head to toe, claws sprouting from hands and toes as a ring forms on the stomach. Glasses reflecting the moonlight further ahead as the Ursaring moves into the woods, hunting its prey.
Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your
// Response to this.
Heed the tags of the original post, (read the tags,) + vomiting and panic attacks.
It burns.
It burns. It burns, it burns it burns everything burns-
F̴r̴o̴s̴t̴ Flames scorch his lungs, the smoke and soot rendering them useless as he attempts to gasp for air. His breaths come in short gasps- violent coughs punctuating each one afterwards.
The cushions are squeezed onto for dear life as he flails around- ash and smoke blocking out his vision. Something's loud- screaming. Something's screaming.
Screams fill the surrounding area- louder and louder as the seconds tick by. He thrashes around, trying to reach out, grasp at someone- something- himself, his throat- anything to make the burning stop-
A frozen claw wraps around his arm, the frigid, icy claws of Death itself, about to tear him away from his own f̴r̴o̴z̴e̴n̴ charred body...
...
No.
It was metal.
Paris stills, hacking once again before taking a deep breath. The first one he had managed. He blinks a few times, hot tears clouding his vision further...
Gilgamesh stood above him, chattering anxiously as he gently lowered Paris' arm. Paris stared up at the Bisharp, his senses starting to clear. The screaming had stopped, his own mouth closing. Was he- had he been screaming?
The nausea hits him like a wave. He lurches forward, a burning sensation rising up his throat-
...
He realizes why he couldn't see earlier.
Paris groans as the pain in his head finally registers, recoiling almost instinctively. His temples throb as he lays back down, slightly propping himself up against the armrest.
Paris feels something warm press up against his chest. Bringing a hand down, he can feel a familiar softness. A welcome comfort, especially after what he had just witnessed- dreamt..?
He takes deep, stuttering breaths. His lungs still burn, but he can properly breathe again despite it. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore or dull the incessant throbbing of his skull. It's like he had hit something- hard, at that. He knows there's pain medication somewhere in the house, but he doesn't trust himself enough to stand up and get it.
...Plus, there was no reason to move. He absentmindedly stroked the soft fur, slowly distracting himself from everything going on around him.
...
When had he fallen asleep in the first place? It was dark- too dark. It must've been late at night, already...
He can't even begin to imagine how late he is to work. But he's still in too much pain- he couldn't go even if he wanted to.
