subspaceswell

[subspaceswell]

They scoop him up in their mouth and kick off the material ground, slipping into the air without impeded movement. One of its teeth was two of the little creature with a too-expansive soul. The little beast had a soul occupying much space outside of it.

"I shall return you. You do not belong here or now."

And the spaces between worlds were colliding too frequently.

"Your perceived past. The past of your world. A place that is no longer. You should not be here. More slip through, like you."

The voice in his head was thoughtful, intentions made into words.

"Conjunctions. Spaces becoming one. Past, Present and Future. It is happening more and more."

He rubs at his temple with his left hand wearing a frown. The man had experience enough to tell the difference between his own passive understanding, and telepathic address.

This was telepathic address, betraying the creature before him as highly intelligent, and not an ordinary monster startled by his sudden trespass.

Interesting.

The quieter voice is a relief to hear.

"I don't know," he responds, aloud, since understanding was mutual.

He frowns a little more, the gravity of the previous statement finally dawning.

"What do you mean by 'perceived past'?"

[subspaceswell]

Oh. Loud.

Indeed.

Perhaps no spatially distorting noise.

Quieter, this time, very quiet. Inside his skull, even at the creature that barely stands over Their body's claw.

"How are you here?"

[subspaceswell]

ROARING AND ROARING WHY ARE THERE MEN FROM OTHER TIMESTREAMS IN THE PAST????

[subspaceswell]

Palkia

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The Temporal Pokemon Dialga, and Spacial Pokemon Palkia!

[subspaceswell]

YOG SOTHOTH 

by Pedro “Lordigan” Sena

[subspaceswell]

palkia but spawning stuff like the orphan of kos.

[subspaceswell]

There are people in this world that heard the voices of nature, of the primordial chaos around them. These were people born with gifts to interface with the aftermath of creation. The ocean here was one finger of a larger titan of space and depth.

And to the depths did this man start treading. He dove under.

And it grabbed him in a sudden undertow like a hand taking his ankle and tugging on it. Something massive and impossible was on the other side of the motion just under waters so calm and peaceful. The sudden tug sunk into his leg, the spiral down a rush of water and pressure.

The man of the sea was released into a cold, salted abyss, far, far from shore. The surroundings had changed, and before him was a yawning trench, black as pitch and sprawling outwards.

From the depths rose a shape, a long neck, two red eyes like floating lamps in the very center of it. It stared up from the abyss, those eyes floating towards a comparatively so much smaller creature.

'Herald of water. He who has called the water.'

It is a voice that flangs throughout the space, echoing without noise at all.

The shadow reached out with a tendril of spiraling, bubbling water that tapped the center of the man's chest.

'You may breathe. Your words will reach me.'

They give a gift of space for his lungs, a temporary boon to breathe in the sea's unforgiving depths.

@subspaceswell | CONT.

it calls to him. it calls to him, and archie listens—he listens very well.

its voice is both familiar and unfamiliar, somehow. it sounds nothing like HERS, but he recognizes it from sometime, somewhere. it has whispered to him in the past; archie knew that much, but he couldn't recall the circumstances of their correspondence. its voice does share traits with hers, however. when he is one with water, he can hear them, CLEAR AS CRYSTAL, and they speak with purpose. the volume and tone of their voices EBB & FLOW and RISE & FALL like the tide, and though they are both soft-spoken, their voices exude a terrifying sense of PRIMORDIAL POWER.

archie runs his calloused fingers through his wet locks as he enters the sea and treads the waters, disregarding any form of seafaring gear. he trusted the sea, and he trusted that it would embrace him, just as he embraced it.

he takes a good look at the clear blue sky, and he takes a deep breath before he submerges himself completely beneath the waves.

❛ take me. ❜

[subspaceswell]

The absolute order of space did not exist in this "no-space". The space apart from time did not organize itself with its brother in a way that could be possible to understand for its captive. There was too much expansion and contraction of matter in the "no space" for it to make any sense to any mind. Space without time was raw primordial chaos, Arceus continuing to make and make without the laws that governed its Becoming.

This place was Palkia's choice.

And They pulled her into this prison for a reason to have her exist here, as her leader now wandered the distortion without sense.

You called yourself Jupiter.

Another name for another celestial concept.

You called Us to Unmake all things. You chained Us to Unmake all things.

To remake the world.

And now all things are Unmaking.

It had been years. Years since then.

Space as a concept is impartial, but as humanity did and does, they gave Space a name and a reason to be vengeful.

What is perfect order to you? Did you pray to be Unmade by your own mortal terror?

The beast that was "Space" was everywhere, as was its voice.

The Great Death comes to take the crucible of the divine. Where is my anchor? My orb?

@subspaceswell liked the call. (Palkia.)

Things where aren't should they be.

This doesn't make any sense. Where is here? She can't see anything, but then she blinks. And then she can see it. A figure looming above, below, around. The only figure in her sight, at all edges of her periphery. Everything else is framed in an absolute, undulating darkness.

I am where?

It observes her in silence. Rooted in place, she screams. Thrashes. The silence remains unbroken. The figure remains unmoved.

Eris Evans wakes up in ethereal limbo, before the intangible presence of a familiar god.

Do what you want with me. She blinks again.

What do you want with me?

[subspaceswell]

ERIS IS JUST IN HELL

[subspaceswell]

kneeling in lilycove's sandy shores, he watches the waves ebb and flow and admires the LUSTROUS SHINE of the sun's rays bouncing off of the water. clear skies, low humidity...

monsoon season has ended. the seas have calmed... for now.

he bows to the sea, forehead pressed to the sand, letting the shorebreak wet his messy head of hair.

❛ thank you. ❜

For those that listen, there would always be the even beat of something else in the seas that made them magical. Eons have passed and in those eons, the sea had different names, and so did that beat within it. Monsoon Seasons ends, with the currents shifting and the weather turning, and the rain that had engulfed the tropics and deserts of Hoenn had slowly calmed.

They are a set of listening ears when one of those outcast people touches his head to the sand. When this man prayed, it often listened. There were times in treacherous storms when this man would sail into the eye of them and look up. This man understood the oculus looking down at him was doing so by choice.

To make the depths a part of one's own passions and identity is to make its look inescapable.

The wave broke on his head, and with it, the sensation of being heard, and the sensation of being watched by something old. They are watching as much as the old sea god is watching. The great Kyogre is not the one calling this time. Uncharacteristically, intentions come with the next roll of the tide, and shape themselves into language.

'The depths call you. Come out to sea.'

[subspaceswell]

There's no response for a long minute.

I am heard. I am listening.

The response of something old, and that was always there but rarely considered. It was... pleased, and strange.

The tide pulled them, gently.

What do they call themselves?

… they don’t understand. Not really. They sort of get it, being not a ‘who’ but a ‘what’, sort of like how zing is ‘balance’, but that doesn’t … answer why this voice is calling out to them.

Maybe it doesn’t need a reason?

They feel the sand at their feet and they feel the way the water brushes up against their toes. They're holding their sneakers in hand, still drying from the glue used to repair them. Ree swallows.

I’m listening … to whatever you want to tell me.

[subspaceswell]

'I am not who.'

The waves beckon, a layer of foam on them and soft sand reaching their toes.

'I am space. The between. I am inside, out, around, the vast and small. The depths. The sea. These you call me.'

And it was being listened to. The thoughts clarify into a voice that was... so unfathomably large and muffled under the waves.

'You listened, so I shall speak.'

“. . .”

they let their eyes close, let that wave of new familiarity wash over them. Ree takes in a breath and lets it out. Like the ocean. Like the waves. Like the rain beating down in po town.

Okay. why are you here? who are you?

[subspaceswell]

I will speak with you.

It isn't a voice. It's a thought, very, very old and so familiar. There's nothing different about the scene. The sea is still there with the waves. The sky is grey and so are the storms.

You hear me and I will speak.

@skullkxd

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not daily pokemon: palkia

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GYAAAOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU