#tw: implied terrorism

[serxinns]

Hi :)

Could you please write a platonic scenario of father Aizawa in which his daughter (she is in her teen years) has a really bad nightmare so she goes to his room crying and saying she is scared?

Thanksss.

Hope you have a great day

TW: Gore and limbs being decapitated readers death (only in her dream)

You've been often getting those night terrors that made you afraid of going to sleep, you tried staying up secretly watching TV to pass the time but Your father caught you one day and sternly told you to go to bed so all you had to do was either stare on your phone or stare up on the client but alas sleep overtakes you were knocked out

You heard screaming from the distance and footsteps running past you desperate to get away from it but failed when the creature got close to them and their pleading for mercy and help ended with a sickening crunch You covered your mouth tears streamed down your cheeks its growls sounded like a mix of a dying Animal and a human moaning in pain it kept searching and searching for more prey a man was across from you staring at you with the same reaction you had..terrified his eyes where blood shot red and there seems to be an injury on his lower waist when he saw that it was gone he looked at you for the last time and sprinted you heard nothing but footsteps from the man then seconds later you heard that thing crawling quickly towards the poor man screams and pleading for mercy were heard then there were silence and sickening crunching noises you couldn't take it anymore and threw up which the creature heard it slithered up to you now you and whatever that thing was close to each other you can see the man's arm still dangling from it mouth..the thing grabbed you with his sharp claws hovering you over his mouth and-

*BOOM*

The sound of thunder woke you up your clothes were dammed in sweat your face was soaked with tears all you could hear was your heavy breathing and tears you silently got up to go the bathroom to clean up, you grabbed your comfort plush and went upstairs your legs shaking and wobbling a bit but managed to make it in the bathroom "y/n? What are you doing up late?" you turned and your dad was shocked to see your horrified and soaked face he ran up to you grabbed your shoulders and kneel down to your level "Oh sweetie you've been crying are you alright did something happen"

you tried to explain but your voice was filled with mumbles due to the sobs and spit in there and just held onto him and cried your father didn't know what was going on but hugged you "cmon kid you sleeping in my room" he picked up you up and the 2 of you headed to his room, he turned on the lights and gently put you down and tucked you in "Now do you want to tell me about your bad dream or you'll explain in the morning" you hesitated for a second to tried to even explain "in the morning.." your dad signed and softly smiled at you, he kissed you on the forehead and wrapped his arms protectively around you

Next time he shouldn't added that much sleeping pills in your drink as a punishment for staying up the last time..but it rewarded him in the end to cuddle up with his beloved daughter~

[justalilstar]

asks for night terror!

💥 (Collision) - What’s your OC’s combat style like? Do they adhere to any particular code of honour or ethics in a fight, or are they totally unfettered by that sort of thing?

and also i keep asking this one everywhere because i think starstruck just wants to be friends soooo baad but:

💌 (Love Letter) - How easy are they to befriend? Are they more of a social butterfly or a lone wolf?

I haven't drawn comics in a very long time, but I hope these answered your questions!

[a-lost-archivist]

//TW INJURY, IMPLIED POKEMON INJURY [It’s an audio recording. Would you like to listen to it?]

——

"You're alright, it's alright. Just agh- give me a moment." The voice that came through the crackling tape recorder was soft, it's characteristic harshness entirely absent from his soft reassurances.

A quiet, startled yip comes through the recorder.

"Yes yes I know, but I really do have to get that wound cleaned I'm sorry."

Another, quieter yip.

"Here ah- let me see if I have anything for you" There's the sound of fabric rustling, followed by sniffing, and then nibbling "There. Now, let me see if I can't do something for this.."

The recording goes quiet, save for the buffeting of wind and occasional soft growl followed by swift apologies from Jon.

Several minutes pass, before there's a far more pleased sounding yip from the Zorua, and Jon stops to admire his work.

"Right then, you aren't so scary are you? A little bitey maybe. I would've appreciated if hand had stayed in tact for this."

Another yip from the little one.

"yes I suppose that's fair. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He paused, sighing.

"Now, where in god's name did your father g-"

Somewhere behind him, a Zoroark let out a furious cry.

That cry was his only warning before an impact and a sickening tear came screeching through the tape recorder's shitty microphone.

He screamed. The recorder clicked off.

——

[justbreakonme]

“Whumpee… what happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“You flinch anytime someone comes near you, and I’ve heard you screaming in your sleep… I understand that you don’t what to tell anyone, but, please let us help you.”

“You don’t get it. NOTHING happened. Do you see any bruises? Any scars or burns or anything?”

“Well, no, but something-“

“Stop asking me then. I’m fine.”

Whumpee was never going to tell anyone what whumper did to them. They way they overrode their mind and body, broke them without ever raising a hand against them.

The shame of it was enough to make them sick.

[theradioactivecat8]

WARNING: SA (implied) and Blood

“I sorry for myself”

…

[notacrazycatladynamedmelissa]

It was dark. Too dark.

She wasn't exactly sure where the was, but she could hear a familiar voice. It brought her no comfort whatsoever, if anything it only brought her more fear. Melissa hated the dark, absolutely hated it. She feared what might be lurking within it. What might be plotting to drag her off into it, what that might do to her.

It wasn't an irrational fear, it came from many, many bad experiences. The voice was drawing nearer, deep rumbling and tone so harsh it felt like she was being stabbed. She tried to back away, but hit a wall that she never even knew was there. Everything about this left her feeling weak and defenseless. Especially as she began to make out what that voice was saying to her.

"fuckin' bitch .... don't..my meal...u'll pay for..."

No. No. She didn't want to hear anymore, didn't want to go back to that place. The dingy basement of her childhood home, the corner she always hid in to avoid him. Mel tried to block it all out, tried to close her eyes and cover her ears and wake up. Wake up wake up wake up. She couldn't move. She was stuck with her eyes wide open in fear, arms frozen at her side as the voice materialized into something tangible.

The undead figure of her father was lumbering towards her, looking just as resentful as the day she and her brother killed him. There was nothing she could do. He'd always been bigger than her, stronger than her, worse than her. The only way to get him vulnerable was to sedate him. She didn't have a choice, Milo insisted they kill him. After what he did to Mom. After what he did to her.

"Daddy no- please no!"

Suddenly she was 17 all over again, trembling in fear as her fathers hand came barrelling towards her face.

Melissa woke up in a cold sweat, fighting for air. Her face was wet with tears and her throat felt raw. She forced herself to sit up in bed, holding her stomach and curling her knees to her chest.

Safe. She was safe. She was in Hatchetfield now, her father is dead. Her brother is dead. No one can hurt her anymore.

"...I hurt them first."

[noodleshark]

Terror fam Headcannons 3

or i guess facts, since theyre my ocs now.

Raffi has an animal special interest

He has thought about what animals him and his family would be VERY IN DEPTH

Sori is awful with names

She named herself after her special interest(her name is sound in korean and her special interest is music)

She heard paru say the japanese word for friend before and picked up on it, you'll never guess what she came up with when yujin asked for a new name

When they get a cat, he names it the korean word for CAT

oh speaking of sori knowing korean: Raffi is Malaysian, Raine is brazilian, Yujin is british, sori's korean, obviously, and paru is japanese and british

Sori does not know shes korean

Raine can't spell in english and sori cant spell at all

Raffi likes bugs and refuses to wear bug spray. but then he'll get annoyed about being itchy from bites

During any holiday with fireworks he throws those popit things at raine's feet.

Raine would wear shoes in bed if paru didnt tell her she wont snuggle with her if she does that

Sori does that thing where sometimes if she wants to cuddle she'll just go inbetween those 2

one of the things from being a monster for a lil bit(design change pending), she can purr now!

When she was little she had a cat but she got seperated when she was 6

when raffi sees yujins eyes for the first time he just goes "harbor seal"

in july raine started to try to teach sori how to swim

Sori had an ED for a while so when one day he(nervously) asked raine to make something specific for one of their meals she was like "🥺 yeah of course!!!"

she always made them what they wanted when they asked for like 2 months

Along with the ED it also helped with sori's issues with control!!!

Oh related to the harbor seal comment: When Yujin saved sori from the bullies(name and lore change is an eventuality, those names are stand ins) she had a concussion and could see his eyes she was just like "kitty!!!"

Raine has seen multiple kids die from sicknesses so she gets very anxious when one of the others get sick

she usually can't sleep and just sits by their bed just to know they're still breathing

Yujin has a BIG sweet tooth

but he CANNOT handle sour stuff

whenever raffi has some sour candy he begs for some and raffi always warns him, yet yujin eats it anyways. everytime

When they have campfires together people switch out to sit with yujin because he's afraid of fire

Paru has picked up on some portugese from raine's flashbacks

she cant converse in the language though because its only stuff like "die" "died" "dead" "parents" "theyre dead" "im gonna die" "help (me)" "theyre gonna kill me"

Sori gets mobility aids when she's 11

Yujin likes outer space

he probably has a space blanket and telescope

Sori has a weighted blanket!

She puts it around herself when shes scared or upset about something that makes touch feel gross at the moment

Sori loves plushies and probably has the most cat plushies out of any animal or anything

She kept an orange cat plushie the broadcaster got when she was in the radio station with him

when raffi has flashbacks or freaks out really bad in a way that isnt a sensory meltdown, sori hides under a blanket or leaves the room so she wont freak him out more

one time she didnt, either it took her too long to realize what was happening or the first time it happened and he screamed as soon as he saw her

Raffi's worst sensory expirence is usually bright lights while Sori's is loud noises

Raine sometimes sings sori to sleep

When sori is cuddling with someone, espicially raine and paru but this also applies to yujin, it is SO hard for them to move bc they'll make a sleepy grumbly noise and also theyre baby, this is even worse during bad pain days

Raine eventually just started to carry sori around.

one time paru and raine had to have a serious conversation(about one of sori's traumas that paru just found out about and raine knew for a while) but sori was laying on paru's thigh so she just covered his ears

Yujin had a tough time transitioning to having his own room bc fears about being alone so he slowly adjusted by sleeping in sori's room a lot and slowly started to sleep in his more

Paru thinks that curly-afrotextured hair is fun to style to she likes to mess around with raine's

[rhmis-user-2020]

Marcellus has a nightmare

[riahlynn101]

Whumptober Day Thirty-One: "Setbacks."

Takes place in the FNAF movie universe.

((obligatory, this story may contain spoilers for the FNAF movie warning!!))

Trigger warnings: Implied/referenced kidnapping and murder, children in distress, mentioned night terrors, and emotional neglect.

We made it to the end of October :D!! Thank you, guys, for reading and supporting these stories. I couldn't have done it without any of you!

--

Mike has heard it many times before. “Recovery isn’t a linear process.” But it never gets any easier. If anything, it only gets worse. The first few months were understandable, the nightmares and waking up screaming in the middle of the night, but after that, he should be over it. Or at least act like he was. By month four of his brother being gone, Mike could tell his parents were done with his night terrors, if them not coming to check on him and their annoyed looks at the breakfast table were anything to go by. 

He tamped down his hurt feelings, choosing not to bother them any more than he absolutely had to. He had already messed things up enough, without also affecting their sleep. 

He took his nightmares and turned them into something productive. If he was going to be forced to watch his brother be taken, over and over again, then Mike would use it to his advantage. And maybe somewhere along the way, he got addicted to trying to find the answers to his questions. So what? It’s not like he’s hurting anyone. 

As long as he doesn’t wake up screaming, right? 

Years pass until both his parents are gone, and he’s raising his sister all by himself. His need to find his brother’s kidnapper reaches new heights. Any time he can catch a few minutes of sleep, he does. Which often means he isn’t always available for his sister. He finds himself apologizing to her more than once.

He gets a new job, and while there, his dreams are vivid. So vivid, that if Mike didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was actually there. The sights, sounds, and smells feel so real. Watching his brother be taken for the millionth time, feels real. But it’s not, and he has to remind himself of that. 

And then, he’s tricked by one of the missing children. A little blond boy with a terrifying smirk. He should have been smarter. Everything comes with a price, and the fact that the dream never changed before should have been a red flag. 

But he wanted so badly to be with his family again. Not the broken one that his sister grew up with. Not the one shattered by the loss of a child. But the one he remembers fondly. The one with his parents and brother, smiling, happy, and whole. He wanted it so bad his body physically aches when he thinks about it.

He wants them back, but not if it comes at the cost of his sister. Nothing is more important than Abby. She’s still here. She still needs him. 

Mike wakes up just in time to stop the mask from decimating his face. The whirling saw blades dig into the chair, short circuiting. 

The next few hours are a blur of waking up (again) to Vanessa’s worried expression, racing back to the pizzeria, and officially meeting the man who killed his little brother. By the time they get Vanessa to a hospital, get medical attention for their wounds, and go home, Mike still hasn’t fully processed what has happened. 

He gets Abby to bed, even though it’s daylight now. She mutters something about not being tired, but the minute her head hits her pillow, she’s gone. 

Mike sits for a while, watching her. After everything they’ve been through, he worries that when he wakes up, she’ll be gone. He checks the locks on the windows and doors four times before he finally closes her bedroom door and heads to bed. 

He sits in his bed, exhausted but wide awake. It’s the first time since he started using his nightmares to his advantage that he’s scared of falling asleep. It’s silly, he knows. But he can't shake the feeling that something terrible is waiting for him. 

And after having verbal confirmation that his little brother was, in fact, murdered, Mike can’t bring himself to look Garrett in the eyes. He failed him, and no amount of solving his disappearance will ever bring him back. 

He allows himself to cry. 

He cries for all the pain his little brother went through. 

He cries for all the pain their family went through following Garrett's kidnapping. 

And he cries for the twelve-year-old boy that had to suffer in silence.

That night, Mike dreams not of a forest, but of a flower field. An unfamiliar melody plays in the background. His parents aren’t there, but Garrett is. His brother takes him by the hand, walking with him in between rows of bluish flowers. He says only three words.

“Come find me.”

[thelunarsystemwrites]

(TW - S.A!)

Well... I'm now getting nightmares about that, since that's uh... not great.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 9: Plants

(Disclaimer: only one of the characters in this story belongs to me. If you’d like to learn more about LevianthanPat, go here. This story is actually something of a sequel to the first time I wrote about him and EldritchPlier, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe. CryptidXian is yet another one of the LxianEgos made by @sammys-magical-au; go here to learn more about him.)

(Trigger Warnings: body horror, implied sleep problems, implied nightmares/night-terrors, gore, blood, organs, body horror, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

(If you’d like to use distorted fonts like the one you’ll be seeing in this story, then I recommend going to FancyTextGenerator.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3   Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

It feels like only a moment or two has passed since you closed your eyes for the night. 

Now you’re reopening them and finding yourself in something that is most certainly not your bed. Most other people would probably panic in this situation, but you don’t. You know you don’t have to.

For one thing, whatever you’re lying in isn’t a bathtub full of ice, either. ‘Matter of fact, as you push yourself to sit up, a decent amount of leaves fall away from your face to join the rest in the pile around you. They all come in lovely shades of red and orange and yellow; it makes sense, considering the state of the trees outside your apartment. 

For another thing, you can’t feel the leaves as you brush them away from your clothes. It’s not that your skin is numb—everything within touching distance just doesn’t have the texture it should have. The leaves don’t crunch or crackle under your weight (very unsatisfying, I know).  

You’ve learned to recognize this hazy, near-weightless sensation. 

You’re asleep right now. You’re dreaming. 

And you have enough experience to brace yourself right now. You may not know how or when it’ll happen, but you absolutely know that there’s going to be a twist here.

Hundreds of years of scientific progress have already passed. Research has grown, numerous experiments have been documented, and people can still only throw their best guesses at the concepts of sleep and all its weirdness.

You doubt humanity will ever be able to fully understand sleep. 

A bit of a pessimistic outlook, yes, but you have every single damn right to be a pessimist. 

It’s been months since the constant stream of nightmares started plaguing you. 

Ten months, to be specific. 

Ten. Whole. Months. Of having a raging dumpster fire for a sleep-schedule. 

(To be fair, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit relieved that the nightmares didn’t finally end at nine months. Because timing like that would’ve just been begging fate to open a whole new horrific can of worms for you. . .)

Sure, this has paved the way for you to become a somewhat lucid dreamer, but that’s not really a silver lining. Just because you’re aware of when you’re dreaming doesn’t necessarily mean you have any more power in aforementioned dreams than you did before. 

You’d think that, at this point, you would’ve been able to adjust the nightmares. 

You’re sure that you could’ve adjusted to them, but you cAN’T, BECAUSE THE DAMN NIGHTMARES ARE ONLY HALF OF YOUR PROBLEM!

You heave a sigh, dragging your dream-hand down the side of your dream-face. It feels like how the plume of smoke rising from a freshly-ignited scented candle looks.

Yeah, the impending scenario is going to suck, but there’s no point standing here and getting yourself worked up over it. In fact, that’ll probably just make things even worse whenever they do decide to happen.

Might as well just take it in stride. 

You pick yourself up, pulling a dream-leaf from your hair and letting it flutter down to the ground, which is blanketed by long, unkempt grass. Turning around in a small circle, you realize that you’re in the middle of. . .some kind of garden? There’s a decent amount of trees surrounding you, all at varying distances from one another, but it seems only one of them has actually shifted colors and shed its leaves. 

All the rest are in full bloom, their branches covered in flowers. You can recognize a crabapple here, a cherry blossom there, a few different Cape Myrtles. The explosions of color are so pretty that it takes you a few seconds to realize how the trees are twitching. Not swaying like they would in the wind—there’s no trace of a breeze around you. Twitching. Like wayward muscles in a person’s arms or legs.  

You chew your lip, making a note to not get too close as you start walking. The grass almost feels like water around your ankles. It’s not wet (thank God, because having to deal with wet socks on top of a nightmare would just be needlessly cruel); it just seems to have the same weight as a creek or a pond. 

You keep your head on a swivel, miraculously alert and aware for a sleeping person. You know there’s really no point, but you’d still rather at least see the danger coming than be caught off-guard. So, of course it doesn’t take too long for you to discover the patches of flowers that are growing around the bases of the spastic trees. It takes even less time for you to realize how the aforementioned patches apparently go on as far as the eye can see. Sure, there’s enough space for you to wander without accidentally harming any of the flora, but they’re still pretty much everywhere. 

It makes you think of anatomy textbooks, of their chapters on the circulatory system, to be exact. The grass-pathways can be compared veins, which would leave the flower patches and trees in the roles of larger organs. 

Logically speaking, wouldn’t that make you a germ? A foreign, invading virus?

You’re not sure, but that doesn’t mean you want to find out.

Even with your paranoia, you just can’t help but pause to kneel down and get a closer look at the flowers. You immediately have to rethink that choice when several stems all pivot in place in order for their blossoms to look back at you. 

A mix of roses and peonies, each one coming in either a dark or pastel hue. They’re all gorgeous. The slick, rolling eyeballs in the centers where the pollen should be. . .well, they come in different colors too, along with different pupil-shapes. Some of them are welling up with tears, which drip out between the petals and plop down into the soil. 

You have to swallow a lump in your throat, but at the same time, you don’t think the eyes make their flowers look bad. Just a little strange. It could be worse: they could be shooting lasers in your face.

For whatever reason, you offer a polite nod to the flowers before standing back up and continuing your stroll. Even as you move farther and farther away, you can’t stop feeling all those little eyes on you.

You’re casting a shadow—all of the plants are as well—but it’s dim and flickering. You can see everything just fine, but the light beaming down on this environment is dull. That doesn’t take away from all the colors, but it still makes you feel like there’s a thin dusting of tarnished brass over everything. 

You look up, craning your neck. 

The sky is completely and utterly filled with clouds. Rather than white, they’re a mixture of gray and a deep shade of mottled yellow, along with a tint of otherworldly blue around the edges. They really do look just like clouds always seem to look in abstract painting: a bit jagged around the edges, still and purposefully layered. You can’t see any trace of the sun (if there even is a sun in this dream). 

You keep glancing down at all the flowers you pass. Plenty of them have teeth lining their petals, along with little tongues that waggle up at you without making a sound and uvulas in the place of their stigmas or styles or whatevers. (None of these ones burst into song, to your slight disappointment.) 

A number of the flowers actually appear normal, if not simply weird-looking all on their own with no help from ever-shifting dream rules. Orchids of the bat, monkey-faced, naked-man, et cetera variety. A plethora of chimeras, pitcher plants, voodoo lilies, sundew, swaddled babies, dancing girls, baneberries. . .Hell, you even come across a few classics: sunflowers, tulips, sweet williams. 

But they all seem to have a sort of. . .fleshy aura. Like they’re bound to become abnormal one way or another and you’ve just so happened to catch them before the changeover. You don’t know how to make sense of them. 

Sooner or later, you come across a hill. It’s a small one, but standing on it can offer a good view of all the other flora around here. It’s also topped with one tree, keeping it  sequestered from all the others. You move slowly, carefully, squinting up at this particular tree. Once you’ve scaled the hill, you realize that it isn’t twitching at all. It’s standing perfectly still, like a normal tree should. Curious, you begin to pace around it. 

Your instincts tell you there are trees just like this in the real world, but you’re still positive that you’ve never actually seen one. It seems to be about thirteen feet tall, covered in reddish-brown bark. Oblong, glossy green leaves adorn its branches, many of which end in little clusters of hanging fruit. The berries are a cheerful color, soft orange enveloped by red, perfectly spherical with rough-yet-fuzzy-looking surfaces. They look a bit similar to strawberries, but you predict they’d taste a little more tart. A mild, sweet scent is wafting off of it from all angles. 

While it doesn’t have an entire patch of smaller plants to loom over, there’s still a generous amount of black flowers growing close to its trunk. You rack your brain as they stare at them. Morning glories? Hibiscus? No. . .hollyhocks. 

You’re so proud of your memory that it takes an embarrassingly long few seconds for you to notice movement between the flowers’ stems. (It’s honestly kind of hilarious, considering how you’ve been bracing yourself for whatever is going to make this dream into a nightmare.)

But then, out of the corner of your eye like The Shining, you see a gnarled, pale hand rise from the ground.

You freeze in place. A prickly sensation crawls along your spine. 

As you watch, the hand is lifted higher and higher into the air on an unnecessarily long arm. There seems to be an elbow-esque joint every twelve inches. By the time it could easily tap you on the nose, the hand dips back down, causing the rest of the limb to arc with a series of pops and clicks. The hand hovers by one of the hollyhock blossoms. A few bony fingers reach for those dark petals; sharp nails protrude from the cuticles, but they don’t tear into the flowers. No, they’re just. . .gently probing them. Almost like a curious toddler would. 

That allegory dies a quick death as the long, low creeeaaak of a tree branch breaks the silence, as you look back up to find a ghoulish face, angled upside-down, mere inches from yours. With nostrils ever-so-slightly flaring like a raccoon and dead, milky-white eyes drilling into yours, the creature announces, “฿ØØ.”

You don’t scream, but a high-pitched, unintelligible noise still escapes your lips as you reel back. You trip over your own feet, feeling as though a bucket of icy water has been dumped over your head as you collapse onto the grass. 

The creature snickers at your shock. As it turns its head rightside-up, bangs of black hair fall into place just above its eyes, matching the stubble growing along its jaw and above its lips. Its head ever-so-slightly pushes toward you. This helps you discover how its neck looks a lot like that arm protruding from the hollyhocks. The only difference is that it’s even longer. As you get to your feet and back away, you see how the creature’s neck is poking out from behind the fruit tree.

That’s. . .not possible. 

The tree’s trunk is thin enough to wrap your arms around. There’s no way it can actually be hiding the rest of this entity’s body.

And yet, that’s exactly what it’s doing. (Or maybe this creature just doesn’t have a torso? Who’s to say? Not you, that’s for sure.)

“₳Ⱨ, ₮ⱧɆ ØⱠĐ Ø₦Ɇ-₮₩Ø ₱Ʉ₦₵Ⱨ ₮₳₵₮ł₵,” Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe proclaims, speaking in what you believe to be a thick Portuguese accent. “ł₮'₴ ₳Ⱡ₩₳Ɏ₴ ₣Ʉ₦₦Ɏ.”

“. . .W-where the hell did you come from?” You blurt. You know that’s not the nicest thing to say right after meeting someone, but Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe literally started this off with a jumpscare. 

“₮ⱤɄ₴₮ ₥Ɇ, ɎØɄ ĐØ₦'₮ ₩₳₦₮ ₮Ø ₭₦Ø₩. ɆVɆ₦ ł₣ ₮ⱧɆ ₴₮ØⱤɎ ₩₳₴₦'₮ ₩₳₳₳₳₳₳Ɏ ₮ØØ ⱠØ₦₲, ⱧɆ₳Ɽł₦₲ ł₮ ₩ØɄⱠĐ ₴₮łⱠⱠ ₱ⱤØ฿₳฿ⱠɎ ₥₳₭Ɇ ₮ⱧɆ ł₥₱ØⱤ₮₳₦₮ ₱₳Ɽ₮₴ Ø₣ ɎØɄⱤ ฿Ɽ₳ł₦ ₥ɆⱠ₮.” Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe raises an eyebrow. “₦Ø₩ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ ł ₮Ⱨł₦₭ Ø₣ ł₮. . .ł ₵ØɄⱠĐ ₱ⱤØ฿₳฿ⱠɎ ₳₴₭ ɎØɄ ₮ⱧɆ ₴₳₥Ɇ QɄɆ₴₮łØ₦.”

The way your stomach sinks feels even worse that it would in the real world. 

You realize far too late that this entity isn’t just a product of your brain. He’s not just another nightmare. 

He’s a sentient being. He’s in a weight class of his own. 

And the fact that something like him is interacting with you while you’re dreaming does not bode well.

“I don’t want any trouble,” you insist, holding up your hands defensively. “I’m literally asleep right now. If I’m trespassing—or if I did anything to disturb you, I-I swear I didn’t mean to.”

The closest section of Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe’s neck is pushed upwards, folding horizontally. Two joints bend by either side of his head, pointed toward the sky. It’s only when the arm extends further from the hollyhocks, along with a second arm that stretches around from somewhere just out of eyeshot, and glides closer to him, hands spreading in a lame gesture that you realize he’s simply shrugging without shoulders. “₮ⱧɆⱤɆ'₴ ₦Ø ₮ⱤØɄ฿ⱠɆ. ł ₲ɄɆ₴₴ ł ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ'VɆ ₭₦Ø₩₦ ɎØɄ'Đ ₣ł₦Đ ɎØɄⱤ ₩₳Ɏ ⱧɆⱤɆ ₴ØØ₦ɆⱤ ØⱤ Ⱡ₳₮ɆⱤ.”

“. . .What?” Somehow, you’re caught even more off-guard than you already were. “What do you mean by that?”

“ØⱧ, ₵Ø₥Ɇ Ø₦. ɎØɄ ₭₦Ø₩ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ł ₥Ɇ₳₦,” Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe chuckles, lightly shaking his head. Even with the total lack of irises and pupils, he’s still able to give you the classic Seriously? look. “ł'₥ ₦Ø₮ ₮ⱧɆ ₣łⱤ₴₮ ₥Ø₦₴₮ɆⱤ ɎØɄ'VɆ ₥Ɇ₮. ₳₦Đ ł ₩Ø₦'₮ ฿Ɇ ₮ⱧɆ Ⱡ₳₴₮, Ɇł₮ⱧɆⱤ.”

You can practically feel the color drain from your face. You don’t try to stop yourself from nodding. You’ve been taking sleeping medication, practicing healthy bedtime rituals, yadda-yadda-yadda. 

And even if that stuff has been helping a little, it’s still pretty damn useless in the face of certain things.

Two things, to be precise. And they both start with P. (Well, as far as you know. You haven’t been able to learn their full names; apparently because you need multiple forked tongues for correct pronunciation. You’re still not sure why either of them bothered sharing this information, since you don’t exactly have faces to put those partial names to.) 

Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe watches you think, his face-splitting grin becoming thoughtful. He tilts his head to the side, edging just a little closer to you. The way his neck contorts through the air almost reminds you of a caterpillar climbing a tree. 

“How do you know about that?” You wonder aloud. You’ve learned that it’s pretty common for creatures like him to just know many things without actually having the means to, but you’re still curious. Besides, if he’s content with just chatting, then maybe he’ll stay that way until you’re able to finally wake up. 

“฿Ɇ₵₳Ʉ₴Ɇ ł'VɆ ₴ɆɆ₦ ł₮,” he answers. “₴Ⱨ₳ĐØ₩₴ ₥₳₭Ɇ ₱ⱤɆ₮₮Ɏ ₲ØØĐ ₲₳₮Ɇ₩₳Ɏ₴ ł₣ ł ĐØ ₴₳Ɏ ₴Ø ₥Ɏ₴ɆⱠ₣. Ɇ₴₱Ɇ₵ł₳ⱠⱠɎ ₩ⱧɆ₦ ₮ⱧɆɎ'ⱤɆ ฿Ɇł₦₲ ₵₳₴₮ ฿Ɏ ₣ⱠØ₩ɆⱤ₴.”

Your train of thought screeches its way into a collision. “Wait—so. . .so, you’ve been in my room before?”

“ɎɆ₳Ⱨ, ₳ ₣Ɇ₩ ₮ł₥Ɇ₴. Ø₦₵Ɇ ₩ⱧɆ₦ ɎØɄ ₩ɆⱤɆ ₳Ⱡ₴ɆɆ₱, ₮₩ł₵Ɇ ₩ⱧɆ₦ ɎØɄ ₩ɆⱤɆ JɄ₴₮ ØɄ₮ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ ₳₱₳Ɽ₮₥Ɇ₦₮,” he replies, very much unbothered by the way your jaw drops. 

You blink. You blink again. You begin to pace around in a small circle, hands subconsciously rising to grasp at your head like it might fall off. 

Memories of previous nights barge their way between your ears. The red light outlining your bedroom door from the other side. . .the pair of glowing eyes on the rippling figure looming against the glass of your window. . .their respective, concerning-yet-oddly-personable voices calling out to you, going back and forth between squabbling with each other and trying to convince you to let one of them inside. . .

“Do you know them?” You finally ask. You’re not sure where that question came from, but it feels like it could be important. 

For the very first time since you saw him, Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe’s smile fades. He clicks his tongue and chews his lip.“ɎɆ₴, Ʉ₦₣ØⱤɆ₮Ʉ₦₳₮ɆⱠɎ.”

Your nights of being a literal captive audience for Plier and Pat’s disputes have been terrifying enough. You never would’ve guessed that the one classic vampire rule could apply to outer abominations, but you damn well haven’t forgotten to thank your lucky stars for it. 

. . .Except now you’ve just learned that apparently not all surreal horrors have those limitations and you’re talking to one that’s pretty much had access to more than enough blackmail material and if he’s been able to do that then how many others have been sneaking in while you’re unaware and—

“ɎØɄ Ⱨ₳VɆ ₲ØØĐ ₮₳₴₮Ɇ ł₦ ₣ⱠØ₩ɆⱤ₴, ฿Ɏ ₮ⱧɆ ₩₳Ɏ,” Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe mentions. His seemingly-unconnected arms draw closer to each other, folding across his che—uh, neck. The left hand’s palm supports the elbow of the right arm as its hand idly grasps his lower jaw. “ł ₮ØØ₭ ₴Ø₥Ɇ ₵Ⱡł₱₱ł₦₲₴ ₣ⱤØ₥ ₮ⱧɆ ₱Ø₮₴ Ø₦ ɎØɄⱤ ĐɆ₴₭. ₳ⱠØɆ VɆⱤ₳, ₲₳ⱤĐɆ₦ł₳, ₳₦Đ J₳₴₥ł₦Ɇ, Ɽł₲Ⱨ₮?”

You’re snapped out of the near anxiety-attack in a way similar to a rubber band breaking. 

“Um. . .yeah, that’s right,” you cough, thinking of the three green friends you recently purchased from that nursery downtown. You’ve personally named them Sonny, Cher, and Yasmin, but that information doesn’t really seem relevant right now. Besides, there’s a good chance the monster already knows that.

Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe nods, and his grin reappears so quickly, like it never left his face to begin with. Despite his unsettling demeanor, you can still detect some genuine gratitude. “ł'VɆ ฿ɆɆ₦ ₥Ɇ₳₦ł₦₲ ₮Ø ₳ĐĐ ₮ⱧØ₴Ɇ ₮Ø ₥Ɏ ₵ØⱠⱠɆ₵₮łØ₦ ₣ØⱤ ₳ ₩ⱧłⱠɆ ₦Ø₩.”

You nod back, mind momentarily going blank. You’ve learned that there’s a slew of unsavory truths behind even the most unassuming things, but this guy’s apparent fondness for horticulture doesn’t seem too nefarious. (Read: seem. You still need to stay on your toes.)

About thirty seconds of painful awkwardness pass the two of you by.

Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe lowers one arm in order to drum his nails on the fruit tree’s trunk. 

You rock back and forth on your heels, biting at the inside of your cheek. And right as you have an idea of what to say next, a long, low, gurgling sound breaks the strange silence. Several more join it.

You and Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe glance down just in time to see how the black hollyhocks are trembling. The nearest one leans forward, with a round lump in its stem that definitely wasn't there a few minutes ago. You watch with confusion and mild dread as the lump works its way up, pushing at the plant’s green skin from the inside. Then, once the lump settles at the part where the petals all gather at the base of the flower’s head. . .it retches like a drunk college student on helium. 

The hollyhock angles its blossom downward, and to the tune of a long, sickening sssqqquiii-plop! a slimy heart is pitched out, landing on the grass with a solid splat. Strands of blood cling to the black petals. The bloom quivers in a way that almost looks like heavy breathing.

A small scream tears through your throat as you stagger back, unable to take your eyes off of the new mess.

. . .Well, that last part changes once all the other hollyhocks start spitting out a variety of wet organs, the blood threatening to spray on your clothes. You know it’s just dream-blood, and you know you’re just wearing dream-clothes. But you also know that there will always, always be unpleasant side-effects to touching blood that’s just leaked out of something it shouldn’t possibly be leaking out of in the first place. 

You clamp a hand over your mouth; the wave of nausea that rolls over you feels itchy and sweaty and poisonous. 

Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe, meanwhile, heaves a sigh as he leans toward the flowers. “ⱤɆVɆⱤ₴Ɇ Ⱨ₳₦₳Ⱨ₳₭ł,” he announces in a grim tone. His smile vanishes again, this time being replaced by a guilty wince. “ł ₥Ʉ₴₮'VɆ ฿ⱤØ₭Ɇ₦ Ø₦Ɇ Ø�� ₮ⱧɆ ⱤɄⱠɆ₴ ₩ł₮ⱧØɄ₮ ⱤɆ₳ⱠłⱫł₦₲. . .Đ₳₥₦ ł₮, Đ₳₥₦ ł₮, Đ₳₥₦ ł₮. . .”

His neck encircles the tree, giving it some space as he examines each of the gore-spewing flowers. The worry in his features grows worse and worse. If not for your reasonable disgust, you’d probably feel sympathy. 

Eventually, he stops what you can only categorize as his method of pacing. His neck arches like that of a striking cobra as he purses his lips, obviously thinking. “₦Ø₮ Ⱡł₭Ɇ ł ₵₳₦'₮ ₮₳₭Ɇ ₵₳ⱤɆ Ø₣ ₮Ⱨł₴ Ⱡ₳₮ɆⱤ,” he murmurs. After retracing his path around the fruit tree, his milky-white eyes wander back over to you. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. You feel your eyes twitch and grow to the size of dinner plates. Your body doesn’t feel light anymore. It feels heavy, far heavier than what the scale in your bathroom suggested the last time you used it. A sensation that can only be described as pin-and-needles mixed with overwhelming heat oozes along your skin. You keep backing away. Mr. Nightmare-Humanoid-Giraffe. . .well, he doesn’t lunge at you. He doesn’t look angry enough to do that. But he’s still following you, still staring at you.

Out of nowhere, your ankle collides with something solid, and you fall back. 

You don’t topple into the grass. You don’t crash down onto anything.

Your vision swims, the world around you becoming an awful mix of spiraling colors and noise as you fall and fall and fall and—

Your ears pop as your eyes snap open. You gasp for air, sitting up with enough force that it’s a miracle you don’t trebuchet across your bedroom.  Your hands fly to your head, scrubbing at your eyes, pressing at your temples. 

And as your vision adjusts itself to the darkness, as you roll your shoulders to try and force yourself to stop shaking, you happen to peer over at the pots on your desk. 

Sonny, Cher, and Yasmin peer back, still and silent as always.

. . .Or, they are now. 

You swallow a lump in your throat, wondering if you actually just managed to catch Cher’s snow-white petals quivering.

@sammys-magical-au @inkbedos

[battiegutz]

TT donnie is so funny bc theyre blasting emo music in their lab like "no one understand me...." mascara running down their face while they code a virus that rickrolls ppl any time they press a button meanwhile in th other room mikey is having a break down bc hes hallucinating splinters corpse

[cryptidwithaninternetconnection]

Hhhhmmmmmmg, these feel like pointed shorts, I’ve told my mom about my depression and she said “I have noticed that whenever your in a slump, it’s always with a smile on your face, you never realy let people know how badly your hurting until it bubbles up, then you sweep it off”

This realy helps me self-diagnose myself, I’m aware that I have depression, I’ve had it for about 2-3 years at this point, I started developing these symptoms around the time when the first Covid shut-down happened that was supposed to last 2 weeks, then it progressively got worse and worse until it developed into this monster that hung on my shoulders like a giant block and weighed me down like a blanket, it still does I just don’t think about it as much.

I also have extremely severe anxiety, it reguraly invades my life and bombards me like a hurricane, spinning my thoughts and turning myself against me, it regularly makes me question if my friends and family are just hurting me, it makes me sit out on activities I know I would enjoy in fear of.. something, I don’t know what yet

Sorry that this is a bit of a downer post, I usually do the sillies but I feel like this was Important for me to share to help you guys see more of myself, I trust you guys to not use this information against me :)

[tired-and-unjellied]

Ah, the news...

*Nearly exclusively covers Macron and Bendella (far-right)*

"the youth only knows of Bendella among European deputy candidates"

"[You like Bendella for coming to the Agriculture salon] but Macron also came" as if Macron was an eurodeputy candidate, and not the President.

[theradioactivecat8]

I’m feel gross

[secretly-a-catamount]

They’re here, they’re queer, they’re domestic terrorists wanted by the state!