Author's Note: If there's some kind of award for 'latest contest prizes ever', I should probably receive it. Here's the first one I've finished, and it's a Morty/Jasmine drabble for chandelure, in response to the prompt 'he invades her dreams'. It ended up surprisingly fluffy. I think they'll enjoy it; I certainly hope so!
More prizes coming soon. I will finish them. Eventually. I promise
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Corporeal
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The pagodas are his antidote. Morty spends the heat of the day in the cool, misty depths of his realm, then emerges like a creature from hibernation to wander the paths of Ecruteak. Leaves crunching underfoot, sun setting westward. The bell tolls out the hours five, six, seven, eight. He is at peace with himself for a time.
But at night, his mind festers in the poison. The shade of darkness creeps up upon him like ivy upon old house, makes the little shadows like monsters. And though he would never admit it, the monsters terrify him and transform him into the small boy he was never allowed to be.
And so since he cannot find peace in his own mind, he seeks it elsewhere.
It is one of his many gifts. He's always supposed that it was probably a side effect from training ghost Pokémon, but it doesn't matter. The mysteries of the mind are the only mysteries which he would leave unsolved; he doesn't know whether it's respect or fear which drives him away. Regardless, he wanders the empty hills like a specter, silent, invisible. And that is how he gains his rest.
If he's lucky, the wind will drag him far from home. He goes west, traveling downhill until he can see the sea. The moon is bright on this side of the region, its twin reflecting on the water's surface. In the daytime, he can barely see the ocean until he's almost in the city itself. At night, the buildings are small and insignificant, and he towers over them, nothing impending his view.
And sometimes, if he's very lucky, he sees her.
She is not the same as him. She wanders at night, but not willfully, And not self aware. In a way, she is opposite to him; he leaves his body behind to wander, and she leaves her mind, as the corporeal representation of her existence walks far from home.
He knows when she is wandering because she leaves footsteps on the beach. They form a jagged line as her path winds back and forth along the tide. He always follows her; why, he doesn't know. Perhaps it's her beauty in the moonlight. Perhaps it's fear that one day she'll wander too far and the footsteps will disappear into the ocean.
It happens unexpectedly, one night when the moon is full and his mind is empty. He is sleepwalking out of fear; the nightmares have returned recently. And so he travels earlier than usual, wanders through the waves and watches them pass right through his legs.
But she is early too, and her jagged path takes her further than usual. Her bare feet brush the cold waves, and when the undertow takes her, she can do nothing. She doesn't wake. She doesn't try to escape.
He moves quickly, instinctively. He can't touch her, can't do anything in the physical world. But he slips into her mind, as easily as slipping into bed sheets, and suddenly she is his. And suddenly, he's gasping for air, struggling to the surface, dropping onto the sandy beach and leaving her mind as he feels her awareness returning along with her breath.
Nothing changes when Morty wakes up. But he returns the next night, and the next, just in case.
