#she only ever had one incarnation but i WISH she had more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

idyllcy · 4 months

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你还爱我吗? 我还爱你。

word count: 5.3k || Banner art by pimientosdulces

warnings: hurt no comfort

summary: death, you can not escape, yet Thanatos prays you will

No one escapes death. No one cheats death. and no one never meets death more than necessary.

Most of the people around you fall again and again, death incarnate a long-familiar face to you as you watch him claim your family, leaving you all alone. You know the reason, your family worships someone long-fallen, someone that would result in the rage of Olympus up above. You have no feelings, tending to the temple as one after the other falls, until there is no one left but you. You find that the benefit is that you will never age. Forever alone in the small temple your family built, only death capable of claiming you. You have not cheated death. Death has cheated the underworld, perhaps. You find no reason to be treated as such.

Your sister is next, and as you sit next to her bed, eyes closed, humming a final song to her, listening to the way her breath slowed and her heart faded. When she passes, you continue sitting there, waiting for an old presence to return next to you.

"Fair maiden."

"Death." You nod. "Am I next?"

"I do not know. I am simply assigned people. I do not choose them." He nods at you as you let go of your sister's hand, eyes stuck on her body as Thanatos returns her to the dead, placing her into Charon's boat. "Do you have her fare?"

You rummage through your pockets, handing him the obon prepared for your sister.

"You are the final one. Is there a reason the gods wish for you all to be eradicated?"

"We are traitors." You smile, lips curled upwards as Thanatos stares down at you, unfamiliar warmth crawling up the back of his neck at your visage. Death does not fold nor wait for anyone. Death does not pardon the living. Death claims who it needs to with the embrace of eternity, soul laid to rest in the Underworld as the living continue.

Yet, he never brings you back when you are requested of by Hades.

"Do you wish to live?"

"It does not matter to me. The servants have died, and there is nothing left for me in this world. You are the only one who can come to claim me."

"Do you miss your family?" Thanatos notes the next assignment of his.

"It does not matter anymore."

"I will see you when it is your time."

Thanatos recalls the first time he had met you. When the ones on Olympus wished for the eradication of a family of Chronos worshippers, your father was claimed first — as once you claim the head of the family, the rest will crumble ever so quickly. Your father passed through the strike of lighting, a clear warning to stop what was happening in your abode, yet no one batted an eye. You had stayed by your father's side as his firstborn, the man bearing no sons, and you had looked at him — something that should not have been possible for a person of the realm of the living.

"This is his obol." You had mentioned. "May he be placed where he is deemed fit."

Thanatos had not talked to you — your age far too young for you to understand just what was happening, and he had left as quickly as he had arrived. It is not as though he had never seen a child by the body of the dead, but the sight of you alone was unnerving. Perhaps it is just a cruel thing of fate. It was cruel that someone as fair as you would be visited so many times by he.

The next, it is your mother. Once again, it had been you, and you had handed him the obol that was to be placed with the dead. You are in mourning clothes, still, and you hold the hand of your mother, even as her body is cold. Thanatos can not trace the grief that wracks your soul and body. You are weighed down by something, and perhaps, it is something that will kill you some day. Perhaps the weight of death has long become something you have grown used to, only in the people you tend to in the temple and not the people of your own home. Perhaps you know that committing a treason will get you nowhere.

"You can see me." He speaks this time, but he does not respond to you when you ask him if he knows why.

Your mother's body is passed along the River Styx, and you return to tending to the Temple of Time. Thanatos knows the end will arrive for you soon, but considering the ages of every worshipper there was in the temple, you would not change all that much the next couple times he meets you. You are blessed to stay forever young, cursed to meet death at the hands of all the Olympians. Your family is blessed to stay in their youth, but cursed to be unable to escape death. Thanatos will be meeting you many more times in the future, and he finds that perhaps he has no chance or right to complain. If you are not complaining, then how could he?

"My sister." You hand him the obol, nodding as he takes the first of your sisters.

"Do you mourn?"

"What is there to mourn when you are in the wrong?" You hum. "May they be blessed with their stay in Asphodel."

Thanatos finds that you do not age after that. Time is on your side, a titan long forgotten and locked away by the people, a world in which you would be struck down by the heavens as result of such. Yet, you continue tending to the temple, perhaps wishing that you would keep your youth, rosy complexion, and dazzling lashes, skin healthy and unblemished, forever in your youth as a result of such. Perhaps you have sold your soul to become the way you are. Perhaps, he is no better than mortals who wage wars to destroy each other over beauty. Perhaps, if it ever would come to it, Thanatos would have his hands stained with far more than what Ares could ever dream of being stained with — all over you.

Your aunt is claimed next, and at that point, the worshippers have learned to stop visiting the temple. He does not recall if he had ever seen your aunt in the temple when he passed by to claim your parents, but he does not think too much of it. You had been the only one to ever be by the dead, perhaps as an offering to calm Thanatos at the sight of you — or, perhaps you were simply placed there because you had been the fairest of your sisters. Perhaps it was meant to please Thanatos, and it would have been a lie for him to say it did not.

"My aunt has no children." You hand him the fare, fingers brushing his palm, bowing gently as he takes her.

His gaze lingers on you for longer than acceptable, and he leaves once more.

You do not learn. Your family does not learn, and before long, it is your uncle, your sister, your cousin, your elders. By the final time that Thanatos arrives, it is one of your final two sisters.

Thanatos has long grown used to the sight of you, youth on your skin, apple of your cheeks, from your hair to your feet, Thanatos could have imagined you with a close of his eyes, perhaps heart-racing at the thought of you. He has fallen for you, just through your knowing of death. Perhaps, he will never be loved back, death far too cold for the average person — perhaps his skin would freeze yours over, and you would be cursed with the grasp of death, and the thought was far more fearful than he would have believed it to be.

Yet, he arrives to bring one of your final sisters to the dead, holding his palm out for the obol in your hand, and he stares at your hair, the way you do not bat an eye at death himself, and it ruins his mind with thoughts of perhaps letting you live forever. Perhaps, your age will never catch up with you, and you would become someone he hides from the House of Hades — someone that he would adore to no end and let live for eternity. Though, not that he has the choice.

"You do not learn." He blinks at you.

"No, I do not." You smile, staring death in the eyes as your youngest sister peeks from the door, watching you speak to the air. "Death, I do not wish for my sister to bury me. If they request one of our souls, do assure me that the youngest will live to see Elysium."

"I can not make such exceptions."

"It was worth the attempt." He takes your sister, body reaped as you watch her disappear.

"Adelphḗ, who are you talking to?"

"I told you not to come inside." You turn around to shield her eyes, Thanatos's gaze lingering on the small of your back as your sister peeks past your fingers to stare at death himself. She can not see him. Only you are the exception.

"Who is next?"

"I do not know."

"I can not hear him." She mumbles. "Perhaps you possess the blessing of Hades himself."

"No. There is no such thing." You hum. "Shall we go?"

"And leave death alone?"

"He is gone." You turn to stare at him again, and he nods.

"Until my assignment brings my return."

"Will you be next?"

"No." You promise. "I will not let anyone force you to bury your sister alive."

"Then I am next?"

"You will find mother and father before I do." You hum. "Though, I can not promise it will happen."

"You have buried us all. Must you bury me too?"

"I can not protect you against the gods." You close your eyes. "You may refrain from your duties tonight. Perhaps they will be less angered if you do so."

Your servants are the ones taken next. No matter how far they ventured from the temple, had they worked for your family, they are returned to death. You send them their fare to the underworld, and Thanatos learns to visit you for the fare instead of returning to the body eventually. The servants do not have the fare for the underworld, and you, their ever-loving master, do. So, you pay their obol, coins in your hand as Thanatos arrives at your place, resting in the corner of the room until your sister has left and it is you alone.

"Another one?" There is a sense of exhaustion that wracks deep in your soul that only Thanatos can feel.

"I can not go against it, fair maiden." He takes the obol from you, and you take note of the coldness of his skin.

"May I pay in advance?"

"You may not."

"Very well." You hum. "There are four left. If I am not in our home at the time, please pull open the drawer to take the obol."

"Do you not worry that death will cheat you?"

"What is there for death to cheat me of?"

Thanatos finds that you are right. When he is free of assignments, he lingers around your abode, watching your youngest sister learn to cook from you, noting down the way you ignored his presence no matter how close he was to you. He is respectful, yet he watches, eyes glued to the way your fingers have grown rougher from the housework, smile on your face, still, as your sister asks you to help her out. The indomitable human spirit exists, he finds. It is the same as the warrior who fights after a limb is hacked off on the battlefield, and the mother who uses the last of her dying energy to nurse her child. You do not waver even with the death of your family, responsibility long shrouded on your shoulders and no longer something you pay attention to.

"Rest well, Agape." You brush her hair to the side, making sure the young one is rested before you get up to return to your own quarters.

"She is next." Thanatos tells you.

"It is decided?"

"You must be the one to kill her." Thanatos hums. "Will you?"

"No." You laugh. "Once she is gone, I may return to my family as well."

Thanatos stares at you, watching as you lean against the wall, moon pale against your skin as you laugh. Perhaps in a sense of desperation, but the white coat of the moon is enough for him to quietly pray that you would become someone of his sort. Perhaps, you would gain the eternity that so many mortals longed for — that you would become a god as Heracles had. Yet, his thoughts are fleeting, for there was no way that Hades himself would grant death to leave you to stay in your youth for eternity.

"How are they?"

"They are in Asphodel."

"I know." You close your eyes, brows furrowed slightly as you calm yourself down. "Eternal damnation is slightly better when with family, no?"

"And if you do not end up in Asphodel?"

You raise a brow. "My bloodline and ancestry is cursed to Asphodel. What would make me different?"

"Death's favor?"

"That is preposterous." You laugh. "Though, I appreciate it, death."

"Thanatos. Refer to me by name, maiden."

You stare at him, shaking your head.

It would be rude.

Your sister passes just as quickly as the rest of your family, her body placed on the bed for death as Thanatos comes to collect the Obon.

"Death." You are much more stricken with a grief and exhaustion — of equal amounts with the men of age who had fought in wars and found that it was all in vain when they are sent to Asphodel. It is something disturbing, even to death, but he does not have the luxury to consider such when he claims each soul. He is not to be moved during his assignments, no matter how often he met you or others. You should not be special to him.

"Do you wish to live for eternity?"

"Of what use is it if I do not age?" You hum.

"Change the temple."

"I can not." You shake your head. "Death, I will be struck down by one more, one far more powerful than the rest."

"Time can not destroy you."

"Time can." You stare him in the eye. "Time can wither me or return me to the form I was before birth. It is terrifying... something far more horrific than death."

"Then die." He offers you his hand, and you stare at it.

"When my assignment is sent in, will you grant me a wish?"

"You long for a wish?"

"Perhaps I do." You smile coyly, and Thanatos wonders just if he was the one being kind or you were the one being cruel.

Perhaps you are simply taking advantage of him. So, when death returns to take you, you are gone. He follows your soul, and it remains forever stored in the Temple of Time, unable to track you down by flesh alone. You have cheated death. You are cruel, yet he finds that it does not matter. You did not long for something that others would have. Your human spirit was not indomitable, and it was nowhere near as strong as the men of war. You have lost all that chains you to the earth, so it would only be so long until you returned to retrieve your soul and return to the dead.

"You failed to retrieve the soul?"

"It is chained in the Temple of Time that you had wished for to be eradicated. I can not claim the soul without the body." Thanatos reports. "Let me retrieve the person."

"You can not do such a thing." Hades bellows. "If death chases a single individual, what will become of the others who need to pass?"

"Keres." Thanatos speaks.

"No." Hades turns him down. "Rather, I will send someone else."

It is proved to be futile when your soul is never retrieved, and Thanatos finds that you are gone.

"Let me do it." He argues again. "Moros can only do so much as the doom incarnate. To that soul, their doom is not death."

Hades lets Thanatos do the job, though begrudgingly. He has a couple of hours in between assignments to locate your body to retrieve you back to where you belong. You are not found for a long time, and he finds that at one point, the gods fade, their influence over the mortal realm dwindling as they do. Thanatos remains with the rest of the family, finding that there are others who deal with the dead alongside him in regions not limited to Greece. He will not find you, he believes. So, he jars your leftover soul, embedding it into his scythe, perhaps as a last attempt as a form of desperation to keep you close to him. He should not have fallen for you, yet he did, and it would have been the end of his life had it happened.

His companion, Zagreus takes notice the quickest.

"Thanatos, don't you believe... that you have changed? Who is this fair maiden? Perhaps I will find her at the surface."

"Don't say such nonsensical things, Zagreus. She is no longer in Greece."

"That is only what you believe, no? Surely she is out there."

"That is not possible."

"Oh, you wouldn't know until you get there yourself."

While searching for a satyr sack, Zagreus encounters a new chamber, blinking quickly as he enters, lack of rats and satyrs apparent as he continues walking through each door, the final one leading to a cloaked figure, lack of visible features, a gentle laugh on their lips as they blink at the godling. They take two steps back, a satyr sack in hand, stepping onto the red plate, and Zagreus follows suit, watching as they move Cerberus to the side for Zagreus to leave. It is a sight, the guardian of the underworld enjoying the smaller sack as Zagreus passes without issue.

"Lovely shade, who might you be?!" Zagreus calls, time short before Cerberus would remember that the prince isn't allowed to pass.

They do not answer, waving their hand at the prince instead.

The second time, Zagreus leaves them a bottle of nectar, a smile on his face as he thanks them, ruffling Cerberus' fur along the way, grinning.

"Shade, will you tell me your name?"

They shake their head, waving goodbye to the prince.

The shade is not present in the next handful of runs, and instead, only tens later does Zagreus find his way back through the gates of Charon's obol with no satyrs and rodents, standing before the hooded shade as they hand him the satyr sack this time, obol dropped in his hand as he nods. They would not be going with him this time, and perhaps, it was simply out of some sort of desperation.

"Dear shade, won't you tell me your name? Has death claimed you?"

The shade shakes its head, and Zagreus sighs.

"May this bottle of nectar keep you company." He hands it to the shade, bottle held as Zagreus runs off.

The prince of the underworld drops off bottles of nectar each time he runs into them, nectar turning to ambrosia before he starts bringing plush companions. He shows them the small mouse, death on it as the hooded figure reaches to brush the cheek of the plush, and Zagreus trusts that if they could talk, they would have called it cute. There is a sense of tenderness that only someone who knows would be able to feel for it. It is beautiful, Zagreus thinks. Perhaps Thanatos should know of them.

"There is this shade up by the Temple of Styx," Zagreus tries, introducing them to Thanatos slowly. "Are they claimed?"

"A shade? Or a real person?"

"I do not know." Zagreus hands him a bottle of ambrosia. "They do not speak."

"I do not see how that is of my concern." Thanatos raises a brow, accepting the drink.

"Call it reincarnation's instinct." Zagreus hums. "Or, call it a prince's fleeting thoughts."

Thanatos pays Zagreus no mind, sending the dead on their way to each region of the Underworld as instructed, too busy for such fleeting thoughts of the prince's words. Zagreus may have a point, but without a voice and characteristics, there is no way to determine whether or not it was truly you. Besides, with your soul chained to his scythe, there was no way you would have been able to enter the temple without notifying him in some way. Hades would have noted if the intruder had there been a disturbance. It is not death's job to clean up such things.

Yet, the prince does not stop, bottle after bottle handed to him, always nudging death to take a peek at the "dear shade," refusing to let Thanatos erase such a shade from his presence.

"Zagreus." Thanatos warns. "I will not do such a thing."

Zagreus shrugs. "It would not hurt, Thanatos."

Thanatos finds it childish.

Yet, Zagreus returns to the shade when he can, bottle of nectar replaced with Ambrosia as he laughs, grinning as the shade thanks him with their hands, words never coming out.

"Oh, dear shade, won't you tell me who you are?" He hums, smiling as the shade does not move its head, tracing gentle patterns on Zagreus' skin instead, letters spelling out gratitude and none else.

"Perhaps you are bound?"

The shade shakes its head, and Zagreus is sent on his way again.

Surely, the shade was who Thanatos was looking for.

"Than, I really think you should see them." Zagreus insists. "You must trust me."

"Zagreus, I have work to attend to."

"I know, but it is not so." Zagreus shakes his head. "During a break when you seek the soul that you have been for so long, visit the chamber of coins in the Temple of Styx."

Thanatos truly does not wish to, too focused on retrieving your soul, but he makes the time for his dear friend. He enters the temple and flutters through the walls and doors, staring at the shade as they move their head to listen to the sound of the air changing. Thanatos does not understand how the shade would be you, but he understands how Zagreus could have mistaken it to be so. After all, the prince had only heard about you, never to meet you. You are two different people in his mind, the shade holding your physique but not your body. It is a strange sight to behold.

"Shade." He speaks. "Are you lost?"

The shade does not answer, simply shaking its head instead.

"Do you not speak?"

They shake their head.

Death does not linger, choosing to leave quickly instead.

It is strange for a shade to be misplaced, but it would be a report from his end rather than a whole ordeal done by him to return the shade. The shade is not special enough for him to tend to, yet Zagreus insists that he continue to return to the shade, even if the shade does not return an answer to him. Zagreus insists that this is the shade, and that Thanatos must be the one to discover and recall that on his own. Yet, Thanatos refuses to accept the reality that you are perhaps the shade, stuck in a circle of denial as he returns again and again to the shade's silence to his questions, only a nod and shake of a head available to death himself.

Perhaps, he is longing for something that he can not have.

And as all things are, Thanatos grows increasingly agitated at the shade's lack of response to some questions, bottle tipping over as it spills and cracks all over the floor, stuck as he raises his voice at a shade that has done no wrong to him. He is stuck, pondering, wondering, longing and craving the feeling of your fingers against his palm when you handed him the obol, eyes wide in frustration at a shade that does not speak and chatter as the other shades do. He is cursed to be unable to see you again, and even if he does, he knows he can not delay the inevitable that he will have to kill you.

"TALK TO ME." Thanatos raises his voice, reaching for their hood, throwing it off as he stares down at you in horror, tears in his eyes at the lack of features. Your face does instinctually tilts up, but you can not see the face of the death that you have grown so used to. Instead, there is nothing. You lack a face, and Thanatos understands just why you had chosen to remain silent around him all the times before. It was not a choice. Your skin is unblemished and smooth, eyes and nose missing, as though you were a body lacking a soul — a blank canvas that would hurt someone to look at for too long.

"You are faceless. My fair maiden, you are faceless." He brushes his thumb over what would have been your cheek, eyes weary and soul tired as he rests his forehead onto where yours should have been. His fingers are cold against the lukewarm skin on your face, his soul weighed down by the reality he had chosen to ignore, tired and refusing to accept that the end of your tale would be here in the Temple of Styx. "Here, this belongs to you."

Thanatos returns your soul, your face returning, a smile on your face that Thanatos had engrained into his mind, burned into the depths of his memories, fearing that the years he reaped souls would catch up to him and erase all of your presence in his mind. Your visage is returned, complexion never changing, youth forever engrained in the gentleness of your skin. Your eyes open first, staring up at death as he is floating, exhausted smile on his face as you look up at him with a fondness that perhaps only you could have felt for something so many despised in the world.

"I am sorry, death." You smile sadly, heart sour in your chest as he stares at you. You reach for the bottles of nectar and ambrosia next to you, handing them to death himself as he grimaces. There is no happy ending fated for the two of you. Death can not love the living, as all things will pass through his hands, only to end up in the underworld in a place that he will not have the time to visit. It will kill him and eat him alive, hurting him until there was nothing left, and he would have become the cold and senseless death that so many people feared.

Yet, yet, yet, Thanatos wondered if you could be the one to save and help him. Perhaps, in your hands, death would be a little warmer, a blanket thrown over a child when they are young, the embrace of a parent that has long left the earth, or the tranquility that one would feel in a field of emptiness with just the night sky. Perhaps, with your hands in his, he could be a death that people learn to accept and not fear, and that he would become a symbol of a restful death, rather than as a sentence to eternal damnation. He longs to be what you have learned to see him as, but neither of you have a choice in the matter.

Death will be feared regardless of who it is accompanied by.

"Do not apologize." He whispers, staring at you as his hands freeze in place and he is unable to move. He wants to comfort you, but the touch of death will forever be cold no matter how warm and loving he wishes to come off as. You will only feel the piercing ice of death, not the warmth and sweetness of life that he so wanted you to feel. He can not be the comfort he longs to give you. He will hurt you more than heal, and your soul will break even with the gentlest of moments together. You will not live as long as you are by his side.

"I believe it is time for my soul to be reaped." You smile. "It was a pleasure being acquainted with death himself. If there is a next life, may I be someone immortal so that I would be able to hold death in my embrace, my skin warm against yours."

"Do not say that." Thanatos' grip tightens on his scythe, hands shaking as you look at him again.

"I am sorry, Thanatos." You smile sadly, eyes closed as he reaps your soul.

"No," He whispers gently, kneeling by your side as he holds your leftover body. "I am sorry, for even death himself can not bear to live without your beauty"

And you return to the Styx, eyes closed as Charon carries you off to be registered with Hypnos.

He stares at your face, and Thanatos sighs.

"I can not save her."

Charon response with a groan.

"Is that so? She will not get her body back."

A rumble.

"And what do you suppose I do?"

Charon lifts your body from the boat, handing you to Thanatos as he takes you, eyes glued to your empty chest as Thanatos understands.

"Really? Master Hades will not like that."

"Nhhhhhrg."

"If you insist."

Death has no chambers, as they are only a formality, yet Thanatos wonders if this was simply what the fates had wished for as he lays your body in his bed. You are peaceful, eyes closed, empty hole in your chest as he stares, regret wracking his body as he stares at you for as long as he can without growing nauseous. He should not have reaped you. He should have brought you to death and chained a sentence to his heart to let you live, to beg and kneel to stay beside you — yet he can not do so any longer. You are nothing more than dead now. Not even death himself can return you to life.

Your body is safe, and only your soul remains to be saved.

Thanatos leads your dead soul through Hypnos and then seals it away again into his scythe, waiting for the chance to return it to your dead body, waiting for the day you would be seen again, for a day that he would have the time.

And when he gets the chance, he returns your soul, fingers brushing your hair as he waits an eternity for you to wake back up, death a long thing of the past, as rumored that the cold death that gave a warm embrace was replaced by Hades himself, swift snap of fingers, brought in by the boatman, yet death nowhere in sight, longing for the warm fingers of the person he had found he could not live without. Death remains by her bedside, eyes closed for the eternity that his love would have her eyes closed, two resting side by side in a blessing of sleep by his brother.

And there is a rumor, that the swift death of the past is replaced by the slow death of doom and sleep, by the violent death of Keres, for the death that our ancestors felt is waiting for the return of his lover from himself. That his soul would lead her out of the eternity of darkness, and her eyes would open and he would cry, warmth of her fingertips on his skin as he closes his eyes to thank Olympus above.

But, until then, the doom of mankind is inevitable.

#ik this is supposed to be like super fucking sad but I can not take the Charon part seriously sorry yall #thanatos x reader #hades game x reader #hades x reader #hades game #reader insert #☾.fics

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mi-i-zori · 2 months

Text

Lies of Apathy

CoD - Demon!AU - Demon!Ghost x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS : She should have started running a long time ago. But they’re one and the same. No matter how far she goes, she always comes back to him. And the demon knows how to find her.

WARNINGS : Heavy angst with very small comfort, allusions to self-harm, mentions of smut (with consent), blood, description of panic attacks. There are a lot of religious metaphors that come from many, many religions, but none of them is directly mentioned.

Author’s Note : This is something I originally wrote in my native language a while ago, but ended up getting lost in my files because I had no idea what to do with it. So I used it as both a translation and writing practice. Hope you like it !

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Word Count : 12k+

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Beyond the turquoise shine of the firmament, a mayhem hides.

Waiting to awaken.

It longs for destruction, wishing to make our world and its peace a crude copy of the original Pandemonium. Lost in the soft, spectral feathers of a Fallen, a crimson suffering leaks, drops and runs, engraving its cruel wails into the bones of those who dare hear them. Those who only see it as an incarnation of love.

Oh, how tragic it can be, that imitation of kindness forging those who are supposed to guide the lost souls to the other side of the river ! In the blood of an Angel dance the names of countless minor deities bathing in their corrupted altruism - something the Ghost knows too well.

Sometimes, he remembers how he’s not supposed to be, for the memories of his origins have been erased by a never-ending hatred and despair.

In front of him, the young Hunter falls to her knees, facing the ruins of her own happiness. A peculiar fear tears a whimper from her knotted throat, and the idea of praying before this dilapidated shrine, created by a merciless Divine, leaves a rotten taste on what’s left of her tastebuds. A nameless exhaustion claws at her face, tries to drag her down the abyss of her subconscious. Her heart crumbles upon a way too familiar weight, and her breath gallops erratically in her lungs, her chest threatening to cave in under the ever-growing despair tainting her tears.

Knowing said despair is akin to drowning in its breast, to familiarise yourself with its screeching song and bury your bloodied eardrums among its decaying notes. In this very moment, a monster holds her with a renewed form of frenesy, and something inside of her cannot seem to wriggle out of the thorns covering its arms.

Around her, a baritone voice echoes from the darkness.

- Beautiful sight, it says. Small, vulnerable ya, prostrated in a field o’ ruins. ‘Ow many statues of ‘ope did ya build ‘ere, only for ‘em to instantly be destroyed ?

A familiar silhouette emerges from the nothingness facing her. She doesn’t answer to its usual sarcasm - instead, she allows her heart to bleed one more drop on the cracks littering the ground.

- Wot are ya prayin’ for, this time ? The entity asks as he stops next to her, crossing his arms on his chest. Maybe I can ‘elp.

His words awaken a wave of uncontrollable shivers in her guts. An violent earthquake, cold and cackling. Its growls bounce around her vocal cords as her nails dig into her palms.

- I’m not praying, she says from in-between her clenched teeth, her eyes falling upon the remnants of something she can’t bring herself to recognize. The Gods will never lift a finger when it comes to listening to a Fallen Soul.

The Ghost kneels before her crumpled form, the skull covering his face glinting in the darkness. A long time ago, seeing him like this, lowered at her own level, would have satisfied her ; showered her in a grandeur a part of her has always wished to know, laced with a taste of Paradise. Now, it’s nothing more than sickening. His smile, given away by the obvious crinkling of his eyes, brings a storm of Chaos in her already fractured mind, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to forget this feeling. Trembling hands rise to grip the short strands of blonde hair of the Fallen, dragging him down to properly face her snarl.

- You poor, pitiful bastard. Why do you keep laughing at me as if it’s all your life has been reduced to ?

She wants her voice to be sharp and cruel ; but it only sounds lifeless, washed away by her exhaustion. The rough edges of a laugh bark inside the abyss of her skull. Her muscles suddenly tense like bowstrings, tightening her grip on his hair.

- Ya think Beasts were once made to live the grandest o’ lives ?

Her jaw snaps shut. Before she even realises it, her arms fall abruptly to her side, their strength devoured by the demon’s words.

- Or do ya think your Destiny is only made o’ ruins ?

The smile dancing in his eyes is much softer now, and it’s as if he had lost the usual malice lingering in his heart. Her own heart skips a beat at the sight, so out of place among such devastating surroundings. It’s a terrifying thing to point out, she thinks, probably the most acrid of all.

Blood covered lips twist in uncertain disgust at the thought.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

A metallic flavour melts on her tongue, crude and molten, burning her senses through the gut-wrenching wish to fearlessly face his playful, mocking truths. She can barely feel her limbs ; but she feels the bruises blooming on her skin, born from the war and chaos she keeps tearing through on the daily. In the Ghost’s eyes, the mix of such somber colours, full of meaning and ache, holds a beauty he’s never been able to name.

Her clothes get heavier under the amount of blood pooling through their fibres ; but so do his, and neither of them could tell which crimson belongs to whom. The thought carves a smile behind his mask - doesn’it it make it all so much more interesting ?

- One day, she snarls, you’ll be judged.

An endless cacophony of whistles drills through her head. She knows nothing of the issue of their fight ; but it won’t stop her from clawing at both her freedom and her peace. She fishes her weapon out of the decaying puddles rippling around her knees, and holds it at his throat.

- And I’ll bury you a thousands times under the weight lining the Jackal’s scales.

The entity looks at the blade with mocking interest. A spark of danger dances in his lifeless eyes, only growing brighter as they lock onto hers. He notices the way her features are pulled tight by a bottomless rage. Disarming her is simple, done in the blink of an eye, and he wonders if she’s really going down the path that will lead her to surrender. If she’ll do it willingly, or if she’s still going to fight - if so, how long do they have left ? He knows this question has also crossed her mind, sees it in the tremble of her hands. Even like this, now laying under him like a mouse under a wolf, he finds the young woman to be more than a mesmerizing sight.

She could easily be mistaken for some kind of divinity, he thinks, and it almost makes him laugh. The sounds, unfamiliar and rough, mimics the memory of what used to be a beating heart in the depths of his chest.

How long ago was it ? The last time he ever felt alive ?

Did he ever ?

Now, he’s supposed to be close to death - or a vessel for it, even. A being of rage and torment, made for walking in a world of destruction and pain, for leaving a path of decay in his wake. He feels it all, yet he isn’t allowed to die. A part of him probably wishes he was ; but he forgot about it since the moment it was sent to lay dormant beyond his consciousness. He doesn’t even know if he’ll ever be able to find it again. If it still exists.

His attention zeroes back in on the desperate soul laying in front of him. The armor she keeps covering herself with is has once again been reduced to shreds by their never-ending fights. There isn’t an inch of her skin that hasn’t been covered in dirt. He takes in the sight before lowering his face next to hers, his rough whisper floating in her ear.

- Oh, lil’ Snowflake.

I can’t wait.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Tonight, her favourite restaurant is filled to the brim.

The happiness of her family’s voice gets lost in the cacophony floating through the room. Everything around her is blurred with exhaustion ; but his presence is crystal clear. Behind her, sitting in the shadows of a decorative curtain, the Ghost is patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike. The more time passes, the more easily she can see him in her mind. It’s a stupid game - one they both keep playing, wondering who will break and speak first. Allow the other in.

Maybe the day will come when they finally become one - simultaneously taking a bite of the poisoned apple.

This cruel temptation may be the reason why she’s cursed, she thinks, an invisible wall slowly forming between her world and the one spreading in front of her, filled with the laughter of her loved ones. Her life is made of painful memories, witnesses of a will to live that never really was. The idea that her future could be the same, tainted with the kind of horrors nobody else can see, is terrifying - injects even more corruption in her veins, lungs and bones. A rusty sword dangles above her neck, ready to cut one half of her existence and leave the other to suffer through a ruthless agony, trapped under the weight of its metallic carcass.

She’s not yet ready to drown in her own damnation, but the somber waters never cease to rise. The black tide finds pleasure in torturing her, filling her trachea to the brim before throwing her back to the surface. It cackles madly as she drags her disjointed puppet of a body on the shore, proud of the violence it keeps subjecting her to.

When she thinks about it, the young woman often realises how far back in time this curse goes. It seems to plunge its roots in her very origins, as if vowing to forever haunt her dreams with visions of madness, horrifying and useless prophecies that could have made sense had she been born in humanity’s most ancient of times. But the old Oracles are no more. So she swallows the twisted sights piling in her soul, and fills her daily life with empty smiles. A normality that was never hers.

Her demons were born alongside her. And they will never meet their end unless she succumbs to her own fall.

She saw many strange things and fought an equal amount of nightmares ; she shouldn’t allow any of this to affect her so badly. But it’s in her nature to think and feel, way too much even, which makes her an easy prey to the eyes of Those Who Fell. One of them trails behind her, melts within her shadow. He wants to devour her life even more than any of the others will, and refuse to let her breathe. He knows which string to pinch in order to make her fall, which melody to play to stir up her rage. He forces her to run within his -her- darkness, to get lost in its endless expanse, to confuse herself until she doesn’t know which path she is following anymore ; abandon or redemption. Like an offspring of Eris, he finds pleasure in throwing the apple of discord between her and the world she desperately tries to belong to.

His very presence used to terrify her. But time decided to drop some hatred in the bottomless goblet of her fears, birthing a futile perseverance at the bottom of her guts.

A few seconds fly past her eyes before the vacant chair to her left silently creaks under the invisible weight of the entity. As always when he manifests himself in public, she barely spares him a glance. A part of her wonders if he would act the same, should the roles be reversed. She came to find a peculiar kind of comfort in his freezing presence and the familiar thoughts he brings.

In front of her, her uncle barks out a laugh at a waiter’s joke, tearing her away from her thoughts. Leaning forward to examine the enticing content of her newly-delivered plate, she feels the demon do the same against her back, reminding her of his presence through the cacophony of her thoughts. Usually, she would curse him without hesitation. But right now, this is not something she can afford to do ; not when she has to play pretend in front of her family’s peace.

An invisible hand settles on her wrist as her free hand rises a spoonful of rice to her mouth, allowing the Ghost to measure her tired heartbeat. It sometimes launches itself to a full gallop whenever she has to speak or a sudden crash emerges from the restaurant’s kitchen. Following the same rhythm as the drumming in her ears. The bloodied melody always takes its time to fall back to a steadier beat, and the thoughts that follows hold a suffering the Ghost likes to decipher.

A secret message. A call for help, written in the trickiest of codes.

What a beautiful song, he thinks, burning with chaos ; and the young woman barely restrains the twist of her features when his mockery echoes in her already overflowing mind, threatening to worsen the migraine lingering around her skull.

How good is it to fight anyway ? She sometimes murmurs to herself, shutting off the cackles echoing in the back of her mind. Is the darkness really that bad ?

Maybe her feelings are getting the best of her. Maybe the idea of surrendering to the enemy’s claws comes from the loneliness nesting behind her heart, the one pushing her to more or less willingly seek the Ghost’s company. Maybe she’s simply imagining the spark of sympathy that sometimes dances in his gaze. A part of her insists that there can’t be any light without darkness, and vice versa ; but maybe she’s just reading in-between lines that don’t even exist.

Maybe all these thoughts are the result of another manipulative ambush orchestrated by her demons.

To hell with all those beings made of impurity and fake divinity ! She exclaims silently while laughing at a story she didn’t really hear. Those monsters corrupting the innocents’ dreams, immolating them with waves upon waves of sinful flames, leaving a salty, rotten taste on the remnants of their tongues ! They find happiness in Their victims’ despair, cooing at the ruins of their broken hopes, recalling the misadventures of Icarus and the other mortals They disgraced with Their attention. Be careful to not burn yourself, they cackle and rasp. The phoenix went extinct eons ago ; it’s now impossible to come back from your ashes.

Lie, little dream, lie, the Divine laughs ceaselessly as she surrenders herself to a hopeless optimism. Why not hide yourself behind an illusion ?

Lie, little dream, lie. Why not become a nightmare ?

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Sometimes, she wonders if her throat isn’t laced with a red string - the kind that, one day, will inevitably be the end of her.

She often turns around to catch a glimpse of it, in an elusive reflection in the mirror, or in the corner of her vision. She read dozens of stories worshiping it as the proof that true love is far from being a myth, saying that seeing it means one’s soulmate is nearby. But only in dreams can such things really exist.

And, sometimes, even dreams can lie.

For the spectre of her destiny created the thread with a mix of love and hate, of strength and cowardice ; a foreign intimacy made to drown them as one. The kind of thing that, should she ever share it with the world, would only be the source of laughter and disdain. She would probably be punished for her lack of gratitude for the life she was given.

Each breath is constantly filled with a bloodcurdling fear of simply existing. Her body never ceases to quake, trapping air in the expanse of her lungs and struggling to let it out. A thousand bear-traps snap at her flesh as she tries to keep pursuing her future, this vision she never really manages to see clearly. She sometimes think about tightening the string around her throat, deepen its colour with the moisture of her own blood ; yet it seems content with just grazing her skin in a satire of love, constantly feeding the frustration nestled in her breast. She never knows if it will ever be merciful enough to slash her neck open.

The Ghost holding the other side of the crimson line is dangerous, murmurs a voice resembling her own. One wrong move would be enough for him to send her over the edge. A clumsy step to the side. A benevolent mistake.

She often notices the small knot clashing with the dull porcelain of his skin. He likes teasing her by wrapping the string around his palm, adding enough pressure to have it leave a rugged caress on her neck ; to remind her of its presence. She loathes the cruel smile that carves his face open when he catches her off-guard, causing her to lift her hand towards her own knot.

She despises them all : him, the world, her Destiny. And she hates her own inability to get rid of the miasma plaguing her mind ; the way her empathy whimpers whenever her eyes follow the never-ending scars mapping the body of the Ghost ; the whispers that make her realise how similar they are to one another.

They are nothing more than two sinners looking for a reason to live.

Looking for redemption.

- Ya know we’ll always be bound to each other, Snowflake, the entity says, cackling in her ear. Why do ya always try to ruin whot canno’ be destroyed ?

Her blood boils as she presses her frozen palms against his throat with a snarl, as if trying to force him into silence by imitating the thread caging her own pulse. She knows how futile it looks, knows the fruits born from this endeavour will hold the bitterness of her failure. Yet she refuses to crumble under the mocking weight of his words, for it would be surrendering to the way this rotten world keeps trying to send her into exile.

The gravel of his voice resonates against her palms.

- No’ tired of fightin’ a ghost ?

Her teeth sharpen into her mouth as he coils an arm around her waist, locking her body against his. She can’t stop a shiver from rolling down her spine ; and, unable to decide if she can really allow herself to savour the frozen warmth of his skin, her fingers tighten around his breath. His Adam’s apple makes a mould of its own shape in the crevices of her hands.

Yet he doesn’t even flinch.

- ‘Ow many times did you try to run away from me, darlin’ ? To make me fall, only to fail ?

- Shut up.

- Wouldn’t take much for us to bend this world to our will. Think abou’ it : we could face ‘em, ‘and in ‘and, laugh at ‘em until our voices break. Take the clay they used to create their dreams with and burn everythin’ with ours.

- Shut. The fuck. Up !

Yet no amount of resistance seems to tarnish his fantasies of despair. She barely has the time to blink before he slips behind her back, his breath burning incandescent holes against her ear. His hollow heart beats silently against her spine - and her arms fall limp against her sides, getting tangled with the crimson rope circling around them.

- We could make our own miracles, he whispers, never letting go of his decaying thoughts.

A broken cackle tears through her clenched teeth.

- So now you want to play like a God ?

One of his hands, torn open by countless cursed knots, comes to circle the neck of his prey. His smile drips into the passion lining his voice, and she can almost feel him against her cheek as his massive frame leans over her shoulders. Their spines could fuse with each other without her even realising it, she thinks, feeling her back crack under her demon’s weight. She wonder if they are now worthy of the crumbling statues haunting the temple of her mind.

- Why no’ ? He says, and her legs suddenly go numb.

The Ghost breaks her fall without any effort, taking advantage of her now lethargic state to hold her tight against his heart. He presses a kiss against her cheek, slowly savouring the taste of a frustrated tear.

- Why couldn’t we be our own Divine ?

Crimson now runs towards the very center of her soul, and she can’t do anything but dive into the motlen marble of the Ghost’s eyes.

Another fight is coming to an end.

Her human heart pumps with an overjoyed frenesy as its end nears once more, but the Hunter is far from glad as she realises said end is nothing more than an illusion coated in sulfur. The entity can see the suffering dancing in her eyes, now reddened by the tears she refuses to set free. The Fates could slice their mutual despair open with a laugh whenever they want ; but they have yet to do so, and he wonders if they enjoy watching the both of them struggle to stay afloat.

- Slowly now, he whispers, slightly loosening his grip to erase the dull ache throbbing in-between her ribs. Wouldn’t be wise to exhaust yourself withou’ me.

A part of him would probably qualify this role of his of Apathy, or Disinterest ; bury himself in a litany of lies to play the perfect villain, always finding a new excuse to justify the satisfaction he gets out of it all. Try to convince himself of how none of this, her, Them, deserve even a shred of his attention. But he knows that, somewhere in what’s left of his angelic heart, slumbers the reality of a longing, a thirst for love and touch he refuses to see. And she knows it too.

He silences the feeling again, covering it with words dripping with his own broken kind of sarcasm.

- This world doesn’t make any sense if you’re not ‘ere.

A sickening growl shakes her guts as she takes in what she refuses to hear. It dies before reaching her lips.

- What a liar, she grumbles, her voice and mind fading more and more with each syllable. You’re just a fucking liar.

The smile he offers her is nothing short of carnivorous, and through it, she could almost make out the virtuous remnants of what used to be his soul. He presses a searing kiss over the bloodied foundation covering her shoulder, incredibly soft despite the sharp, mesmerizing coldness haunting his each and every word.

- C’mon, lil’ Hunter. Give up.

And this time again, the taste of victory flows bitterly against his tongue.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

When she opens her eyes, her room is nothing but silence, and the chaos of her bed seems covered in a thin layer of ice.

Her entire body is being crushed by an invisible weight as countless shivering waves run along her skin. A choir of ghosts dance in the corner of her vision, their laughter echoing through the walls of her skull. A frozen, corrupted substance flows through her still slumbering veins.

Why is it so cold ?

Her breath quickens as she fights to keep a semblance of control over the ruins of her mind. A sea of urchins is tearing her trachea apart, and she would love to feel her hands smash their spikes through her throat - yet nothing seems to even think of taking pity on her. A river slowly starts running down her frozen cheeks, its flow carrying her thoughts away like a hurricane would a twig, as if trying to drown her in her own mind.

An earthquake suddenly takes over the marble of her hands, and she doesn’t know if it is caused by the ambiant cold or the thunder wreaking havoc inside her ribcage. The magma that was once slumbering in her chest is now trying to escape through her every pore ; and it burns, scorches her insides over and over again as the volcano bursts along with her tears, threatening to carve a new rift on the surface of her heart.

Crushed by her ribs, her lungs refuse to work properly. A pungent breath bites through her bones, as if trying to corrupt even the marrow hiding behind their calcified walls. Her own existence is hoping to tear the guts out of her humanity’s rotting corpse. The decline of a heart filled with despair is tragic enough to become the muse of countless poets and their sonnets ; yet there’s no glory in the mourning of what we once used to be, she thinks, especially when Life itself drinks our tears with a crooked smile painted on its mask of comedy.

Next to her, the mattress sinks. Her eyes, burned by the salt of her tears, can barely make out the dark silhouette leaning over her ; but she doesn’t need them to feel and know who it is. The Ghost lays a burning hand on her cheek, and something inside of her desperately tries to anchor itself to this touch she subconsciously learned to look for amidst the storm.

A somber look covers the entity’s features as his fingers meet the ice of her hands. She’s a warrior ; one he’s used to fight almost every single day. Seeing her in this state is almost disturbing, for he quickly realises there is nothing left of her usual hostility. The Flood swallowed it all.

For once, he’s not the source of her distress, and this train of thought leaves a strange feeling in its wake. Is it rage ? Jealousy ? A mix of both ? It doesn’t matter. The Divine is not allowed to toy with a prey that isn’t Its own.

She barely has the strength to utter a single sound as he takes hold of the fragility of her fingers to bring them to his own neck. The mocking spectres dancing around them suddenly cease all movement. They even seem to disappear the second she starts feeling the echo of a pulse under the scars littering his skin, the confusing proof of the decomposing existence of a life filled with darkness. Its rhythm is slow, silent, ghostly. It gently lulls her mind, offering a blessed shelter against the violent winds.

Her own demon tries to hold her head out of the water ; a situation that would have made her laugh had her throat not be so parched.

- What did it taste like, she finally croaks out as her hand ghosts over his skin, the despair that made you fall ?

Was it similar to the fear haunting the surface of my lips ? Will you end up smearing it on my tongue to break what might be left of my humanity ? Will you be seated on the Emperor’s throne on the highest part of the infernal Coliseum in the middle of which I will inevitably be forsaken ?

Or will I be the one to guide you towards the light ? Will I be able to let you taste the ambrosia of peace I keep looking for ? And if it indeed ends up touching your lips, will I even realise it ?

- Like my own blood, the Ghost says, and she notices the peculiar softness that has replaced the usual sarcasm tainting his voice. Wan’ to try it ?

The kiss he offers her is like a cruel salvation ; a source of comfort immediately shattered by waves of chaos blooming into her soul. It leaves a sour taste on her tongue, akin to a tragedy leaving a trail of weeping arteries and broken bones in its wake. Like the smoking remnants of a battlefield, she thinks, witnessing the horrors she went through ; the nightmares haunting her sleep. A series of erratic visions displayed on the dark screen of her eyelids.

It tastes like the beginning of the end, murmurs a voice lost in the torn expanse of her mind, and she finds herself submerged by the need for more.

The warmth of his skin slowly melts the ice imprisoning her. Yet the tension running between them still has the red thread tightening around their throats, and a part of her refuses to see how good it could be to let him drag her down into his own flames. Let them be hers.

She only now sees the strange pattern they created, made from both violence and peace, love and hatred, as well as a guilty freedom tightening around her guts.

The Ghost probably noticed it too. Even when they exchange words filled with mockery and blood, he always ends up savouring the harsh touch of her hands pulling his teeth back towards her neck. And slowly, surely, he unwinds the knots holding her spirit together, only to tie them up all over again as she wakes up from a familiar anesthesia. A predatory smile carves itself against her neck, sharp teeth threatening to break both her body and soul - progressively widening the rift in the facade she desperately tries to keep in place.

- Relax, luv, he whispers, his abyssal timbre sending shivers down her spine.

His hands clutch every single one of her curves with a desperation she has yet to understand. His fingers seem to reach for her very soul, claws moulding her body to his will. Their hearts dance with each other as he holds her to his chest, exploring the expanse of her back as if he was discovering it for the first time. His breath leaves a scorching ache on her shoulder, and she wonders how his touch keeps getting even more delicious each time.

She lets out a cry as his fingers find her core. Her teeth coax a vicious growl from his throat as they sink into his flesh, and the Ghost drinks up every trembling breath dripping past her lips. A rumble echoes deep within his chest as she loses herself against him, her nails leaving crimson rivers down his neck.

The cold haunting her is now long forgotten. The ice shatters under the Ghost’s fangs, and, for a second, he draws his eyes towards the darkness of the room. They mercilessly pierce the remnants of the now silent spectres that tried to steal his perfect prey. Their silhouettes finally vanish completely ; at the same time, a shuddering whimper shakes the body resting in the iron of his grasp.

- Let’s show ‘em who ya belong to.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

She feels more than she sees the way her palms turn white under the assault of her own nails. Her heart never slows its erratic rhythm, forcing the mud coating the surface of her lungs to pulse along its beat. A few centimeters away from hers, the Ghost’s chest rumbles with a laugh.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands, he thinks ; she’d just need to strengthen her will. She could take over this infernal game and make it eternal, let the Divine Creations burn and burn, turn into a lake of sterile ashes. Ring the final bell and have its sepulcral cries echo in the bones of the Gods. Create her own version of a happy ending.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands ; for her determination is a synonym of destruction. And They know it. They are the ones who sent him to her, trying to make her fall. Did They even think he’d try to make her his instead ? To turn her against Their pathetic idea of glory ?

But he has yet to win. An infuriating reality. You should already be dead, he wants to scream, why do you refuse to yield ?

She only looks up at him through the darkness lining her eyes, ignoring the nauseating feeling of her life bleeding along her skin - leaving a series of darkening trails along the porcelain of her bones.

- What about you ? She says, and it’s like she’s reading his thoughts. It’s not like you’re doing much.

And it’s true. He torments her, brings her down over and over through countless excruciating fights. Strikes her weakest spots, both in her body and soul. Yet he knows it’s far from being enough. He wants to see how long she’ll last, what will end up being his coup de grâce ; but maybe a part of him wants her to live, achieve what his distant, decaying memory tells him he was never able to even touch.

His fangs scrape painfully against each other. Under the mask, his jaw is covered with the blood of the lives he took. Hers soaks through his clothes, skin, muscles and bones - but it has yet to taint his teeth, coat the walls of his stomach. He is the reason why his ideas haven’t been brought to light. He knows it well, perhaps he has even acknowledged it.

- You could reign over this world and you know it, she adds weakly, her voice breaking over the words she doesn’t even really need to articulate.

She doesn’t know if she’s glad to still be alive despite the fact that her body should already be lost six feet under, or if she wishes it would be the case.

- You have the power to bring your every desire to life. Make it a perfect reality.

Her muscles weaken with every second that runs through their fibres. Her lungs, filled with a dark, freezing darkness, beg to breathe in even the slightest amount of oxygen as her chest crumbles with exhaustion. Despite all of this, the Hunter refuses to sway, ignoring the waves of pain crashing against her bones. She tries to stand proud in front of the Ghost, feeling him watch intently as she fights against herself. But her legs crack and stumble ; and his reflexes are a perfect proof of his inhumanity when he launches himself forward to catch her, preventing her from shattering her already broken self on the rubble at their feet. He holds her tight against him, letting out a deep, mocking laugh - yet refusing to let her go.

They both know why.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

A flash of silver.

A familiar sting.

A salty tear.

Another wave of crimson crashes against the porcelain of her skin, violently, beautifully. The puddle swirling around her knees reflects the pathetic face of a broken doll. Her limbs are numb, unable to feel the rain hitting them as if it was trying to avoid her, only aiming for the floor. For a second, she wonders if a Divinity is crying for her Destiny, but the thought quickly falls quiet, silenced by a muted laugh. The Gods never pity their mortals.

Her soul falls into pieces once more on the marbled concrete at her feet, and the faraway echo guides her eyes up towards the sky. The adrenaline born from the usual fighting is slowly starting to fade. On the edges of her blurry vision, the Ghost draws his familiar silhouette out of the fog. The misshaped sarcasm she throws his way doesn’t make him flinch the slightest, making her wonder if this nightmarish entity didn’t place much more faith in her than she ever will.

What a stupid thought, they both whisper, the only thing breaking them apart being the usual snarky smile she forgot to wear to hide her ever-dampening cheeks.

- Ya know you’ll have trouble hidin’ those blood stains, right ? The demon says, kneeling to her side.

A soft sound escapes her lips, scorching hot compared to the rain.

- It’d be useless anyway.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

She wakes up with a start and a silent scream as sweat runs coldly down her chest. There’s a dry, violent pounding in her skull, enhanced by a laughing tide of cramps tearing her bones apart, its echo bouncing around her sleeping muscles. Despite the confusion lingering in her brain after what is probably her third nightmare of the night, she registers a warmth laying next to her, one she’s surprised to see at this hour. A part of her expected him to come and go as he pleases like he always does - never taking the time to stop, even for a moment. But in the end, him being here isn’t that surprising. Just like her, he’s never been able to leave her side for too long.

Maybe they’ve become each other’s haven among the mayhem of this world.

She shivers violently has she buries her face under the covers once more, ignoring the sweat lingering on her skin. Her hands whiten with the strength she uses to scratch at her scalp, hoping to lose her thoughts among the apocalyptic landscape of her bed. Find an anchor outside of the dreamworld.

- It’s impossible to fully heal, isn’t it ? She whispers more to herself than anything, even though she knows how light of a sleeper the Ghost is. No one can really forget.

Almost immediately, she feels him move against her shoulder, silently turning around to meet her form ; small and trembling under a nameless terror. Pathetic, he would usually laugh, but his own scars burn so viciously that he can only clench his teeth as he faces her pain. Is that empathy twisting his guts ?

What he would do to forget that thought.

- If ya want to forget tha’ badly, I might ‘ave a solution or two.

The Silence is loud as she nods slowly, tiredly. Seeking refuge in the sulfur of his touch.

- Please, she says, quaking as his hand smears layers upon layers of charcoal upon her hips, don’t you wish for the same ?

His lips fall upon the curve of her neck, barely restraining the fangs hiding behind them from piercing the already bruised skin ; reveal the raw pulse hiding underneath.

- Yes, he answers, barely daring to break the erratic rhythm of his breath - and, once more, feeling her melt through the peculiar love of his hold.

When traitorous Morpheus finally takes control over her mind, the sun has already broken through the night, painting the firmament in blinding hues of blue, devoid of any cloud. It claws mercilessly at the Ghost’s eyes, tears a low growl from his chest. On the other side of the window, the world rises to a mix of car engines, footsteps and voices, involuntarily celebrating the light that is constantly trying to burn him to ashes.

The sky has no reason to be blue, he thinks as his forehead meets the window pane, just like his Snowflake has no reason to sigh so serenely in his presence. The atmosphere is soft, warm ; dragging a wave of shivers down his back. A frustrated growl escapes his throat, the night of his eyes sparkling at the taste of a familiar rage. That celestial blue is silently looking down on him, mocking his darkness.

He loathes it.

He loathes her.

A second is enough for his knee to dig into the covers once more, giving him enough support to guide his fingers towards her face. They slowly dance along her skin as the weight of his very existence makes the mattress whimper, before roughly circling her neck. Her blood pumps peacefully under his touch, and his own voice screams in the back of his mind, distorted and rough.

Do it. Take her. Rid us of this nuisance.

His tongue soothes the cracks covering his lips, and a twisted smile eventually slices them open once more as the words settle in his thoughts.

But in her sleep, the Hunter moves - and his excitement dies as quickly as it came to live. She breathes in deeply, her head lolling against the pillows. Instead of braving for a fight like she usually does, she lets her subconscious raise a hand to his wrist, as if she was trying to offer him her silent support.

But that’s not what he wants. That’s not what he is.

What happened to this poor human that fought mercilessly against him, fueled by an endless determination ; the one who bared her broken teeth in his face through a bloody sneer, ready to turn his words against him and burn his entire being to ashes ?

He loathes the way his own mind whispers those words in his ears, exchanging it’s usual coldness for a dry melody made of anger and fear that makes his hold tremble around his Snowflake’s throat. The peculiar understanding they both came to. The doubts this small, vulnerable thing keeps planting in his soul. The fact that he can’t make any sense of the abyss bubbling in his head anymore

So he staightens up, ignoring the way his spine crackles as he makes his way out of this way too-familiar room. He almost expects a knife to dig through his back, to whistle in retaliation for engaging in an unfair fight. Give him a taste of his own medicine, in a way. A painful warning. So he waits.

But nothing comes.

A glance over his shoulder shows that the Hunter hasn’t moved a single inch. She still lays there, swallowed by a capharnaüm of blankets, her sleep-laden breath so slow it barely disturbs the quiet of the room. Her favourite plushie is curled on top of her head, like a guardian trying to keep its treasure from the merciless claws of a nightmare. A fitting description, he thinks, realising it’s probably been months since she slept so soundly.

His teeth strain under the sudden pressure of his jaws. This is the exact kind of peace he is starting to see in the eyes of his prey - as if she was in the process of surrendering, giving up her life to his now familiar hands. He doesn’t understand how she can bring herself to look at something like him and feel so serene. It makes him want to keep her for himself even more, taint the corrupted purity of her soul. He knows she can feel it ; so why does she treat him with so much tenderness ? Even more so after the hell he’s been dragging her through while laughing at her tears ?

A sour smile loses itself to the her sleepy silence as he turns back to sit on the edge of the bed. Perhaps the only reason why he wants her to be his is to understand her better. And once he does, he might finally be able to grasp how similar the chaos brewing in their hearts is. Forging their souls from the same steel.

Or perhaps the roles will change, and he will become nothing than a frail and vulnerable lamb. An easy prey caught in the destructive jaws of the Hunter.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Think.

Above her, a string of neons blink.

The young woman has no idea of what pushed her to once again get lost in the smelly bathroom of this nightclub - the one her friends keep dragging her to. Her eardrums haven’t stopped ringing violently ever since she stepped foot through its doors - perhaps because of the music that’s way too loud for her senses, the multicolored lights tearing at her retinas, or the uncontrollable amount of blurry faces swinging way too close for her comfort.

She doesn’t belong here.

Despite the nauseating swaying of her vision, she notices a more-than-familiar silhouette lingering in a corner of the room. He seems way too big for fit comfortably in the small space, engulfing it completely with his darkness. A stark contrast to the colorful graffiti littering the walls.

- ‘Ow many times do ya plan on makin’ tha’ back an’ forth between the dancefloor and this shithole ?

If the mockery in his tone only serves to irritate her more than she already is, the young woman doesn’t have the strength to meet the Ghost’s eyes. Instead, she stares at her own reflection among the suspicious dirt covering the mirror dangling on the wall, akin to a failed portrait made by a drunk painter. She thinks about taking a picture and submit it to the first museum of contemporary arts she stumbles upon, to top it off with a ridiculous title. Who knows - with a little bit of luck, she could maybe earn a little bit of money. Make it easier to reach the end of the month.

As that thought runs sarcastically through her mind, she ignores the dry chuckle rasping from the corner behind her.

Somewhere beyond the door, the DJ makes a poor transition to another music she barely recognizes. All that’s left in the tired void of her mind is the struggle of her own existence and the calm breathing of the entity, wafting against her neck despite the small distance between them. Her eyes meet once again the cracked lights in the mirror, and she can almost see it pulsating against the wall along the beat coming from the next room. The music keeps screaming in the rancid air, and her blood almost crystallizes in her veins when it’s joined by a chorus of screeches and whistles.

- I need to get away from here, she says, knowing the Ghost heard her despite the ambiant chaos.

She can feel him shift behind her as she reaches towards the dilapidated door with a trembling hand, desperately trying to shut off the pain lingering in her marrow.

- Let’s fuck off then, he answers almost immediately, and she wonders if he, too, hopes to get rid of a loud ringing in his ears.

She barely has the time to step out of the bathroom that she’s assaulted by the sounds, the smells, the touches. The singing voices and bodies burnt by an impossible amount of toxic liquids and smokes, a violent choir telling her to get away, away, away - GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE ; and she has no idea of which is stronger between the screams of the nightclub or the cries of her heart. Almost instinctively, she reaches behind her, seeking a destructive yet familiar contact in the hand of the entity following her. But her pride is a powerful force, and her arm stays stuck to her side.

Yet the Ghost knows her well. He feels what she does as if he was the one living inside her head ; and he kind of is, in a way. Perhaps he is the one feeling all of this, and not her ? He quickly silences the thought, enveloping her hand with the charcoal covering his own, squeezing so tight it’s almost painful.

It soothes an ache in his own non-existent heart. He wonder if she knows, feels, everything about him too.

Another nightmare comes running down his back ; a memory, the laughing spectre of what used to be a majestic pair of wings, which he used to fight in the Divine’s name until It abandoned him to his own abyss, tore his feathers apart to burn them to ashes in the flames of Its arrogance.

He almost feels the need to throw his eyes into another mirror shining below the erratic lights, as if the crevices running along its surface could give him what he lost ; a new kind of feathers, way too sharp for the immaculate hands of the Gods. But the Hunter keeps walking, dragging him along.

And the Ghost follows. For she’s his only shelter in this bubble of suffering they both unvoluntarily insist on sharing.

Run. Dodge. Fight. Think.

How do you mourn a devastating loss when you’ve never had anything to lose ?

Tell an Angel a tale of love, and they will carry it in their dreams. Listen to the beating of their heart, akin to a bird’s song celebrating the rising sun. Watch the molten gold reflecting off the ink of their blood drop from the wounds their longing for such a feeling caused. Realise how beautiful the depths of their darkness is, abyssal and mesmerizing ; how empty it all is, devoid of any sense.

The Ghost isn’t too different, he who lives thanks to those who unknowingly need him, who convinced himself that he was made to serve their torment. His very existence is proof that, if he can’t find a soul to pull him forward, he is nothing ; which is why he looks for his redemption through countless paths made from wounds that aren’t his. He dips his feet in puddles tainted by the blood of mortals, the crimson life -and death- of those whose hatred and suffering only serve to fuel his own.

A long time ago, he forgot what it’s like to love.

Maybe he remembers the meaning of caring for someone. But does that mean his feelings were once given back to him ? The thought is both ridiculous and horrifying ; a description that fits him well, too. It has become impossible for him to get rid of the impression that, if he one day decides to let go of the his Snowflake, these shreds of memories would also slip through his fingers.

So he holds on, so strongly that his knuckles whiten and crack under the corrupted ink of his skin. He doesn’t know whether or not he could speak of love - if he should. Behind the deformed skull covering his face, the entity hides a terrified snarl.

Sometimes, alone in his own darkness, all of this makes him laugh. How lucky he is to have something to fear, something to drive him forward ! And how undeserving he is of it, Fallen that he is, he who fell so long ago in a bottomless well of which he will never get out !

During his most vulnerable moments, laying down next to the Hunter among the chaos of her bed, he lets his doubts break through his voice.

- You’re mine, aren’t ya ? He asks, and she murmurs something he can’t catch before clearing her throat.

- Yeah, she answers sleepily, I’m yours.

Her hands get lost in the gaping scars littering his back, and he allows himself to be lulled by such a light touch, devoid of the usually anxious trembling interrupting her days. Among his sighs, now peaceful thanks to this intimacy they barely think to share, his muscles tense periodically. She feels more than she sees the earthquake hidden behind the baritone notes of his voice ; and she knows his fears too well, these nightmares that keep trying to shatter the pieces of her heart. She can almost see his eyes look for an answer she might not really dare to give him, for she almost knows him better than she knows herself ; and vice versa. Or maybe not, whispers and echo that sounds eerily close to a mix of their voices, but she refuses to torment the already too twisted soul of the Ghost.

What made you like this ? She sometimes yearns to ask. Who made you into those ruins of a man, constantly trying to drown you in a bottomless abyss ?

But she knows she will never be brave enough to loudly articulate those questions, even if he might already know about them. So she settles for snuggling against his peculiar warmth, covering the tangle of their bodies with a toasty piece of her covers, not really knowing which one of them she is trying to bring comfort to. A yawn escapes her lips as she holds him against her chest like a damaged, oversized plushie - not unlike the one sleeping peacefully next to her head.

- And you’re mine.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

The era she lives in is made of corruption and greed, she thinks, its horrors rivalling with the ones found in the deepest pits of Hell itself. Or perhaps it’s a form of Paradise ? Maybe she’s nothing more than a demon hidden in a masquerade filled with pure, ancestral beings, her flaking skin gripping the velvet of her costume, threatening to tear it apart like the Gods did her soul. Maybe she’s one of the few who see the Truth hidden behind this never-ending show, this cacophony in the middle of which she’s forced to survive despite the fact she’s not meant to be there in the first place.

In a world covered in scorching waves and deadly shores, where is she supposed to find herself a halo ?

Sometimes, she wonders if the Angels of today pray when the sun rises, kneeling in front of the loud cries of their coffee machine. If the remnants of what were once sacred melodies dance in the ashes if their memory, disappearing behind the echo of the last drop falling into a cup they will never empty completely.

She wonders if their now blunt teeth break cigarette after cigarette, their ends piling up on the cold and dirty tiles of public restrooms, the walls around them covered in holy quotes they have long since forgotten. If their tongues happen to trip on the syllabes of a language they can no longer understand.

She wonders if their mouths are still filled with ambrosia, tainting every other food with a flavour they now know as forbidden. If they still remember lazing around in the middle of starry clouds, once upon a time when their glasses were never empty and their laughter ran along the skyline.

And she wonders if they would still be able to recognise their brothers and sisters behind the corrupted aura surrounding them, the foam born form the Lethe that lingers in their eyes. If they meet each other under the noses of the mortals species they now belong to, their sanded claws tearing the silky skin covering their bones, as if trying to find an illusion of peace in the ocean of confusion they are doomed to roam.

Are there even such beings, nowadays ? She murmurs. Remnants of sacred ruins destined to sway forever between their forgotten paradise and the hellish grounds they always feared ?

- You’re overthinkin’ again, a voice echoes at her side, and she can almost see two dots of dried blood light up at the edge of her field of vision.

She doesn’t even think about turning her head towards the sound, her own eyes focusing on the darkness of her ceiling.

- Would you be able to answer any of my questions ?

Her mattress suddenly caves in under a weight she now knows too well. The Ghost leans over her, a foreign expression carving his face behind the skull of his mask.

His silence is as somber as it is eloquent.

- Your fall, she insists, did it hurt ?

- ‘Course it did.

Of course it did, echoes a smiliar voice floating in the darkness. I felt my wings decompose as I tried to slow my fall down, the stars burning my fingertips over and over. My hands have been torn open by the lightning crawling around the atmosphere, and the clouds cried waves upon waves of salty tears upon my wounds. My scapulars tore the muscles of my shoulders apart, and my feathers burned among a sea of flames I once came to admire.

This nightmarish moment still haunts my entire being. I can still hear my own screams bounce around my skull, refusing to quiet down despite the passing of time and the crevices that line its walls.

Of course it hurt.

- Of course, she repeats once more with a pale voice, as if the memories twirling in her mind had always been hers.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

Angels are sacred beings, spells a voice lost in the young woman’s mind, whose wings have been carved in a block of purity, and whose feathers sway along the rhythm of a virtuous wind. It’s easy for them to lose it all. Remember this, for the next time you catch the eyes of a Fallen.

Inside the Ghost’s ribcage, a somber void sits where a heart once was. The cracks of the Genesis hide a bottomless abyss, cruel and bathed in despair. She never knows how to resist to its alluring call, the loving whispers twisting her soul and turning it into a palette of rotten watercolours.

She’s been standing in her bathroom for a long time now, watching her reflection in her foggy mirror. Her hair clings to her face, still wet from the heat of a way-too-long shower, yet she does nothing to move it. Truth be told, the reflective glass only shows her a vague, colorful shape ; but she knows herself well, so much that it has become impossible to ignore the marks lingering on her body. She’s the reason behind many of them, guided by the honeyed words of her nightmares, always so cold against the invisible flames licking at her skin.

She should run. She knows that too well. She should have started running eons ago, even, but something inside of her refuses to get rid of her chains. She could escape to the other side of the world - yet nothing could stop her from coming back to the entity that, despite their constant fighting, somehow keeps her head out of the water.

Migh’ be our Destiny, is what he always says, persuading her to stay by his side. And it could be true, for the Fates are vicious and cruel, always looking for a way to laugh at their pathetic efforts to stay afloat.

He used to be an Angel. Everyone is to meet at least one during their life, and another one after their death ; no matter its nature. The Divine no longer cares about the purity of the entities It sends to the mortal world, and might even find some pleasure in seeing the consequences of Its own failures, convincing Itself that none of them is Its fault. The Gods will always see Themselves as better than anything else, and the Ghost hopes she never forgets it.

- And there she is, he says as he steps closer to her exhausted form. Back again.

The echo of his footsteps sends shivers down her spine. A bitter taste haunts the dried walls of her throat, soon taken over by a nauseating sweetness - the kind that makes her want to hold even more of it between her teeth.

Run, the voice whispers once more. You poor little thing, it might not be too late to escape him. But she knows this regret will soon go silent, making it even more easier to stay. So she stays, unmoving as he gets closer and closer, until there’s barely an inch left between their chests.

- Tha’ was quick. Missed me tha’ much ?

His smile is impossible to describe. Her reflection is clear in the bloody lake of his eyes ; showing her the peculiar fascination that paints her features, sometimes broken by rays of doubt and desire. Their lips barely graze each other as he leans in, yet the touch is so vivid compared to everything else that the Hunter wonders if it wasn’t just her imagination.

- Your ego knows no bound, she mumbles, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

The Ghost smiles, knowing too well how captivating his inhumainty is. She constantly tries to get rid of this malicious attraction that chains the both of them, dipping her finger in the spectral thoughts whispering how much better she is than all of this, than this Fallen who knows nothing about the depths of love. It’s all an illusion, a dream created by an infernal fever. A trap. She’s aware if this - so why does it all seem so real, sometimes ? Could it be that all these silent, vulnerable moments are nothing more than the sparks of futile hope she thought was real ?

She should run. But she wants to know if there isn’t even the smallest of truthful lights hidden behind this never-ending nightmare.

- You always say that Destiny’s the reason why we’re constantly brought together, she murmurs weakly, dropping her head against the Ghost’s torso as he holds her there, hands coated in a silent tenderness. But how could that be, since I always do my best to avoid you ? How do you keep finding me ?

For a moment, the entity feels his eyes widen with surprise. He quickly hides it behind a sly smile, cruel and warm. This time, he dives even deeper to really meet her lips, and she can taste the rust that seems to haunt his every touch.

She should run. But she doesn’t. She never will.

- I jus’ follow those who are waitin’ for me, Snowflake.

She sometimes wonder if she’ll ever be able to forgive their mutual sins ; and the voice in her head cackles. You’re bound to a being that lives for this, it says, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten ? The laughter refuses to stop as she realises again and again that she’s far from being Holy - something that the Ghost knows too.

- You always save me from my demons because you want to kill me yourself, don’t you ? She asks, her words bouncing strangely around her dried throat. You’re the only Death you’ll allow me to have.

He sucks in a breath, the darkness of his features twisting under his mask. Those questions -or statements ?- rouse an unknown feeling from the void ; new, complex, indecipherable. She can almost feel his usual arrogance quiver in her own heart, abruptly hidden by the melancholic sigh crossing his lips.

After a moment of silence, the entity places a kiss on her shoulder, light as a buttefly. Something loud echoes from his thoughts, a conflict lost eons ago to the abyss, while his own silence offers no denial or confirmation. So she keeps herself quiet, holding her certainty in a corner of her blurry mind.

And in her dreams, when Morpheus laughs as he asks her if she’s found herself to be seduced by his newfound vulnerability, the exhausted Hunter simply offers him a bitter smile, drinking her own tears from a golden cup.

She no longer has an answer.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Hunter never knew a single end ; only strings of never ending realities and gargantuan burdens holding the cruel thoughts that keep laughing at her misery. Destiny has never been on her side. Which makes her laugh ; maybe she stopped believing in it too long ago to care.

She couldn’t say when exactly she lost the taste of happiness that came with the old memories of her youth. Instead, her tastebuds tremble whenever a tired and distressed breath invades her mouth in the hopes of being set free, twist under its sour flavour as she tries to swallow it. Some times are not made for sighing.

The Gods decided that she was made to wither in Chaos, but she’d rather see things differently. She doesn’t like the idea of the cruel, broken concepts They make, those that never hesitate to unleash waves of suffering on thousands and thousands of innocent souls. She tries to focus on the positive things they sometimes leave in their wake, no matter how difficult it is to find them, how easily they can crumble in her hands.

For now, she’s stopped fighting. But the cascades of her own blood are now weaved in her soul, constantly retelling tales of the wars she’s been through. She can do nothing more than to wait for the next storm. Which she does.

Among the uiverse in which she lives, comfort comes and goes however it pleases. More often than not, it goes down a path drastically different than hers, so far away that she loses sight of it. Those periods of time stretch out for so long that when this peace comes back, meeting its almost unknown silhouette triggers her reflex to fight - her soul screaming at the potential enemy standing in front of her.

Fight ! It pleads. Fight ! Fight ! Fight !

Survive !

Yet she silences it for now.

Outside of her window, the city still hides behind a thick veil of fog. As always, it should be too early for her to be awake ; but her eyes refuse to stay closed, and her mind focuses on the heavy feeling crushing her waist. The Ghost lays beside her, still fast asleep with an arm slung over her frame, his body easily engulfing hers. It’s a good opportunity for her to observe how his short, blond hair fades into the porcelain of his skin, shattered by countless scars of all colours. She dares run a hand through the blond calamity of his hair. How strange it can be, she thinks as he sighs against her breast, to sometimes boil with hatred and disdain for the other, yet still share those quiet moments of intimacy whenever the fight ends.

She used to wish for him to disappear. And yet now, she finds peace in his presence.

What happened ?

In her eyes, the entity did nothing to deserve even an ounce of kindness. He dragged her down over and over again, enjoyed building her back together only to break her again, drew tears and blood from her very soul to savour the taste. But so did she.

The Divine keeps laughing at their pain by offering them fake opportunities of redemption. But they both know they can only find their salvation in the other’s soul, walk side by side towards a new world of their own creation. If the thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, she still sees how attractive it can be to slowly burn out in the heart of the Ghost while cradling him in hers - free both of their souls of the miasma haunting them.

This is a fantasy based on nothing, cackles a distorted voice in her head. And it’s true. No matter how much they try to redeem themselves, how many times they tear their own knees apart while praying, and how many rebellions they go through in order to cut their own strings, the skies will never allow them to leave Their grasp. But they stopped caring a long time ago.

Raising a trembling arm to her eyes, the Hunter smiles. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her lips as she silently follows the too-many marks littering her skin - a familiar sight, with an ever-growing number. She realises how similar her scars are to the Ghost’s. The canvas of their bodies is covered in white lines, rugged burns and deep, purple bruises that never stop appearing, and her vision sways before she can finish counting.

Yet she can’t stop her eyes from following the crevices lining the entity’s back. They rise and hide among a valley of broad muscles, holding the memories he refuses to share. The visions he can’t forget. Her own back is probably the same. They are covered in the painful remnants of what used to be their wings, the spectres of their freedom weighing heavy against their bones.

- I know you’re awake, Ghost. Stop pretending.

She immediately feels him smile against her skin, his fangs threatening to catch on the red lines crossing her chest.

- No’ pretendin’, he answers with a low and cheeky voice. Admirin’ my work.

- Oh, fuck off.

That drives a cackle out of his throat. He could have followed up with one of his usual snarky comments, but he chooses to nuzzle the crook of her neck instead as she slowly rakes her nails along his scalp. The gesture is soft, tender - so different from the times she claws at him instead, either during their fights, or their rougher moments of intimacy. An empty glance to her face, one she tries to avoid, tells him that she probably had the same thought.

The atmosphere is strange during this morning, bathed in a shy light, but the Ghost doesn’t pay it any mind. The room is perfectly silent, and it would be a shame to ignore this opportunity to get a glimpse of her beautifully complex mind.

How many times did he see his Snowflake’s eyes hold the darker hues of a violent rage, an abyssal despair, or any other feelings she couldn’t decipher ? He reads her like an open book, so satisfyingly transparent. How beautiful it is to watch how her story writes itself to the rhythm of her thoughts, of the days they weave together ! For now, all he sees is a slow melancholy digging in-between the lines, akin to a storm brewing on the horizon. An infinite tiredness that has him silencing the teasing he was tempted to articulate.

- You miss it, don’t you ? She finally says, interrupting his observations.

She hesitates slightly, pausing in her train of thoughts. How could she summarize the entirety of their mutual struggle in one sentence ? Her own saliva becomes painful to swallow, dragging against the dry walls of her throat. It’s like a marble of lead is blocking her oesophagus, leaking the poison of doubt in her system.

- The Chaos, she continues, her voice sounding incredibly raw. You keep chasing it, but it’s getting away.

The Ghost rolls onto his back, grunting as the rust of his bones hinders his movement. She isn’t wrong. Just like Violence has tried to break her soul, his is tainted by a visceral need to ruin all order. All is boring when Peace settles in ; silent, clean. Unsufferable.

But when he looks at the Hunter and her milky scars highlighted by the rising sun, the entity thinks this moment of rest -which will obviously be too short for her tastes- isn’t that bad. He appreciates the calm floating in the air, and her presence too, even if their relationship might be far from ideal. To stay here, bathing in the misty morning glow without holding a blade to the other’s throat, is something he finds himself to enjoy quite well.

He slowly sits up, allowing his head to stretch lightly to the side. The smile he gives her is full of harmless malice.

- Ya’d miss me, eh ? If I left to pursue tha’ Chaos.

- Oh no ! Not at all !

- Always so shy, he sighs as if her reaction offended him. Neva’ sharin’ whot ya really think.

He leans above her, voice lowering, and his arm twisting in a way that can barely support his weight. It wouldn’t take much for him to fall into his previous position.

- Bu’ maybe we could create our own Chaos ?

- We already do that quite a lot, she quips back while rolling over to turn her back to him. It’s enough for me.

She feels more than she sees the way his smile now leaves his fangs on full display, showing how much he enjoys troubling the morning peace with his dark and honeyed words. He softly takes hold of her wrist, where his lips come to follow a path he now knows more than well.

- Bu’ didn’t I hold your hand ta guide ya towards peace, multiple times ?

Face halfway buried into the pillows, the Hunger grimaces. These words reflect a twisted truth, ensnare her throat like the red thread that runs along her skin.

- You hate Peace, she breathes.

- And ya know nothin’ o’ it.

Sometimes, she thinks, « dangerous » isn’t powerful enough to define the Ghost - especially when his thoughts get so close to hers. When she finally decides to meet his gaze, she finds the usual spark of arrogance dancing behind his pupils. Yet there’s also a hint of laziness and sincerity, one she seems to see more and more as time passes. Body still heavy with sleep, she raises herself towards him, and languishly runs her thumb across the traitorous curve of his lips.

- You know your offer is tempting.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Gods like to play like cowards, binding them together as one tormented soul. They both despise Them for giving them so many feelings they will never control. On one side of the coin, it’s freeing to be carried by the dangers they hold ; but on the other side, constantly standing in the eye of the storm is exhausting. Like fighting with bare hands against a raging fire.

- And I know you’re gonna refuse, Snowflake.

She simply cackles.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

She doesn’t remember much about the happy times of her childhood. The earliest memories she holds are already painful, filled with an almost visceral need to survive against the infernal obstacles that Life keeps throwing in her path. They keep repeating that it’s like this for everyone, forcing her to reduce her own armor in pieces and tear out the heart beating behind it, showing this corrupted world the gaping wounds it has to beat with ; the searing edges she had to cauterize herself in order to not bleed out on her own ; the cries she swallowed into silence to avoid being treated like a stranger to her own existence.

Maybe they’ll come to see how difficult it is for her to keep going, she thinks, to hold her head high when everything tried to drag her down.

Her eyes, circled by her tired pain, get lost in the phosphorescent stars haunting her ceiling. Their pale, green light has always been a guide, a sturdy anchor protecting her against the merciless currents of her thoughts whenever she feels like giving up. Being a Celestial must be tiring, she sometimes whispers while imagining said creatures flying among clouds and comets. She can’t imagine what it takes to bear the weight of the hopes and dreams of others when one’s has already left this world to wander in another.

She always thought she never believed in Fate ; yet when she lets herself be carried away by the abyssal timbre of her Ghost, that demon she now knows more than herself, she remembers that it’s impossible to escape its languid clutches. Sometimes, a part of her wonders if she wasn’t wrong to listen so much to her doubts.

Her body is covered in scars she is ashamed to wear. But her fight is still far from whatever ending it might follow, and something in her mind murmurs that they can’t be that bad, those white marks she shares with the Fallen she’s come to love.

Her bones crack as she turns her pillow over to meet the cool fabric of its unused side ; but it’s the touch of the entity laying on top of her that keeps making her shiver, and a light laugh escapes her when his charcoal-covered claws brush against her ribs. It’s a rare melody, and it convinces him that, somewhere, the firmament must be torn by the miraculous and silent dance of a shooting star.

His thoughts only quiet down when she slides a hand along his scalp to feel the softness of his hair, the clarity of her voice echoing through the silence.

- Don’t you want to see it from up close ? She asks, causing him to raise a curious brow.

- See whot.

- The shooting star.

The Ghost smiles, littering her skin with butterfly kisses filled with reverence. To see the one he gave his love to so eager to do the same is a beautiful feeling, and he realises how lucky they both are to have met each other while looking for a new kind of ataraxia.

- No need, he whispers, nuzzling in the crook of her neck.

I already have one.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Live.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod au #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x female reader #fem!reader #demon!au #cod angst #angst #angst with a happy ending

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moki-dokie · 3 months

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rating the birds in my backyard on their tendency towards violence

@luulapants inspired me to make a bird post as well. we should talk about our local dinosaurs more! (not including the same birds from their post we also have here)

great-tailed grackle 7/10 physical violence is not how you guys operate. you wage mental warfare with a barrage of unending noises on the most annoying frequency imaginable to man. also some of you have mastered mimicry in the wild and this is simply too much power for a beast like you to wield. (similar to the common grackle but infinitely more annoying)

american kestrel 3/10 she's beauty, she's grace, she'll smack an eagle in the face. fearless and skilled little predator that delights me every time i get to see one. bit more secretive than other raptors tho.

red-tailed hawk -1/10 a majestic cry that always gets used for eagles in voiceovers, absolutely stunning, and a staple of the midwest and west but... baby ain't got a single braincell. head empty. mobbed on the regular by birds a tenth their size. i've personally watched a single sparrow harass one for 30 minutes before it gave up and ran away. can't steal shit to save its own life. scared of everything ever. they're basically horses of the birds of prey, if horses were a little less psychotic.

mallard duck 1/10 just little dudes doing their own thing. females can get a little aggro when nesting thats about it. sometimes pushy when food is involved. otherwise just chill, beautiful guys. but do me a solid, my web-footed friends? stop fucking nesting in my garden!! i don't like stressing you out when i'm tending to it!!

northern bobwhite (quail) -5000000/10 you're doing great sweetie just keep doing what you're doing. bob-bobwhite amirite

red-winged blackbird 4/10 you lot have a scare tactic technique that sparrows wish they had by just squaring up in numbers and looking fabulous while doing so. no notes.

eastern bluebird 0/10 they've literally never done anything ever wrong. perfection. little fairies but without all the deviousness. absolute cuteness. a blessing to be in ones presence.

scissor-tailed flycatcher 9/10 ahhh yes our stunning state bird. the herald of summer. the graceful acrobatic dancer. the beautiful singer. the brutal serial killer of all things insect. watching them 'hunt' is spectacular. one of the few birds that can hover. they're deadly accurate. almost exclusively capture their prey mid-air. but sometimes they'll get a bug too big to snipe on wing and do you know what they do in that case? they'll take it to their perch and beat it to death. remarkable.

carolina chickadee 4/10 don't let their round sweetness deceive you. they are full of spite and precisely zero fear. will absolutely pick on birds twenty times their size. small man syndrome.

mourning dove 0/10 hwoo hoo hoo hoo?

bald eagle, 2/10 WHAT are you doing this far south sir. we are landlocked my guy. the ocean is that way. big rivers and lakes are the other way. certainly there cannot be enough fish for you here!! surprisingly docile, for a giant raptor.

golden eagle 10/10 he'll eat your dog in front of you and then fuck your wife while maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. everything is afraid of this motherfucker.

great egret 0/10 they're chill and serenity incarnate. and their smaller cattle cousins are exactly the same. their size is the only thing intimidating about them. fuckers are HUGE

american goldfinch 3/10 food aggressive, mostly. lovely to look at. they really like to bitch up a storm tho.

california gull 90000000/10 nature's biggest asshole. we don't even have large bodies of water here. get out.

hummingbirds, all (ruby-throated pictured) 10/10 they choose violence every waking moment. god help you if you've forgotten to refill a nectar feeder. all they know is speed, feed, make things bleed.

barn swallow 9/10 Do Not Go Near The Nest. willing and able to peck you to death.

baltimore oriole 1/10 goofy guys with a great sense of fashion and one of the prettiest songs. they're just here to flirt and have a good time

greater roadrunner 3/10 i love our mini velociraptors so much i dare not speak ill of them. also one of the few birds that fuck outside of the need to reproduce. hell yeah my dudes get it on you freaky little dinos.

northern mockingbird 5/10 i think these guys are on par with how the europeans feel about magpies. they don't really steal shit, but they will, like grackles, commit psychological warfare by being the most annoying little shit possible. and sometimes they're bold enough to chase you. their hatred of cats outweighs their sense of self-preservation, too. they will get into a metaphorical fist fight with a cat. and win, usually.

eastern meadowlark 6/10 i know our prairies are awfully tempting to go frolicking in but unless you crave an unusual death that involves being relentlessly shrieked at with drive-by stabbings, i wouldn't recommend it. these guys are lurking in the tall grass, just waiting to fuck up your day.

black vulture 1/10 slightly smaller than their red-faced cousin, way more common here, and so so chill. they're all bark and no bite, unless you're roadkill. is one in the road blocking you from passing because he's chowing down on a dead opossum? go around, bitch. you are not important enough for him to get out of the way.

wild turkey 11/10 (males) female turkeys are pretty cool. they can be a bit Extra but generally they just want to eat. males, however. males would love nothing more but to beat you to death and then take a shit on your corpse. persistent. unyielding. once you have become a target your only hope is getting in a car and quickly driving away. if they don't beat the shit out of your car first, that is.

desert cardinal 2/10 these guys are great. they're not even supposed to be here. i always mistake them for female cardinals at first. about the same temperament as normal cardinals. they're weird but everyone seems to be okay with them.

great horned owl 8/10 so, so stupid and yet so spiteful. not a great combo. so ironic owls are the posterchild of wise when they're perhaps one of the dumbest birds of prey. its a wonder they haven't stupided their way into extinction. only thing this idiot has going for it is being so photogenic and has the most creepy mood-setting song ever.

#birds #birds of oklahoma #we have lots more songbirds but #i don't pay attention to their behaviors as much #and yes these are regularly in my backyard area #as long as you aren't in the heart of the city these are all super common to see lol

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sweet-evie · 11 months

Text

Coming Home

Content: Ch #221 SPOILERS, Established Relationship, gojo x afab!oc, gojo x fem!reader, nameless OC, she/her pronouns, lovesick!gojo... Added some extra flare to the unsealing, because Gojo deserves it.

A/N: Actually wrote this back in April 19, 2023… when Ch #221 leaks came out. Posting it now, because I miss him so bad, and was cleaning out my drafts.

✨ masterlist ✨

She’d heard it countless times especially after what happened in Shibuya — Satoru Gojo’s existence was vital in their world. The balance of the jujutsu world shifted upon his birth, and upon his removal, it was plunged into chaos. The fact that his presence alone was a deterrent for powerful curse users that had the intention of harming others testified to how truly influential and powerful he really was.

A walking god among men.

That truth was never more stark until now.

She grew up with him, in a sense — built a life with him for close to a decade and counting, before that ancient sorcerer outwitted them all and took her Love out of the picture. She knew Satoru Gojo as a man. Insanely powerful, yes… Yet he was still just human.

But now…

Now as the earth finally settled after a long minute of feeling like it was being shaken down to its foundations, she beheld a horizon doused in blue and blinding white, the difference between the Satoru she knew and adored, and the Gojo that the world revered was as clear and divided as night and day.

The heavens roared its greeting as the earth trembled — a minute-long tremor that rocked the ground beneath her feet and caused her to stumble.

Whether they succeeded at opening the back of the Prison Realm or if Satoru himself found a way out, she cared not. It suddenly felt like the world inhaled one deep cleansing breath, releasing it all in a collective sigh of relief that revealed how much their world really needed the one person who stood a chance against the King of Curses and his malevolent reign.

The blinding strobe of light that shot to the sky, past the clouds, slowly faded away.

She had been in the middle of fighting Uro and Ryu when Sukuna cast his threatening presence over the world. That same presence that had Uro cowering and Ryu hesitating. And now… A far greater presence had re-entered the stage.

The elders were so quick to exile him, to strip him of rank and political power. But how foolish were they? Their opinions and their rulings did not matter in the face of Satoru Gojo’s incoming wrath. And what did their destruction and dissolve matter to her when everything she had ever wished for had now come true?

He was back.

Satoru was back… Her partner, her Love, Limitless Power Incarnate, the Honored One in the Heavens and the Earth.

=OoOoO=

What was she supposed to say? Were words even necessary? What was there to say?

She had so many things to say to him and they had so much to do. There were powers to consolidate, forces to account, politics to handle, and a myriad of societal problems to solve. The true work had barely begun. But when they were finally face-to-face, all semblance or thought of everything else except for them disappeared.

To her, there was only Satoru with that same blindfold hanging from his neck, jacket torn but with that same all-black ensemble he wore as a uniform every time he taught at Jujutsu High, staring at her with eyes reminiscent of blue skies dotted with clouds.

He was…weary and noticeably upset, but the relief that completely overcame his expression upon seeing her lightened the heavy emotions that swamped her just before this encounter.

She didn’t hear herself when a sob tore through her throat, and didn’t register the tears that gathered in the corners of her vision as her entire body trembled and she immediately reached for him.

They had a meager audience in the form of Yuji and the others. But did she care?

No…

So when his arms enveloped her and when she could finally feel his heart beating against her own, there was only relief and joy and overwhelming love at their reunion. It felt like coming home.

For the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t alone anymore.

=OoOoO=

There were no words to describe the slough of emotions that bombarded him after making his escape. He almost felt bad after hastily thanking his former students — his adhoc rescuers, Angel with Jacob’s Ladder. But he didn’t really care when all he could think about was her. He needed to know she was safe — that she was all right, that she could still accept him after his failure to uphold his end of the promise.

He needed to know that she still loved him.

Time passed immeasurably fast — akin to a blink, when he suddenly found himself before her.

He’d been gone for a month, he knew, but it felt like all of these changes had happened in between the snap of measly fingers and eternity. It had been so long and yet it felt too soon.

She stood before him with the most peculiar expression on her pretty face, clad head-to-toe in dark shades of blue and dirty gray, exhausted, trembling, and so emotional. Those gorgeous eyes clouded with unshed tears, unbound hair swaying in the breeze, hands clenched into fists, lips quivering under the weight of suppressed sadness. Her voice as she mewled his name and sobbed, broke his heart.

He always hated seeing her upset — abhorred the thought of her drowning in despair. He never wanted to see her cry.

He wanted her smile, her happiness.

She barrelled straight into him after dismissing her naginata into the ether.

She buried herself in his arms just as he gladly welcomed her in them. Gods, he’d missed her. He refused to count the unnameable hours and minutes he’d spent wishing he could come back to her, return to the home they’d made, and the love they shared between them. She embraced him tightly and he wrapped himself around her, face buried in her hair, inhaling her deeply, treasuring every beat of her beloved heart. She cried in his arms and he couldn’t deny how wet his eyes were too.

Overflowing with relief and happiness, he pulled back just barely to cradle her face in his hands. She leaned into his touch and sighed in relief, with his name on her lips uttered as a reverent prayer. He’d never heard something so sweet and so endearing in his life. One of his thumbs grazed her parted lips — lips that begged to be kissed.

Indulging in his desires and her own, they fell into a sweet, lingering kiss.

Her fingers in his hair, his hands on her, their lips locked desperately to convey the sleepless nights, the loneliness, the despair, the overwhelming need to have the other close. It was completion and happiness and peace all wrapped up in one.

He was hers… And she was his.

They parted but just barely, still sharing breaths, with less than an inch between them.

“I missed you.” She murmured, tracing the curves of his lips with her fingertips.

He wanted to reciprocate with a joke, but really… he couldn’t. It was just… He swallowed thickly as he caught her hand and kissed each fingertip, her knuckles — pressed his lips reverently on the glittering solitaire diamond ring he’d given her for what felt like forever ago. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Satoru.”

“You’re still marrying me, right?”

She laughed, and it was such a heavenly sound to his ears. Her answer was even sweeter in spite of the carnage and desolation around them.

He could ask her a thousand times over, and she was certain her answer to that question was, and always would be, the same in every lifetime, in every situation.

“Yes… Always.”

Riding high from her reassurance, he squeezed her a little tighter, buried his nose into her hair and inhaled the scent of vanilla. He was home — a litany he'd chanted in his head over and over. He had come home; home was her loving arms, her smiles, even her tears. Home was the sound of her voice when she whispered his name.

He saw it in the way her eyes had searched his, tasted it in her lips with each touch, felt it in the way her heart beat against his own.

He was home... Finally home.

==========================================

[Dumped in AO3]

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x oc #satoru gojou x reader #gojo/reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x oc #wbad fanfiction #manga spoilers

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yourmomxx · 11 months

Text

GIRL CRUSH

❧ summary - you are in love with jj, but he only has eyes for someone else

❧warnings - signs of depression, disassociation and withdrawal, all the angst, unrequited feelings, this is written kind of abstract, I think?

❧word count - 4.7k

❧based on this request

songs ❧girl crush - harry styles ❧she - dodie ❧astronomy - conan gray

❧main masterlist

“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?” ― James Patterson, The Angel Experiment

Kiara Carrera was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.

It was a fact almost as certain as the continous circling of the earth around the sun.

She was captivating, really, and it was such a strong pull toward her it almost confused you.

Her hair was dark, curls silky and defined, in a way that yours could never be. You wished, sometimes, you had her tan skin, smooth and soft, the object of all desires. The way she walked was enchanting, floating just the right amount in her step and never too harsh. You could drown in the deep brown of her dark eyes, expression of empathy and compassion, sincere in a way you only wished you could be.

You were in love with Kiara Carrera, because who couldn’t be, with her angel voice, and her confident attitude, and the way she smelled of flowers, and beach, and the rising sun on the first summer day.

Kiara Carrera had once in your presence been compared to a descendant of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, which, in all honesty, you couldn’t do anything else than agree to. You would know, you were one of her best friends, you spent almost every waking minute with her and the rest of the pogues, and yet you never grew tired of the spark she had that made her glowing golden.

The amount of guys you’d had walking up to you, to ask for her or about her, and how could you blame them, you understood. But you turned them away.

You would like to say it was merely for Kiara’s gain, because you didn’t want one of those not-serious screwboys in her near, but it wasn’t, you weren’t considerate like that, another trait that she had you forward in.

But Kiara Carrera, beauty incarnate, the princess of pogues, living evidence of relations between the rich and the poor side of the island, had only eyes for one specific person herself. A boy that made her smile in a way that made her forget the entire world around her, and also shake her head in exasperation when he talked sometimes.

The lucky guy’s name was JJ Maybank, and he was her best friend, and, in a way, also yours.

JJ admired Kiara. In that way, he was no different to the other guys that kissed the blessed ground she walked on. He loved the way she paced around the room when she was contemplating hard, or the way the wind from over the sea blew a stray curl in her face.

JJ Maybank was more than his love for Kiara Carrera, though. JJ was kindness, and consideration, and he was the overcome of a terrible childhood, and he was the love he held for his friends.

In that way, you couldn’t blame Kiara for being infatuated him. Because who wouldn’t be? Thinking about it like that, they fit for each other perfectly, like two pieces of the same puzzle.

There was no space for you in-between. There never had been.

It had become a tradition for you and JJ to meet up in-between lessons to talk about the most mundane things, gossiping about annoying teachers and getting at least one intelligent conversation for the hour.

It was mostly JJ doing the talking, though, oftentimes. You didn’t mind. Letting JJ’s voice wash over you like the silent lullaby of the waves on a windy day had turned into a necessary comfort you couldn’t imagine to miss.

You hadn’t enjoyed school for a while now. There were too many people cramped up on too little space for your liking, and everyone wanted to talk about everything, and it demanded your concentration on things you found yourself not caring about or interested in.

But you met deadlines, and you delivered the grades, so that meant you were alright.

If the breaks you spent in-between classes leaning on your locker, talking to JJ - or mostly listening to him - were what made things worse or better, you didn’t know. And even if you had caught yourself glancing at his quickly moving lips for far too long than a friend should every once in a while, then you didn’t allow yourself to think about it.

The cheaply painted, red metal was cold against your cheek, as you did your best to not bend over and throw up that sickening feeling that’s been sitting heavy on your chest the entire day.

It was Thursday. Maybe. Might be Friday. You didn’t really remember it all that much anymore, it all was blurred. JJ was talking about a party he went to, where he met someone who told him something, that’s what your mind managed to register.

JJ didn’t enjoy spending time with you anymore. It was clear to you, clearer than freshly polished glass windows.

He hasn’t said it like that, of course.

JJ would never, he was too nice.

But you weren’t Kiara, and JJ would much rather spend time with her than with you. You knew that, it was not hard to tell.

All at once, JJ suddenly stopped his rambling mid-sentence.

You didn’t need to see the way he glanced over your shoulder as he suddenly stood taller, or hear the silk voice travel down the hallway, calling out his name, to realize who had shown up.

You recognized it in the change of his eyes when he looked at her.

Kiara swerved a younger student as she headed straight up to JJ, hugging him, and greeting you with the most blinding and sincere smile you’d ever seen someone wear.

She made it so easy to love her that you felt terrible about wanting to hate her.

Those thoughts were changed when she looped her arm around JJ’s and fixed his hair.

JJ’s hair didn’t need fixing, that’s what you thought. He was beautiful when his blond strands were tousled, boyish, and it added up with the mischievous glint that swam in his eyes.

You were being unfair now, you knew that, Kiara wasn’t the bad guy here, she’d merely pushed a strand of JJ’s hair aside as she talked to him.

JJ’s skin was surely burning at the spot where her skin had touched his.

You knew yours was.

JJ’s voice would be different as well, when he spoke to Kiara.

It was light, in a way that you knew you could never make him sound, because you had no way to make him feel free, and careless, and cared for, not in a way you used to, when he was still only friends with her and you were allowed to be selfish enough to keep him to yourself.

The sickening feeling spread again. From your chest, down to your stomach and in your throat, quite like the exact opposite of the warmth that seeing JJ once had given you, and you almost laughed at the irony if you weren’t in so much pain.

JJ waved his hand at you. “Hey man, see you later, I told Kie I’d walk her to class.” You blinked.

Kie. He liked to call her that. A nickname. He’d never given a nickname to you.

You nodded. “Yeah no, sure. See ya.”

JJ disappeared into the crowd, Kiara somewhere next to him.

All of a sudden, you didn’t know if the world had been this blurry the entire time.

The next time it happened, was at the beach.

You were walking next to JJ on your right side, Kiara was occupying your left. You were on your way together to John B’s cabin to meet him and Pope there, and had decided to take the long route next to the raging sea.

Wind was carrying the smell of salt in your direction, and JJ’s tanktop was tugged around all over his body.

In hindsight, you should have known. In hindsight, if you had spun the thought only a bit further, you would have known that there would not be a way for this to work.

JJ and Kiara were two forces pulling each other near, nothing that only possessed human strength could put itself between them, it was no use, not even to try.

“And I mean, the Carsons got this huge boat-”

JJ gestured around with his hands when he talked. You leaned slightly away as to not get in the way of his movements.

Kiara was focused on him when JJ spoke. Her body subconsciously drifted nearer.

You leaned slightly away so she wouldn’t bump into you.

JJ made a joke.

Kiara laughed.

She doubled over and leaned into JJ. Her hand found his arm as she slapped him playfully. JJ tucked his head down. Blushing, probably.

This time, the sickening feeling started in your stomach and chest already.

They were walking together now, right next to each other. Their joy-bounced steps carried them further than yours, weighed down by longing, and caring, and guilt, and you fell back.

The only thing you could do was follow their already vanishing footsteps in the sand.

When you arrived at the cabin, and Kiara and JJ greeted your friends a whole lot of feet before you did, John B raised his eyebrows at you, questioning.

You ignored his suspicious look.

Pope seemed to hold you just the tiniest bit closer when he hugged you.

The feeling spread out to your head.

The last time it happened was at a party.

One, that, in your defense, you did not even intend to show up to. It was a house party, which was unusual enough as it was, which pogue was there you could meet that had enough space in their house to throw a party and enough determination to clean it all up afterwards?

But, apparently, John Laren had moved new on the island, and wanted to make his presence known as of that event. Where middle-aged people brought casseroles, cupcakes or batches of brownies, eighteen year-olds threw massive parties with drugs and alcohol for everyone that was underage and younger.

As mentioned, you hadn't planned to go. In your current condition, a party was really the last thing on your mind.

Unfortunately for you, though, you had not calculated Pope Heyward into that idea.

That prick.

"Yes, I'm coming!"

You rushed to your front door, almost tumbling over that goddamn couch leg that you had wanted to rip off for years now, and quickly swung open the thick hardwood, before the person on the other side could get a chance to pound against it as if their life depended on it again.

"Geez!"

Before you were even able to realize who stood before you, Pope had already shoved you by the chest, and into the house again.

The door slammed close again.

“You are going to that party.”

Your mind wasn’t working right now.

“What are you- Hey, come back!”

But Pope had already made his way up the stairs. You turned and ran after him.

By the time you arrived on the upper floor, Pope was already standing in your room, ready to open the closet doors. You jumped forward and slammed then closed, guarding them with your arms spread like something sacred.

“Slow down,” you said. Pope rewarded you with an impatient look.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know what i’m doing here,” Pope shot back, no hesitation.

You withstood the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’m not going to John Stewart’s,” you clarified.

Pope did roll his eyes.

“His name is John Laren,” he corrected you. “John Stewart is on reality tv.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and easily maneuvered your non-resisting body to the edge of your bed.

“And you are going,” He stated. He pressed you into the mattress.

“Now sit down and be quiet, and let me pick out something for you to wear.”

Pope whirled around and ripped the closet doors open. He began rummaging though the different shirts and pants that were hung up inside.

“I don’t understand why you so desperately want me to go,” You said, swerving right to ditch an orange shirt that came flying at you just in time.

“Because,” Pope drew out the word slowly, as he concentrated on a black tank top in his hands, “you’re sulking.”

He walked over and thrusted the top into your grip.

“And when you’re sulking, I’m sulking,” he continued. “We’re twinning.”

“But we’re not-“ Pope raised a warning eyebrow. You raised your hands in defeat.

“Alright, alright.”

Pope patted your cheek.

“That’s my boy.”

A second of hesitation, but Pope sighed and the mattress dipped as he sat down next to you.

"Look, man," He started, hesitantly. "I like to think that you don't think I'm stupid."

You raised your eyebrows. Pope continued.

"And, considering I don't need glasses, unlike - some of us-" He took a deep breath.

"Man, I see the way you look at Kiara."

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline.

The way you looked at- "What?" You stuttered out, not even trying to hide how baffled you were.

Pope shook his head. "My bad, I should have worded that differently. I mean the way you look at Kiara, when she is around JJ."

Oh.

Ah.

Your body felt slow. This made way more sense.

You didn't even notice how you were slowly turning away to not have to look Pope in the eye.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't-" Pope scoffed. More at himself than you, really.

"I know we have that rule. No pogue on pogue macking? But seriously, man, I should be the first person who knows what it feels like to be in love with their best friend. And honestly? I can't blame you."

You felt a comforting pressure on your shoulder when Pope placed his hand there.

"I want you to know I'm not judging you. Don't feel bad about ... what you're feeling. You know?"

You loudly breathed in, not even knowing what to say. What could there be to say?

Pope stood up again. His hand slid off your shoulder slowly. He didn't hold your silence against you. You silently thanked him for it.

"Look, that's the whole reason I want you to go to this party. You need to loosen up a little, drink away your thoughts, get some groove in."

Pope demonstrated his words by shaking his whole body from one side to another like a dancing snake.

The corners of your mouth cracked into a smile at that. Pope saw it as a win, turned back to your closet again, grinning.

You sighed, suddenly reminded of why he was here in the first place.

"What would I even be doing there?"

Pope shrugged, still rummaging through all your clothes, not caring about any mess. "Go out. Have fun. Have some drinks. Have some boys, have some girls, whatever you're feeling tonight."

You ignored him. "Are JJ and Kiara going to be there?"

"No," Pope answered shortly and pulled out cargo pants from the closet. "They both have plans."

"Together?"

Pope threw the pants at you. "Here you go. Put it on, fifteen minutes, downstairs." He waved himself off. "Actually ten, you're not a teenage girl. Let's go!"

And just like that, he was out the door. You regarded the clothes in your hands skeptically, the black tank top and dark green cargo pants, and couldn't help but notice, how Pope had not answered your question.

Jason Lawrence was a Pogue, whose lifestyle drifted more toward the direction of Kook. There had been a few of them over time, the line between too poor and too rich wavering, and they were trapezing on it.

Whether John Lance invited all entirety of the cut to show off, or to really just throw himself a good old welcome party, remained unclear.

In all honesty, you didn't really care that much. The only reason you were here was because of Pope, and the second he dared to take his eyes off you for more than five minutes, you would be gone like the wind.

Multicolored lights flashed over the ceiling like the spotlights in a club. Most people that were running around with red solo cups in their hands, you recognized - from bonfires or other house parties.

In a way, the entire cut was just like a really big neighbourhood.

Your eyes searched over the crowd of people, desperately looking for a quiet space next to a wall, hopefully, and you politely denied a blond girl with just the necessary amount of covering-up clothing, when she offered you a drink.

"Come on, man, at least pretend like you're having fun!"

Pope appeared next to you out of the blue, and if the loud music hadn't swallowed his equally yelled words, you would have flinched.

You shot your friend a grim look.

"That would be lying, and I don't like lying."

A sharp pain erupted in your chest when Pope stabbed his finger right above your sternum.

"See, I know that's a lie," He said. "Because I know you like lying, I saw you lying often, so what you just said -" He raised his poking finger, "-'t was a lie."

You leaned closer to him and furrowed your eyebrows.

"Dude, are you drunk already?" You asked loudly.

"We've barely been here for half an hour!"

Pope shrugged, shoulders and hips moving to the rhythm in a way that was definitely not correct by beat.

"Chester from the mini bar did a mix for me!" He explained, hand shooting out to point you in the direction where he had come from.

You raised your eyebrows. Chester from the mini bar might have mixed Pope's stuff a bit too well. That lightweight couldn't hold his own on a normal day with a beer.

You smelled the cup in his hand and couldn't fight off the way your face twisted in disgust.

"Dude, what is in there?" You took the cup out of Pope's hand, which was relatively easy, he wasn't all there with his hand anyways.

Pope drew his eyebrows together and pulled his lips into a pout.

"I was drinking that," He complained. You shook your finger in front of his face.

"I think you've had enough, honestly."

"Give that-" Pope burst forward and grabbed for your hand holding the drink, but you pulled it out of his reach just at the right time and raised your hand in the air the highest you could.

Additionally, you raised yourself on the tips of your toes.

Pope tried to stretch himself, but it didn't budge, so he shorthandedly pressed his thumb into the crook of your elbow hard, forcing you to bend your arm down.

Your friend let out a victorious laugh as he reached for the cup that was now almost on eye-level with him, when you made a not thought-through decision on the spot, raised the cup to your lips and downed its contents in one sip.

The liquid went down your throat like cold fire.

Your entire inside squirmed, and your face twisted into a grimace of pure disgust.

"Hey!" Pope threw his hands in the air.

"You're drinking, man! You're having funnnn!"

You wouldn't have put it like that, maybe. But when Pope grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you with him, through the crowds of people and to the shining neon letters that said MINI BAR, you just followed him.

You were having fun. It was almost an hour later, or maybe two, might have just been a half, you didn't really know. Or care.

The solo cup you were sipping held your fourth drink tonight, or your sixth, or your third, you had absolutely no idea.

All you knew was that it burned in your throat like any good liquor should, and that it made you feel good in a way you hadn't felt for weeks now.

The way you weren't quite in full control of your limbs was a side effect you chose to ignore.

The air was vibrating. All colors were more saturated than the first time you came in, they flickered behind your eyelids even when you weren't looking.

Hot bodies of multiple people crowded together, somewhere a table was playing beer pong, while the music roared through your blood stream and pushed arenaline with it.

It felt good. You felt good.

Why hadn't you done this much sooner, Pope was right. And alcohol was great. Like, actually.

The tunes drew you in. Masses of people, it felt, were moving in the same way, all together.

You closed your eyes, and just let it go.

No thinking about the right way to move your lips, the sweat slowly dripping down the back of your neck, or how the alcohol in the cup wasn't quenching your thirst, just worsening it.

It didn't matter. It was as if the music had manifested itself physically, and was moving all of your senses totally on its own.

You felt light, a feeling you had missed over the last few months.

Your chest was free, you could breathe.

The air was full of euphoria, it tasted of glee.

Suddenly, there was a sound that stood out, something that didn't fit the atmosphere.

You blinked your eyes open just the slightest bit.

There, just a few feet away from you, you made out a familiar arrangement of blond strands - some dark, others lightened by the burning sun out on the waves of the sea.

It was a magnetic pull, you couldn't do anything against it if you wanted to. You hadn't really been in posession of your own body since you had taken that drink from Pope.

"JJ!" You heard yourself call out.

Your friend turned around to you, and God, his eyes were beautiful. The string of colorful lights was perfectly illuminating the small streak of skin that was laid free beneath the unbuttoned top of his shirt, a brown one, lazily tucked into casual jeans.

He looked good.

And would you love to blame that thought on your currently dosed state.

So you did.

Your hand slapped on the place of his shoulder, just where his neck met his chest.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, loudly to overcome the sound of the music. "Thought you had plans."

JJ grinned. You mimicked it. Pope had once told you about the mirroring statistic with people one liked. You thought it was bullshit.

"Made a last minute change!" JJ yelled back, and even in your current condition you noticed how his gaze flickered, searching for something that wasn't you in the crowd of people.

"Me and Kie made a stop here before ending our date!"

You blinked.

“Huh?”

You were quite sure JJ repeated his same answer to you. But you didn’t really know, because your ears felt stuffed.

Me and Kie made a stop before ending our date.

Me and Kie. Our date.

You stumbled back.

John B had dunked your head in cold water once to sober you up. This was worse.

Your chest felt heavy, pressed together in a camp handle.

Your hand dropped from JJ's shoulder. He didn't notice. His eyes kept scanning the crowd.

You backed away. You needed space, just some way for your chest to expand and let air into your lungs.

Your back hit another wall of bodies. Everything was so tight around you.

The air didn't feel euphoric anymore, it felt stuffed, and thin, and heavy.

You needed to get out of here.

Stumbling, tumbling and tripping, eyes always focused downwards, you pushed past one person after the other.

You didn't know where you exactly were going, but when you reached a wall, there had to be a door somewhere too, right?

You got lucky. A tall boy was pushed into you and made you almost fall over, but the way you leaned into a different direction drew your attention to a large gate not too far away.

You gathered your last bit of lasting strength in your legs and pushed yourself out of the house, out of the stuffed room, into the cold air of the night, and the smell of sea salt rather than the salt of sweat.

You left the lights behind you. You just kept going. You needed to get some distance between you and that house.

You ran until you reached the shore; quite literally.

The hard wood of the dock creaked under every step you took further out, until you reached the ending.

Tied down ships were softly tuckering on the wooden stakes.

Rather laboriously, you leaned down to sit on the edge of the not fenced trail. You brushed some dirt off your palms, and hugged your knees to your chest.

Almost every last drop of drunkness you had felt just a few minutes earlier, had vanished.

There were no chattering voices around you, nor the hard bass of a remixed 2000's pop song. Just the small, almost not there, rush of the rustling waves.

An occasional drop signified fish swimming to the surface and diving down again.

Some frogs were quacking in the tall blades of grass.

You pressed your knees closer to your body.

Through your lungs, you inhaled the warm summer air. It would soon be morning.

Something directed your thoughts to the song 'Memory' from Cats.

"And soon it will be morning".

The background noise around you didn't change.

You hated how weary you felt, how heavy your heart. From one sentence, how your night was taken in one's hand, and crushed right in-between his fingers, without him even realizing the splinters digging into his palms.

You hated how much power you had given him over you, a man, a boy, who had no interest in you besides the one of a good friend, which was fine, you should be fine with that.

But for some reason, you weren't, in the same way that you weren't altruistic, and not a girl with dark hair and curls and tan skin, the way that you just weren't Kiara Carrera.

Who were you to blame JJ for the way you couldn't grow up and grow out of your feelings.

"Touch me, it's so easy to leave me".

A soft creak behind you caught your attention.

You didn't turn around.

There was no danger to be expected from the people on the Cut. Not that you knew of.

You told yourself that was the reason you stayed.

Not the fact that you didn't care, if the approaching footsteps were danger or not.

A body, clad in a dark brown shirt and jeans plopped down a few feet to your right.

You almost retched when the smell of distinct perfume reached your nose.

"What happened, man?" JJ asked loudly. "You just ... left, back there. We didn't know where you were." He chuckled. You could hear it in his voice, the way he was still rest-drunk. "Thought you found yourself a nice lady and decided we weren't enough fun, if you know what I mean."

You stayed silent.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw JJ looking at your side.

You heard him sigh.

"Man, I'm serious. If something's wrong, you can talk to me. I'm always there for you, you know that."

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Was it fair to let him fidget, like a fish on a rod? As far as you knew, JJ hadn't done anything wrong, not actively.

You stared out the sea.

"I don't like you with Kiara." Your voice was raw and rough. You slightly cleared your throat.

The light breeze made the reeds rustle in a whisper.

JJ sighed and rubbed a hand over his face frantically.

"I know, man," He murmured. "No pogue on pogue macking, I get it. I broke the rule."

You hummed. Behind the horizon, the sky colored brighter.

"Maybe it's that, yeah." You still didn't turn your head.

The night ended and greeted the day, the blood rushing through your ears drowning out any other noise around you.

You pushed down the shiver that threatened to shake your body when the wind picked up.

“But maybe it’s just because I am so terrifyingly in love with you.”

Behind the reeds and over the smooth water, the sun rose slowly above the Banks, a burning orange flare of light.

“I believe in love and lust and sex and romance. I don't want everything to add up to some perfect equation. I want mess and chaos. I want someone to go crazy out of his mind for me. I want to feel passion and heat and sweat and madness. I want valenties and cupids and all of that crap. I WANT IT ALL” ― Barbra Streisand

#jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x male!reader #male!reader #girl crush #yourmomxx #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks x reader #rudy pankow imagine

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ihatedtoadmit · 8 months

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A biteful memory [2]

pairing: OT8 x fem!reader

genre: werewolf AU, fluff, crack

warnings: Please read the 'Summary' of this series, all are listed there!

word count: ~3.6k

summary: You finally meet Felix's gang face-to-face, and it's safe to say that you're feeling a bit out of place, especially thanks to one person and his constant glaring.

↳ Masterlist ↳ Next chapter ↳ Previous chapter

The male’s hair was at shoulder length, the sun shining warmly on its black strands. He had porcelain skin, just like Felix, but without the starry freckles. This had to have been Hwang Hyunjin, the artistic hottie the whole university was talking about. His doe eyes widened at the sight of me, flicking down to the aussie.

“Damn, you didn’t say she was taller than me.” “Hyunjin!” “What? It’s cool, can’t wait to see the shorties’ reactions.” - Hyunjin laughed out, his dark eyes meeting mine again and turning gentler. “I’m Hwang Hyunjin, nice to meet the person who has our little Lixie in her hold.” - he held out a hand for me that I hesitantly grabbed as I introduced myself. “But uh…I don’t, have Lixie in my hold?” “Oh? Are you sure? Becau–” - but before he could finish his sentence, Felix slapped a hand onto his mouth, silencing him with a deadly glare.

I just stared as the two now wrestled with each other playfully, reminding me of siblings. I let what the artist had said go, knowing that it could never be true anyway. It sounded hilarious even.

Not wanting things to somehow turn worse and ugly, I grabbed Felix off of Hyunjin, holding him close to myself.

“Stop it now, we didn’t come here to fight. Especially if I’m the reason for it.” - I scolded him, causing him to immediately turn lax in my hold and deny my statement. “We weren’t really fighting. Now, let’s go in, before you try to escape again.” - at his remark I glanced at the gate, but I noticed Hyunjin’s amused stare he shot at me and immediately gave up the thought of escaping.

It wouldn’t work anyway.

We waddled back up to the door, Felix free from my hold as I lingered behind the two, looking at the ground and wishing I had never asked to hang out on a friday. It was only logical they would have some kind of program to hang out on that particular day, something that somehow completely eluded my mind.

The door opened and we walked in, the sunshine incarnate telling me where I could put my shoes, jacket and backpack. I followed his instructions obediently, letting him lead me past a big, open kitchen towards the stairs. We then walked through a hallway that was littered with doors, until he stopped at one near the end.

“You can use this guest room while you’re here, nobody will barge in here, don’t worry. Come back down after you’re done, ‘kay?” - with that, Felix left after I nodded at him.

I watched his leaving form for a few more seconds before turning back towards the door, finally opening it and setting my eyes on the room’s interior.

Holy shit.

This was a guest room?? Shit was as big as a whole ass apartment!

There was a king sized bed resting at one of the walls, a neat little nightstand next to it. On the opposite wall was the biggest wardrobe I had ever seen, all made out of beautiful, dark oak with intricate designs carved into it. Symbols of flowers and animals could be seen, although I would definitely need to take some time to see it all properly. There was a table with a comfy-looking swivel chair as well, along with a few small bookshelves sprinkled onto the walls. As I turned to my left a bit, my breath hitched, floor to ceiling high glass panes greeting me with the view of the forest that resided behind their house. Different types of trees peeked over each other, pines and oaks mingling together in a cacophony of green.

It was breathtaking.

After marvelling for probably a worrying amount of time, I broke out of my haze and finally put down my backpack, fishing out my comfier clothes to change into. Because these tight, black jeans I currently had on were anything but that.

When I was done and hopefully still looking decent, I walked back down and into an even bigger room where the others sat, thankfully now fully clothed. The place was decked out with the biggest TV I had ever seen, with a sound system to match. There were plenty of seats to choose from, an enormous L-shaped couch resting between two, cosy looking loveseats. In front of me, at the back of the room, were floor to ceiling glass panes, two of them being lockable doors that lead to that same forest that resided behind the house.

Jesus christ, I felt so out of place in my cheap clothes and untamed appearance.

“Lixie, if you glare at them any harder, they will dig a hole into the floor just to escape it.” - Hyunjin laughed out loud, snapping my attention back to the boys. “Well, they would deserve it to be honest. Sigh Either way, this is Changbin and Jisung.” - he introduced us to each other, prompting the boys to greet me and bow in a way too low angle.

I tried greeting them back, but the inappropriate sight of them kept popping up in my mind whenever I looked at the two, rendering me a stuttering mess as I just covered my face with my hands and crouched down, my knees loudly popping in response. Laughter broke out around me, Lixie’s somewhere in it too, but I was too flustered to pay attention properly.

Who the fuck meets someone half-naked??

“Hey, please, as funny as it is, you know you shouldn’t be crouching. C’mon, sit down with me?” - Felix came to my rescue as I peeked up at him through my fingers, still too embarrassed to face them fully.

I let him drag me to a loveseat, where he gently pushed me down and nestled into my lap, no questions asked.

“I don’t think she’s gonna survive this night, her ears are already so red!” - Jisung laughed out once again, causing everyone to join in.

He was right, to give him where credit was due, Felix’s action had caught me completely off-guard as he had never done this before. Mostly because I was still uncomfortable with hugs, because trust me, he had tried in the past plenty of times. But strangely, as much as it flustered me, his action and presence also calmed me down. So, I willed my arms to close loosely around his middle, my head resting on top of his fluffy nest of hair. You could practically feel his happiness in response, how he leaned against me even more with all his weight.

Everyone looked at us, causing me to stiffen up in defence.

“What?” - I glared back at them, tightening my hold on the boy in my arms. “Nothing, nothing.” - Jisung said with held up arms, surrendering. “Yea, we just see why Lixie likes you so much now.” - Changbin did the same, joining in with Jisung.

I raised an eyebrow at that. That was the second time they’d said that Felix liked me a lot, something that was hard for me to believe with my zero self-confidence.

“Does he now?” - I murmured, glancing down at the lax boy in my arms. “When are the others coming?” - he asked instead, ignoring my question altogether, but I didn't really mind.

I listened to them as they spoke with each other, occasionally joining in when a question was directed at me after Felix grabbed my hands and disinfected them. I didn't even notice I’d scraped them, the scars so small and unnoticeable. Even so, he insisted that I let him clean the skin, and who was I to deny his doe-eyed request.

It was strange.

Usually, I wasn’t this comfortable in strangers’ presence, yet, here I was, having an okay time sitting in the same room as them, occasionally exchanging a few words with each other. The remaining boys had arrived one by one as well, joining us in the living room once they’d freshened up and changed into some comfier clothes. They had all greeted me and I’d waved back at them from behind Felix, who hadn’t moved away from me, not even once over the course of these past few hours. Most of the boys had amusement swimming in their eyes once they’d noticed us and our position, some even allowing a small smile to sneak itself onto their lips. It was fascinating to watch, a silent telltale sign that my friend wasn’t like this usually.

“What’re we watching?” - one of them asked, Seungmin, I believed. “We haven’t really chosen yet.” - Hyunjin replied, seemingly bored as he draped himself over their youngest, who I only knew because we were in the same semester, although in different majors. “Why don’t you choose something, hm?” - Felix asked me as he patted my hand and I was immediately struck with the urge to disappear, all heads now turned towards me. “I uh, I dunno, I’m fine with anything?” “Oh come ooon, surely you have a favourite movie!” - Jisung whined, entirely too comfortable in my presence.

That was the other strange thing. Everyone seemed to be behaving as if I was an old time friend -and i hoped that was the case-, except for one of them, Minho. His gaze on me was cold and calculative, as if he was ready for me to commit a grave sin against them. But he was only occasionally peering into my soul, as he masked it well in front of the others, hiding it from them. I involuntarily held Felix closer to me a bit, scared.

“On a second note, wasn’t it Innie’s turn to choose?” - Felix redirected the attention from me thankfully, causing chaos to erupt as they playfully argued and eventually settled on a movie, although it was a hard fight.

On a horror one, of course it was a horror movie.

“I’ll go and get some snacks with the others, mkay?” - he murmured, patting my arms so I would let him go. “Okay. Also, uh, where’s the bathroom?” - I murmured back, slightly anxious now that he was out of my hold.

He gave me clear instructions with a small smile and I followed them, happy to finally relieve and freshen myself up. Checking myself in the mirror as I was washing my hands, I tucked a few strands of hair back into their supposed place and turned my necklace around, so the clasp was at the back of my neck. I knew I looked terrible, especially amongst these popular people, urging me to put this and that in its place, straighten my clothes out here and there. It was of no use, of course, but I couldn’t help it.

Walking out of the bathroom, I went back to the living room, only to be met with a strange sight.

Felix was in the hold of a giggling Chan, pouting. In one of the loveseats was a delighted Hyunjin with an absolutely done Jeongin in his arms. In the other seat were Jisung and Minho, seemingly in their own world, something I was secretly grateful for. That left the aussies, Seungmin and Changbin on the big couch, with an empty space left.

A space left for me, undoubtedly, unless I wanted to sit on the carpeted floor boards.The thought didn’t sound as bad as one would think, since I used to do that a lot when there wasn’t enough space for me and my friends on the sofa. I didn’t mind it, really.

Not wanting to deal with that whole chaos just yet that was in front of my eyes, I sauntered over towards the kitchen, desperate to have a glass of water. I'd forgotten to drink ever since coming here, a bad habit of mine that I couldn’t manage to fix so far. Looking around for glasses, I spotted them in a windowed cabinet. I gently grabbed one, closing the door quietly and filling the glass with water from the tap. At this point, I was so parched that even the room temperature water felt heavenly, urging me to gulp it down as fast as I could.

Wiping my face with my sleeves, I sighed as I knew I couldn’t stall for more time and had to go back.

As soon as I was in his peripheral, Felix greeted me and shoved Changbin away onto a very displeased Seungmin, patting the now newly created empty seat for me. I shifted from one foot to the other, lips pursed as I looked at the short, buff male with uncertainty. He huffed and muttered something under his breath, causing Chan to gasp and berate him over it. But even then, Changbin looked at me with a small smile and motioned towards the seat with his head, telling me it was okay to sit there.

So I did, even though I was sure it wasn’t okay with all of them.

And thus, the movie night began.

Snacks were passed around, along with drinks -alcoholic and not-. I occasionally had some, juice being more than enough for me, besides, I had always been hesitant to consume things offered up by someone else. That was how I’d always worked, my long time friends needing to beat it into me that it was fine to eat their offered up food.

Everything was great, until the first jumpscare happened. I lightly jerked in my place, stiff and hopeful that nobody had noticed.

I was horrible with jumpscares.

Scary, creepy atmosphere? I was fine with it. But put anything in front of me fast enough and I would have a heart attack, may it be a rotting corpse or a cute plushie.

Nobody seemed to have noticed me, so I really thought I was fine.

I wasn’t.

Jumpscares kept happening throughout the whole movie, causing Felix to put a hand on my thigh in a soothing manner. Although at first it had the opposite effect, his touch causing me to jump and almost collide into Changbin, almost. I could hear a laugh being stifled, but I was too on edge to care whom it was from.

And just when I thought I was in the clear, finally free from this curse, I felt air blown onto my ear as the credits were rolling, causing me to let out a loud yelp. With a hand on my heaving chest, I looked next to me to find a wheezing Seungmin, no doubt the cause of it all. The others joined in with his laughter, even Felix was having fun over my misery.

“Alright, that’s enough, otherwise we’ll scare her away and then Lixie will be angry.” - Chan chuckled out, earning Felix’s approval from his arms.

I pursed my lips and settled back into my place, crossing my arms and looking at the TV, waiting for the next movie to start.

“Wait, are you pouting right now?” - Felix asked in disbelief as I just looked away from him, refusing to answer. “Oh my god, you totally are! Big baby is pouting! Someone, take a picture for me!” - he continued, not even giving me a chance to stop before I heard several camera shutters going off, causing my eyes to widen.

I couldn’t believe him, what a friend I had.

I looked back at him in betrayal, flustered as I realised what he had just called me. Unable to look at him or any of the others at this point, I covered my face with my hands and rested my elbows on my legs, wanting to just disappear magically, as if that could ever happen.

“I fucking hate you guys.” - I muttered out, not changing my position in the slightest. “That means she loves you, don’t let it fool you.” “Especially you, Felix.” “Love you too~”

After everyone had their fun teasing me -and believe me, they had-, they started a new movie, giving me a chance to finally lean against the back of the sofa comfortably and let out a silent sigh of relief. It was an action movie this time, no jumpscares to rattle me, thankfully.

The hours went by as we watched movie after movie, some of the boys gradually falling asleep, until it was only me and Chan awake, Felix peacefully snoring away in his hold. Changbin just decided to lean onto me at one point and I was too socially awkward to do anything about it, so I just let him snooze away there, cursing him for not leaning in the other direction where his menace of a friend slept.

“Thank you, by the way.” - Chan’s gentle voice reached my ears, causing me to look at him in confusion. “For being there for Felix.” - he successfully cleared my confusion with even more confusion. “I didn’t do anything. In fact, I could have done more, especially in the last week or so…” - I whispered out, afraid of voicing my mistakes out loud in front of Felix's protective friend. “We know it’s hard to be our friend, especially in uni. We all see some of the looks our so called fans and admirers give to anyone who so much as speaks to us, and yet, here you are. You had the chance to not let Lixie get close to you, talk with you. But you persisted, even after trying to distance yourself. So thank you, for making him this happy, for being his friend.”

My eyes drifted towards the freckled male’s sleeping form, how he lightly scrunched up his nose and turned in Chan’s hold, only to grab onto him tighter, as if he was his lifeline.

“I never really cared for people, what they thought of me. Sure, the stares can get under your skin, but what does it matter? I’m already normally stared at, be it for my height, for how I dress or for how I look. It's just more intense now, that's all. Really, I’m the one who's thankful here. Felix braved through the cold and harsh facade I put up, determined to befriend me, and I couldn’t be happier about it. My life was dull, washed out before meeting him, but now it’s bright and warm. So thank you, for letting him be my friend.” - I smiled at Chan’s dark silhouette, unshed tears clinging onto my waterline.

The darkness of the night gave me a sense of safety, fogging up my mind and letting me speak of my true feelings.

“Gosh, you’re even sweeter than he said. You’re always welcome here, okay? Now let’s get these kids to sleep.” - he said as he passed a sleeping Felix into my arms, the boy immediately latching onto my clothes.

He gathered Changbin into his own hold, the male mumbling something, but remaining asleep. Chan looked at him with utter adoration, as if he was his own blood, something that didn’t go unnoticed by my tired eyes.

“Oh yeah, Lixie’s room is on the second floor, third door on the right. You can sleep in the room next door, since it’s a guest room, but I guess he’d already told you that, haha. Have a good night.” - and with that, he left, leaving me blinking at his leaving form until I couldn’t see it in the dark.

Well… I guess I had no choice now.

Positioning the sleeping boy in my hold so his legs were wound around my waist, I gently held onto his thighs and back and slowly stood up, not wanting to drop him or topple over like the tower I was. Finding myself stable, I made careful steps towards the faint shape of the staircase, carefully making my way up on it. It was a slow journey, but I wasn’t about to risk breaking my friend’s back open on the hard edge of a stair, no thanks.

But how did Chan go up and down so fucking fast? It was pitch black…

Eventually, I made my way to Felix’s room. Opening it was a bit tricky, since I had my hands full, but I managed. All the while I could hear Chan moving about, no doubt placing everyone else in their rooms so they wouldn't wake up with a sore neck. I found it endearing, how they cared so much and so openly for each other, in my presence. Looking around in the darkness, I somehow made out the bed’s silhouette after straining my eyes, slowly placing the boy in my hold onto it.

Now that, that was a war in itself.

In his sleep, he had somehow linked his legs together, so he was latched onto me in every possible way. No matter how much I tugged on his arms or legs, he just wouldn’t fucking let go. So with the heaviest sigh I could produce, I grabbed my bag that I had put into the guest room when I'd arrived here and blindly searched around for my toothbrush. Having successfully secured it, I secured my hands around Felix’s sleeping form once more and trudged into his own bathroom -which was, again, hard to find in the dark-, intent on washing my teeth before sleeping. At least let me have this, since I couldn’t shower or change into pyjamas…

After successfully suffering through that and not spitting on the sleeping boy accidentally, I went back to his bed and laid down. Felix wiggled around a bit, as if he sensed that we were finally on a bed and laid on top of me, legs latched onto mine.

He was a cuddlebug, alright.

Next chapter

Taglist: @meowmeeps @michelle4eve

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catyo90 · 1 year

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Fighting Fate: Chapter 1

Zelgan Fic For the wonderful and inspiring @s-kinnaly

(Let me know if you guys want me to continue.)

Zelda’s nerves were almost completely shot at this point in the meeting of the Gerudo King. The kings eyes were fixed on the Zonai King but every few moments she would catch them on her instead clearly he was not at all interested in the words of the king. It was only when Rauru motioned for him to rise from his kneeling position did his attention return.

“There is one other matter I have been told by our dear relative Zelda that you two wished to confer with in private, if you are still willing Lord Ganondorf.”

Rauru said however not before looking to her for confirmation for her approval. Zelda simply smiled and nodded to him as she walked down the small stairs to stand in front of him. Standing so close to him she was able to get a much better look at him.

A blind person could see how strong and built he was. But what truly caught her attention was his eyes. They didn’t show hatred toward her or even any malice from his incarnation of Demise. All she saw were the tired eyes of a man who clearly wanted change.

She could feel her whole body shake ever so slightly as she tried to remain calm. She watched as Ganondorf turned to his troops motioning for them to await for him outside. Zelda in turn watched as Rauru and Sonia left while the guards followed behind leaving through the main door.

Silence....complete and utter silence fell upon the room as they both stood in front of the other. But it was she who spoke first.

“King Ganondorf of the Gerudo. I see it in your eyes that you can sense in me what I can sense in you.”

Ganondorf eyes slightly became wider as he could feel a echo of the powerful aura in her. The stone she wore glowing a faint gold. He could sense the goddesses light in this small Hylian. And for a moment his mind wondered as to how someone so small could hold so much power. In turn she could sense malice in his body but it had clearly had not been fully awaken...at least not yet.

“Yes, Lady Zelda... I can sense the light of the goddess Hylia in you just as you can the malice of Demise will always torment me...”

He kneeled in front of her to meet her at eye level as he place the blade beside him away from her.

“A fate and a curse that I wish to change...”

His voice was low but his words were as warm as the Gerudo desert. She could sense in him...at least for now...that he was not lying.

“However...” he said and almost instantly did his words turn cold as he looked around the castle.

“These walls have many eyes and ears. I would prefer we speak on the matter in a more trusting place.”

He was silent for a moment and in a quick fluid motion he simply grabbed his blade and turned away from her walking toward the gates of the castle but stopped short as he looked over his shoulder to her.

“Come to my kingdom in one weeks time. There we shall speak of your offer, that is my term. Agreed?”

Zelda merely bowed her head knowing all too well that this man was both cautious and ambitious. A combination that she knew could be dangerous. But she knew this was for the best for not only their people of this time period but the future as well, after all it was her duty.

“As a sign of good faith I will lower my forces on our borders. I will await for your arrival. Lady Zelda”

“Are you sure you wish to go through with this Zelda? I understand our fates are etched in stone in the future. There is no guarantee that even if he accepts your proposal, that he will keep his word.” Mineru said crossing her arms with a concerned look on her face.

“I know you’re worried for me. But with there being no other way to return to my time. I must find a way to keep peace between our lands for as long as I can.” she said touching the stone on her necklace.

“There is truly nothing we can say to change her mind dear Mineru. I believe in her and if this is truly how we gain peace...then we must stay hopeful.” Queen Sonia said as she walked up to Zelda taking a hold of her hand giving a silent prayer.

Zelda smiled to both of them as Rauru stood behind them. Both of them understanding the other even without words. Zelda stepped back from them as she saddled her horse, a fair and giant steed that had been gifted to her.

“I promise...” was all she said as she rode off with a small group of Hylian soldiers to protect her by Rauru’s orders

Seven days and nights pasted when they had arrived at the border of the Gerudo kingdom. Zelda could see along the border were many female warriors but far less than what expected. Between the mountains and up ahead of the path was a small troupe of Vai warriors blocking the path beside what looked to be a scouting tower. Zelda stopped her horse as the leader walked ahead striking the ground with her spear.

“Sav’aqq. Lady Zelda, we of the Gerudo have come to escort you to our King. However your voe warriors will not be permitted in the city. Is this acceptable?”

Zelda nodded and saw the troops turn around as they walked down the path leading to a small stable with a few sand seals awaiting for their riders. She dismounted as only the few female hyrulian that had accompanied her did the same. The Gerudo women called for their sand seals and motioned for the others to get on. Zelda wrapped her arms around rider as the sand seals sped forth quicker than she had ever known they could.

It was only a matter of a few moments when they arrived at the gate to the city. A few eyes glared in caution as few children hid behind walls as their mothers stood in front of them with a hand on their weapons.

“I didn’t expect such fear toward us...though I suppose I should have been aware that we would not be as welcome than the others have been.”

“What would you expect, Lady Zelda. Years of distrust will do that to anyone. Vai or voe.” The commander from before said as she walked them closer and closer to the home of their ruler.

Up ahead of her was the castle for the great Gerudo King. It was much bigger than from her time, multiple fabric were wrapped around the top of it connecting to the taller buildings with a large archway at the front adorned in gold and carvings of their history. There she saw him standing at the top of the stairs there in the blazing sun and being honest to herself, she could confirm with herself in that moment that he was truly a handsome man.

The last time she saw him he was nothing but a rotten corpse but now, it was like the moon from the sun. His long red hair blew in the desert air as the clothes he wore clung to his well toned and shaped form. A chiseled body only adorned more by the gold he wore as he looked down at her. While he wore no expression he had to admit he was surprised that she had come all this way.

She let her guards wait outside as she walked up the stairs to watch as he kneeled before her once more this time with no blade in hand and instead offering his hand to hers which she took as the eyes of every Gerudo laid on her and he spoke.

“Welcome to my Kingdom.”

“I am honored to be here. King Ganondorf.”

He smiled to her almost mischievously, clearly he enjoyed it when she called him king. He released her hand as he turned around to the large throne in the center of the room. He waved a hand at his guards.

“Leave us.”

They bowed their hands before leaving the royal chambers as Zelda stood before him he got a much better look at her. She did have some similarities to Queen Sonia, strange though how he had never heard of her before.

“So what is it that you would ask of me, Zelda.”

“I have a proposition that may benefit both of us. I propose a political marriage between us. To ensure that no harm be done or come from each of our kingdoms.”

A large smirk ran across his face for a moment as he leaned in a tad bit closer in his throne to look at her directly.

“Do not toy with me dear Zelda...I know that the Zonai have no love toward me or my people. Marrying you would be not different than swearing my services to them. My people deserve to be equals not servants.”

“Then allow me to stay with you here in your kingdom. In the realm of the Gerudo instead of Hyrule. And I swear that I will make Rauru allow you to rule as a King of the Gerudo not a lord. Your people and ours will have no more ill will toward the other if they see us married.”

He said nothing as he looked her up and down for a quick moment. She was not unattractive. But there was one matter that crossed his mind.

“Are you even of age to ask such a thing. I may not be the best ruler but I will not share a bed with a child.”

Zelda’s face went red for a moment but not at the thought of what he suggested but forgetting that she was technically older than she looked but he was even older in those terms. She gathered herself as she looked at him.

“Yes I am...and the offer still stands. Even if you think low of my kind. I want what is best for both our peoples. There will be no need for war. Your people will live not just survive.”

Ganondorf chuckled to himself.

“Your kind? You think I hate all Hylians? Tell me my lady, did you ever wonder why my annoyance is focused more toward Rauru than anyone?”

“Surely because of his want for you to swear fealty to him?”

“Well...I must admit that was some of it. But that was not it entirely. You see dear Zelda...Queen Sonia before caught my eye. For more reasons than one...”

Zelda was slightly taken back. Did the man she know as the Demon King have feelings toward Queen Sonia before she had been wed.

“But now...I will be even more honest toward you dearest Zelda...you have peaked my interest in this union.” He said sitting up from the throne adjusting his hair to it laid over his shoulder.

“I would hope it to be a marriage not completely void of affections.” He said with a smile on his face as he watched her cross her arms.

“That depends on two important factors for this union to work.”

“Oh? and what would that be?”

“First, You respect me as a partner and a woman and treat me no lesser than if I was one of your own, in return I do the same. I will not treat you as a possible threat but instead as a man and a partner.”

‘and secondly?”

“We cause no harm to the other, only then can we have complete faith in one another.”

“Hmph...So be it.”

He lowed his head down to her and smiled this time seeing her for the Hylian woman she was. The dress she wore clung to her form beautifully the pure white color only adding to it as the accessories she wore shined a bit in the sunlight making her look more radiant than the days before. Her green eyes shining more vibrantly as she looked up at him without any fear in them.

She was different from the other hylians. She was intimidated by him but there was no fear. In truth his interest was now peaked and so was hers. Could she change the future doing this? or would it be all for not. It didn't matter to her, if there was a chance to change their fates she would take. No matter what.

#zelgan #breath of the wild #tears of the kingdom #ganondorf #zelda #inspired #fanfiction #the legend of zelda #enjoy #hope you enjoy.

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stari-hun · 2 months

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I enjoy the orv comic for stuff it adds and takes away. It’s a good adaptation even though it’s not an exact copy of the novel like how SSS class suicide hunter is to its novel, and for a lot of parts that’s for the best because there’s a ton of parts that aren’t enjoyable in the novel that are in the comics and vice versa.

orv spoilers //

I just wish my fav scene in the entire novel got more love than it being like this silent scene it was. In the novel what broke me about kdj’s incarnation death was how everyone knew he had a plan and yes it was sad because this was his riskiest death cause they all trusted him to get back to them but things didn’t go EXACTLY to plan this time like usual. But in the end we all knew no matter how painful he would make it back alive , he had to.

But then Uriel just begging him not to. No one in KimCo wants him to die but they have to and he’s telling them to kill him or throw away everything and all die together when they have to live for each other at that point. But Uriel is a constellation, by this point a lot of constellations were seen as cold and heartless or petty or pitiful. Then Uriel desperately wants a happy ending for them. She’s excessively human with them to a point. Until she meets kdj in person during the late later half of the novel all she ever is for them is someone on their side no matter what as their constant supporter. So the scene really meant a lot to me in the novel cause I was in the same mindset as KimCo where it felt like there was no other way and it was all past the point of return and this really WAS the only way then Uriel shows kinda the first bit of selfishness of a constellation we really see from her as she breaks down not wanting him to die. Idk the energy wasn’t raw enough for me I guess

#yapping #orv #omniscient reader's view point #orv spoilers #Uriel is my fav character if you can’t tell #honeystar

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yukidragon · 11 months

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Sunny Day Jack - Reincarnation Headcanons

It’s been a while since I’ve gone on a proper ramble for Sunny Day Jack, so let’s start getting the ball rolling again with some good old shameless OTP self-indulgence, shall we? I have no idea how long my momentum will last, but I’m going to do my best to have fun and see where things take me.

I just loved the script teaser for the upcoming demo update that got publicly posted over on the SnaccPop Studios Patreon. It really got me thinking, and one line in particular intrigued me.

Jack: I can’t explain it, but I know this feeling. I've felt it before. I just can’t remember where...

This really gives me strong vibes that Joseph did have someone he loved before he died… and it really makes me keen to think that MC is his reincarnated lover. Or at least they remind him of a love he lost when he was murdered. This could also be a narrative parallel with the way MC used to(?) love Ian. It’s hard to say at this point.

Regardless, this did make me immediately think of my own MC Alice’s previous incarnation, Mary, who I first mentioned in a previous ramble. I also wrote about her in this very spicy two-sided first-person story, as well as a little snippet about Mary’s potential sweet reunion with Joseph after they were separated for years.

Content Warnings: this post will have mentions of death, trauma, bullying, SA, and probably touch on other dark themes. Reincarnation stories, especially those involving murder, tend to have a bit of a dark side after all. I’ll make sure to tread lightly on these topics since the focus is on indulging in a reincarnated soulmates storyline after all. I might also indulge in some spicy thoughts as well, but we’ll see.

As I previously mentioned, I’m still on the fence about whether or not I’m going to go with the reincarnation storyline for Sunshine in Hell, or stick with it being an AU thing. There’s plenty of pros and cons for both routes in my mind, and I’m still not quite decided yet. Though playing with it more in these rambles, reading that teaser, and even seeing other MCs with past incarnations have made me start to lean in that direction.

Though… it’s pretty sad to imagine that Joseph had love in his past… only to forget about it and only remember the persona of Jack that he’s wearing now. Then again, he would no doubt be sad that his lover forgot about him too. It’s not either of their fault of course. Death is a cruel thing that takes away so much…

Still, it would make more sense why Alice would feel compelled to save Jack, not just because she was in a vulnerable place and couldn’t turn away when someone was suffering and she could help him. A part of her would feel this strong sense of longing and nostalgia, a feeling that she had been waiting for this person for such a long, long time…

It also is more reason for Jack to instantly fall in love with Alice. Even if he forgot he was Joseph and anything tied to that life… he still remembered Mary, even if only as a feeling of love. Names, faces, and places aside from the lore of Sunny Day Jack were erased, but there was only ever one person who made him feel truly loved, and she found him again, just like she did before. He might not remember it, but a part of him wished for her to find him again for 40 long years.

Naturally, with a reincarnation storyline, that means that memories of the past would inevitably return. How much and how quickly are up for debate, but most likely it would be a gradual process for both of them.

It would be interesting if Alice remembered everything first. After all, Jack is practically traumatized by the idea of being Joseph. He doesn’t want to remember being that person who made so many mistakes and was so flawed. This is especially true if his death involved horrible secrets being revealed about him… secrets he never wanted Mary to know that he feared would ruin things between them forever.

Joseph would never have told Mary about his time as a bully, or why he ran away from Haberdae High. He couldn’t forgive himself for what he did, couldn’t see anyone being able to ever love someone who did something so horrible. He couldn’t let his past mistakes ruin things. He couldn’t lose her, not after he finally found her again. He wanted to be a better person for himself and for her.

Mary hated bullies, and Joseph had become the worst of the worst of them. Even if she hadn’t been his victim personally, he knew how she felt about bullies, how the damage they inflicted on someone never truly disappeared…

Having his ugly past revealed before her and the entire world in the worst way possible was no doubt soul crushing.

If the two of them had more time together, Mary could have helped Joseph open up about the things he was ashamed about and eventually forgive himself for his past mistakes, but he died at the worst possible time. It’s all the more reason why he can’t handle being Joseph anymore.

I’d have to consider all the implications of Alice remembering being Mary and if Jack would remember enough to be terrified of that idea. After all, if she remembers, sure she remembers the good moments, but she would also remember when his mask was ripped off and revealed the ugly person he was underneath. In that case, he would try to stop it from happening, deflect and avoid, terrified to let the past resurface while trying not to remember it himself.

Of course Sunshine in Hell is a story of two broken people healing and opening enough to expose their scars in order to heal. Alice would help Jack trust that he can be flawed, he can make mistakes, and she’ll still love him. It’ll take time, but eventually he’ll learn to stop hating the person he was and accept that he was always worthy of love.

While pondering possibilities, I also thought of the classic reincarnated transmigrator stories that are especially popular in the webcomic scene. The idea of Mary being reborn into her favorite story as the “villainess” Alice gives me a little chuckle. Though that’ll be an AU for another post.

Anyway, I considered how much Alice remembers of being Mary and when it started. Many reincarnation stories have the MC remember all at once when they’re young, sometimes even as a baby. That certainly wouldn’t be the case for Sunshine in Hell, since the more I thought about it, the more I knew that it would change the story, particularly when it comes to Alice and Ian’s relationship.

If Alice remembered her past life before she met Jack, it would be a painful gut punch, to say the least. There would be a strong feeling of dissociation. This life is so different from her past one, and Joseph isn’t there. It would give this feeling of not really being sure of who she was or if she should really be there. Does she deserve this life?

Then of course there’s the problems of remembering life as an adult while being stuck in a child’s body and all the issues that come with that.

Still… Mary always longed for a family who actually loved her, and Alice has that. It would be impossible for her to resist wanting to be Alice with her whole heart, to be surrounded by such love in a way she only experienced with one person. The only thing missing would be Joseph. A part of her would feel guilty about being happy without him.

But… if she was reborn, then Joseph must have been too, right? Would he remember her? How would she find him in this vast world?

Though… she did it before didn’t she? On a lonely road in the middle of nowhere, far from their old homes, somehow she found him. Even though he had changed, she still recognized him immediately. Surely she would find him again in this life too.

Mary didn’t have anyone left at the end of her life, and so she lost hope. Alice, however, has people around her who love her. She has hope and reasons to keep living. She has people who want her to be happy and feel loved, even without Joseph by her side.

So Alice would open her heart to the love all around her and live. She would also hold onto the hope that someday she would find her starlight again, no matter what name he had now.

Ian… is not Joseph. There are parallels in the game’s narrative between him and Jack, but their personalities are way too different. Ian and Alice would become friends, but romance wouldn’t develop between the two. It wouldn’t feel right for many reasons to Alice, especially since he’s just… not her starlight. She would be fond of Ian certainly and want to protect him, but she could only view him as a little brother, especially if she had the memories of an adult while they were still children.

So when poor shy Ian gathered the courage to confess to Alice, she had to gently turn him down. It just wasn’t fair to him, or to her. Maybe someday her heart will move on, but not yet, not until she finds someone who makes her feel love the way Joseph did.

Of course, if Alice remembered later on in her teens after she already had a crush on Ian, that complicates things. Sometimes traumatic incidents make people remember their past life incarnations in these stories. For Alice, her most traumatic incident was when she suffered from SA.

Boy, what an awful time to remember one’s tragic death and lost love, don’t you think?

Alice woke up in the aftermath in pain while remembering even more pain, two overlapping identities warring in her mind even as she has to deal with the fresh trauma inflicted upon her. It took her a while to process what happened to her even without adding the memories of Mary on top of all of that.

One side of Alice feels the pain of losing the love of her life as well as fresh memories of dying slowly all alone, and the other side just lost her innocence after her power and agency were stripped away from her. It would be quite a rough time, and how could she tell anyone about these memories? Who would believe her? They’re too real to feel like just a dream she had due to trauma… but what if she’s wrong? Could trauma be great enough to create memories of an entirely different life in an instant?

Fortunately, Alice has the love of her family to help her through hard times, as well as good friends like Ian to support her. It takes a while for her to really process and accept everything, but she at least knows she is loved.

In this scenario, despite the crush Alice had on Ian, she wouldn’t feel right letting it develop into anything more, especially not when her memories of Joseph and the intense love she had for him would be so much more fresh. She would feel guilty, as though she had cheated on… Ian? Joseph? Both?

Either way, Alice is not in any state to enter into a romantic relationship.

So, hey, Alice might be facing reincarnation trauma and dissociation with her identity in this AU, but she avoids a bad romantic relationship and being cheated on. Poor Ian gets turned down by his childhood friend turned crush, but at least they’re still good friends, even if she’s a bit more distant now after the… incident.

Regardless of the twists and turns remembering her past would take her to the present day, eventually Alice finds the tape. It’s just so compelling. When she sees it’s an episode of the SunnyTime Crew Show, well, there’s no way she could resist it. Just the logo would hit her with painful nostalgia and struggling not to cry in the thrift store. For a moment, she just hugs the tape to herself, remembering all the times she wrote for the show as Mary, watched the filming, and especially the last day they ever filmed… and it leaves her longing for the day she finds her starlight again.

Alice has to watch the tape.

It feels ominous too. The blood red handwritten scrawl of “‘84 Incident” makes Alice think about that incident… but surely that couldn’t be… right? LambsWork Productions destroyed every trace of the show. Surely they would’ve gone scorched earth on any recording of the murder?

Then again, if all the tapes were destroyed… that should have included the one she found in this thrift store…

Alice all but runs back home after buying the tape, not bothering with anything else she was going to purchase that day. Her hands are shaking when setting up the VCR, but fortunately she remembers how to use it. It’s almost muscle memory going through the motions of playing a VHS tape. She can’t peel her eyes away from the screen, holding her breath.

The show starts and… oh the pain from nostalgia is unlike anything else. Jack - her starlight - is there. That familiar dazzling smile shining at her as the episode starts. When he greets her and asks her name, she can’t help but answer him, though she doesn’t notice which name she gives him…

I’ve gone over thoughts of how the deal between Alice and Jack might have gone in previous posts. Seeing Joseph’s death again hurts like hell, but the moment Jack starts to talk directly to her, that’s when her heart really starts to pound.

Needless to say, Alice is just as desperate to save Jack as he is to be saved. The pact is made, and their souls are tied together, making them true soulmates.

Then again they already were even without the deal. ;3

Of course, the trauma of the pact does make Alice forget the agreement they made, but her reaction is very different when she wakes up. There’s a moment where she just has to stare at Jack, smiling gently down at her, greeting her like he used to… and she starts to shake. This isn’t a dream, is it?

Jack innocently replies that of course it’s not a dream. Her pal Sunny Day Jack is here to brighten up her day!

Jack doesn’t expect Alice to practically throw herself into his arms and hug him, but he reacts instantly to embrace her. It’s familiar, warm, wonderful, and everything he could ask for.

“I’m happy to see you too, sunshine,” Jack said with a chuckle.

Unfortunately… Jack is in character. Alice calling him Joseph is like a splash of ice, chilling him to the core and he has to correct her, gently of course.

It’s very apparent to Alice that Jack is shaken up. She tries to explain, talk of their past lives and remembering, and Jack… can’t handle it, burying himself deeply into the character of Sunny Day Jack, insisting he’s not who she thinks he is, trying to skirt away from anything Joseph. He cites off lore of the SunnyTime Crew and Sunny Day Jack that she helped write about the character back when she was on the writing staff.

It’s surreal for both of them, with mixed feelings, but Jack is ever eager to change the topic to something sunnier, to try and be the best and brightest friend known as Sunny Day Jack. Alice learns she can’t push him, at least not right now, but now… she’s left wondering if this is really Joseph… or a memory left in the tape? What if he’s just the character brought to life?

What if she lost her mind?

Still, Alice can’t bring herself to push Jack away, even if it’s a bit painful. Over time she picks up that he is Joseph after all, but he forgot everything.

Is this the result of the tape? The murder? Something else? Alice has to figure out what really happened at the studio that day. At the same time, she has to focus on figuring out where to go with Jack.

Alice wished to see Joseph again, no matter what name he had now, but she never expected something like this.

Still… she’s different now too. She’s not Mary anymore. She might have Mary’s memories, but she also has Alice’s memories, a second lifetime in different circumstances, different choices and experiences. She’s different from who she used to be.

So what does that mean for her and Joseph Jack?

Obviously the shadow of Joseph scares Jack. Alice won’t force him to remember, not when his death and what came after were so horrible. Instead she tries to get to know who he is now and figure out where to go from there.

Alice quickly falls in love with Jack. He’s not Joseph, and yet the important parts of him that she fell in love with are still the same. She sees little things of Joseph in him, but he’s also different at the same time. He’s changed, he’s masking things, but he’s still her silly starlight who never failed to make her smile.

Jack tries to overlook memories Alice stirs up in him, hints of sunshine that looked a bit different, but with the same beautiful blue eyes that always held such warmth. He focuses solidly on the present and enjoying his life now with his sunshine.

Still, Joseph’s habits slowly come back in spite of himself. Alice makes him feel so loved and accepted. He has moments where he slips, and she loves him despite it.

Needless to say, this AU would also have a happy ending. They would also get together much sooner than the main universe. While Alice would be trying to keep a respectable distance to understand who Jack was now as he is without forcing him to be someone he doesn’t want to be anymore or pushing her feelings and memories on him, Jack is a yandere who wants her badly. He’s going to notice her feelings quickly and do everything he can to encourage them.

Since Alice doesn’t have baggage from her toxic relationship with Ian holding her back, and she’s been aching to be with Joseph for so long, it won’t be long before her resolve crumbles. He’s always been so good at seducing her, even while dressed up as a silly clown. He might be wearing a different name and look, but he’s still her starlight, and he always had a knack for making her feel so loved, precious, and irreplaceable.

Jack might have buried his memories, but he’s quick to remember all of the ways he could make his sunshine melt in his arms. There are small hiccups due to her SA trauma as he has to be careful about the triggers she has from that, but he’s patient and gentle with her. He thoroughly focuses on her pleasure and comfort, making sure she feels nothing but safe and loved the entire time.

Needless to say, Alice’s first time in this universe is much more pleasant than it is in the main timeline.

It all feels familiar to both of them, the physical and emotional aspects of making love that they experienced countless times in the past, but the feelings are more intense due to the supernatural connection between them making their feelings bleed into one another. Jack at times is almost overwhelmed by nostalgia, but it doesn’t scare him when they’re making love. The nickname of “starlight” Alice used for him was always familiar, but it didn’t upset him like the name “Joseph” did, not when it’s his sunshine calling him that, saying she loves him, and kissing him so tenderly. She makes sure to call him Jack or starlight even while she’s screaming in pleasure beneath him. She’s careful to avoid old names that bring him pain, focusing on who he is now, taking care not to push him when she senses it’s causing him distress. She cares just as much about his comfort and avoiding his triggers just as he does for her.

That increase in intimacy, both physical and emotional, is the trigger that starts Jack really remembering things as Joseph, but not in a negative way. It’s an addicting feeling, one that’s hard to resist, especially when it feels so, so good and comes with so much pleasure and love.

Still, at some point Jack starts to get those fears of Alice learning… something. He still flees from those bad memories, not even wanting to know what that something was.

But over time… Alice helps Jack accept his past. It takes him a while, but when he’s forced to face it and she reinforces the fact that she accepts him, even the awful things he did back then, that she still loves him… he practically collapses into her arms, crying, just so relieved.

For 40 years he was convinced that the reveal destroyed everything, robbed him of love, and it… didn’t. Alice lets Jack be who he wants to be and accepts the mistakes he made in the past who are a part of the person he is today. She loves him even with all his flaws, and she wants to help him to keep growing to become the person that he wants to be, because he’s always been the person she wants to be with, flaws and all.

It still takes Jack a while to accept his past identity as Joseph, but Alice helps him. She can also relate, as it took her a while to accept her past incarnation as Mary too. It’s something they both can understand intimately. Even if their circumstances for being reborn as new people are different, they both understand each other in a way no one else can, and they help each other navigate what it means to live a new life while being haunted by the memories of a previous one that was less than ideal.

Fortunately, this time, their love story has a happy ending instead of a tragic one.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings

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