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devotedlysizzlingkitty · 1 year ago

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Saving deja vu

Philip Ojomo x Reader Y/N

tags: Fluff, Dark, painful memories, mentions of death, gentle kiss

I'm new here, I'm bad at designing posts. I hope the post will be readable and all the Wraith's favorites will see it. Enjoy reading!

The generator is almost repaired, it remains to connect the last wires, the heart begins to accelerate the rhythm.

Silence.

– One, one left... – Y/n mutters almost in a whisper, only moving her lips.

Silence. She scares, makes you sit in suspense, pricking up your ears. Sometimes silence is even scarier than death itself.

Y/N hates silence.

She was left alone. Everyone bleeds on dirty hooks. Are they still hoping for salvation? Would she have the courage to save at least someone?

Her throat is dry, and she tries to breathe as quietly as possible. Nervously looks back – but there is no one there. And not a single movement, not a sound. Even the dry grass does not rustle.

Although they are also playing against a Wraith, who in a few minutes sneaked up on Bill, right at the generator, caught up with Feng and Dwight from behind. He is no less dangerous than the others. And if such as a Hunter, noticeable from afar, a Hillbilly whose chainsaw is heard all over the neighborhood, then he is literally your shadow, chasing everywhere, but giving the moment to attack. And the fact that you don't feel safe, it puts a lot of pressure on your mind.

The poisonous, artificial sun has started to get hot, or so it seems to her.

«Feng is on the hook nearby, behind the barn, I will be able to save her, and then we will split up to different gates...»

Before Y/N's conscience could reproach her for her dishonorable escape alone, there was a terrible ringing of a tambourine behind her.

«Holy shit!»

There was very little left for a complete repair of the generator, as much as a nimble killer to get to it. She won't make it, she won't make it any more.

«NO, NO!» – thoughts screamed madly, fear was harassing the soul, already grabbing it with spider paws.

“Why, why exactly on the verge of hope! Why did you wait, damn you?!„

It was insulting and annoying, and then anger covered over, overriding other feelings, including fear. It has always been so. There were no barriers to Y/N's rage. Emotionally unstable, this is her lifelong heaviness, an immortal part of her.

They are just worthless dolls, not just entities, but the hunters themselves, who... Just smaller pawns who don't know how to do almost anything. Except for: running away, screaming from the ghostly pain in the bleeding wounds, which are like real, but the next round will be tightened again, as if they did not exist. But the wounds in the soul remain, and when there is no living place left on it, and they will break, they will just ...

With a furious growl, she turns towards the sound, with the desire to throw out the emotions that have simply rolled over, but the fierce words will get stuck in her throat.

“Well, will you kill me, bastard?! Come on, damn it, I don't care anymore!„

He scares with one look, tall and almost imperceptible. Even now, when the tambourine has already rung in his hands. His eyes through the mask with incomprehensible growths shine white mad, capable of piercing the artificial night of the Essence and right now they are the ones that sting the soul. They are practically no decayed mirrors of a burnt soul. Azarov's axe in the form of a repulsive human spine bleeds black, blood that casts a kind of rust in the farmer's sun.

A dark old mask with white stripes masks the dead face of a man who once had no soul.

Behind it hides a dead yellowed face that no one has ever loved. But one day, maybe...

How does an Entity choose murderers?

It just takes sinners with mutilated souls and tears them to pieces completely, mutilates them, leaving only some former parts of the body, giving a new appearance before releasing them into the arena as hounds.

Fear. So sticky and really ghostly, it just made me feel creepy when I looked at this unfortunate, no, maniac.

And she stands, as motionless as he is. And there's plenty of time. The generator is already standing behind, forgotten and unnecessary. He is absent from thoughts.

A slight rustle, the rustle of clothes, which the fleeing victim hardly caught - just not up to it. Small, unhurried steps towards the waiting girl.

Not victims.

Along with the light right now, the rage and cruelty aimed at killing has passed. The trace of it is only blood. But even then, the mutilated heart was not beating under the influence of adrenaline from the chase. It was always weak, just like an old and ancient mechanism, beating in a spacious, dried-up chest. Not knowing heat and light. Cold, like an empty and damp cell in eternal winter.

She can't hear his breathing under the mask, and not even a sound comes from the killer's counterpart. He waits in silence, slowly inhaling oxygen into his lungs for old times' sake. He is not here and this is an attempt by the entity to make its measurements look like real ones.

Somewhere on the edge of Ojomo's consciousness, faded visions of the past were huddled. No, not the ones when he repaired cars and processed scrap metal, but a little different time. A new beginning, in which hope shone with a pure, bright light.

And now the agony and rage are all evaporating. It's like she's a lemon that's been squeezed to the last drop. And as if there is no greed inherent in her life, as if only her shell with a small fraction of reason remained.

She is a pure, innocent soul.

Touches responded in the mind, the subconscious with a bright flash of deja vu, which also abruptly faded, not giving the opportunity to see itself. The past. He was also deprived, forcibly taken away from him, the most significant part of a person. The victims have only the traits of temperament that have grown to their essence, their human vices and sins, or maybe the echoes of painful events that influenced those very habits. Well, and, a specialty like Claudette, who devoted her whole life to science. Sometimes they go hand in hand. Bill, when he was in Vietnam, was it self-esteem...

these episodes could not be amnesia, no. No way. That piece of Y/n's past can't be missed, no. Episodes, if you realize that their second participant is a murderer, are covered with a crust of nasty moss, exude gloomy horror.

But she is not going to be afraid of him, she is not going to perceive him as a bloodthirsty hunter, a stupid toy of the Essence.

And no, she won't regret it.

It presses harder into the fabric of the torn raincoat, tormented by time. There is a pressure in her movements to stay here longer. Both of them.

Fragments of the past cut through the clouded consciousness of the hunter, returning to him a share of the light of his past life, returned humanity to him.

The silence of the killer ends when in the reality of the Spider, and not in his memories, he feels someone's warmth next to him. Human. Pleasant.

Involuntarily, he shudders, not used to it in any way.

It is a blessing, this dumb joy that in the cruel world of Essence you have understood everything, as if you realized a dream, although you do not yet know how to get out of it, how to wake up.

But the sure weapon chasing him from the dark part of the past is still in his hands. The ghost squints at him, feeling terrible hatred inside, and in the next seconds he throws him somewhere to the side, where he will get lost in the dry grass. But it won't disappear. At least for a little while, until the satisfied, satiated lady of this world takes away the third person who did not survive and until the hatch opens, does not succumb to the power on the Gate...

Again returns her gaze to Y/N's, who entered his life as unexpectedly as then, or rather, returned. There was a hint of hope in her eyes, and now glee lit up when she saw that he was unarmed. Philip, bypassing her, raises his leg and hits the generator several times, causing the Survivor some surprise. Now the device is motionless and unscientific. Hush.

He turned around and gently, unhurriedly grabbed her just below the ribs, lifted her in his arms. While there is still time... And he put them on the generator, now their faces were on the same level. Her eyes–expressive green, now looked straight into his white abysses. She tried to remember what the man's memories were like, what they had been like before, but to no avail. And then Y/N began to examine the mutilated and dark, like the mist itself, face. Irregularities, thin, barely noticeable lips and a neat nose. White stripes crisscrossed it, as if uneven paint strokes had been applied to it. And above that, strange growths rose up on the forehead, as if real wax had merged with the body. It wasn't scary, like everything else. It only caused sorrow and sadness. The girl only wanted to squeeze into him more, grab him in an embrace, feel that native warmth again, calm down and take away his pain. Forget about your own.

As if reading her thoughts, Ojomo touches first. His hands slid higher on his shoulder blades, hesitantly and unhurriedly. He did not dare to touch other places, especially his thighs, he decided that this gesture would be rude and...

As if receiving a new breath of air, the girl clung to him, wrapping her arms around him, feeling the old fabric of the cloak under her fingers, pulling him closer to her. She pressed her chest, as if finding her salvation. Without thinking about anything, she distinctly felt the booming beats in her chest. Increased heartbeat.

“What's your name?„ – hear her voice, which still broke out of the pale lips.

The coolness comes from him, so pleasant, and some kind of confused mixture of smells: it seems to be engine oil and something else - an echo of the past.

Unlike all aspects of the Essence world, everyone remembered their names.

And yes, he answered, right in my ear, without thinking for a long time. On exhalation, in a slightly hoarse voice, broken, so familiar.

«Ojomo... Yes. Exactly. There, in the old neighborhood of East St. Louis, near the Racker Dump.»

Memories climbed into consciousness so violently, as if a film was being played, showing a film on a white canvas. Not so blurry anymore.

It's an unusually hot day for a gloomy city. A light breeze. There is a bit of noise in the central area, a few people come across on the way along a narrow road made of old gray brick, already cracked from time. A bright sign of Domino's Pizza – one of the most pleasant and good cafes in the area. There were quite a few cheerful and joyful people inside, like some kind of holiday. But the girl was somehow not up to them, only one person was important to her, who had attracted all her attention for several days. Which occupied all her thoughts.

– Phil, Chicken Ranch or Meat?

– Choose which one you want. – He said with a slight smile, without taking his eyes off Y/N.

From the wheezing speaker, which was the only drawback in this institution, came the pleasant and melodious voice of Freddie Mercury.

The Queen song was the last thing that made the day just perfect.

The sun was always shinin' — we just lived for fun

Sometimes it seems like lately — I just don't know

The rest of my life's been just a show

Those were the days of our lives

The bad things in life were so few

Those days are all gone now but one thing is true

When I look and I find I still love you

Only she had gone too far, seen too much. Everything is completely against the rules of the Entity. She was overtaken by a terrible headache, abruptly and suddenly.

It was as if the film was scratched, cut, everything was damaged by interference, what was happening was distorted. The entity also wanted to spoil the world of the past. Create a crazy psychedelic out of it. Destroy it completely.

The voice became hoarse, gradually changed. Perverted, became ugly

You can't turn back the clock

You can't turn back the tide

Ain't that a shame

I'd like to go back one time on a roller coaster ride

Completely unfamiliar, less and less like a human, the voice of the beloved soloist of the song native to the heart becomes disgusting. And this brought even more pain than the headache. Together, he poured poison into the soul experiencing madness. He claimed that it would not be possible to get out again.

When life was just a ga-

– Hey? Hey?!

When she heard a worried Philip trying to reach her, she realized that she had been screaming terribly for the last few seconds, forcing and begging to stop. She was still scared and feverish, and her heart was beating as if during terror. She screamed violently, as her throat was dry. Y/N seemed to have woken up from a nightmare, the consequences of the experience did not leave her head, she was under the impression, it was difficult to move away from the shock. And although she was in the world of Essence, feeling Philip next to her, she was able to breathe calmly, relax her shoulders...

She was tortured so well, she realized that she was terribly battered when men's hands touched her cheek to wash wet tracks. She hadn't cried in a long time. She kept everything to herself.

She lit up with the hope of finding peace, shedding light on her existence like an ouroboros, and suffered an attempt at insanity. I almost went crazy. Is it possible here? Or will the Spider only touch her dolls, comparable to tearing off their limbs and screwing them back?

«What can I do for you, how can I ease your pain?» – The Wraith was restless, wanting to ease the pain, but not knowing how to do it. He was powerless.

Lately, he only brought pain without thinking about it, deliberately fenced himself off, hiding his soul from everything.

The only thing he could do and wanted to do was bend down, get closer and, erasing the painful traces of tears, express his love. So he did. Hesitantly, scorching the skin with cold breath, he touched other girls' lips with the same icy lips. Does it please her? He almost forgot what tenderness and affection are, how careless and against him?

It seems that the girl's feelings are the strongest, as she ardently responded to his kiss, deepening it, inflaming and giving Philip courage. In these moments, it's as if he becomes another, not a mutilated Killer.

Until a piercing scream rang out in the neighborhood, reminding of a victim defeated by huge spider paws. There's even less time...

“You have to go.”

“No, no, there is time.” – She pleads hoarsely, clutching at him, snuggling and only then finding peace.

He doesn't want to leave her either.

Power is supplied, the hatch is near the building. The thought beats in the brain that after the expiration of time, Y/N will damage the essence, herself – will pierce her fragile body with clawed paws. Piercing the very heart.

Philip grabs her by the hips and lifts her off the generator like a doll. She holds onto his shoulders securely. I wanted to ask on impulse: where and why, but I didn't. Not to the hook...

not to the hook, right?

But there was no panic. I didn't want anything. Just stay close.

After walking a few meters and bypassing the hut, the killer put the girl on her feet. Looking down, Y/N noticed the black abyss of the hatch.

A couple more seconds... Just a couple of seconds... For which she is attracted to Ojomo again, looks into his face without fear and horror, but with a completely different, old and almost forgotten, but familiar to him, in her eyes.

“See you later, Philip.”

A pleasant warmth is coliting somewhere under the breast, but it is not painful at all. This is the warmth of his former life, bright feelings, which will now warm him in the cold, as before, nights of Essence. Nights near other Hunters. But he won't show it. He can... He does it best.

“Aun te amo mucho.”

[Lat. I love you and look forward to meeting you]

Again something broke out from the depths of the resurrected soul. A slight movement of the hand – "goodbye", but finally, a second before the "escape" of the victim, grabs her hand and interlaces her fingers.

That's it now.

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