#as long as i just don't peer into the void that carried me here

[arminsumi]

Sleepyhead — 五夏

NOTE: idk if writing this made me sadder or was therapeutic either way let's cry together :')

SUMMARY — During your youth, you, Geto and Gojo made a magic charm that would reconnect the three of you in a different reality one day by a golden silk thread.

WARNINGS — not proofread, "just a dream" trope but really u just shifted realities and forgot your other life, angst, implied death / crossing over, based on the latest chapter bc i'm in pain and when i'm in pain i write 👍 sooo just in case: jjk manga spoilers (major char death, chapter 236)

Gojo caressed your cheek and muttered " You're such a pretty crier, but don't cry for me. Sh, I'm right here, baby, I'm right here. ", keeping his other hand intertwined with yours.

. . .

Your two eyes blinking out of a dream, coming back to reality. Or was it the other way around? Maybe you were awaking into a lucid dream.

At first it's a white space. A void. There's nothing but neutrality and emptiness. Then a golden silk thread is sewn across your chest. It leads down a corridor of white, one that stretches so far it almost feels like you're taking an infinite walk.

There's a door at the end, you open it. And all there is behind it is your old classroom, just as it was. There's Gojo Satoru, smiling that wide toothy smile like nothing in the world is wrong. And there's Geto Suguru, shaking his head and sighing a laugh over his best friend's ridiculousness. And there's Shoko Ieiri, peering over her folded arms as she rests her chin on the desk sleepily.

Walking obliviously into this memory while the real world continues on outside, you completely detach from reality and cross over. Why is it this memory ? It was such an ordinary day.

But it wasn't an ordinary day, you're mistaken; that day you wove a golden silk thread and imbued it with something, magic is a good word but no — it was an otherworldly "magic", something that's not sorcery.

You drift through this classroom memory, Gojo says hello and Geto smiles. Before you realize, you're floating past the exit door and enter another room — another memory.

It's then that you realize you're just drifting along the silk thread, hopping across each memory that you wove into it; their purpose to carry you over into another reality entirely.

More memories. More. And then some more. You're travelling through them, looking at them as if through a dream lens, half-detached, in a state of limbo. Not between life and death, but between realities where you're alive.

Maybe it was cruel.

The three of you leaving the world behind, shifting into different realities at your death, just so you could be happy and peaceful.

Final memories roll by, and you shift over; and in an instant, that whole journey seeps out of your mind.

You wake up just like any other day. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Gojo is crushing you with his weight, forcing you to blink awake and mumble groggily.

That was a long dream.

" Wakey wakey, sleepyhead — full body attack ! Okay, seriously, wake up. I want breakfast and I can't eat it unless you're with me. You know that. Why are you crying ? Did you have a nightmare ? Oh really ? What was it about ? "

Gojo follows you like a puppy throughout your morning routine. Though really, it feels like a mourning routine this time. Your chest feels so heavy, and you keep hugging him as if you haven't seen him in years.

" Hey, Suguru listen to Y/n's fucked up dream. It's insane, like a manga plot or some shit. Wish I had dreams of that. You should write it. "

" Oh ? Do tell. I'm curious. Aw, why the hug ? Y/n ? You okay ? Come on, let's make some pancakes. "

You watch the two of them in this ordinary habitat; Gojo lazing at the kitchen doorframe, talking about the awful ending to his favorite story.

" Y/n, you're zoning out. "

" Are you crying ?! "

" Sorry. I just missed you guys. I don't know why. "

" But we saw each other yesterday. We spent the whole night together. It was my birthday. "

" Yeah, and that's what's freaky; I feel like I just travelled for years. It feels surreal to look at the two of you. "

" Don't cry, come here. Satoru, take care of the pancake it's gonna burn. Y/n, wanna talk about it ? "

" No, I just want to hug you two. "

" GROUP HUG. "

" Satoru you're suffocating her. "

" Good group hugs are suffocating ! "

You stay with them in a long group hug. Everything feels alright.

" . . . the pancake is burning."

Suguru tends to it.

Satoru looks at you. " Cryin' ? Still ? Come here. You're so sensitive. "

He engulfs you in a hug again. Warm, soft, nice-smelling; this is definitely your ordinary reality. What a bizarre dream, though. Truly a bizarre dream.

" So how'd I die in your dream ? " he asks curiously.

" I don't want to talk about it. I just want to cry. " you choke, crying more into his chest. Suguru scolds him from the stove, while he scrapes burnt pancake batter off the pan.

Satoru looks down at you, cupping your one cheek, and says something that you swear you've heard before.

" Such a pretty crier. But don't cry for me. Sh, I'm right here, baby, I'm right here. "

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[hahanoiwont]

Also please explain abt the spn thing

alright my dude, buckle up buckaroos. Here’s how Supernatural (yes, that Supernatural) led me to the college of my dreams and a haunting question that I can never even attempt to answer.

So. A while ago, I was just beginning to turn my life around after like 3 years at rock bottom. At the same time, I started getting into Supernatural. It was about brothers, it had supernatural (ha. haha) themes, it wasn’t too involved episode to episode, I’d been meaning to check it out for years--it was perfect. It was everything I was looking for.

So, of course, I got hardcore into it. I read fic, I wrote fic. I read some cringey, cringey stuff. I loved the character Sam. He didn’t fit into his family, he was always cast in feminine roles despite being a man, he was one of the only characters that didn’t fall so much into violent masculinity, he had consistent possession/agency themes; I loved him. And idk if you’re familiar with the fandom, but there’s Discourse(TM) about that. He’s not the most popular major character.

So. When I ran out of fic that really explored what I wanted to see, what do I do? I go to the authors I like and I check their other works. And I see that link. the link that I have been avoiding for so long, but which haunts and tempts me. more work from authors you already like, it says. don’t you like this summary? it’s basically the same thing. But new. something you haven’t read before. don’t you want that?

You know. This link:

I click the link.

I justify it to myself. They signed up to be in the public spotlight, I say. It’s not like I’m gonna be weird about it. I don’t think they’re like this at all, these are just characters. It’s fine, I say. But the cold, hard fact is: I click the link.

And I do find a really, really good fic. I haven’t read it before. It’s a new, refreshing take on a college au, which I rarely like, but this one is great. It really gets what it’s like to be a young queer man who’s struggling to accept himself, to decide who to come out to, who’s combating compulsive heterosexuality and trying to find his way in the world all at once. It makes me feel understood, accepted, when I’m just beginning to come to terms with myself. And it’s based on this real college, say the author’s notes. With real locations all listed.

Oh, but it gets better.

The author’s notes also say that whoever wrote this wonder fic works at the college in question. That’s their real, adult job. And they love it. They couldn’t be more impressed with the campus, the students, the culture...the love they have for this place pours out of every word and detail.

Cool, I say to myself. I wonder what that college is.

I was a young fool who did not see where this was clearly headed.

I leave my comment, I bookmark the fic for my bad day folder. I move on.

But college admissions is around the corner, and if there’s one thing I know about me, it’s that being sat down by An Adult(TM) to do something is a surefire way to get me to do something else. So when I’m supposed to be looking up real colleges that I’ll really go to, I look up this fanfiction college, and I tell my advisor that I’m thinking of applying there. I get a little giggle about it, but no harm done, right?

But then, when applications time comes, I need to apply to one more college. And I need to choose quick if I want financial aid with the apps. Like, 5 minutes quick. So, what the hell, right? I apply to fanfiction college. It does actually have a lot of things I want: small classes, undergrad research, pretty good academic rep, far away from home. I’m not gonna go there, but it looks nice on my ‘other schools I’ve applied to’ forms.

Joke’s on me, though. through a series of events, I am given the ability to visit 2 colleges on my list. And my parents say, hey, that one in Texas looks pretty nice. Why not that one?

It is not a suggestion.

Oh, no, I think.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I say. So I visit two colleges. One in Florida (lizards on campus are a strong selling point, transphobic relatives very near by, Florida, and the fact that everyone there is fucking creepy are stronger dissuasions)

And then the fanfiction school. I visit when it’s raining. It’s unbearably hot. I get lost twice and embarrass myself in front of the cab driver and the admissions guy on two separate occasions. But it’s still a really nice visit. It’s a really nice school. I can see myself going here, I think. It has everything I want.

Oh, no.

I step back and review my options (the one I read about in fanfiction? seriously???), but it’s too late. I already visited. There are cats on campus that you can just visit whenever you want. The professors are friendly and available to students. The campus is really nice. I’m a little in love.

But somewhere. Somewhere on campus, someone wrote

and that’s why I’m here

I need to live with that. If I go here, that is a part of my life that I cannot escape.

But it’s too late to save me now. Also, the other school was fucking creepy, I’m not going there. So I apply to the fanfiction college.

Since then, I’ve had an incredible time. The education can’t be beat, I think my professors are great, campus is beautiful, it never gets too cold. It’s a dream world for me. But like Pandora and her box, there is one thing I must never, ever find out.

I can never know who wrote that god damned fanfiction.

[pleasantbutterfly]

Inner Peace

Khonshu x Female! Goddess! Reader

Chapter 2. A lesson in mythology

Words: 1640

Warnings: None? (let me know, if I should add smth)

It's Canon Divergence. The story is not following the plot of the show.

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The 1st POV

The moon is alone in the navy blue sky. There are no stars to accompany it, just endless darkness holds a white orb in its tight clutches. 

Roaming in the golden labyrinth, I try to find … Actually, I don’t know what I’m looking for, but my legs keep carrying me. 

I see a lean silhouette in the distance, standing on the top of the hill. Their head is tilted towards the lone moon. 

The figure doesn't seem to notice me, or at least doesn't bother to acknowledge, when I come closer to them. 

A long bird skull is eliminated in the soft white lights. I immediately recognize it. 

Is it a projection of my mind? Is it trying to play tricks on me? 

But I make no move. It feels like I'm floating, my body is light, my mind is thoughtless. 

"The moon is rather lonely, don't you believe?" I hear myself saying, though I don't know where it's coming from, like it's not my thoughts but somebody else's. 

"Yes," the figure laments, the string of sadness is prominent in the tapestry of a rich voice. 

"It's not fair," I carry on, "the moon's beauty and grace shouldn't be kept to itself. I deem, I know what it lacks."

I take a handful of the sand and blow it into the sky. Its small pieces, resembling diamonds, fly towards the dark canvas, strewing it, they light up, forming constellations. 

"Thank you, Maat," the bird figure whispers. His massive skull rests gently on my head, while the swathed hands are holding me around my waist. "Thank you, my starbriger."

Waking up, I realise that I feel refreshed. No more fatigue from restless sleeping, there is only content void of lightness in my chest. 

The dreams have changed as well. They are no more plagued with the stone pyramid, but with incomprehensible episodes that leave an imprint of warmth in my chest. 

…

The bus is not anywhere near being  devoid of people today. Though, the journey home is far pleasant, when you are not worn out to no end.

I'm going through the same place, where I saw a mysterious man with no less mysterious bird-headed being, not knowing the purpose of the search. 

At the last second, I race to the door, particularly stepping over the heads of disgruntled people, I get off the double-decker and head towards the British Museum. 

A large banner with "New Egyptian exhibition" meets me at the entrance, so it becomes my destination. 

A wide range of showpieces, artifacts and specimens are presented among the massive hall.

A specific exhibit feels like calling me, gaining my full attention. It's an ancient stela with Egyptian hieroglyphs encircling a woman in a voluminous pleated robe, a single feather adorns her head. 

"Maat”, the name echoes around the room, bouncing across the room. I shiver, millions of tiny needles are thrusted into my skin. A well-known tag is knotted in my chest, leaving me breathless. 

I turn around to inspect the room, but my eyes land on mahogany obsidian orbs of the man's irises. I immediately recognise the slightly untamed curly hair. 

"Sorry," the dark-headed man apologies timidly, "didn't mean to startle me. It's Maat, the Egyptian goddess of truth, justice and harmony. In the Duat,creepy place, trust me, the hearts of the dead ate weighed against her feather. She was also—"

"Are you working here?" I cut him short. From his chattering I start to get a small headache, a slight pressure on my temple.

"No, sorry, not any more at least," he gabbles. "I'm Steven. With a V." (It never gets old) 

I start introducing myself when in the corner of my eyes I notice a familiar bird skull. 

"Have I gone nuts?" I whisper. 

"Well, you're not alone," Steven whispers in return. 

I peer at him, he wears a soft smile, something tells me he knows something, while I don't have the foggiest. 

"You can see him as well, can you?" I finally voice the question.

"Something I wish I couldn't. Nevertheless, I do see Khonshu."

"Khonshu?" 

"Yes, the Egyptian god of the moon."

The named Khonshu has not moved from his spot, looming in the other end of the hall, while people are roaming around, completely oblivious to the deity.

…

Khonshu's POV

She is standing here, a few meters are keeping them apart, her gaze is puzzled yet intrigued and alive, there is no hint of fright. 

I wish I could touch her. Is it even possible? he wonders, keeping the riddle to himself. He wants to feel her, her soft and hot like flames touch always left a burn on his soul.

He's afraid to approach her, afraid that she's just a myth, he let himself believe. 

When the girl waves at him, he's totally flabbergasted. 

"I believe he wants to talk to you," his avatar chimes in their silent interaction. "Let's find a place without unwanted eyes and ears."

…

The 1st POV

We reach an empty alley, where no prying soul can bother us. 

"How do you know him?" How a human can meet a deity, there must be a story behind it. 

"Well," he awkwardly rubs his neck, the sight of discomfort. "I'm his avatar. 'Fist of vengeance' he calls me."

"Vigilante?"

"You can say so." 

The god of the moon is already awaiting us. How do you greet him? Do you kneel? 

Up close, he's even taller, and more powerful. His posture is strong, intimidating, the staff in his hands only magnify the effect. 

"Hi," I greet him meekly. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Khonshu's words rings out. His voice is the same as in the dream: strident and soulful, the finest sound of a violin is just a creak compare to the tone of his voice. It makes my breath hitch. 

"I dream about you."

"What do you see in the dream?" he inquires. 

"I always see the moon. Though, I was caged into a pyramid, deprived of the chance to get out. But recently it's changed. I'm no longer a prisoner but a wanderer, who doesn't know it's destination. Yesterday I found you. You were sorrowful and alone, as the moon in that sky. I took a handful of sand and created stars for you. You called me —"

"Starbriger," Khonshu completes.

"What does it mean?"

His chance to reply is taken as a man with a serving knife in his grasp ambushes us. And he is aiming at me. But before he can swing the weapons, a masked man in white neat suit sets on the assailant, punching him in the face. 

"Knocked out!" he exclaims, when the man falls down. "It was like a knife through butter. Get it. Knife." He imitates sticking a knife.

"Steven?" I ask the man.

Before he can answer, the man stands up. Steven doesn't wait, he grabs the man and pin him to the wall of the building.

"Please," the man pleas, trembling. "I was just sitting at a restaurant with my date. I don't even know how I get here." 

Something in me tells me it's not right. The attacker is not the man who is holding the blade. The man before me is not guilty. 

"Let him go, Steven," I order with authority, "he's innocent."

"He tried to make canapés of you." 

"Trust her," Khonshu points. "She knows it. Let the man go." His words, his trust make me feel proud. I smile, itching in my heart return, as if it begs me that it needs something more. 

As soon as the man is released, he flees, leaving a trail of dust behind. 

Khonshu addresses me, kneeling down before me:

"The feeling you get, the itching inside your chest, the tagging, your dreams are all the projection of your memories and past. You're Maat. The Goddess. And most importantly, you're my lost…love." 

When Khonshu finishes the speech, I start to get a strong splitting headache. The more I think about his words, the harder is the pain. When I can't take it anymore, my mind shuts down. 

…

Khonshu's POV 

The worm is able to break the fall of the girl. Her eyes are open, but she doesn't move or show any reaction. The face is blank.

"What's wrong with her?" the human questions. 

"She's mortal." The god answers solemnly. "Her body could not cope with her memories that number thousands of years, and so it caused her to enter a catatonic state." 

"How do we help her?"

"The forced memories will fade away, and she gets to normal, though without the recollection of the triggers." 

The girl is coming back from her trance. I hide in order to prevent from the unpleasant experience. 

…

The 1st POV 

I notice Steven is holding me in with arms. I jump from his embrace, hoping that dim light can hide my embarrassment. 

"What happened?" I ask him. Steven is no longer in his white suit, but in his casual wear. 

"You blacked out. I think you should go home to rest. Meeting a moon deity and nearly getting cut takes its toll on you."

And Steven walks me home. Without Khonshu this time. Or at least I think so.

…

Getting to my flat, I thank Steven and give him my number in case he'll need to reach me. Bidding goodbye, he leaves.

A few minutes later, I hear a knock on the door. Did Steven forget something?

"Steven, do you —," but it isn't Steven. 

At the threshold is standing a tall man, with long dark hair and groomed beard, who is wearing plain white clothes. 

"Em, can I help you," I ask awkwardly.

"My name is Barry. I'm avatar of Ra. I'll like to talk to you, dear." The man grins.

----------

Well, it took longer than I expected. I hope it's worth it :)

Thoughts?

Taglist:

@a-hopeless-fan

[ghosttrolls]

Writing prompt:

"please, I don't want to fight!"

From the DP Phantom reverse evil trio AU, if you've heard of it?

(if not, I recommend searching for it in @13thdoodle 's tags, I think you might enjoy the aesthetic!)

Thanks, anon! I took some time to research the AU before writing, so it took a hot minute, but here it is! Enjoy!

Edit: I read the message back and it seems I entirely forgot the prompt. I did start with it but the whole thing just changed so much... sorry. I can make a part 2 later that actually has the "please, I don't want to fight!" I just got so carried away!

Corruption never felt so good. Danny sometimes admitted to himself that he’d never felt like there was a pivotal moment where he felt himself change - aside from when he got his powers, of course. But he felt like, the way that things had turned out, there was only ever one way he could be. The boy who tried to do good, and failed so many times - it just was never really him, after all. It was better this way. He was meant to be.

It was morning. Danny stood in his room, the sun shining through his window, and stretched: arms out high, then to the side. “I think I’ll skip school again today!” he said out loud to himself, so very cheery. He put on his clothes - a white button up shirt, a vest he embroidered himself, black slacks - and nearly skipped out of his room. Another fantastic start to an amazing day.

He hopped down the stairs, pulling up his phone to call Sam. When she picked up, he said “Hey! What do you want to do today?” He pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he stooped to put his shoes on.

“I’m not sure,” said Sam on the other side of the line. “Let’s get breakfast and think about it. Tucker’s pretty impatient, but he won’t say what for. Maybe he has an idea.” Tucker loved tech, and he used to be a pretty decent hacker - but his powers, when he got them, made it difficult if not impossible to get a cell phone to work. So Sam and Danny would meet up with him to talk.

“Okay!” said Danny. “Gotta check downstairs, first. I’ll meet you soon.”

“Of course,” said Sam, a sombre tone in her voice. He knew she didn’t really like what he’d done. But they’d chosen this path, and she understood the danger his parents offered them as well as he did. Danny hung up.

Danny straightened upright from wrestling with his left shoe. He walked through his kitchen, which led to the front door. But instead of heading outside, he went into the family lab, down in the basement, through a closet door. His parents had always had this obsession with ghosts. For so long, he didn’t believe they were real. Until his parents made a working portal to the ghost zone.

Danny stepped downstairs, carefully, listening around the creak of the wooden steps. If there was any movement, a single sound, he’d have to use his powers, which he didn’t really like doing so early in the morning. Especially when he wasn’t showing off. He fit a hand in his vest’s pocket, which had the pattern of a blood blossom on it. The anti-ghost flower. He gripped the seed inside for security.

His foot hit the flat concrete floor, and he checked on his flowers. Still good, still healthy. They needed a bit of water, though. He turned to get the watering can from the other side of the lab. “You know,” he said as he did his work, “it didn’t have to be this way for you. We could have stayed a happy family. But of course, being the idiots you are… always fighting for good. You left me no choice.”

He said this to a silent room, but not an empty one. Deep down, he had a need to justify himself, his actions. He knew this was necessary. Right? That’s why he had to grow these flowers, the ones that always put humans to sleep. His parents and sister could not resist it. And so they lay, in their beds, in their basement, in their coffin. He intended to keep them there as long as he could. And he knew that he could keep this up forever.

After the plants were watered, he made sure they were placed properly among his family. “I miss you,” he said, so quietly he could convince himself he didn’t. And he turned, walking back up the basement stairs to meet his friends. He was in control, Danny reminded himself. We are in control. No one crosses the trio. He shut the door in the kitchen, closing that part of his mind. On to better things. Destructive things! The thought made Danny giggle as he walked out the front door.

In the dark of the basement, in the silence of it all, Jazz sneezed. The darn plants, she must be allergic or something. She decided that Danny was gone, and she opened her eyes, irises glowing green. His morning ritual was so routine, you could know where Danny was just by looking at the time. His grip on the town was stifling - his and his friends, Jazz reminded herself. She crawled out of her bed, standing and stretching. “Okay,” she said to herself, “I’m ready.”

In a flash, she changed - her orange hair now white, her clothes becoming the stealth suit she’d put together from what she could get her hands on. She was a ghost. Half ghost, really, because she could still “turn back human,” but ghost enough to be immune to her brother’s plants. She was still new to it all, and she knew she would never be able to stop the trio’s reign by herself. That’s why she called on a friend.

She walked over to the Ghost Portal, pressing a few buttons on the keypad, and the door to the Ghost Zone opened. She peered through - the ghost zone looked flat and 3D at the same time, like it was made of paper, or maybe some type of goo, or possibly a universe of stars. Whatever it was made of wasn’t important. The people who came out of it were.

After not too long, she saw a form approach the surface of the portal. She backed up, giving them space to come through. As the form stepped forward, Jazz recognized the ghost instantly. Blue-green skin, red eyes, and long hair - it was Vlad Masters.

“Vlad,” said Jazz, “he’s gone again. We should hold another meeting, if we can. The humans of this city can’t protect themselves… I can’t bear to see my parents asleep like that” - she pointed behind her into the darkness, wherever her they were - “for another second!” She was on the brink of tears, falling apart with each breath. How can you stop someone who can engulf you with vines in seconds? Or someone who can send massive plagues to decimate the entire town with a snap of her fingers? Or someone who can touch anything, and turn it into nothing? An endless void, an Egyptian goddess, and a corrupted gardener… As silly as it sounded, Danny’s powers scared Jazz the most. She fell to her knees, lost in despair.

Vlad knelt, resting a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. His eyes, full of concern, watched hers. “Jasmine,” he said, “don’t blame yourself for what has happened. You’re only 18 years old. Even I couldn’t have seen this coming.”

“We’re doomed,” breathed Jazz.

“Perhaps,” agreed Vlad. “But it doesn’t hurt to try. Good versus evil… such a black and white concept. Everyone is ‘morally grey’ one way or another.” He gently pulled Jazz to her feet. “And no one,” he said, “is irredeemable.”

Jazz sniffed. “You really think so?” She knew he worried about her attachment to her brother, so it was comforting to hear. Even if it wasn’t really true.

“I know so,” said Vlad. He held her hand and stepped back towards the portal. “Come,” he said. “Let’s work on saving your brother.”

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Feral Fatality

(Part 1)

So this has been in my works for a week now. You see, it was a typical day for me scrolling through Tumblr and visiting some....tags, and then a short drabble inspired me to write about a feral reader totally not because I was craving violence and murder no, which reached more than 4k words on the first draft so here we are! Shitty title, I know. The proofread work went over 7k, and it's not even finished yet. Once I'm done posting this and my main orc fic, I will get into the requests so please be patient!

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Brief blood and violence at the end of the first part

Contains: Swearing, mentions of neglect and abuse (not graphic)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

-

Screams slit through the twilight as the frigid autumn wind blew harshly through the trees of Camp Crystal Lake. The rustling of bushes and cracking of twigs echoed as foolish teenagers attempted to escape, running for their lives when they were the ones who dared step foot in the place, tarnishing it with their sins.

Jason Voorhees, the innocent kid who died several years ago; pushed to the lake by his bullies and left to drown for being different and unsightly— all because the counselors were busy with their fucking business—, returned as an undead killing machine right after his mother murdered them and died. His sole purpose: to protect the land and purge the people who had no right to be here, sentencing them to a horrendous death.

One by one, they struck the ground, lifeless, either chopped into pieces, beheaded, or stabbed countless times by his trusty machete.

Limbs...ripped off with his bare hands.

-

The muffled snapping of branches reached your ears as the vehicle's wheels ran over them, stirring you from your nap. You rubbed your chilled skin under your clothes as you looked out of the window, thumping your forehead on the glass when you leaned forward the moment you saw the scenery. Trees, both ancient and young, their leaves varying in hues of green, orange and red, filled your line of sight. It was still early in autumn, your favorite time of the year, not hot but not too cold either. You watched in awe as the warm-colored leaves cascaded down from the branches and down to the ground, some carried by the wind farther from their origin.

The view did its best to distract you from a couple in session a seat before yours. They always seem to do that all the time, regardless of place or occasion.

This was a week-long getaway after graduation, they said.

Nothing but a white lie.

An excuse for the girls to hook up with their campus crushes, a week of fucking and smoking drugs.

You, however, just got invited —forced— by your "friend" Eloiza, the self-proclaimed hottest girl in the entire school, typical captain of the cheerleading squad; blonde and curvy. Her words were much too sugar-coated that even a deaf person could tell she had ulterior motives.

She only planned to use you as a tool to raise her fame. A stepping stone for her own gain.

That wasn't the only reason though.

Everyone knew who you were, but only by your name. News and rumors alike spread like wildfire through gossipy mouths. Your deeds were known throughout campus.

(Y/N)(L/N), top academic competitor and multiple-award winner, a straight-A student for five years in succession. Some believed you were a genius, the rest called you insane.

You wouldn't call yourself a genius though, you did not possess the obsessive need to acquire eternal knowledge and discover the secrets of the universe as most of them do, to effortlessly solve every problem that comes their way.

If that were the case, then you wouldn't be here in the first place.

You only love learning and indulging in the beauty of Mother Nature, plus a handful of hyper-fixations.

Fine, a buttload of hyper-fixations. And such came in handy in various situations.

You were unrivaled, not one of your peers could come close to your level of wit. Many people wished to have a brain like yours, and just as many hated you for even having one, praised you just as much as slandered your name and judged you.

Despite your reputation, the poor school didn't broadcast it, at least every time. The staff probably got tired of repeating the same phrase over and over again. Which caused more than half of the whole campus to never believe you to be the one behind all of that, laughing at your face when you said your name.

"You? The (Y/N) (L/N)? Ha! As if I'd fall for that! Everyone knows how she looks. You're the absolute opposite!"

"You got to be kidding me."

"You're a joker, aren't you? Is this a prank? If so please stop it, don't pretend like you're her."

Yep, and it goes on and on and on. They were right, you didn't look like someone who would win contests or excel in class.

You constantly wore clothes that hid your form, silent unless spoken to or asked to answer, distant and reserved, you preferred the company of books and nature to the rowdiness and prying hands of humans. A sociopath they deemed you. Quite an extreme word to use when you simply wanted to enjoy the only things that made you happy in this living hell.

You only know a handful of people who approached you first-hand and praised you genuinely, even asking for an autograph, which really surprised you.

Yet, they would never understand you even if you explained, because you can't, words evade you when it comes down to voice out what you feel. Even if you can, no one would care. And even if they did? You doubt it was real. Everyone wants to use you, and they seem to believe you'd let them. You didn't trust anyone. The last time you did only left you sobbing on the dirt.

You wanted to be left alone.

To connect with nature and get as far away as possible from your parents. Parents who kept shouting profanities at each other, the main cause for your depression and anxiety levels to skyrocket, the shaking turning into trembling, 7 hours of sleep to barely a blink.

That's why you agreed to go in the first place.

You hated your household—despised it— a mess of broken shards of bottles and ceramics littered your kitchen floor more often than not. You didn't bother cleaning it up anymore, your mother would just waste away her money on more things to break and throw them at your joke of a father when they fought anyway.

Not only that, you thought...No, you believed if you worked hard to be the best and win countless competitions, your parents would give you recognition and reconcile for your sake, but no, no, no. They didn't care one bit about you or your medals, it was as if you were never even included in their lives at all. Even birthday celebrations ceased to exist in everyone's books after your 13th.

So you gave up.

Down into the void, your wishful thinking went, that they'll become better people over time, that the attention and love you deserve will be given one day. Instead, you wallowed yourself in your studies, besting everyone in everything academic. Oh, but you weren't athletic. Far from it. Damn, you were getting thin and sleep-deprived from being neglected, dark circles under your eyes every time you looked at your reflection. People hating your existence wasn't helping, some teachers even suspected you of cheating.

There's no way in hell you'd let yourself get dragged down to end up like them! You were of legal age now, a fresh graduate from high school, you doubt your parents even knew that since they didn't fucking show up on your graduation day. You were moving out of that shithole of a town. Anywhere is better than where they breathed and spat their poison.

And so here you are. Standing in this breath-taking and mysterious place. Camp Crystal Lake, it is named, secluded, barely touched by modernization as it is hidden between mountains and trees as far as the eye could see. Not to mention its namesake, the lake, you imagined it would mirror the sky, be it day or night. You loved it, you adored the fresh, breathable air that went through you the moment you stepped out of the van.

You also knew about him.

Resolved to never go back to that goddamned house, you took everything you had and needed; the special little trinkets you've collected through the years shoved into a box, the few clothes you had, art materials, and your precious books carefully packed inside a big travel bag, along with your stocked up canned goods, convenience food, snacks, and toiletries.

And other, important things.

You hauled your baggage out of the van and got off, immediately moving to the side and away from everyone.

You got used to people ignoring you that you didn't care anymore.

Why waste your time with them when you can have all of it to yourself?

Eloiza led the group into the larger cabins, the others went straight into the lake for a swim. You even notice some teens disappear into the trees, most likely for a quickie.

In return, you stayed out of their way, fully satisfied being invisible and with your own company as you trudged to a cabin, the one you caught a glimpse of earlier in the van. It was a long way's separated from the rest, closest to the forest and hidden behind a few trees.

You were panting when you finally stopped in front of it, clearly not used to walking long distances and carrying stuff near as heavy as your weight.

Upon closer inspection, you found yourself gaping at its appearance. The wooden walls lost their color as they aged, white and brown mushrooms grew on the ground along with green moss sticking to the beams, and a few vines crawling their way up and on the roof. Despite all of that, the cabin looked sturdy still.

There's this "one with nature" vibe that drew you to it, like a string pulling you closer and inviting you. Ominous most would say, but you almost cried when the rich scent of earth and oxygen filled your lungs as you took one big inhale, sighing in content for once. It was a lot smaller compared to the others, but you didn't care. As long as you were left alone with your stuff you were a-okay.

Perfect.

You turned the knob and peeked inside, letting out a small gasp and opening the door wider to see the whole thing.

Old as it is, it was proper and neat, regardless of the tiny cobwebs on the upper corners. A small, square dining table sat in the middle of the first part of the place, two wooden stools placed underneath. There were cupboards on the wall and a simple sink with an empty space to the side. You went to the next room, doorless and separated with but a wall of thick plywood. It had a single bed in the corner, off-white cotton sheets sitting atop, not a wrinkle in sight. No pillow though. There's a decent-sized closet along with a small table on one side of the bed. One of the windows had a hole in the middle, a ray of sunlight streaming in through the cracks. It was too big for the size of a gunshot, so maybe a rock.

A bit hesitant, your fingers traced the wood, feeling the inconsistent texture. When you went through the back door, your smile reached your ears when trunks of trees and bushes greeted you...

Wait, is that what you think it is?

Stepping closer to the treeline, your jaw dropped when you spotted a thicket of fruit-bearing plants past them, gathered in a tiny clearing.

Blueberries.

Purple little cuties poked out of the green shrubs, sporting a vibrant hue that caught your eye. The sun shone overhead and providing the energy they needed. Blueberries managed to grow in the area despite the trees fencing them.

Tempted and suspicious, you crouched down, inspecting the shrub if it really was a blueberry plant and not a deadly doppelganger. Once you were sure it was, (it would be hilarious if you simply died from nighshade poisoning), you plucked one and brought it to your mouth. It was sweeter than you expected, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. You hummed in delight, wiping the juice with your thumb when it dribbled out, staining your finger and lips.

You didn't want to anger anybody. Hell, coming here was already trespassing, so you didn't push your luck and left it alone, hoping they'd forgive you for picking one. They surely didn't look wild with the way they lined up.

You scanned the rest of the area, eventually going back inside to unpack after your little evaluation.

-

The sun was a hand's away from setting when you finished. Pride swelled in your chest at the work you did, your things stocked and organized with care inside the cabinets and drawers. You won't have to worry about your food for now as cupboards were filled to the brim with them. You also had a decent amount of money left from your savings account that your parents weren't aware of. Prize money, allowance, and the salary you got from doing online jobs all went into it. The camp was a few miles off the road, and a couple more to the nearest gas station with a convenience store. Very far yes, but it's better than living with the people who made you do this in the first place.

You just hoped you wouldn't die walking.

Everything was worth it, anyways. You were free now, at least that's what you think.

You trudged to the bed, eyeing the cushions, wary and a little scared to touch the sheets that appeared to be cleaned just recently, you didn't even lay a finger on them ever since you got inside. Oh, but your tired muscles were screaming to just flump down and relax.

So you did.

You dumped yourself face first and inhaled. It wasn't smelly nor fragrant, just the simple freshness on the cotton fabric. You felt beat but ain't sleepy, yet, so you reached to the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a book to pass the time as you waited for the sun to go down and give way for the moon. Its spine and pages had creases, worn out and yellow-stained from age and use. It was a horror-mystery novel told through a first-person narrative, a story of a middle-aged detective and her Maine coon in their attempts to solve a murder case of a young European lady named Cassandra Chase.

You dozed off in the middle of chapter 21, the part where Dinnie, the cat, discovers a valuable clue to the crime, a rotten limb in the dried basement well.

—

—

Jason settled down on the stairs of his porch; shoulders relaxed and hunched as he leisurely sharpened his machete with a small whetstone. Lines of sunlight kissed him through the leaves of trees, the birds in the area chirped on their perches, and the grass swayed, gentle, as a cool wind passed by.

His day be so fine. No troublemakers to deal wi—

The alarm rang, announcing unwelcomed arrival. As if a switch flipped inside, he's already on his feet, making his way swiftly to their location.

A new batch of wretched youngsters, another day ruined. Hunting them down makes his blood thrum in his veins, yes, but they soured his mood, just when he was at peace. He's dead set on slaughtering them in the most gruesome ways possible, only then he could go back and enjoy the serenity the nature around him brings.

He surveyed the area, camouflaging with the wilderness, silent as he watched and counted the soon-to-be corpses, his mother's voice at the back of his mind, guiding him.

They decided to go either to the main cabins, or the lake...even into the trees.

All but one.

Jason already planned to cut down the couple later as they lose themselves in the forest, doing nasty, dirty things to his camp. The killer shifted his attention to you, curious as to why you didn't join the lot. Instead, you walked back down the road. He followed and saw you approach the small cabin, separated from the rest, your eyes widened...

Adoration?

You were quiet— except for the little gasps of awe you let out in between pants—as you looked around and over the place. The ones you came with were rowdy and destructive, a complete opposite. He hid as he observed you from afar, moving around to adjust his vision on you. You smiled every time you looked to the trees, he noticed.

Why were you smiling like that? Why did you pick this cabin? Were you planning on defiling it?

The last question in his mind made his blood boil. He'll kill you first if that was the case. That cabin you chose was special, it was where he and his mother used to stay. He occasionally visits that one to keep it clean and free of dust. If you even think of—

Jason, sweetie...look closer. She does not have such intentions.

His mother's words rang in his head. Even from where he stood, he could see what you did inside. You looked a little hesitant, touching and drawing back your hand before letting your fingers feel the wood as if it was something delicate. Despite the initial...shyness? You proceeded to make it your home, somewhat, dropping the large duffel bags you carried on your front and back, and a similarly large roller case on your left. It was as if you planned to stay for a long time.

Jason hears you take a long breath and sigh as you went out the backdoor. You grinned wider when you saw the nature around you. You stepped forward, straight in his direction...

For a moment he thought you saw him, seeing your jaw drop. You moved closer, and he just froze there, until you crouched down.

Oh, his plants.

He watched you as you gently picked a fruit, your gaze...soft. You brought it to your mouth, some of the juice spilling on the side and you wiped it with your thumb.

Cute.

You went back inside and continued to unpack your things, carefully maneuvering around the cabin.

Maybe he'll spare you if you continue to be good. You didn't do anything dirty, yet. It's only a matter of time before the camp is shrouded in darkness and his hunt will begin.

Let's see what you'll do before that happens.

-

Jason tracked down the three that went into the forest. He knew the place like the back of his hand, and it was easier to pinpoint them as he heard moans.

What he saw was utmost disgusting, two girls pleasuring a male with their mouths in broad daylight.

Kill them, my boy! Such foul beings need to die! Kill them, kill!

He circled them, steps soundless. Jason gripped his machete and brought it down the guy's neck, embedding the weapon into the bark, the head rolled down, oozing with blood, and fell against the women, drenching them in red. Not a single cry left from their mouths as he sliced both with one swing, blood pouring out of their throats and staining the ground. Jason dragged their bodies and tossed them into a pit he dug beforehand, making quick work in burying them.

A swift end. Now he waits.

[lovelystarlings]

Chapter Three - The Sorting Hat

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A loud, deep voice echoed through the train, shocking Camille awake from her much needed nap as she peered out of the doors of the carriage, pulling her robes on gently over her clothes as the boys peered out from behind her. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

"Well, here we go boys." She spoke, her arms linking through theirs, one either side of her. "Looks like we're here."

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Camille shivered in the cold night air, pulling Harry and Ron closer to her in an attempt to gather some warmth. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Camille was shocked to see what looked like a half giant calling over to the trio, plus Hermione and Neville who had been behind them, clearly recognising Harry : "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

"C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more than five to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry, Ron and Camille were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione, who sat herself once again next to Camille, the two immediately in an animated conversation. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had needed a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff, the boats sailing through a wide open in the cliff face. They were then carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached an underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them, Neville being the last one to exit, a excited look on his face as Hagrid passed the toad to him.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, and an intimidating posture.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, Camille's heels clicking awfully loudly, drawing the people behind her to look at her, one platinum blonde boy even had the audacity to wink at her. Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room." Camille crossed her fingers of the hand that wasn't entwined with Hermione's at the hope she'd be put in a house with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

"Now, the Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She gave a slight smile and nodded in Camille's direction, who's appearance seemed unphased by the journey, her shoes still shining and her hair tied back with not one hair out of place. She looked pristine next to Ron, who had some sort of soot across his nose.

"Move along now," said a sharp voice, the Professor had returned from her leaving. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly joyous about what was about to happen, Camille got into line behind the boy with almost white hair with Hermione behind her, Ron and Harry following, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at her looked in shock, like they had never seen a veela before, making Camille's cheeks glow dangerously red. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Hoping to void the staring eyes, Camille lifted her head gently to the ceiling, eyes twinkling as she gasped at the star covered ceiling, constellations scattered everywhere as shooting stars made their way across it. She heard Hermione lean into her, whispering quietly so they didn't draw any more attention their way.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History." The girl spoke, Ron and Harry both listening too.

Camille found it hard to believe that the ceiling was ceiling at all, and not an opening to the heavens.

She quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat, with patches of discolouring and rips everywhere.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuff's are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song, Camille bearing a wide smile, the hat seemed like it would be a very jolly person, or rather hat. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

"That's bloody ridiculous," spoke Camille, her eyes rolling in amusement. "Dumbledore would never allow a troll into a school for children, that's just absurd."

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause-

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

This process went on for a long time before Camille's name was called, though hers was called way before any of her friends, each house cheering louder than the other when a new student got assigned there.

"Delacour, Camille." McGonagall spoke loudly, all eyes turning to look at the French girl who began to make her way up to the stool, nervousness coursing through her veins at the piercing stares of the Hogwarts staff and students. She giggled as she heard a few wolf whistles and yells of encouragement from Ron and Hermione.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear, making her jump gently on the stool. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either, incredibly smart, you my dear would do well in Ravenclaw. There's talent, my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, yet an increasing amount of anxiousness and dear, you really must eat more, now that's important.... So where shall I put you?"

Camille gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, remembering her parent's hatred for it, she wouldn't want to disappoint them more than she did just by existing

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be amazing there, you know, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness and help you make more friends, no doubt about that - no? Well, if you're sure -- better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Camille heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. She took off the hat, passed it to the Professor and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. She was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, she hardly noticed that she was getting the loudest cheer yet. The Prefect got up and shook her hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, wrapping their arms around her in a brotherly fashion, "We got Camille! We got Camille!"

She could now only hope that Hermione, Ron and Harry followed the same path.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

Hermione practically sprinted to Camille, jumping onto the seat beside her and giving her the widest smile she had ever seen, her arm wrapping around Camille's shoulder like a snake, the latter finally being able to breath at the thought of not being alone anymore.

Time passed quickly, and soon enough Harry's name was called, everyone's heads snapping to see where the boy would be placed. As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

Harry took his seat on the stool, a good few minutes passing as the tension in the hall grew, the hat eventually shouting out to the joy of Camille.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The two Weasley twins jumped up and began to shout as they had done with Camille, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Camille and Hermione joined them jokingly, welcoming Harry with a warm hug as he perched into the seat opposite, flushed red as people leant over to shake his hand, some even asking for autographs.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined the trio at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green and shaking by now. Camille crossed her fingers alike Harry under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Camille whooped loudly with the rest of the house as Ron collapsed into the chair next to Harry, still looking worryingly green, though perking up as he spotted to food that covered the table.

Giving the boys opposite a smile, Camille laughed excitedly, not only had she gotten into Gryffindor, but she was also in the same house of the three she was sure she would get along with greatly. First year was off with a bang. A literal one as the man of the hour stood up and cleared his throat loudly, his half moon glasses twinkling with the reflection of the candles.

Albus Dumbledore.

[inviouswriting]

From my primal au. A little before the save. Re writing the interactions.

Some smut in here and written mobile will cut later today.

Pairings. Aymeric x Kiya and Divinity x Estinien.

"Kivera. I have been asked to do something. I don't want to do." Divinity speaks knowing the angel can hear her. She feels her presence around her as much as Midgarsormr.

Kivera knows the look too well. She takes her seat next to her love and tugs her in.

"I am aware, her name is on my list." Kivera knows and Divinity looks at her. She knows there isn't much that can sway her once a name has reached it.

"You should have seen him. He was beside himself when he asked me to do it. Like the world is ending for him." Divinity feels a little powerless in her abilities and looks at her guardian for an answer and sees a gentleness in her normally hard features.

"Divinity, you of all people know a soul isn't lost until they have died. If she is still in there... perhaps I can scribble her name off this once." Kivera touches one of the curls that hangs from Divinity's head and toys with the end of it.

Divinity leans into her touch finding comfort. She had missed seeing her face in all the years she spent in the world and before being blind.

"What would you have me do?"

"Treat her the way you did me. With kindness. They're not doomed. Not yet at least. If anyone can pull a soul from the void. It is a healer from beyond a void." Kivera explains and waits for her to understand. A smile on her face.

"Should I tell Aymeric, that there is a chance to save his wife?"

"No, because the off chance it fails. It would drive him more into despair. Now, under my protection. Go and see this soul." Kivera places a kiss on the orange stars that decorate Divinity's face.

It took a few days to reach Dusk Vigil and outside was a group of temple knights, including Aymeric.

Aymeric regards Divinity with a nod, and waits for her to prepare herself. He clasps hisbhands together in a silent prayer to Halone to grant his beloved, Kiya, rest from her imprisonment within the primal.

Divinity gives him a smile and he is unsure why she is smiling. Perhaps it is a warrior of light thing.

"Have faith, Ser Aymeric." Another knight says, and Aymeric sighs as he sees the door close behind the group going in.

"How can I have faith when I sent people in there to slay her. I just pray some miracle brings her back to me. Or at least gives her a swift death." Kivera sees this exchange and something stirs in her. The look on Aymeric's face mirrors her own heartache when she lost Damien.

"You owe me Divinity." Kivera slips into the void.

Inside the heart of Dusk Vigil, Divinity is met with the being Mormo. The Thaumaturges guild thought her destroyed along time back when Kiya was warrior of light.

When Divinity looks at her she sees grief, heartache, and pain in the succubus form. Very thin but the scythe she carried she watches it knowing the reach because of Kivera's preferred weapon of choice.

The fight was hard, and there is as moment when the Paladin with then struck a blow. Divinity without thinking sends a spell of cure to Kiya. Enough light to stir something in the being. She falters and for a moment sees the form change.

"Aymeric! I am sorry!" Quiet sobs are made as she waits for the inevitable.

The knight was about to deliver a death blow.

"Stop! Don't kill her! Let me try something!" Divinity dashes in front of the paladin who scoffs at her for being stupid. But sheathe her sword and backs off.

"If you fail she dies."

"I am aware of that."

Divinity approaches Kiya and kneels next to her.

"Kiya?" She sees her head turn to her.

"He sent you here didn't he? To kill me.. it is like him. Thinking of me in the very end." Kiya says with a sad smile.

"He misses you. I can tell. His eyes give away his feelings. He is hopeful." Divinity tries. The other warriors around keeping their guards up.

"But I have summoned a primal.." Kiya curls in herself feeling the power inside starting to flare up. Divinity places her hands on her shoulders and casts another spell of cure and forms a dome around them.

"You we're trying to do the right thing. You just were misled and guided wrong. And this thing took over you in a moment of weakness. You didn't summon it. She did. And she needs to leave!" A surge of holy is sent through Kiya to expel Mormo out. The knight with them seizes the chance to slay Mormo.

Once the magic dissipates Kiya's magic in her clothing fades leaving her bare. The miqo'te collapses into Divinity's arms and starts to cry into her chest sobbing Aymeric's name and asking him to forgive her until she passes out.

One of the temple knights sees her and offers to carry her.

"I think it best I take her to Aymeric." Divinity takes off her robe and covers Kiya in it before lifting her up to carry her on her back. The paladin shakes her head.

"Softie." And takes her leave.

Divinity approaches the entrance to the dungeon and sees Aymeric's face lit with worry and grief again. He sees Kiya clung to her back fists tight on Divinity's shoulders.

Green eyes peek over the shoulder and sees Aymeric then looks away to the side. She misses the light returning to Aymeric's eyes and joy spreading through him.

"Kiya?! Pray tell me.. My Kiya?" He approaches the side, Kiya looks away flustered and buries her face into the back of Divinity's head.

"Come now, you have something to tell him? You were crying it." Divinity sets her down and Aymeric takes Koya by her shoulders and has her look into his eyes, his hands on both sides of her face so she can't look away.

"Aymeric... I... I am so sorry!!!! Please forgive me!!!" Aymeric's features soften and Divinity witnesses something she hasn't seen in a long time. Pure love. She smiles then laughs when Aymeric tugs on Kiya's face pinching her cheeks.

"My love.... MY love! I will not forgive you for what you did." He sees Kiya's face falter a little and her trying to look away. He holds her still.

"Look at me. Hey, look at me." Aymeric presses his head to hers, Kiya is hopeful in her eyes.

"You can spend the rest of our lifetime together making it up to me." Aymeric says. Kiya smiles warm and Aymeric wraps his arms around her and pins her to the floor to kiss her ignoring her yelps of the cold under her.

Kiya returns the kiss, her arms wrapping around Aymeric's neck enjoying the kiss, she missed his feel and warmth.

Divinity glances over to a mirror and sees a flit from it, she smiles to herself and shakes her head.

Aymeric lifts his wife into his arms and carries her to Ishgard. Once safely seated and looked at by Whitecape. He turns a stern expression on her and pinches her face again.

"Do you have any idea how much you put me through?! What I set after you?" He squeezes her face in small tugs and ignores the sputters and protests from her.

"I'm sorry!!!"

"You better be! I am not letting you go so easy now. Three years. Hear me? Three years. No magic and no traveling. Till you are strong as you were." He pinches the end of her face again and then kisses her again. Soft and sweet.

"Understood?!?"

"Yes Aymeric!"

"Yes Lord Commander Ser Aymeric!" He corrects her.

"Yes! Lord Commander Ser Aymeric!!" She says again. Once she agrees he holds out his hand to her.

"Soul crystals." Aymeric says and Kiya hands them over to him. She runs her face and sees him tuck them carefully away in a pocket.

His expression is alot softer now and he climbs into the bed with her due to it being night. He was wearing his alpine coat and removed his boots before laying next to her.

Kiya was about to say something but is cut off with sweet kisses and him putting his ear to her chest to her her heartbeat. She then feels warmth from tears.

"Godsdamn you... I thought I was going to have to plan your funeral. I thought you were eternally lost to me." His grip on her tightens and she feels pangs of guilt in her soul. Her hands go into his hair soothing. Aymeric looks up at her from his spot and let's her comb through his hair till she touches his ears in apology.

"My dearest Aymeric. I never intended this to happen..." Kiya sees him shift up and further wraps his arms around her guiding her onto her back to lay with him. Holding her he realizes how thin she is now. He was told it would take her a few months to recover the weight loss from being without food for a few years.

It would take her years to recover her fighting strength. Kiya fits into his arms, and he has her on his side facing him

His hands going through her hair as if he can't believe she is there again.

"I know you didn't intend it. I want you to tell me everything at a future time. When you have rested some. Now sleep in my arms please." He coaxes her down and wraps her in his arms.

Kiya falls asleep soon after she listens to his slightly raised heartbeat. Kisses left on her head.

In her dreams she is visited by something. Kiya sees something shown to her, the last two years of her beloved. How Aymeric was told about her becoming a primal the look in his eyes as he decides to barricade off Dusk Vigil and hold it till a new warrior of light steps forward. How he spent his nights alone, chasing off propositions from others. The years hard in his grief, burying himself in work itself. It felt like watching someone lose their faith in life. When Aymeric met Divinity she hears the heartbreak in his voice when he asks her to take care of Kiya, to hopefully not make her suffer.

When Kiya awakens with a start she has tears streaming down her face, her startle rouses Aymeric who felt her peer into the past from the echo. He doesnt say anything only pulls his beloved back into his arms and underneath him to kiss her.

Divinity smiles from the doorframe and takes her leave. She bumps into another, Estinien. She pulls him with her, to give the pair privacy.

Divinity drags Estinien with her till they are outside the forgotten knight. She only gives him a quiet look, and he follows her knowing for what.

Estinien is led to her room and within it the first time he can take her. Tangled with her arms and legs. Drawing any sound and breath out of her. The feel of her on him.

They're not the only pair that night to experience highs. Kiya feels a different gentleness in Aymeric that night close to the first time he took her. He was cautioned on loving her to be gentle and only when she desires it. He found her wanting him and he missed her in his arms underneath him. His name breathed out in quick pants. Hers on his lips as he feels her for the first time in years.

Aymeric holds one of Kiya's hands by her head as he thrusts into her. Each movement in his hand tightens till she writhes in pleasure from him.

Kiya feels more loved when Aymeric let's go of her hands to wrap his arms around her and pull her into each movement he makes till he spills in her.

With Divinity she feels things she has never felt before in hands teasing her and her own hand held across her back with one of Estinien's.

His other hand ghosts down the middle of her spine tracing it. Feeling a sense of his own wonder at how he got there. Divinity peaks first in a hiss of pleasure and he follows her afterwards.

They lay next to each other wordless, Divinity with a calm expression to her bright eyes. Estinien wants to prod questions out of her but takes the silence instead.

With Kiya, she feels worn out and her mind numb to all else. She feels blissful, and Aymeric watches her face for anymore turmoil to her. His left hand stroking Kiya's face in soft circles on her cheek till she is lured to sleep again.

Aymeric places one more kiss on her face.

"I swear I will protect you better now."

[internet-necrosis]

Do other people get carried away like this and kinda just lose their mind?

Huge text under cut

You know I had a thought, but I was stuck fooling around with this app so much that I totally forgot it. How sad. I am currently running on very little sleep. Why do I do this to myself? I almost seem to procrastinate sleeping in a way, like I'm experiencing executive dysfunction but with a very pressing need. I just hate how unsatifying sleeping has become for me these days, and how little it seems to serve me. I hate how I lose time, considering I'm barely doing anything of worth these days already. I know a lot of subconsious dislike for myself for not having internet fame in any way, or any friends, or any money probably messes up the way I go about anything. Oh, I just remembered what I was going to say earlier. This is nice. Writing is such a nice thing. I actually really enjoy doing it and wish I could just do this and be paid somehow. I'm so tired of feeling unconfident in my writing just because I lack any formal training. Who fucking cares that I don't read books or that I don't give stupid amounts of money to corrupt institutions? Why can't my ego run free and become validated with a group of niche internet followers, not unlike a popular tumblr blog except I actually make money? I hate that I am forced to endure memorization of technical knowledge regarding how I should organize and operate. I hate that I will be seen as a lesser outsider in my structure of thinking and not as a radical or progressive writing. I hate being organized and I hate that organization is even remotely glorified. I am capable of complex thought, not complex memory. I am capable of complex interpretation; not complex regurgitation and orginization. I am a fleeting moment of interest and engagement, devoid of structure and consistency. I am death and decay, and the life subsequent. I am movement, I am flow. I am not rigid, I am so very cursed to not be rigid.

I understand if this can come across more as a childish stoner lamenting the death of their 20s and outside pressure to mature and assimilate with their peers than a strange woman ranting into the void. I hate to say it; but I am prone to act and sound like a mediocre white person who just took acid for the first time a week ago, and thinks they like, totally get things now. I suppose it is delusional on my part to feel as if my super cool aloof speaking style and half knowledge of a few obscure subjects and internet culture has any merit in comparison to the hard intellectual work involved with becoming somthing interesting or worthwhile. Maybe my first mistake was having heroes, being influenced. I haven't given things crititcal thought in a long time, I'm just trying to find the smart people that everyone else hasnt uncovered yet, and regurgitating them in the way that makes me the most interesting. I would like to think the abscract nature of my wit could merit a career in comedy writing or Gonzo journalism but girl, nobody does it like that anymore. Even the current god of Gonzo journalism is in video format on Channel 5 doing it so flawlessly theres no reason to even compete. No one really looks for that stuff in writing form anyway. They want you hot, skinny, in front of the camera without stuttering and immacculate editing so you can get 230 views and tell your dreams to fuck off a week later.

I'm a "now or never" type, which is just a neat way of saying my adhd and adhd behaviors control my entire life even when I beg them to finally cease. I either exhaust it all now or it never happens. Oh, you wanted to finish this online course? best I can do is complete half of it in one day and never return to the subject again. Oh you actually enjoy doing this thing? here's a random feeling of crippling fear and discomfort at the very thought of doing it again, youre welcome. Good fucking god, is it exhausting. How do they do it? How do they actually do this every day without feeling actual internal suffering? How can it be so easy for all of them? Oh what I would give for just one day, of the freedom to do things I've wanted and needed to do. To just shower without having to add steps to build up to the act, to take one simple college course, just one, the entire way. I would love to make writing like this a regular thing, but how can I when nothing actually helps? I've tried the google calendars, i've done the millions of alarms, i've done it all so many times and so many times it fades away; it always does. Dare I breathe to reduce my mania? Dare I attempt to enjoy a hobby? Dare I even buy a video game? What can be done? How will I ever feel free? Have I ever even felt it in my life?

To accent my sentiments I see past my chromebook a youtube video that has been paused for about 3 hours, next to me a freshly unsmoked bowl of green waiting for some attention, and a constantly reheated and ignored cup of coffee. My god, was I ever worth anything but my labor? My practiced barista skills completely buried in a year of intentional unemployment. I grew up an only child to two people wired completely different than me, so I feel like the mosiac of my habits are an embarrassing rendition of who I really am. I wonder if I am alone in being this way or if other people are losing their minds trying to determine their comparitive worth so that they can know how to best conduct themselves for an online and social persona. Let's be real; I am too fat and unskilled to be confident. I used to be an artist; at least that's the sentiment that gets forced upon me because I used to like drawing and got a little skill with it, now I'm completely demolished by the technical knowledge and expenses needed to grasp digital art; slowly becoming the only true art these days. I am now living a life of identity vagrancy; full of unlikable confidence and excessive incompetence. It's certainly a new perspective.

I remember clearly when I first read (in a adhd sense, which is to say I read until I lost steam and started skimming despite full realization of the texts importance) the Scum Manifesto. My god if you don't know what that is just google it and have your first moment as well. I'll wait, seeing as I'm actually just a wall of text. The heated and consise writing hit me in the gut a little, but I was scared at how much I kinda liked it. The conversational writing stroked a bias of mine and made me realize how much I craved more of the style because it made me feel like maybe for a minute I wasn't wrong in how I did things. "This writing reminds me of me, when I get really angry and vent. When I get fed up and talk to myself in my made up scenarios of radical political and social change completly in my favor. This is my rage expressed when I know no one can hear me and get all butthurt. This feels wrong in how extreme, and yet I've been there....was my rage ever wrong to feel?" And my god, that's the liberating question, isn't it? Was I ever actually in the wrong or did I just make people uncomfortable? And is their discomfort a reason I should stop or is it a sign that I'm eroding the social conditioning they've exstablished unfounded comfort? It kind of brings me back to the gonzo journalism in a sense, where I'm not doing anything much more than giving you facts and the way that I see them. The bias is there but it's always going to be there as long as humans are the journalists. Why not lean into the bias and push people to actually think about how they feel regarding the subject instead of spoonfeeding them the most middle of the road, "all lives mattter", "let's listen to both sides" bullshit take? Why do you need to be the personal advocate for "everyone is right in their own way" when it doesn't encourage much other than agreement? Agreement doesn't seem like a very robust goal to me. I want more weird bitches with their little hills they would die on. I want people to be unmarketable in their takes and ideas and yet I want them well thought out and meaningful. I want both sides to be argued with passion, and without apology or compromise within a space that honors what that can mean for the world. I know this glorifying middle of the road attitudes is a result of humans viewing themselves as marketable product, and yeah it's pretty sad. I know there's merit in looking for a common ground but I think we have lost our way so incredibly far on how to actually do something with that, that we should just lose our access to it until we can behave. Perhaps, I too, am another radical political expression of rage, meant to just be another crazy bitch footnote in history but hell, at least it puts me in the history books. Maybe I will read about my eccentrism and how it was my downfall in history class in a next life, making the boys uncomfortable and the girls wonder how I got like this.

You want to know what that thing was I remembered earlier, right? Nah, you totally do. I'm gonna tell you anyway. Checking my email I recieve an unneeded amount of spam from quora asking about people who are "narccisists" or whatever. I notice people treat that label like a clinical dianosis. Is it really? I mean truly. I have no idea. But even if it is, I'm concerned it exists without considering social factors, absolving the public from taking responsibility for their little monster. I see that many of them are bad people, annoying people, whatever. I was probably raised by one or two. I notice they seem to be overwhelmingly female. Funny, aren't we socialized to be narsicistic anyway? From the constant awareness of our bodies and appearance, to the hypersexualization, to the glorifying of being a superficial female taking constant care of herself and others....would it not be a natural reaction to the oppressive culture to disconnect our ability to empathize and prioritize others? Would it not make sense to fall into our falsely constructed bimbo selves and put ourselves constantly first to keep ourselves safe? And what a very obvious reaction to trauma...to say "never again" in our most formative years and to disconnect ourselves from reality enough to finally enjoy the experience. To finally take and take and never give back. To feel no remorse for the innocent because they were innocent, too. To accept how the game is played and just hyperfocus on ourselves because we never truly feel safe or loved. It's always so easy to make up a new strawman villian to direct our indirectable hatred and yet, it's so easy sometimes to throw it onto the hurt person hurting other people. Because it's easy. Maybe I do that too. Maybe I'm wrong and theres a clinical disorder that makes you a bad person that should be taken off the earth. Of course it's pretty difficult to achieve deeper understanding of this thing without realising how misogynist of a world we live in, how it appears everywhere and is always going to follow the female population around in some form. Without that you just look at a bunch of information men wrote and say "well those are the experts here, looks real to me!" and move on. I wish I had that little brain worm. I kinda hope yours dies though.

You have read about 2000 words of caffinated ramble. The misspellings, the lack of coherency- I just want you to know that it's all for you, baby. I can't imagine a human on this earth doing something for me as tedious and meaningful as just reading through my "old woman yells at cloud" and even if you dissagree with me and all I've said I still thank you for not dismissing what I have to say. I hope I get that blog post writing for 100 dollars an article job so I can beef it up with my useless verbage and whatever else I need to do to get enough money to not feel so bad about taking a year off to rest my soul. I would just love to be able to just type up my little words whenever I felt like it and make a little money to keep myself smoking heavy, watching youtube, and walking in a circle to get my step counter to say nice numbers. I think I'll just....post this rambling for the rad girlies on tumblr to see. what was this about every action doesn't have to be performative? I do not hear it...