#trying to revive my own character from the grave but i just dont! like! her! anymore

[mauchi]

attempts n shit

[jellypackedart]

HidaKona Month 2019 - Remembering You - Phantom Pains

HOOO BOY im tired this took too long and im late BUT i did have a lot of fun writing something for the purpose of publishing it! I originally wanted to draw this out but i dont know comic layout right now.

This is my entry for the first prompt of @hidakonamonth and im so glad it pushed me to start establishing my reincarnation/high school akatsuki au!! I felt like i had to start with hidan for this type of story since exploring his character is gonna challenge me and the prompts really helped in planning the story!

Phantom pains didn't seem like the accurate term. Organs, tissue and cells all strewn about the makeshift grave. He'll scream like always, but the words get muffled by the sound of blood gushing around him. Painfully too aware of his nervous and respiratory system making a shoddy attempt at reviving whatever carved out piece of flesh it belonged to, he’ll fully experience the pain in every severed limb assorted above and below him. It’s intense enough to identify what was detached completely and which limbs were desperately hanging onto each other by threads of tendon. The harsh sting of each laceration coupled with the smell of seared flesh is always unbearable.

But this dream was different. 

Normally, his vision would be blocked by pounds of dirt branches, and stone. The pressure amounted over top and even stifled his face from scrunching in agony, the bitter taste of soil settling in his mouth because he never learned to keep it shut. It was always the worst type of deep sleep. The kind where his mind is fully alert but his body had no chance of fighting. Darkness would cradle his body while shockwaves ran through him.

The faintest glow of a lavender light demanded his attention this time. It contrasted greatly with the void that enveloped his makeshift grave. The pressure that had been straining against him backed off, layers and layers were stripped away and allowed the little light to grow stronger. Whatever it was that dug him out from his grave was not doing so with any degree of desperation. But he was caught off-guard by the disruption of the fixed routine of his dream. Once he could feel the open air gracing her touch along his face, he started to spit out the remaining dirt in his mouth and took a large gasp of air, exiting through the gash of his neck. Iridescent eyes tried to blink away the gritty soil irritating his eyes then opens them once more to look up at his savior.

She was there for a second, too high in the sky to see her full figure other than the wings flapping softly, a black and red cloak being the only thing he recognized. As if that second was already spoiling him, the next time he blinked, magenta eyes frantically looked around at the enveloping darkness. Was he in his grave again?

No. Hidan relaxed into the worn, spring-mattress and allowed his eyes to get used to the light spilling over from the streets and into his studio apartment. He was here again. The same aches that followed after his reoccurring dream lingered, intensifying at the joints where he was previously cut up. No, phantom pains couldn't describe it well enough. His limbs were here, and fully attached just like they always were. But his whole being throbbed, dealing with the trauma of what once must have been his body long since rotted. Hidan grumbled to himself. He hated that dream. It made him confused that the remnants of a past life never stayed buried in silence, it always screamed at him and refused to die. Because that was always the extent to his dream. No indication of who and where he was, not even why he was in that hole or why he couldn't just stay dead.

He usually brushed it off once the pounding against his body settles into waves of dull pain. What was different was the lingering image of those wings and that robe. And the light. Hidan blinked, the feeling of hot tears that stained his cheeks now evident. Those were new, too.

Hidan rolled over to get up from his bed. He didn't have to check his phone to see that it was the middle of the night. The dream was relatively short, and since it always ended around the time that the veil between worlds was weakened, he figured it was the best time to go and find a sacrifice. It was long ago that he decided that if those dreams served any purpose, it was reminding him of his mortality. When he was mortal, at least. The periods between those dreams were long and often indicated to him that he hadn't had the opportunity to fulfill his mandated exchange of a life for Life.

The ending of this dream lingered on his mind as he pushed up his maroon denim jeans and adjusted his belt. He can admit that he didn't have much going for him in terms of intelligence but even he could tell the break in the pattern could not be reflective of his requirements to his God. The silver pendant shined despite the lack of light entering the room, it was cool against his exposed chest. Hidan shuddered at the touch and turned his head towards the window to watch the gentle mist hovering over the city streets. He opted to wear a jacket, at least.

Leaving through the fire escape was easier than locking his room, walking down 2 flights because the elevator stopped working at floor 4, getting into the working elevator normally not lacking in the assorted bodily fluids, and weaving through bodies fraternizing either through shared decomposition or lowered inhibitions. The steel rungs of the ladders practically sounded off that the natural born killer was on his way, but the cacophony was lost in the dissonant white noise of the city. Old sneakers landed on the pavement of the alleyway adjacent the apartment complex, dull waves of pain caught Hidan's attention when he popped back up and started strolling around the block.

Hidan felt that picking off the barely conscious vagrants littered about the streets was too easy. He would call it mercy, as the Reaper patrolled the area and often fought bigger foes to them such as police, thieves, and even other killers and disposed of them because the bigger a spectacle he put on meant higher praise from his God.

He tilted his head at the sight of a girl on the corner. She wasn't a regular, maybe a rookie trying to claim her turf? The streetwalkers he did know and ran into were already converted, some that taught him the ropes and others persuaded by him. They had clear identifiers that proved they were off limits. This girl was about their age, probably a few years above him. Her form, although slightly clouded by the mist, demanded nothing more obscene than appreciation. She leaned on her left leg, hands shoved into the pockets of a black bomber jacket that fit too big on her, evident by the zipper reaching past her denim shorts. No silver pendant adorning her chest, no patches sewn about her jacket, and no tattoos littered across her skin, nothing that could indicate she was safe.

Conversion or sacrifice. Hidan would give her that choice.

As he took a step towards her, amber eyes snapped back and watched him. She straightened her stance and crossed her arms. This mist was growing too thick for him to catch the slight hesitation of her deciding against meeting him halfway. Her eyes flickered past choppy layers of blue hair to look behind her, not scared but rather affirming herself of what was behind her.

Hidan reached the girl, just a small gap in height between the two as the result of her heeled boots. Placing his hands at his sides to puff out his chest, he cracked a smirk. “Eh, what's a babe like you doing out here so late?” He leaned in closer to examine her face. The only disruption in her statuesque build was her quickly glancing up and down at him.

“I'm looking for a friend.” She said, voice low and steady.

“Ah,” Hidan leaned back then rolled his neck over to the side. “I know someone that could be your friend. You ever heard of the way of Jashin?”

Amber eyes narrowed at him as she examined him further for something in his iridescent eyes. Something was up. “Way of Jashin.” It wasn't really a question. The words rolled off her pierced tongue in revelation as if they were the last clue to mystery bothering her. The mist began to clear and allowed Hidan to look at her face. Her eyeliner was smudged like she hadn't taken it off to sleep and an array of blues and lilacs were painted onto her eyelids. Her lips were stained with the remnants of some black lipstick while an opalescent septum ring managed to avoid the pigment.

Hidan stepped backward, a sudden ache in his heart pulsing as he looked at her, the mirage of a ghost he must have known long ago. She was familiar, but not quite right, not formed correctly in a way that he could trace the reason for his pain. Why does she hurt?

Amber eyes softened at his confusion as her lips broke in a smile. She took her hands out of her pockets, and extended a hand out, beckoning him to shake. “There's a clubhouse nearby,” Her head tilted to point in the direction behind her. “Come tell me about it there.”

Hidan cocked a grey eyebrow, carefully examining her but satisfied easily with the fact that she was willing to listen to him, wanted to, rather. Magenta eyes dropped to her hand, nails painted to match her eyes. Hidan shrugged and took her hand into his own. Her touch was soft, cautious but welcoming. “What about your friend?” He asked after releasing her.

“I found him.”