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⸻ @disastercg, wish fulfillment, closing in on midnight.

her hands felt as tingly as they were transparent. like she looked and both felt like static, brown noise. just because she was given this great new ability along with her second chance at life, doesn’t mean it was something she understood or felt relieved by. she has little to no control over her astral projections, a resulting bullshit that only came to her after her new lease on life, leaving it feeling more like a rental agreement or terms and conditions. it leaves her standing in the center of wish fulfillment, a ghost of herself, not dead, not the same phantom she had been before the witch brought her back to life, but like a hologram. she knew for a fact her body was left sat at her desk in her room while she had projected her consciousness to where her thoughts were building up.

it’s brave of her to be here at all. staring straight into jack’s eyes in front of the counter, wringing her hands in front of her. transparent skin, body, glowing in the light of her spirit. “i need to see the witch.” she tells him, choosing to ignore the consequences of such a thing after walking out of his life. “i don’t have time to stand around all day jack.” she sighs and glances at her hands, straight through to the floor and her feet below them. “i don’t know how long i can maintain this form.” because at the end of the day, she needed to find a way to control her projections and figure out what yuuko needed from her. if not, she might go mad. “please, jack.”

#disastercg #the beginning of the end

jack moon && simon muhn

Despite spending years of rigorous training in his ability and even more time studying various aspects of it, Simon is certain he’ll never get used to the feeling of possession. His skin grows clammy, his voice becomes a quiet part in his own mind, and he always remains forced to watch his limbs move without his control. Most of his memories grow hazy - it’s his mind, but not really his mind. He doesn’t know the name of the spirit currently inhabiting his body, but seeing others stagger along...it seems Simon’s body is not the only one in use.

Parts of possession are hazy. But death never is. He doesn’t know which of the other possessed bodies wields the knife that drives into his gut, and he supposes it doesn’t really matter; they’re not really the ones at fault. And, unlike any of the other potential casualties in this back-alley fight, Simon’s the only one guaranteed to still come through. He feels the spirit’s fear at the red blood on Simon’s fingers. The spirit loses grip on reality, and the pressure in his head fades.

His thoughts are, once again, his own. Until the world around him fades and his eyes grow glossy life settles into nothingness.

And then it isn’t.

Simon sits straight up with a gasp for air. Dying is uncomfortable. Coming back is just so. His chest hurts. His head aches. There’s a bitter numbness in his fingers and toes he knows he won’t be able to stand until his blood begins circulating again. He’s certain he looks like death - given that he was just dead minutes prior, he knows the descriptor is accurate.

He tries to get the attention of the other man in the alleyway, who seems to wear a look of concern. Simon raises his stiff arm as much as he’s able to. “ -- Excuse me --” He coughs out. “Do you have a spare jacket? A...a blanket?” He asks. “--I’m freezing --”