Greif - Blog Posts

It took me a long time after you were gone to realize everything I was gonna get from you I had already gotten.

I know it's selfish but all I want is more of you.

I miss you.

3 weeks ago. What. How. No.

Exactly 24hrs without you. I don't know what to do. I miss you. It doesn't feel real at all, I honestly wish it wasn't. I wish I could see you. Hopefully you and grandad are together again.

We talk about this far too passionately for me to not reblog this <3

I don't think we're paying half of the attention we should be to the inherent horror of the Isekai trope. God knows I love it, like a stupid amount but can you even imagine?

Typically, the character firsts dies, hit by a bus, some illness, murdered, and that's your starting point. You die, in some gruesome way you are ripped from your world and then thrusted into another. You stopped breathing, you ceased to exist, you died. You didn't though. Because you're alive. All of a sudden, it's like nothing happened. But it did, didn't it? Tell me, is a wound still a wound if there's no scar? Where do you put all your grief if there's no grave?

There's no time to focus on that though, because you're in a stranger body. That's body horror, babe. Your skin is fairer, your hair is curled, your legs are longer, every part of you is not your own. Your hair, the colour of your eyes, the damn figure of your body, you don't look like yourself. Your nose is too straight, your smile lines are gone, your cheeks are rosey. Your hands aren't worn in the right places, maybe not at all, where are your burn marks from the stove, your calluses from your work, the cheap, chipped nail polish. You can't walk on these legs, these aren't the legs that took your first step, they aren't the legs you scraped learning to ride a bike, these legs haven't carried you through your life.

And what of these people who know you? No, not you, the person you're living in. It's their name you must respond to, their memories you must bluff through, their fate you must live through. You must abandon all sense of self to survive, you can never be yourself again because you died, you never existed here, because you are someone else now. You have been pulled on stage without a script, how long until they realize? That you can only echo back what they've said? That their child doesn't know their parent anymore? Their childhood friend, their lover, their rival.

What about them? Did they die for you to take their place? Have they taken yours? What have they endured, what did they love, why did this happen, how are you suppose to carry on when you have you have no idea if they're safe? Every good thing that happens to you should have been theirs, every bad thing that happens to you they've had ten times over.

What about the complete loss of your original world, hm? Especially in a fantasy world. You will never stand in your childhood home again, never eat your regional dish again, never hear the popular songs on the radio. Everyone you have ever known is in a world divorced from the one you are trapped in. You will never see them again and they will never know why.

You are an imposter in every meaning of the word, you never wanted to be, and you can never stop, and no one will ever understand because you're the only real person in this world. You will always be alone, in your happiest ending, you will never escape the world you were dragged out of to be reborn.

Stopping Time

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Prompt: FFF264 Counting Clocks

Info: Just a snippet from the villain of a project I am working on. Blood Mages are similar to vampires in that they deal with blood and are functionally immortal, but are notably a separate creature type in this story. They deal in insanity and explosive blood rather than drinking blood.

Story Warnings: Dealing with the death of a loved one and descriptions of blood/body horror. There is an image at the end that contains a dead body with detailed injuries.

Five hundred and eighty-seven clocks, only thirteen shy of another century. Passing his thumb over the face of an old model, Luis smiled at the memory of his love hurriedly rushing towards him with her prize. she'd given him one for every year they'd been together, and every time she presented it, her face would beam with an unfathomable joy, melting his heart.

From the gold chained pocket watch he kept in his breast pocket, to the towering grandfather clock in the corner of their sitting room, each device was a precious treasure that he cared for long past their intended expirations.

He'd always had a fondness for time keeping devices, but when his love started to give them as gifts, Luis had formed a bit of an obsession with them. For years he had derived great enjoyment in the constant task of winding them up, and keeping each one perfectly on time to the half second. It kept him content that he was doing something, and the constant need for routine had stopped him from going mad on more than one occasion while his partner was out hunting. In all of their time together the clocks had always been operational.

Now staring at the walls of clocks which had come to a standstill, Luis was haunted by the absence of their familiar ticking. She was gone, and with her, Luis had lost his anchor. It was a simple enough process to form another attachment, but five hundered and eighty-seven years couldn't just be ignored, especially when it had been spent with her. No, the position could only be filled by his love at this point.

Standing slowly, Luis ran a shaking hand through his hair as blood began to boil over and seep through his skin coating every inch of his body. He could feel her even now, a gentle wind resting on his shoulders keeping him from bursting at the seams. The witches would pay for their crimes and then he would be reunited with her one way or another.

"Please wait for me Love."

Skin peeled away as his form faded into the growing shadows. Luis, arbiter of his abominable race, once more, dropped the fragile veil of his sanity to hunt.

On the hunt for a new clock, Jade was attacked and killed by a group of tech witches. (It's a bit of a weird story...)

Hope builds slowly..

"When does the hurt end?" I think as I see his blue hat, I remember feeling blessed with his memory when he gave it.

Now it's a reminder of all that I've lost, all that he lost and doesn't care about.

But one day I search for a hat to wear and see I have more than just that one,

There's memories attached to the bucket hat, the banana hat and the one from the place I used to work.

Today I choose banana hat and remember my sisters laugh when she saw it. We were just starting out in the world, but we were building it slowly.

I put it own and it reminds me I'm more than others fingerprints.

I am my own, and I will find many more happy sunrises with other people.

It happens slowly, but if you just keep going it ends, I promise.

I think we sometimes forget that our parents are people too. We put them on a pedestal and in the process forget that our dads are not just fathers. We expect them to be perfect and always say the right thing but we often forget that they don't tell us about their past, they don't tell us about what they've been through. I sometimes forget that my dad isn't the youngest child, he was an older brother. He lost his sister to a disease that wasn't even that fatal. He couldnt be with her during her last moments and I bet he blames himself for not reaching there sooner because being a doctor, he could've even saved her. We should know about these things but our parents don't tell us, so we don't. We should know why our parents are the way that they are but maybe when we know what made them that way, maybe we'll understand them too.