#avfatale

“the way you make sure i’m okay. no one has ever and will be able to put me in a sense of calm like you do and i can’t even use my power on you. you make me feel protected and safe and i always know that you’ll be there. we never had any sort of normal upbringing, but you were the one thing i could rely on when everything sucked. you help me both by loving me and because i know that you’ll literally kill for me if you think they hurt me.”

@avfatale

it’s funny actually, because habaek was just having a dream about falling.

dreams are like that though, aren’t they? psychedelic. timed oddly perfect, the body waking, jerking upwards just as the landing flies up, just as the noise wakes the dreamer, just in time, coordinated specifically from the universe to you, from the dreamscape to you, from the nether regions of hell, to you. in the dream, habaek is falling, and in the waking world the sky is falling and for a moment, he wonders if he has become the sky, if his bones have tumbled upwards to mix chaotically with the atmosphere, if that’s what all this means.

and then there is blackness and greyness and dust and habaek can hear the trees screaming his name as though they will forget him otherwise, he can hear ringing and gasping, coughing and rushing blood, and jagged, sharp shards of pain lancing up from where his leg is. from where his leg should be. it takes him longer than he would ever want to admit, to realize that he’s actually awake for this, that this is reality instead of just another nightmare (not that he would act any differently, always scrambling for freedom, for northward, for whatever breath he can catch), and the pain is as solid as it can get. he’s covered in rubble, his legs pinned to the ground, his room half in shambles, broken and bleeding and hanging over the edge of a crack in the flooring.

@avfatale

this time, he dreams of a war, and this time, he knows how to fight in it.

a horror-stained boy, charcoal black eyes and hands and armor, he molds himself into a warrior this time, a darkened knight, something coughed up from the dredges of tartarus, something vomited back from the edge of space, the shadowed side of the moon, the forgotten places between stars. this time, he is the scourge and he deserves every condemnation, every ghost story muttered under hidden breaths as he walks on by, worthy of the tattooed brand of villainy his father burned into his forehead, worthy of the myths of his birth, the way the earth cracked wide enough to behold him.

this time when habaek awakes and pulls the dragon into the world with him, he’s ready for it, ready for the scales and mouths and claws, ready for its multitude of eyes and tails, for the sixteen wings and insatiable hunger, ready for its fearsome snap-attack, its jaws biting and gnawing on him. habaek’s stiffness lasts a thankfully short amount of time, but it’s still enough for the creature to bend the black armor into his legs, the metal scratching against him, before habaek regains control of himself and slashes upwards with the sword-- a broad-bladed weapon, damn near taller than habaek himself, glowing and heated and singing. the creature breaks contact and then breaks through his window, out into the spring midday sunlight, taking part of the wall out with it on its retreat before twisting midair and diving downwards.

FATALE & JERICHO // the twins.

"do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? some things are too strange and too strong to be coincidences.”