From Rachel, and, huh.

You Are a Hunter Soul

You are driven and ambitious - totally self motivated to succeed Actively working to achieve what you want, you are skillful in many areas. You are a natural predator with strong instincts ... and more than a little demanding. You are creative, energetic, and an extremely powerful force. An outdoors person, you like animals and relate to them better than people. You tend to have an explosive personality, but also a good sense of humor. People sometimes see you as arrogant or a know it all. You tend to be a bit of a loner, though you hate to be alone. Souls you are most compatible with: Seeker Soul and Peacemaker Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

I'm fairly sure when I did this one before I was a Newborn Soul. That's odd.

for just_sayit: Exasperated Slayer is exasperated.

[How does the world function? Seriously. People keep showing up at the hospital with highly specific forms of amnesia, all attacked by some dark mysterious figure in the same general area and no one suspects a thing? No one says "Oh, huh, isn't that WEIRD?" And okay, sure, there was trauma involved, but it was minimal at best. Honestly. Things like this just don't happen every day.

NYC has a demon about. It is soooooo demon ass kicking time.]

[TWP] Picture prompt

Picture Prompt


Her head hurts.

Pounds. Every heartbeat like a hammer to her temples. Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom.

She tries to stand. That’s a mistake. The ensuing bout of nausea and vomiting only intensifies the pain, which then intensifies the nausea and makes her stomach heave again and again. The vicious cycle continues until there’s nothing left to purge.

Her arms shake, but she manages to push herself back, away from the puddle of stomach contents before she collapses. The jagged concrete isn’t comfortable, jabbing into her skin, but it’s cold. It soothes the feverish heat racing across her forehead.

( She doesn't know where she is. )

[MM] "Man In the Long Black Coat" lyrics

She never said nothin', there was nothin' she wrote
She's gone with the man in the long black coat

[continued from here]

Her breath fogs the air. It’s a struggle to keep walking. It’s so bright. And so loud. And her head hurts. And everything in her wants to sink to the sidewalk and clutch at her head and cover her ears and wait for the hurting to stop. But she keeps walking, palm flat against the brick building to her left for constant support, forcing herself to stay upright.

Nothing looks familiar. Nothing sounds or smells or feels familiar. She doesn’t remember walking this street or turning this corner or every laying eyes on this stretch of concrete sidewalk before. Her insides twist and she has to stop walking so that her stomach doesn’t heave, so that the pain doesn’t explode behind her eyes again. She pushes through it and propels herself forward. Something will have to look familiar eventually. She had to have gotten here somehow.

She follows the sidewalks when the pain subsides and she can function. She wanders. No one looks at her twice, and she’s too dazed to even think to ask for help. Eventually someone calls her name. She doesn’t turn because she doesn’t recognize it as hers.

A hand touches her arm. She doesn’t jerk away or scream, merely turns and looks into the wholly unfamiliar face of the its owner. Shock of red through dark hair. Dark eyes. Fair skin. Black coat. “Bee,” he keeps saying. “Bee. Baileigh. Bee.”

She shakes her head slowly. Tears gather along her eyelids, like some part of her realizes that she’s broken, but she doesn‘t feel the sting of them. “I don’t…know.”

But he must know her…right? Why else would be have chased her down a crowded street? Why else would he still be talking, why else would he hold out his hand to take hers?

She takes it without thinking, without knowing to think, to mistrust, to even wonder who he is, and how he knows her name.

Baileigh. He tells her that her name is Baileigh, and when he speaks it, yes…yes, that’s her name. She knows it. And yet…

And yet even in knowing that, her name, her name…she doesn’t really remember who she is.

How can she know her name with such clarity, such certainty, and not know who she is?