So, I have decided to rewrite the entire story without informing everyone. The original version started on a whim, without any real plot and gradually, I felt it wasn't right for me and for the readers. Moreover, this resulted in plot holes and ridiculous cliche things.
With this version, I made many big changes, many major changes. But I hope it will come up to your expectations.
and actually, this is self insert, the sin of all fanfiction writers. the thirst. and i can't believe i'm writing one.
because... Dominique is my favorite OC.
notes: please read other SI/OC fics from other fandom, they are much better fics than this.
To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.
Never before in her life had she wanted to meet Albus Dumbledore in person and punched him in the face.
On the second thought, she couldn't really blame him, for Albus Dumbledore was exactly what Rowling described him, brilliant and powerful.
But her mind wasn't well-organised, so obviously, she didn't think death was a next great adventure, especially when she didn't even remember how she died.
Yes, died. And she couldn't feel anything. Her supposed death was just beyond comprehension, a flash of lightning there, a sudden pain in the chest here, and it happened.
Okay, maybe she really didn't want to remember, maybe it was a dark part of her very existence that she wanted to forget, maybe something frightening happened to her little world - but whatever happened, she concluded, couldn't deny the fact that describing death was beyond her.
Good, she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to talk if no one listened and no one believed, because what was the point? She had been living a pointless life (people whispered) and did many pointless things (people laughed).
She was so high in the air and a deafening ringing sounded out in her ears, maybe the echoes of voice, maybe of thunder, maybe there was only her own thought that kept repeating and repeating in her empty head. It was coming, and while it wasn't an instant death she'd expected, it was one nonetheless.
Oh.
When were the dead going to? Heaven or Hell? She could have sighed, really, because she knew she deserved the heaven. She was a good little girl, in her good little world, not harming even a fly - she could have laughed.
She wanted to laugh badly.
So, she didn't go to any place, because it was nothing. The dead couldn't feel, but through her blurring eyes, she could see it was nothing. It was so white, and she closed her eyes again.
Fuck that shit. The fact it was white or black or grey or red didn't matter, because what the dead could do anyway? She gave in to this vastness, to this silence, to this nothing.
She was ready to let go, she wished to go, she wished to -
Again, fuck that shit.
Because like usual, she had the luck. Maybe the higher power above was moody when they read her wish, so they messed up.
xxxx
"Wake up, wake up -" This was indeed the most horrible thing that could happen. Being able to hear thing was bad. Being able to feel something dropping on your skin was even more daunting (water, gosh, she could tell she was lying under the rain, what kind of person lying under the rain, on the muddy ground anyway? Not her, definitely not her.)
The voice she heard continued and echoed, and her ears were working and the world was falling apart.
(There was something maddeningly beautiful about the way the world fell around her, oh, tell me something I don't know.)
A drip on her eyelashes.
(floating machines - alarmingly familiar - blazed across the already darken sky.)
Another on her noise, she felt tickling.
(a girl - or young woman, grey eyes like zinc, swing her cutlass)
Another on her mouth, and it tasted cold.
(she sliced one machine in half and forgot there were more behind her.)
It was overwhelming, and she was choking, how could that woman survive?
(there was too much blood on her face, and grey eyes turned red at the sight of omeone falling down in front of her. The girl let out a scream of agony and it struck her head very hard that she felt like it was her screaming instead, and she couldn't comprehend whose brain that kept singing murmuring humming repetitive pleas and players of whywhywhywhy)
Her eyes snapped open, memories burning in her mind, and the scream wasn't just in dream anymore.
xxxx
"Your name is Dominique La Rue". The man in white-colored, hooded jacket told her a foreign name, and she could read the worry in his eyes. "Dominique La Rue. Exorcist. Black Order. Does anything ring a bell?"
She asked. "Are you sure?"
He nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry for your loss. Chris was close to you."
"Chris?"
"You don't remember? He was your Finder companion in this mission."
She blinked. None of this made sense to her at all. But at least she knew where she was now. She could have laughed, really, if moving lips hadn't hurt like a bitch.
The Finder pondered for a moment, before asking again: "Do you remember anything?"
She shook her head. Oh, this happened many times on fiction, right? When a person suddenly woke up in another body, they pretended they had forgotten anything. Incredibly helpful, may she add.
She glanced out the window, to avoid the Finder's eyes, to avoid the whiteness of hospital. She couldn't move, her legs were injured badly by Akuma, her back got a stab by the one level two, and she almost got killed by the Akuma's poison, but she'd survived, and the others were relieved, and they could wait until she was better, so they could come back to the Order and reported the mission - as if they had been used to it, as if it was normal.
In this world, nothing was normal. A world that young people, the ones chosen by something called Innocence, had to fight against a clan of deadly fighters, a clan that fell under the hatred towards human.
- but in the canon world, there was no exorcist called Dominique La Rue.
How Daphne kills the mood: Slow update. I'm sorry.
