Bastille was fucked.

He was self-aware enough to acknowledge that he could, at times, have a flare for the dramatic. His emotions, when they decided to exist, tended to boil over into the extremes very quickly. That was all fair, but this -- this was not being dramatic. This was cold, hard fucking facts. He was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked, and it'd taken him exactly 6 days since he'd woken up to Hazel's fingers in his hair golden warmth to realize he hadn't been imagining things. He was fucking obsessed. He couldn't go a whole hour without his thoughts straying to Hazel at least a couple of times, either because he felt a flicker through the bond, he was worrying about her and what Gen had said, or because something little and completely unrelated to her reminded him of her, somehow. She drew him to her stronger than any one else, bond or not, and he'd never seen an aura so bright in his entire fucking life. He knew it'd been her to pull him out of that clearing, to restart his heart; he knew she grounded him in a way he couldn't explain. He fucking knew all of the signs and it'd taken him thinking he'd killed her to realize just how horribly he loved her.

Gods, his own obliviousness shocked even himself, because he knew love. He may not have ever felt it himself, but he had past lives. He had felt the waves of their emotions crashing through him, could fall back on Grimm's stores and stores of memories if he had to. Bast could look at others and the way they acted and pin down love, easy. He liked to believe he was insightful enough not to miss something this fucking obvious, and yet here he was, finally admitting defeat in the face of the inevitable: he was in love with someone who could barely stand him, was far too good for his soul, and he was completely fucked.

Typical.

With a groan, the Seraph thumped his head back against the ground, sprawled out on his back outside of the bunker, because naturally, staring morosely at the sky was going to solve his problems. He knew it was doomed, because he was cursed and Fate hated him, and he wished not for the first time this week that he could erase his own memories as easily as others'. Then he could go back to obliviousness, and not feel like he was simultaneously living and dying every time he looked at Hazel. It was... pathetic. On top of it all, the addition turbulence was not sitting well with his souls. He was getting a headache just thinking about it, and in annoyance, he shoved hard back against the flickering clusters of memories floating upwards in his consciousness. Nope. Goodbye. He would suffer through his withdrawal, pining, and internal chaos without any more surprise guests or humiliating conversations. (He was not thinking about Hazel's-- Ti's paw on him or the warmth of her touch. Nope. Goodbye, squared.)

He closed his eyes in his frustration, and perhaps he would have noticed sooner if he hadn't. Alas, he didn't notice the yellow flowers of various arrays sprouting all around him until they started to bloom too close, brushing against his sides. Bast rolled over, opening his eyes, and stared at them blankly for a moment before sighing. "Stop that," he muttered, half-assed, as if they might actually listen to him. When nothing happened, he shook himself off and stood, pacing a few steps away from the mess so that he could burn it. To his dismay, more sprouted in his pawsteps, trailing him. "Fuck."

[b]BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — TAGS

One of the few downsides to controlling Margaery's body was her defective flowerprints. Roses bloomed perpetually in her wake, their colors often indicative of her current emotions. Red for happy. Maroon for angry. Yellow for excited. White for in love. There were so many different colors and so many different emotions that Genevieve, who could only produce wilted roses, was frankly tired of looking down and seeing the lifeless plants that she was creating over the once beautiful and lush ones that heeded to Margaery's call. Sure, she couldn't feel anything save hatred and hunger, but there had to be a color for that, right? Or had Margaery doomed her in that respect too? She wasn't surprised honestly, it seemed like a bitchy thing to do and therefore was right up her counterpart's alley.

But despite her own displeasure with her flowerprints, she couldn't help but cackle when she saw Bast surrounded by pretty, yellow blossoms. [b]"Make those yourself?" She inquired with a wink, poking at one of her own, thorny and dead flowers. It seemed as if he was better at making flowers than her (a fact that would typically bothered her had she not felt something so akin to amusement) and she wondered if he'd share some of his secrets. Not actually though, the less time she spent interacting with the load of imbeciles that Margaery considered her friends and family, the better. "Yellow... yellow... Who does that remind me of? Oh! Hazel! I still want to know when the wedding is! You two never told me last time!"

Bastille inhaled in annoyance when he heard Margy's voice, knowing that he was going to find Gen when he glanced up at her. While she often wasn't that too horrid towards him, he was a bit on edge towards her after what she'd said to Hazel, struggling to hold his hostility back. He gave her a morose look at her question, fairly displeased with this development, and sighed as he took another side step and the flowers followed. "Evidently," he huffed, scowling down at them.

His head jerked up at the Hazel's name, and he glared at her. Because-- fuck, she was right, wasn't she? His gaze filtered back down to the flowers, all shades of yellows and golds, and to his horror roses had started to bloom up in between them. "Shut up," he hissed at her, under his breath, and batted a particularly tall rose away from his face. As he took several more steps away from Gen, he realized that lilies were blossoming too, and he felt vaguely miserable.

Were these things really going to announce his company in... flower format? Gods. He felt the bond going warm and radiant, and he inhaled sharply as he looked up to find Hazel laughing. Which was... A rare thing, these days, and he stared at her for a moment as the happiness filtered through the bond and everything was fuzzy with warmth. There was a beat where he forgot the flowers and his irritation, and then she was commenting on them and he was flushing as even more yellow flowers popped up at Hazel's paws.

Fuck.

"Funny, how now flowers cooperate for me," he said dryly, glancing back up at her with a hint of a rueful smile.

[b]BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — TAGS