ooc trigger warning for very brief suicide mention. Other than that, i think it’s safe! Important to note: this is a human au and this is not a panic attack. Just ti being a bitch ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Hazel didn’t want to sleep.

Which wasn’t uncommon these days, to be honest. The waking up in the middle of the night, the cold dread sliding down her back at the thought of being left alone in her room all night with nothing but her own mind to twist her thoughts. The shapes that haunted her silent room at three a.m, the misery that came with knowing another night had passed with little or no sleep.

There was the one moment of peace, brought on by Titanium’s little stunt when Bastille’s souls rolled, where Hazel had found peace. Where she had found a little slice of solace and sunlight. She felt warmth in her bones and energy in her veins for a day — was finally able to open her eyes all the way and fill her lungs entirely with each breath. No longer had she been walking on egg shells, fighting to keep her brain focused.

Since then, her foothold had begun to slip.

Days seemed to get longer. Her temper seemed to shorten. Jealousy was frequent and burned hot in her veins. Frustration laced every thought, her brain a constant wonder of people’s actual care. Didn’t they notice how tired she was? How she’d stop functioning after a couple days, holing herself away to ride out Titanium’s ranting and Bastille’s withdrawal? Or was she that invisible?

Not that she’d expected much else. There were so many people in the Ascendants — so many minds and bodies to care for and maintain. So many internal struggles that couldn’t be bothered to stop and pay attention to Hazel’s insomnia. That, she knew. It was why she tried to stay out of their way, only intervening and participating when absolutely necessary. She didn’t have the headspace or energy for much else, anyway. But it was always more than that — always the need to please, always the want to keep her name in good standards. To not fall into the place she had with Mother. It was why she had taken to her room, trying for a nap and hoping that sleeping during the day might make it easier.

She was wrong.

Falling asleep wasn’t hard, not when she was that exhausted. What was hard was the image that popped into her mind’s eye: a tree line, dusky and hazy to the eye; a perfect circle that surrounded a flat stretch of grass. Everything was awash in beige, muted with shadows and fog. It was quiet and serene, but eerily calm. No wind, no insect noises. It was silent. Which was funny, considering how Hazel could rarely catch a moment of silence these days.

Hazel herself was at the center of the clearing, still in shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling mechanical and trying to calm her slamming heartbeat. She was never this aware, this attuned during her dreams. Every move still felt like an echo and every sound still hollowed and bounced, but she was functioning. It was as if she wasn’t dreaming at all.

A whisper of noise had her pivoting on her heel, the grass tickling at her bare feet. She peered into the gloom and fog, heart racing, fearing the worst. But there was nothing; no sign of movement, or life —

Again, the noise brushed, just beyond her ear. Hazel flinched, a strangled shriek tearing out of her throat. It sounded like hair, fleeting across the shell of her ear. She couldn’t feel it, though. Couldn’t see it. But it was there, and there was something about it. Something that set her teeth on edge.

Hazel swallowed. She just wanted one minute of peaceful sleep, but she couldn’t even get that. She couldn’t have a happy childhood, couldn’t have a happy life; couldn’t get away from her past, couldn’t be near her best friend without fearing his next relapse or the idea of him abandoning her and now she couldn’t even sleep.

“Hazel.”

Hazel froze. Just...stopped dead, didn’t move a muscle while her veins turned to ice. While the voice drove fear deep into her spine, her mind, her soul. She didn’t want to turn around; she knew who it was — knew what she wanted, knew it because she heard her voice every single day —

“Turn, Princess.” Titanium leered, icy fingers latching onto Hazel’s shoulder as she leaned in close to her ear. “Turn around and show me those pretty golden eyes that glow.” Her voice, so soft, so delicate, dripped like searing candle wax, burning Hazel. A finger brushed down the line of her spine, slow and intent. Hazel bit back a scream. “It’s so funny how you have a spine,” Titanium whispered. “You certainly don’t show it.”

And Deus this was the worst kind of torture. So close to what Mother was like at home: that quiet danger that threatened so much, hid so much. Though Titanium had a particular twist of sadism lacing her voice, like she knew how uncomfortable Hazel was. As if she were taking stock of Hazel’s clenched fists and taut shoulders, the way she reeked of terror and submissiveness — assessing her to find a way to make it worse.

Hazel wanted to cry. She didn’t need this, not now; she just wanted some sleep, some peace —

“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques...”

Hazel felt Titanium’s hands on her freeze, nails digging in hard. Out of frustration, it seemed; Hazel didn’t care. All she could concentrate on was the soft blue light at the edge of her vision; the light that pierced the gloom. The light that reminded her of Bastille, if she was being honest. French words floated, soft and airy on the dead air. Delicacy laced the clearing. Titanium growled under her breath.

“Damn projecting onto dreams now, huh?” The wicked soul snarled. Hazel hardly heard her — she was desperately latching on to the warmth and comfort the gentle French radiated, wanting so badly to follow the song.

“Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?” 

Deus, it engulfed Hazel in the warmth and comfort she knew of only during the later moments of her panic attack: wrapped up in Bastille’s arms, that pale blue glowing in the edges of her vision. When Hazel leaned, trying to twist to see the woman who was singing — the woman who was always singing, always just in the corner of her dreams, just out of reach — Titanium snarled, clamping her hand down hard on the back of Hazel’s neck and shoving her towards the ground. Hazel fell to her knees, crying out with the shock.

“Can’t catch a moment alone, can we?” She hissed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll see you in the waking world. Night night, Princess.” Titanium shoved again, and the second Hazel’s nose hit the dirt, everything dissolved.

The girl woke with a cry, flinging herself forwards, fingers flying to her nose. In tact. Hazel buried her head in her hands, chest heaving, skin soaked in sweat. Fuck, she hated Titanium. She hated Titaniumstars with every fiber of her fucking being.

“That’s right, Hazel. How much do you hate me? How much do you hate that you can’t get rid of me, no matter what you do? Tell me about how hard I make your life,” Ti’s voice, silky and deadly, was stronger than before. Strong and loud enough so that Hazel couldn’t block it out.

But she could run.

Hazel tossed off her blankets, practically throwing herself off the bed. She didn’t stop when her feet hit cold cement; didn’t stop to grab shoes or explain anything to people nearby as she barreled down the hallway, up the stairs, and out the observatory into the sunset. Didn’t stop to think what Bastille might be feeling, what kind of panic and terror might be filtering through their bond. No, she kept running. Just kept running, feet pounding, lungs gasping, hair flying.

“Keep going,” Titanium outright cackled. “I’m sure you’ll outrun your own mind someday soon. I’m sure your feet will take you right off to Neverland if you had the chance, that you’d keep going until you killed yourself because that’s all you know, isn’t it, Hazel?” Hazel didn’t answer.

“Tell me, Hazel Elise Caelum, how terrible is your life? How awful is it to wake up every morning with a roof over your head and the promise of food in the kitchen?” Titanium cooed.

Hazel didn’t give her the satisfaction of a response.

“Tell me, how does it feel to walk out of the door and know people will talk and smile at you?” Hazel grit her teeth, knowing full well that Titanium was baiting her now. But that didn’t halt the flow of molten heat from flooding her veins, the slow simmer of anger growing with the adrenaline that pumped through her body with every pound of her feet.

“Tell me, Hazel, what is it like to think you have the whole world at your fingertips? To think that you can run from all your problems, your feelings?” Titanium bore down in her mind, volume increasing even further. “Tell me what it’s like to be such a coward that you can’t even stay in one place! Tell me what it’s like to be cherished and loved and to still be fucking selfish and cry like you have nothing, because the angel on your shoulder won’t shut up. Tell me why you’re taking on the big bad world when you can’t even let someone touch you!”

Suddenly, Hazel tripped. Over a rock, a root, her own two feet, whatever the fuck it was. She landed hard on her knees and hands, the momentum shocking her joints and bones, jolting with the pain. She yelped, hurt stuttering and halting everything for one half a second.

When she looked up, the clearing from her nightmares had replaced the far southern border of the Ascendant’s territory. In front of her, a skinny girl with hair the color of beach sand had her hands in fists, nails digging into her palms. She looked to be around Hazel’s age — seventeen, maybe eighteen. Hazel had never seen brown eyes look so cold, so dead and lifeless.

Hazel threw herself back on her heels as the girl advanced, speaking with Titanium’s voice. It wasn’t until she was almost right on top of Hazel that she noticed the hearing aid.

“You don’t know about pain, Hazel Caelum. You don’t know suffering. You don’t know what it’s like to be ignored all your life for something that wasn’t your fault. You don’t know what real hardship is because you’re self-absorbed and only care about what other people think of you!” She was yelling, and Hazel was already on the verge of tears.

She wanted to cry out, to yell back, say that she knew exactly what it was like to experience pain and suffering. But she didn’t.

“Nobody cared that I was deaf. Nobody cared that I didn’t know what my own voice sounded like, or that I’d never hear a bird sing or a wolf howl. Nobody cared when I watched my own father commit suicide when I was ten years old, or when my siblings disappeared, one by one. No one cared when I was made a medic and forced to see things no twelve year old should ever see. My single mother had duties and loyalties to the clan, to the people who were actually worth something because they had fucking functioning ears!” Titanium drove a foot hard into Hazel’s side, and the girl doubled over as the wind was knocked out of her, a strangled gasp tearing out of her throat. “You know what makes you so weak, Hazel? So cowardly? You’re dramatic. You make such a big deal out of every fucking thing and overanalyze every person you come across, thinking they might be your mother and they’ll get violent and swing at you! That’s what Mother couldn’t stand. That’s why she locked you in your room for days. You’re what drove her to drink, you fucking nuisance. If you would just get the fuck up and fight, you wouldn’t be so goddamn pathetic!”

Another kick. Hazel curled forward, clutching her stomach, gasping for breath. Anger was building, mounting, climbing — burning. It was smoldering, liquid-hot in her fingertips because Titanium didn’t fucking get it. Hazel had seen death. She’d seen pain, she’d seen fire and she’d seen rain. She’d seen too much, all of it seared into her brain like a brand. She’d learned from each of them, what not to do so it wouldn’t happen again. And that was why she didn’t fight back. Why she didn’t provoke people. Until someone proved themselves to Hazel as a good person — a genuinely good person — she would not give them her trust.

Hazel pushed out a harsh breath, but Titanium wasn’t finished. “They tip-toed around me like I was helpless. They danced around me, not doing a single goddamn thing to try and help me enjoy life. They didn’t do anything, you know that? All I ever did was help and heal them when they fell and broke a bone, and you know what I got for it? Jack shit. They thought I was breakable, that I was a piece of glass, that I was a burden!” Ti shouted. “What are you, Hazel? Are warrior? A healer? No, you’re a coward, is what you are.”

“I’m not,” Hazel muttered, tasting dirt on her tongue.

“Sorry, what was that?” Titanium sneered. “I didn’t quite catch what you said over the volume of how utterly pathetic you’re being. You don’t even know what kind of fucking cosmic dust you’re made of, and yet, you grovel in the dirt. You would bow at the feet of a prisoner if you thought they might hurt you. What are you, Hazel Elise Caelum? Are you a made of glass? Will you break if someone lays a finger on you? Or are you just weak? Are you just a coward, who can’t stand up for shit because there’s no backbone in that tiny little body of — “

“I’m not,” Hazel cried, louder, tears landing hard and fast on the dirt below.

“You’re not what?”

“I’m not a coward!” Hazel finally fucking screamed, slamming her fists against the ground.

And it all shattered.

The scene dissolved; Titanium disappeared. The ground rumbled, rolled — a deep, guttural noise that came from miles underneath the earth. Suddenly, with a great rip, solid rock split, splintering like fragile ice under the force of her hands. Hazel didn’t notice, though. She was too busy pulling herself up to sit, trying to dry the flowing tears because Titaniumstars was right. She was a coward, and weak and incapable and unable to live because it was in her blood.

Guess she was destined for ruin, no matter how far she ran.

tldr; it’s around sunset and Titaniumstars (one of her souls, aka the voice in her head) is being a real bitch, telling her all these nasty things and complaining about her own pathetic life. Hazel finally gets so angry she cracks, and the ground splits open. Ta-da! Earth elementals with a side of character development )

BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — [color=#21201c]TAGS
He could sense her, sometimes -- a phantom chill, skittering down his spine, only she was warm and airy and smelled like vanilla. He'd dream of the past, of those short years that she was with him; he'd see her so clearly, so vividly, her aura radiating through the memories. Sometimes, a faint signature would ping on his radar, drawing his head up in the middle of the day as he stared into the distance towards it. But she was faint, out of reach, never revealing herself to him entirely -- a ghost, slipping through the cracks. Bastille couldn't begin to understand what it meant. If his mother was out there, lurking close since she'd saved him, why was she keeping her distance? It didn't make any sense, and at times he thought he was imagining it. He must be. He still remembered that dainty little girl, standing over him with a smug smile and pretty flowers at her feet as she wrenched the sliver of his mother's soul out of him. Taking back what was hers, she'd called it, and then she was gone, leaving him to wither and shake on the ground as the alignment of his souls shattered.

Other times, he felt her so clearly he could hear her singing. He had wondered for some time how Hazel had known that song, the French falling from her tongue gracefully, as if she'd been born with the language as naturally as Latin: soft, lilting, drifting through the medic's room as her fingers combed softly through his hair. Maybe it was him, though. Maybe it was his thoughts, his memories, the soft lull of his mother's voice passing through the bond as he heard her singing so clearly. Could she hear it, as clearly as he could, sometimes? He wondered. (He never would have imagined that it was coming from her end, not his own.)

Tonight, she was singing in his dreams. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but there was something restless about it all, a frustration and fluttering sense of panic in his throat. He tossed and turned, never quite asleep and never quite awake, feeling it build and build at the base of his spine. It gnawed and lashed at him, sinking its claws into his skin, but he could never place it, never say what it was eating away at him, the tension rising and rising under the surface. He thrashed, shoving half the blankets off the bed, and felt feverish. This wasn't the same as the withdrawal, though. This was something deeper, setting his souls on edge, making it impossible to sleep and impossible to fully wake himself up.

And all the while, his mother sang in the distance.

It was the screaming that woke him up. High and desperate, angry, broken -- cutting straight through the haze of the chaotic abyss. "Hazel," he choked as he jerked, rolling out of bed as the awareness shot down his spine like lightning. He landed on his hands and knees, gasping as her emotions surged through the bond, stronger than before: everything that had been building and withering in his gut had erupted, white-hot flames and destruction shooting through his veins. His breaths came in jagged gasps as he struggled to get a grip, to place the source of the messy, awful things running under his skin, and then his own panic was rising to meet hers.

He had to find her, and he was on his feet in the next moment, chasing the golden thread linking them together with desperation. He was exhausted, her exhaustion in the wake of the explosion sinking into his bones, but he pushed through the haze. It was nothing he hadn't gotten used to, navigating the bond, and he would get through it now if it meant finding her.

(He didn't like the way things tapered off and sounded felt still in the aftermath, the way he sensed something big and then... nothing. Silence. Exhaustion. Defeat.)

He couldn't track her well enough to teleport, not with things so faint all of a sudden, but he ran faster, following in her footsteps as he pushed out of the Observatory and ran and ran. He was so relieved when he saw her that he almost tripped himself on the jagged crack in the earth, and he forced himself to stop, giving her space, sucking in a breath to calm his jittery heartbeat as he stared at her. Stared and made sure she was okay and felt something loosen and settle at the visual confirmation.

He wanted to grab her so desperately, but he breathed in once more, and slowly sank to a crouch. He sat on his heels as he stared at her across the fractured ground, breathing softly into the cold air, "That's my line, boo." He cleared his throat when his voice came out cracked, and murmured, "Are you okay?" He wanted to touch, to reassure, but he told himself not to. Give her space, give her space. Don't panic.

BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — [color=#21201c]TAGS
Bastille's gaze barely flickered sideways as he felt Peri approaching, the cool moonlight of her aura shining at the edges of his vision. He didn't move, seeing her as no threat to Hazel, but as she stepped past him and moved to keep moving forward, he realized where she was going. Warring instincts, rising and clashing together: he could feel the curl of possessiveness, of Pollutedsoul's jealousy snarling at any one who dared to get in her space when even he was being mindful of it, but there was a more convincing flare of protectiveness. Hazel barely tolerated his or Margy's touch; he had no idea how she would react to Peri getting too close or touching her. Cluttered motives aside, the result was the same, they both urged him to one action.

"Peri, don't," he breathed, trying to grab her wrist before she could step too far past him or breach the two feet divide. Bast held her fast (possibly), glancing sideways at her once more as he said lowly, "Don't touch her." He looked back to Hazel, then, stare running over her slowly, trying to regain that forced quiet that he'd imposed as he added, lighter, "Not unless she asks." Because he could remember the way her body went limp against him, how she relaxed eventually and leaned into the contact, the vague flutter of comfort in the bond -- but this was different. She wasn't panicking, not any more. This was the aftermath of her distress, the silence, the exhaustion. He wasn't sure that touch would be calming for her when she was already drained, had already fallen off the edge. His gaze dropped to the jagged crack separating them once more, and he smiled a bit ruefully as he dropped Peri's wrist.

Rubbing messily at her eyes with the heel of her palms, Hazel tried to ignore the itch and discomfort crawling along her skin with the scratch of grit and dirt. Her face was sticky with tears, and her cheeks burned with the shame of someone finding her in such a state of disarray: knees smudged with grass stains, eyes bloodshot and lashes wet. But it was all distant, pushed to a tiny spot on the horizon by the overwhelming amount of utter self loathing that engulfed her body.

Because it didn’t matter that she could make the earth tremble with a twitch of her fingers. It didn’t matter that she could bend the element to her will, because she’d never have the strength to use it against anybody. The concept of calling upon the very substance of the planet to swallow an enemy or crush a rival poured over her with dread, her breath hitching for the moment. She caught herself, trying to find a balance, trying to get to a place where she could open her eyes and see the scars on her arm and not think of a time when kitchen utensils ripped her open.

Not that it was much use. She couldn’t bare to look at herself at all without hearing Titanium’s words scream in her mind, letting her know how well she had it in comparison to the other girl’s life. Hazel curled, pressing her forehead to her knees and wrapping her arms overtop her head, fingers digging into her scalp.

Suddenly the itch under her muscles lessened, the weight on her chest lightening. Footsteps shuffled the grass and a familiar voice rumbled against her ear drums, worried and sleepy. Hazel pried her eyes open, squinting against the sun’s dying rays, trying to make out Bastille’s face. He was asking her a question — if she was okay. Which was a bad question, honestly, because she wasn’t, but.

“Yeah,” Hazel whispered, voice uneven. “Yeah. It’s not a panic attack this time.” You don’t need to baby me. The words went unspoken because, if given, they would sound bitter. She didn’t quite look at him, instead finding comfort in watching his hands. Part of her wanted to reach out and touch him, while the other part knew very well that she was just beyond the capability and mental sensitivity of handling that amount of sensation.

His line on her powers went unacknowledged, the memory of Bast’s own elemental struggles brief and fleeting in her current state. She might’ve said something — could have commented — but then Imperia was approaching, swift and sure-footed, and Hazel...well, she panicked, just a bit. Imperia hardly posed any threat as it was, more or less resembling a forest nymph to Hazel. But it didn’t really matter when her intent was clear. Hazel was scooting back, pushing herself farther from the two before her panic could bubble over into something unrecognizable. The earth fractured underneath her hands, unstable and rumbling.

Then something colorful and jagged scraped her fingertips. She didn’t pause to see what it was, leaving the orange topaz to glint in the sunset, too wrapped up in her own ongoings to notice the precious metal. “Sorry,” She apologized, watching a bit frantically as Bast aimed to grab Imperia and hold her back. “Sorry, sorry — I didn’t mean...sorry,” She spoke fruitlessly, burying her head in the valley of her knees once more. She just needed some sleep, some comfort...then she might be alright.

ooc i love shitty posts at 12:58am that i didn’t proofread