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+---- Thread: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" (/showthread.php?tid=6312)
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THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - BASTILLEPAW - 09-18-2018
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
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He finds himself in the clearing again, predictably. Maybe this should be expected by now, and it sort of is, in a twisted way. He stands silently looking blankly at the souls around him, chest burning with phantom flames. There's a beat and then Zaniel says, sounding amused and a bit sly, "We really have to stop meeting like this."
The silence breaks, and Bastille glares at him. Echo simply looks highly unimpressed, as if disdainful that Bast seems to have gotten himself into this situation, again. The clear judgment riles his nerves, and Bast gripes a bit childishly, as if somehow comparing stupid deaths could save his pride, "At least I didn't drown."
"At least I didn't bite my wrists," Echo shoots back, immediate, the words crisp and cold. They both look, simultaneously, at Pollie — because it may be a jab at Bastille but technically Pollie was accountable for it, too.
He actually looks a bit apologetic, almost sheepish. Bastille stares at him and realizes that his looks less solid than the others, less tangible; realizes that his eyes are softer and less feral than they've been in the past, voice soft as he provides, "Sorry." Abruptly it occurs to him that he's looking at Pollie as he was before he died, and isn't that a strange development.
Nevertheless, Bastille snorts derisively at his apology, and is irritated that the noise is mirrored in Echo. He hates when he finds himself aligning most with him, of all these assholes, and he snorts one more time as if to make it clear that he is still judging Echo for judging him.
"Well, at least you can't bitch at me about not ODing," Zaniel cuts in, sounding delighted to be breaking the tension with his bullshit. Bast gives him a nasty look, less then pleased to be reminded that somehow, it was Zaniel that he shared a death with. He opted instead for stewing in moody silence, deciding that he had no interest in talking to any one them. To himself. Whatever.
It is in the silence that he realizes that there is no idle heartbeat drumming in the clearing, and he's not sure why that surprises him. He knows that the Pitt bastard took his heart — really? — but somehow the silence is strange and unfamiliar. It is also in the silence that he finds himself looking at Grimmkit, scowling at the tiny, still form.
Green eyes bore into him just as creepily as they always do, and Bastille finally caves. "Why didn't my powers work?" he demands, certain that he had the answers, certain that this was his fault, somehow. The vague chill of deja vu that hit him back there. The eerie sense that he'd been there before, and not just in this clearing. The sudden failure of his powers. It was always Grimm's fault.
No response.
Bastille huffs in irritation but doesn't bother trying to force acknowledgement. Grimm never answers him when they're here, trapped in the quiet stillness of the clearing, hanging in limbo. He just stared expectantly and waited, as if Bast knew how the hell he was supposed to get himself out of here. Maybe this time nothing would happen and the clearing would finally just fade to darkness. Or maybe he'd be trapped here with these assholes, forever.
"This is bullshit," he announces, met with more silence. Great. Now even himself wouldn't talk to him.
In the end, Valkyr leaves him on the border, there and gone. There's a note that only reads "sorry", cryptically enough, but that's about the only indication of how their seraph ended up on their border, fur sticky and matted with blood; the wound gaping in his chest was obscured by the rest of his body, but that amount of blood seemed to suggest that his immobility was a bit more final. Ironically, it was a fairly familiar sight, to those who'd been here in the beginning — it was almost the exact spot on the border he'd been dumped last time, only this time he was bloody.
[align=center][table][tr][td]The silence breaks, and Bastille glares at him. Echo simply looks highly unimpressed, as if disdainful that Bast seems to have gotten himself into this situation, again. The clear judgment riles his nerves, and Bast gripes a bit childishly, as if somehow comparing stupid deaths could save his pride, "At least I didn't drown."
"At least I didn't bite my wrists," Echo shoots back, immediate, the words crisp and cold. They both look, simultaneously, at Pollie — because it may be a jab at Bastille but technically Pollie was accountable for it, too.
He actually looks a bit apologetic, almost sheepish. Bastille stares at him and realizes that his looks less solid than the others, less tangible; realizes that his eyes are softer and less feral than they've been in the past, voice soft as he provides, "Sorry." Abruptly it occurs to him that he's looking at Pollie as he was before he died, and isn't that a strange development.
Nevertheless, Bastille snorts derisively at his apology, and is irritated that the noise is mirrored in Echo. He hates when he finds himself aligning most with him, of all these assholes, and he snorts one more time as if to make it clear that he is still judging Echo for judging him.
"Well, at least you can't bitch at me about not ODing," Zaniel cuts in, sounding delighted to be breaking the tension with his bullshit. Bast gives him a nasty look, less then pleased to be reminded that somehow, it was Zaniel that he shared a death with. He opted instead for stewing in moody silence, deciding that he had no interest in talking to any one them. To himself. Whatever.
It is in the silence that he realizes that there is no idle heartbeat drumming in the clearing, and he's not sure why that surprises him. He knows that the Pitt bastard took his heart — really? — but somehow the silence is strange and unfamiliar. It is also in the silence that he finds himself looking at Grimmkit, scowling at the tiny, still form.
Green eyes bore into him just as creepily as they always do, and Bastille finally caves. "Why didn't my powers work?" he demands, certain that he had the answers, certain that this was his fault, somehow. The vague chill of deja vu that hit him back there. The eerie sense that he'd been there before, and not just in this clearing. The sudden failure of his powers. It was always Grimm's fault.
No response.
Bastille huffs in irritation but doesn't bother trying to force acknowledgement. Grimm never answers him when they're here, trapped in the quiet stillness of the clearing, hanging in limbo. He just stared expectantly and waited, as if Bast knew how the hell he was supposed to get himself out of here. Maybe this time nothing would happen and the clearing would finally just fade to darkness. Or maybe he'd be trapped here with these assholes, forever.
"This is bullshit," he announces, met with more silence. Great. Now even himself wouldn't talk to him.
In the end, Valkyr leaves him on the border, there and gone. There's a note that only reads "sorry", cryptically enough, but that's about the only indication of how their seraph ended up on their border, fur sticky and matted with blood; the wound gaping in his chest was obscured by the rest of his body, but that amount of blood seemed to suggest that his immobility was a bit more final. Ironically, it was a fairly familiar sight, to those who'd been here in the beginning — it was almost the exact spot on the border he'd been dumped last time, only this time he was bloody.
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE [color=#b4d5ee]FLAMES
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Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - ONISION. - 09-18-2018
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♦ -
/ retro to capture!
Onision had enough of death. He had enough of hearing about how the people he loved were in a "better place". No, that was a bullshit lie that only fools believed. His mothers ditched him, and didn't even say a word to him before they let their Goddess take them away. Oni was a vengeful little bastard when it came to this, but he was still a child. Still so, so fragile emotionally. The slightest things made him break down, made him hurt, but he kept his tough face on despite the holes in his walls from where he'd punched them out of anger, despite the amount of hot water he uses to ease his stress away in long baths.
Nothing was ever okay with death, Oni noticed.
He had been on a walk through the territory, his single blue eye flickering over the forestry before his vampiric senses kicked in, smelling the delicious scent of blood. Fresh blood, and it smelt amazing. Oni couldn't help himself, as he slinked through the trees, his fangs extending until they were visible on the side of his jaw. He saw a body, his eye narrowing into a slit as blackness took over the white around the ghostly blue iris. Who was that? His form slunk closer, and Oni finally saw the person clearly. "Bast? Shit, oh my god. IMPERIA! MOON!" Oni yowled out, shivering at the sight of his mentor and adoptive brother's blood-soaked fur. He needed to control himself, he couldn't lose control.
"Let me out.." Aloysius' voice echoed in his head, making Oni shake it relentlessly. Never. He wouldn't drink from Bast. He could starve for all he cared about, but he would never drink from a clanmate.
Oni was panicking, his paws shaking as he settled close to Bast, his nose buried into Bast's side as if just the action could bring him back.
Onision didn't realize he could cry in public, but he was. Hot, messy tears slid down the chocolate feline's cheeks as he wished for Bast to come back. This had to be a joke.
.. Please be a joke..
/ retro to capture!
Onision had enough of death. He had enough of hearing about how the people he loved were in a "better place". No, that was a bullshit lie that only fools believed. His mothers ditched him, and didn't even say a word to him before they let their Goddess take them away. Oni was a vengeful little bastard when it came to this, but he was still a child. Still so, so fragile emotionally. The slightest things made him break down, made him hurt, but he kept his tough face on despite the holes in his walls from where he'd punched them out of anger, despite the amount of hot water he uses to ease his stress away in long baths.
Nothing was ever okay with death, Oni noticed.
He had been on a walk through the territory, his single blue eye flickering over the forestry before his vampiric senses kicked in, smelling the delicious scent of blood. Fresh blood, and it smelt amazing. Oni couldn't help himself, as he slinked through the trees, his fangs extending until they were visible on the side of his jaw. He saw a body, his eye narrowing into a slit as blackness took over the white around the ghostly blue iris. Who was that? His form slunk closer, and Oni finally saw the person clearly. "Bast? Shit, oh my god. IMPERIA! MOON!" Oni yowled out, shivering at the sight of his mentor and adoptive brother's blood-soaked fur. He needed to control himself, he couldn't lose control.
"Let me out.." Aloysius' voice echoed in his head, making Oni shake it relentlessly. Never. He wouldn't drink from Bast. He could starve for all he cared about, but he would never drink from a clanmate.
Oni was panicking, his paws shaking as he settled close to Bast, his nose buried into Bast's side as if just the action could bring him back.
Onision didn't realize he could cry in public, but he was. Hot, messy tears slid down the chocolate feline's cheeks as he wished for Bast to come back. This had to be a joke.
.. Please be a joke..
[align=center]YOU'RE HARD TO HUG
ONISION MIKAELSON-FOLIE
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
© ceilidh
Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - MOONMADE - 09-18-2018
[size=9pt]Moon was the fool who came running no matter who it was who called.
'Stupid boy thinks he's a hero,' his mother would sneer, and he'd shrink in on himself and tell himself, next time- next time he'd clasp his claws in the dirt and stay put 'till the too-loud sound of suffering faded. But he never did. He never had the self control.
So here he comes, a one-man stampede, propelling himself through the fields because he's got a good nose, and that's blood he smells. That's Oni's scream he hears and it's not the typical snarky bullshit; he knows the voice of someone who just witnessed nightmare material when he hears it. He's heaving in breaths by the time he stumbles through the undergrowth to Onision's side, and only half of his, "What--" slips out before it catches like a fishhook on his tonsils and dies a quick death.
See, they were never really friends. Moon doesn't know much of friendship, but he's pretty sure it goes at least a step further than constant back-and-forward. They could have been. Had he knocked on Bast's door on one of his 3am strolls through the Observatory's halls, it's possible they could have had some weird talk and maybe, possibly, have gotten to like each other. But now he lies before Moon, a cooling corpse, and Moon's seen this too many times. But not enough for him to be properly desensitized. He hasn't hit that sweet spot just yet.
"Fuck. Jesus. Fuck." He hovers near the feline, paws floating in the air above his body helplessly until he finds it in himself to do something. His paws get painted red, lukewarm and sticky in a way that makes him sick, but he presses against the gash that pours, some stupid attempt to piece him back together. 'Quick,' part of him mummers, 'fix him before Hazel gets here.' But there's no helping that gap in his chest. He can only stare through it, a voyeur to the Bast's crimson filling, and suck in steady breaths to fight the nausea that was rising fast. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?" A low whine, quiet and frantic, but there's nothing he can do, and he's starting to realize.
'Stupid boy thinks he's a hero,' his mother would sneer, and he'd shrink in on himself and tell himself, next time- next time he'd clasp his claws in the dirt and stay put 'till the too-loud sound of suffering faded. But he never did. He never had the self control.
So here he comes, a one-man stampede, propelling himself through the fields because he's got a good nose, and that's blood he smells. That's Oni's scream he hears and it's not the typical snarky bullshit; he knows the voice of someone who just witnessed nightmare material when he hears it. He's heaving in breaths by the time he stumbles through the undergrowth to Onision's side, and only half of his, "What--" slips out before it catches like a fishhook on his tonsils and dies a quick death.
See, they were never really friends. Moon doesn't know much of friendship, but he's pretty sure it goes at least a step further than constant back-and-forward. They could have been. Had he knocked on Bast's door on one of his 3am strolls through the Observatory's halls, it's possible they could have had some weird talk and maybe, possibly, have gotten to like each other. But now he lies before Moon, a cooling corpse, and Moon's seen this too many times. But not enough for him to be properly desensitized. He hasn't hit that sweet spot just yet.
"Fuck. Jesus. Fuck." He hovers near the feline, paws floating in the air above his body helplessly until he finds it in himself to do something. His paws get painted red, lukewarm and sticky in a way that makes him sick, but he presses against the gash that pours, some stupid attempt to piece him back together. 'Quick,' part of him mummers, 'fix him before Hazel gets here.' But there's no helping that gap in his chest. He can only stare through it, a voyeur to the Bast's crimson filling, and suck in steady breaths to fight the nausea that was rising fast. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?" A low whine, quiet and frantic, but there's nothing he can do, and he's starting to realize.
Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - Feyre - 09-18-2018
☽ ☽ ☽
[color=#ac5847]"Who hurt him?"
Flames danced brazenly at her paws, growing and growing and growing in size until they nearly obstructed her from view, the smoke that rose from them threatening to smother her. She held steady as she stared at the crumpled form of Bastille, an unfamiliar wave of emotion cascading into her trembling form. Higher. Higher. Higher. The flames were getting higher. She could still see him though, could still see the blood that matted his body and that haphazardly written note. Sorry. Did sorry truly cut it?
She couldn't explain why she felt the way she did, just that she could barely contain herself. Her body was throwing itself into an imbalance as it attempted to maintain the fire and Fey felt the aftermath of that struggle via a sharp pain in the side of her head and the trickle of blood from her nose. Enough, and then, the flames were gone, leaving only a shaky witch in their place. [color=#ac5847]"I can find him!" She suddenly insisted, teetering on her paws, [color=#ac5847]"I can find him and everything will be okay!" But she hadn't been able to find her parents. They had been lost to her amidst a sea of the deceased- would the same thing happen here? No, she had to try. She had to.
But as she searched for that familiar thread of the other side, she found that she was far too weak and far too emotional to even attempt communication. That falter in control (as if she had had any to begin with, let's be honest) had taken too much out of her. It'd be hours, maybe even days, before she could search for him. But that wasn't good enough. She liked Bast, had been innately drawn to him... Why? Why was he gone? Why would someone kill him?
Feyre had never truly mourned for the dead until this particular moment in time, tears fresh and hot cascading over her cheeks.
[color=#ac5847]"You can't die..." She whispered, [color=#ac5847]"You were supposed to be my family."
Flames danced brazenly at her paws, growing and growing and growing in size until they nearly obstructed her from view, the smoke that rose from them threatening to smother her. She held steady as she stared at the crumpled form of Bastille, an unfamiliar wave of emotion cascading into her trembling form. Higher. Higher. Higher. The flames were getting higher. She could still see him though, could still see the blood that matted his body and that haphazardly written note. Sorry. Did sorry truly cut it?
She couldn't explain why she felt the way she did, just that she could barely contain herself. Her body was throwing itself into an imbalance as it attempted to maintain the fire and Fey felt the aftermath of that struggle via a sharp pain in the side of her head and the trickle of blood from her nose. Enough, and then, the flames were gone, leaving only a shaky witch in their place. [color=#ac5847]"I can find him!" She suddenly insisted, teetering on her paws, [color=#ac5847]"I can find him and everything will be okay!" But she hadn't been able to find her parents. They had been lost to her amidst a sea of the deceased- would the same thing happen here? No, she had to try. She had to.
But as she searched for that familiar thread of the other side, she found that she was far too weak and far too emotional to even attempt communication. That falter in control (as if she had had any to begin with, let's be honest) had taken too much out of her. It'd be hours, maybe even days, before she could search for him. But that wasn't good enough. She liked Bast, had been innately drawn to him... Why? Why was he gone? Why would someone kill him?
Feyre had never truly mourned for the dead until this particular moment in time, tears fresh and hot cascading over her cheeks.
[color=#ac5847]"You can't die..." She whispered, [color=#ac5847]"You were supposed to be my family."
Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - MirrorEdge - 09-18-2018
"Bast?" Death was something she was used to, but Thea was... unsettled by this. Because Bast had been the one who often separated her fights, and she stood, a few feet away, a blank stare on her face. "He's not dead. He can't be dead." She finally spoke after a few long moments, her voice lacking the proper amount of emotion. He couldn't be. He was strong. Strong enough that he had her respect. Somebody that she'd actually listen to. In her twisted mind, this made him immortal. An immortal person could not be killed, right? Not unless it was somebody stronger. And there couldn't be somebody stronger, right? That was the only way she still functioned, her broken mind not quite processing this.
Yet the alarming amount of blood said differently, and the 'sorry' written next to it. Who did that? If they actually managed to kill Bast, if, they should be proud. Not sorry. Maybe they were sorry because they couldn't kill him? For now, the Arabian leopard sat there, confused and unsure what to do, pale blue eyes holding an unreadable emotion.
Yet the alarming amount of blood said differently, and the 'sorry' written next to it. Who did that? If they actually managed to kill Bast, if, they should be proud. Not sorry. Maybe they were sorry because they couldn't kill him? For now, the Arabian leopard sat there, confused and unsure what to do, pale blue eyes holding an unreadable emotion.
Template by Quill
Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - ★ HAZEL - 09-18-2018
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as love filled night gives way to day
(and now it's a human au because mii is a thot also this is RUSHED AS HELL)
There was something about the boy with the cold eyes and dark curls that sank into her heart. There was something in those freckles and those wise fingers that she couldn't place; something that was so utterly mortal and ensnaring about how he worked. How he seemed so much more than human and still completely susceptible to the perfect human flaws. Everything about him was a goddamn enigma that pulled her closer, and it drove her mad.
Part of the time she couldn't believe she was so lucky. Because part of the time, she was pressed against him, inhaling that smoke and pine scent that clung to all his clothes and letting the sound of his heartbeat give her something to focus on, the warmth of his skin against hers creating a physical solace she'd never experienced before. She could hear his soft words, his gentle hands - his fleeting touches, his smile. That pale, pale stare.
The other part of the time, she couldn't believe she was capable of witnessing that soft side of him. Not while she watched his lips wrap around the rim of a wine glass; not while she felt his crushing grip when he was scared to let go and not while he was at the epicenter of a power malfunction, with wind ripping at the trees and lightning crashing overhead because he couldn't get a grip on it.
But in the end, the second half of her experiences rarely mattered, because there was always a way to bring him back. That was what she believed, anyway. She noticed the way he looked at her; she noticed the way their bond would draw taut when something was wrong or they wandered too far away from the other.
The thread strung between them had tightened in the past few hours, sending Hazel into a panic, urgency pushing her blood through her veins. There was a cold dread sinking in her stomach, and she didn't like it - didn't like it one bit. She didn't get far before pain seared across the line, driving a pike through her chest and the girl gasped where she stood, heartbeat pounding in her ears. She doubled over, stumbling back into the wall. It was like she couldn't breathe - couldn't quite draw the oxygen into her lungs, where it needed to go -
The panic tightened. It squeezed her heart, and she shoved past the pain, pushing it back along the bond, trying to move - and then, silence.
The pain ceased, and her pulse quieted. The bond was eerily calm, fading in the background of white noise in her ears.
And she ran.
Hazel sprinted as fast as she could, unable to take the blaring sense of something gone wrong - something so very, very wrong; something so wrong she didn't notice the icy slide of Death's claws down her spine. Feet pounding, the girl finally appeared on the scene, tears already rolling down her cheeks. It didn't take long to spot the body, the blood - the gaping hole in his chest.
"No," Hazel cried. "No!" Her shriek wobbled.
Deep in her mind she felt something shatter; something irreplaceable and timeless. Something like trust and security and comfort and a whole other mess of things a person needed to feel safe and happy. Beneath her, the earth groaned. It split: deep gouges splintering from the grass at her feet. A choked sob worked its way out of her throat, and she slid to her knees, unable to tear her eyes away, even when gemstones began to pop up.
"Non relinquam vos volo mihi," The girl whispered to the boy with the cold eyes and the dark curls.
(Non relinquam vos volo mihi. - you weren't supposed to leave me too.)
There was something about the boy with the cold eyes and dark curls that sank into her heart. There was something in those freckles and those wise fingers that she couldn't place; something that was so utterly mortal and ensnaring about how he worked. How he seemed so much more than human and still completely susceptible to the perfect human flaws. Everything about him was a goddamn enigma that pulled her closer, and it drove her mad.
Part of the time she couldn't believe she was so lucky. Because part of the time, she was pressed against him, inhaling that smoke and pine scent that clung to all his clothes and letting the sound of his heartbeat give her something to focus on, the warmth of his skin against hers creating a physical solace she'd never experienced before. She could hear his soft words, his gentle hands - his fleeting touches, his smile. That pale, pale stare.
The other part of the time, she couldn't believe she was capable of witnessing that soft side of him. Not while she watched his lips wrap around the rim of a wine glass; not while she felt his crushing grip when he was scared to let go and not while he was at the epicenter of a power malfunction, with wind ripping at the trees and lightning crashing overhead because he couldn't get a grip on it.
But in the end, the second half of her experiences rarely mattered, because there was always a way to bring him back. That was what she believed, anyway. She noticed the way he looked at her; she noticed the way their bond would draw taut when something was wrong or they wandered too far away from the other.
The thread strung between them had tightened in the past few hours, sending Hazel into a panic, urgency pushing her blood through her veins. There was a cold dread sinking in her stomach, and she didn't like it - didn't like it one bit. She didn't get far before pain seared across the line, driving a pike through her chest and the girl gasped where she stood, heartbeat pounding in her ears. She doubled over, stumbling back into the wall. It was like she couldn't breathe - couldn't quite draw the oxygen into her lungs, where it needed to go -
The panic tightened. It squeezed her heart, and she shoved past the pain, pushing it back along the bond, trying to move - and then, silence.
The pain ceased, and her pulse quieted. The bond was eerily calm, fading in the background of white noise in her ears.
And she ran.
Hazel sprinted as fast as she could, unable to take the blaring sense of something gone wrong - something so very, very wrong; something so wrong she didn't notice the icy slide of Death's claws down her spine. Feet pounding, the girl finally appeared on the scene, tears already rolling down her cheeks. It didn't take long to spot the body, the blood - the gaping hole in his chest.
"No," Hazel cried. "No!" Her shriek wobbled.
Deep in her mind she felt something shatter; something irreplaceable and timeless. Something like trust and security and comfort and a whole other mess of things a person needed to feel safe and happy. Beneath her, the earth groaned. It split: deep gouges splintering from the grass at her feet. A choked sob worked its way out of her throat, and she slid to her knees, unable to tear her eyes away, even when gemstones began to pop up.
"Non relinquam vos volo mihi," The girl whispered to the boy with the cold eyes and the dark curls.
(Non relinquam vos volo mihi. - you weren't supposed to leave me too.)
© MADI
Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - ONISION. - 09-18-2018
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♦ -
//since SOMEONE DECIDED this was now a human au. tyrants.
Onision watched idly as others came to the scene of Bast's bleeding body, brown hair messy and unkempt from lack of sleep. How dare they act all sad? How dare Thea act this way? "I can't do this." Oni suddenly stood up from his place on the ground, pulling his leather jacket closer to his body when he saw Hazel lower herself to cry for her.. Lover? Friend? Oni never got the chance to ask his adoptive brother about the relationship between the two. Well, it didn't matter. Not anymore.
Bast had left them, and Oni wasn't going to sit around and mourn. He would never mourn, not anymore. A single blue eye glanced back at his groupmates before the teenaged boy uneasily attempted to walk off, a hand tugging distractedly at his hair. He needed a drink, he needed to go to Tanglewood and ask that Delilah woman for weed or something. Anything. He didn't want to remember this happened. He didn't want to believe it.
But death was so normal, wasn't it? Not for him. He was cursed, cursed to live for thousands of years and live while everyone else he ever cared about, died.
"..O vere modo sol facit, me spernit. Hoc sanctum est."
translation: Oh, how the sun truly does despise me. This must be holy punishment.
//since SOMEONE DECIDED this was now a human au. tyrants.
Onision watched idly as others came to the scene of Bast's bleeding body, brown hair messy and unkempt from lack of sleep. How dare they act all sad? How dare Thea act this way? "I can't do this." Oni suddenly stood up from his place on the ground, pulling his leather jacket closer to his body when he saw Hazel lower herself to cry for her.. Lover? Friend? Oni never got the chance to ask his adoptive brother about the relationship between the two. Well, it didn't matter. Not anymore.
Bast had left them, and Oni wasn't going to sit around and mourn. He would never mourn, not anymore. A single blue eye glanced back at his groupmates before the teenaged boy uneasily attempted to walk off, a hand tugging distractedly at his hair. He needed a drink, he needed to go to Tanglewood and ask that Delilah woman for weed or something. Anything. He didn't want to remember this happened. He didn't want to believe it.
But death was so normal, wasn't it? Not for him. He was cursed, cursed to live for thousands of years and live while everyone else he ever cared about, died.
"..O vere modo sol facit, me spernit. Hoc sanctum est."
translation: Oh, how the sun truly does despise me. This must be holy punishment.
[align=center]YOU'RE HARD TO HUG
ONISION MIKAELSON-FOLIE
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
© ceilidh
Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - BASTILLEPAW - 09-19-2018
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
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The air stiffens and is suddenly heavily, almost too heavy to breathe; he can feel her immediately, the way everything shifts just the slightest bit as their distant bond tightens and pulls taut. The heady scent of vanilla fills the clearing, and Echo cocks his head to the side, rolling his eyes. Unimpressed, as usual. They already knew how this went — how many times had he found himself stuck here before, alerted to the fact that it wasn't permanent by the same tell-tale signs? — and the stealth-walker looked annoyed by the wait, as always.
"Ha," Zaniel says, eyes lighting up in the exact manner that said he had nothing good to say, "God, I love waking up to—"
"Shut up," Bastille cuts him off, irritable and— and burning. His chest heats with vicious flames, and it feels like his blood is burning; it's white-hot and uncomfortable, pushing and spreading out from his center as if he still has a heart to pump the molten blood outwards, and he pressed his palm to his chest with a frown. Fuck. That hurts more than it ever had before (usually it was just a slight tang of heat taking over, the fire-poker brand tracing over his neck, his wrists), and he's on his knees before he realizes it, brought down by the force of the fire licking through him.
He tilts his head up, teeth gritted, and finds himself eye-level with Grimm's blank green eyes. "You never answered me," he says, bitter, but the familiar vanilla-honey-warm-cinnamon smell is practically suffocating, his lungs burning as he inhales jaggedly, going light-headed; golden radiance flickers along the edges of his vision and he knows immediately that she's closer now, there, pulling and yanking and wrenching him back just as she always did; burning him on the alter and scooping up the damned ashes.
"Fuck," he hisses as mist rises in the clearing, everything hazy; his chest is still on fire when it all vanishes.
His skin is on fire. Despite the expected chill, he's warm — too warm, even, burning up and clammy as the heat radiates from his chest and spreads just as rapidly as it had back there, heating even more under the press of Hazel's fingers. Impossibly, his skin knits and crawls and forces itself back together sluggishly, slowing the outpour of blood and pushing together to form thin lines of red peaking through the tears of his shirt, instead.
The burning is the first thing he feels, golden flames making it all sear with pain; distantly, he realizes he must have broken a rib or two either in the fall or when Valkyr tore into him — he can feel it snapping back into place in a way that hurts worst than the breaking and it's all fire, fire, fire. It takes him a beat after he's really come to consciousness to be functioning through the pain, still light-headed with the golden light flashing in the darkness and the vanilla choking him.
Her aura and the intensity of her golden eyes hanging over him are just as blinding as always when he blinks at her, vision still blurry and hazy as fire curls in the pit of his chest. No pulse, nothing — his heartbeat doesn't pick up at her proximity because he realizes, like a side thought, that he doesn't presently have one. Everything still burns like hell and it hurts to breathe, and he has the brief, bizarre thought of Valkyr's trophy going up in flames as his body tried to reclaim the ashes. Unlikely, really — he had no idea how Grimm ever healed his broken vessel, but the deranged mental image had him huffing a laugh before he could stop himself.
And then he focused a little more intently on Hazel, on the molten gold pressing from her fingers into his burning chest, and he grinned with a bloody mouth like an idiot because... he was an idiot. And possibly a bit delirious. "Hey, princess," he said, voice rough and scratchy in the same manner as it was after a particularly deep sleep, "Beck said yes." He could feel her panic, the terror, the hysteria bubbling through their bond, but it was distant, weak; everything was just a little too muted and dazed and he couldn't pretend that he was actually concerned for his own wellbeing because... Well. He wasn't. And the first thing that came to mind and out of his mouth was probably one of the stupidest things he'd said to her yet.
[align=center][table][tr][td]"Ha," Zaniel says, eyes lighting up in the exact manner that said he had nothing good to say, "God, I love waking up to—"
"Shut up," Bastille cuts him off, irritable and— and burning. His chest heats with vicious flames, and it feels like his blood is burning; it's white-hot and uncomfortable, pushing and spreading out from his center as if he still has a heart to pump the molten blood outwards, and he pressed his palm to his chest with a frown. Fuck. That hurts more than it ever had before (usually it was just a slight tang of heat taking over, the fire-poker brand tracing over his neck, his wrists), and he's on his knees before he realizes it, brought down by the force of the fire licking through him.
He tilts his head up, teeth gritted, and finds himself eye-level with Grimm's blank green eyes. "You never answered me," he says, bitter, but the familiar vanilla-honey-warm-cinnamon smell is practically suffocating, his lungs burning as he inhales jaggedly, going light-headed; golden radiance flickers along the edges of his vision and he knows immediately that she's closer now, there, pulling and yanking and wrenching him back just as she always did; burning him on the alter and scooping up the damned ashes.
"Fuck," he hisses as mist rises in the clearing, everything hazy; his chest is still on fire when it all vanishes.
His skin is on fire. Despite the expected chill, he's warm — too warm, even, burning up and clammy as the heat radiates from his chest and spreads just as rapidly as it had back there, heating even more under the press of Hazel's fingers. Impossibly, his skin knits and crawls and forces itself back together sluggishly, slowing the outpour of blood and pushing together to form thin lines of red peaking through the tears of his shirt, instead.
The burning is the first thing he feels, golden flames making it all sear with pain; distantly, he realizes he must have broken a rib or two either in the fall or when Valkyr tore into him — he can feel it snapping back into place in a way that hurts worst than the breaking and it's all fire, fire, fire. It takes him a beat after he's really come to consciousness to be functioning through the pain, still light-headed with the golden light flashing in the darkness and the vanilla choking him.
Her aura and the intensity of her golden eyes hanging over him are just as blinding as always when he blinks at her, vision still blurry and hazy as fire curls in the pit of his chest. No pulse, nothing — his heartbeat doesn't pick up at her proximity because he realizes, like a side thought, that he doesn't presently have one. Everything still burns like hell and it hurts to breathe, and he has the brief, bizarre thought of Valkyr's trophy going up in flames as his body tried to reclaim the ashes. Unlikely, really — he had no idea how Grimm ever healed his broken vessel, but the deranged mental image had him huffing a laugh before he could stop himself.
And then he focused a little more intently on Hazel, on the molten gold pressing from her fingers into his burning chest, and he grinned with a bloody mouth like an idiot because... he was an idiot. And possibly a bit delirious. "Hey, princess," he said, voice rough and scratchy in the same manner as it was after a particularly deep sleep, "Beck said yes." He could feel her panic, the terror, the hysteria bubbling through their bond, but it was distant, weak; everything was just a little too muted and dazed and he couldn't pretend that he was actually concerned for his own wellbeing because... Well. He wasn't. And the first thing that came to mind and out of his mouth was probably one of the stupidest things he'd said to her yet.
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE [color=#b4d5ee]FLAMES
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Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - ★ HAZEL - 09-19-2018
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HAZEL ELISE CAELUM ★ THE ASCENDANTS ★ COCOA FELINE ★ GOLD EYES ★ IMMORTAL ★ 3 SOULS ★ 11 MONTHS
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Hazel couldn't possibly have predicted the next few moments, as caught up in her misery as she was. Her fingers soaked red in his blood, hardly able to do much more than sit there and feel the warmth fade from his body. Was it creepy? Maybe. Morbid? Definitely. Not that she cared - the existence of the people behind her weren't even there in her mind. It was just that last drop of what she'd worked so hard to find, what she'd worked so hard to save and keep. All of it was spilling out in front of her, fading like she was cursed.
The tears wouldn't stop, and neither would the mumbled words of distress as she shook, wanting so badly to see those pale eyes open. She murmured apologies and promises, swearing that she'd keep them if he'd only open his eyes - she'd try harder, do better, be everything she wasn't already if he'd just open his eyes. Gems of all colors were bubbling to the surface: sapphire, lapis lazuli, ruby, malachite - her emotions were turbulent, never ending with the singular thought of I can't lose you too; I can't lose you too.
It hardly registered when a burning sensation ignited under her fingers. Hazel gasped as his skin went from freezing to searing in a matter of seconds, as the grotesque wound on his chest stitched itself back together. Astonishment had her wrenching her hand away, afraid and stupidly hopeful for what she was witnessing. Falling back onto her heels, Hazel felt her body break out in goosebumps as the bond between them reignited, a scorching fire racing along the line for a heartbeat.
Then those blue, blue eyes.
His voice was scratchy, harsh - it scraped his throat and sounded like he'd just woken up, like it was any other morning despite the hole in his chest that had disappeared moments ago. Hazel blinked, throat dry, at a loss for words. That nickname, she hadn't heard it in so long, and the next thing - out of his mouth -
Anger bubbled in her veins. She recalled that day, long ago, when he'd showed up near death in a similar fashion. She'd made him a promise then, that if he ever did something like that again, she'd kill him. And here he was, with the audacity to bring it up again - when he just died - when she still couldn't hear his heartbeat - Hazel grit her teeth and promptly raised a hand to smack him across the face.
"That -" She sputtered, brain windmilling wildly. "that is so not funny!" Her voice was hoarse, weak and shaking, still reeling. "I can't believe you - do you know how awful -" She was still crying, hesitating, no regret present in her expression for slapping the Astral Seraph because deus, what the fuck. She turned, ready to stomp back to the observatory and wallow in her shame, but she paused, staring at him, wanting to make sure he was really there before she pulled away.
[/td][/tr][/table]The tears wouldn't stop, and neither would the mumbled words of distress as she shook, wanting so badly to see those pale eyes open. She murmured apologies and promises, swearing that she'd keep them if he'd only open his eyes - she'd try harder, do better, be everything she wasn't already if he'd just open his eyes. Gems of all colors were bubbling to the surface: sapphire, lapis lazuli, ruby, malachite - her emotions were turbulent, never ending with the singular thought of I can't lose you too; I can't lose you too.
It hardly registered when a burning sensation ignited under her fingers. Hazel gasped as his skin went from freezing to searing in a matter of seconds, as the grotesque wound on his chest stitched itself back together. Astonishment had her wrenching her hand away, afraid and stupidly hopeful for what she was witnessing. Falling back onto her heels, Hazel felt her body break out in goosebumps as the bond between them reignited, a scorching fire racing along the line for a heartbeat.
Then those blue, blue eyes.
His voice was scratchy, harsh - it scraped his throat and sounded like he'd just woken up, like it was any other morning despite the hole in his chest that had disappeared moments ago. Hazel blinked, throat dry, at a loss for words. That nickname, she hadn't heard it in so long, and the next thing - out of his mouth -
Anger bubbled in her veins. She recalled that day, long ago, when he'd showed up near death in a similar fashion. She'd made him a promise then, that if he ever did something like that again, she'd kill him. And here he was, with the audacity to bring it up again - when he just died - when she still couldn't hear his heartbeat - Hazel grit her teeth and promptly raised a hand to smack him across the face.
"That -" She sputtered, brain windmilling wildly. "that is so not funny!" Her voice was hoarse, weak and shaking, still reeling. "I can't believe you - do you know how awful -" She was still crying, hesitating, no regret present in her expression for slapping the Astral Seraph because deus, what the fuck. She turned, ready to stomp back to the observatory and wallow in her shame, but she paused, staring at him, wanting to make sure he was really there before she pulled away.
TAGS . PLAYLIST . MOODBOARD . BIOGRAPHY . FERROKINESIS CHART
© MIITHERS
Re: THOUGHT I KNEW YOU | ""death"" - ONISION. - 09-19-2018
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♦ -
Hazel's yelling caused Onision to turn his head back, mumbling annoyed, distant words under his breath. "If he came back to life, I'm going to punch that idiot." Oni grumbled, making his way back over to the group to glance down, eyepatch shifting so he could let his scarred, missing eye breathe. "I swear to the gods if you ever pull a stunt like that again.." He growled, sitting down beside Hazel where he had previously been, his hands under his chin, his legs pulled up to his chest.
Hazel's yelling caused Onision to turn his head back, mumbling annoyed, distant words under his breath. "If he came back to life, I'm going to punch that idiot." Oni grumbled, making his way back over to the group to glance down, eyepatch shifting so he could let his scarred, missing eye breathe. "I swear to the gods if you ever pull a stunt like that again.." He growled, sitting down beside Hazel where he had previously been, his hands under his chin, his legs pulled up to his chest.
[align=center]YOU'RE HARD TO HUG
ONISION MIKAELSON-FOLIE
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
© ceilidh