I HAD ALL AND THEN MOST OF YOU | death

[Margaery]

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MARGAERY MIKAELSON-FOLIE

I am not the only traveler
Who has not repaid his debt
I've been searching for a trail to follow again
Take me back to the night we met

A garden was a beautiful place to die.

She appreciated it idly, a shaky breath drawn in, held, and then released, the faint aroma of roses successful in calming her. Perhaps she'd close her eyes and meditate before her end inevitably came, contemplating things that she could not understand before her immortality was stripped of her and her life claimed. "I love you. I'm so proud of you. Thank you. Thank you so much." The words echoed in her mind, meaningless, a mere reminder of events that had transpired just moments before, moments that were skewed and unintelligible now. The only thing he had left her with was an innate understanding of what was about to happen. At least she was at peace. At least she was going with an old friend.

At least Margaery Emilia Mikaelson-Folie wasn't afraid.

"Maarit, are you ready?"

The voice did not startle her. Perhaps it might have, if things had been different and her memories had been intact. But Margaery had taken special precautions to ensure that everything that made her her lived on in a different way, in Bastilleprisoner. He possessed her goodbyes too. Not that she knew that, she didn't know much of anything as she turned towards the obsidian jaguar. [color=#b59693]"Selene," She began quietly, the name weighing heavy on her tongue. She observed the goddess for a few seconds, stormy-blue gaze unwavering. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid. The more she recited the command in her head, the more it became her reality, the chill in her veins dissipating as a smile blossomed upon her lips.

[color=#b59693]"It's been a glorious ride, darling. I'm ready."

It was all the confirmation Selene needed.

Lips would part to whisper one more thing, one more promise. It was barely audible, more of a whistle of the wind than anything else. [color=#b59693]"I love you, Suiteheart. Always and forever."

Roses blossomed all around her just after the words fell from her mouth, certainly a poetic end as she crumpled to the ground.

It had indeed been a glorious ride.

But every story had to come to a close and Margaery's story had perhaps gone on for too long. One thousand years of life, after all, was more of a curse than anything else. At least she was free now though, finally relieved of the burden of immortality, of vampirism, of her father and her pain.

Even in death, her heart was so full.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Haunted by the ghost of you
Take me back to the night we met

(this is short and sweet bc margy is dying peaceful and happy and that's all that matters. i'll be back with a new character very very shortly!! <3 also props to anyone who recognized that grassina and i matched our thread lyrics lmao)

[ONISION.]

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ONISION M.F.
FIREBALL && ASCENDANTS
6 MONTHS OLD
TAGS

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[div style="width: 310px; font-family: verdana; color: #B07224; text-align: left; padding-top: 15px; padding-left: 10px"]BROKEN, RUINED, DEAD.

Onision was a terrible son. He picked favorites, loved one person more than the other. One could say it was true that Margaery was the favorite out of his two mothers, maybe it was because she was around more often. Maybe it was because she was first to greet him when he was released from the dark, scary observatory.

He was terrible for feeling this way.

Oni was stuck feeling this way, the deep remorse he felt when Suiteheart had been swept up into the waves of the ocean. Maybe it was destiny, that both of his mothers died together, in some way. They both made the decision, little did he know. He didn't know much of what was happening. Why did they both leave?

Onision knew, faintly, that if Suite went, Margaery would too. Home, something Onision never really understood. For a creature who could live for hundreds of years, home felt so far away. The Fireball felt like something was missing inside of him, like the very smell of his own house made him sick. He couldn't be here anymore. He had to get out.

If immortality was a curse, Onision had no damned idea of it yet. What killed him inside was the fact that he knew, he knew that he was doomed to live a long time. Doomed to watch his boyfriend die before him, doomed to have his children follow that same fate. Maybe it was a curse.

Onision laid outside of his house, unwavering as the voice of Margaery faded through his head. He couldn't sleep. He was afraid to. He was afraid, terrified, of falling asleep, and the sounds of his mothers voices leaving his head forever. Afraid that he would never hear them again, and so he remained awake, tired eyes staring at the moon above him.

Faintly, he hoped that his mothers were satisfied. He had to take care of his siblings now, it was his job. Just the thought of this was so unappealing to Oni right now, though. He just wanted to remember the sound of his mothers voice, to hear it like a record playing on repeat. Over, and over, and over again.

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© MADI

[Grimm]

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Where the heart might reside if not a place where the head may find a gentle surface, the faces of whose who have come before and whose laughter seem silver bells, so gentle and sweet, objects cherished in a way few understand and brush aside for it seems a childish act. Caught within the silvered web of memory, softened by the harsh touch of nostalgia, it comes in many ways and none all at once, so fragile is it to hold, a concept more than it is an actual thing.

And yet to speak of the lose of such, to find your heart calling for those fragments it had gifted to special few and find only the echo coming back, it hurts in a way none may truly understand without feeling it themself. It is a silver knife pressed to the chest, blade sinking within the skin and so easily parting muscle, finding the heart struggling to beat. It is tears which gather about the chin and fall, so like diamonds as they sparkle, ugly sobs tearing through the body as you scream and beg, pleading for something never to be yours once more. So why do we continue to form these bonds, to allow people to become our homes, impermanent and so fragile, given to a love time tears apart with jagged claws?

Because there is nothing to life if it is not touched with love, no matter the end if might come to find.

They had felt the lose twice before, heart twisting in their chest though they had never understood the grief, all too young the first and shock had touched them, curling their belly until all they could offer was faint murmurs, speaking of a dream. This was different. Older and given to basic experience, if enough to understand, there was no large event nor build up, nothing to twist their mind and make it difficult to understand. Some part of them whispered of Suiteheart, the news of her departure too easily spread, something they had not wanted to believe, had hoped to be little more than a baseless, if cruel, rumour. And yet their stomach clenched as small dark paws beat a slow step into the earth, drawing them towards the garden, driven on by the smell of roses.

“Margy,” croaky tone rose from pale lips and already those eyes, so bright and golden, touched with a gentle innocence time had tried to hard to tear from them, shone with tears. It was all they could muster, the strength ebbing from them as she came into view, face scrunching up though the tears fell silent. About their chin they gathered until they fell, each a pretty little jewel sparkling for but seconds before it made contact with the earth, silence broken by a soft whimper.

It seemed thoughtless, each step jerky and given to lock joints that made them seem almost robotic, faint sound raising until it became soft words. “Please, wake up,” reaching down they pressed a tiny nose against her cheek, nudged ever so slightly, hoping she wasn't gone. Too late again. Teeth closed around their tongue and yet it couldn't contain the sobs, each tearing through the tiny body, shaking it until they couldn't stand any longer, collapsing by her. It took a great deal of strength but finally they pulled themself closer, curling against her, feeling her warmth fade. “I'm sorry...”

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]The reality was that it was fucking impossible to love what death doesn't touch. You could run from it all you want. You could shelter your loved ones against the ruthless, hideous inevitablity of it all in hopes they'd be the one exception, but the Grim Reaper, or the Angel of Death, or Hades, or whoever the fuck it was you worshipped in the name of flat-lining hearts-- they don't care. They're not gonna' reconsider once they hear your sobs. They're not gonna' hold back, no matter how hard you beg. And Moon's begged, before. Hasn't everyone? It doesn't work.

He's angry when he sees Margaery. He's seen corpses before and he's loved corpses before, but a foolish part of him thought that, here, in the land of endless plains and relentless fields of flowers, he'd escaped it. No one here died. Except they did. There was a dead one in front of him, now, and the same fucking flowers were all around her. He was an idiot to think it'd end in any other way. That it'd all last.

Harland's voice is what snaps him out of it all. He sees the kitten curl up at her side, and with his broken, coarse pleads comes a surge of something that's drives up Moon's throat and wraps its ugly fingers around his windpipe -- and he doesn't know why Margaery mattered to him, why the short space of time they spent together made him feel like he was somehow loved, but it had, and he doesn't know what to do about it-- so he sobs. A quiet, sharp noise from his mouth before he clamps his jaws shut and reaches out to Har, one paw shaky as he touches the kittens shoulder, a silent invitation to come to him, instead of the cooling vessel he lies beside. He doesn't know what to say, and he wracks his brain for something, but when he finally does, the words that come out are more warm than anything. No longer does he feel angry and frustrated and cheated. Instead, a teary laugh comes from his throat when he wipes his paw across his eyes, and he thinks, she deserves the well earned rest she'll get, up on cloud nine. "Stay sparkly, Fangs."

— TAGS

[Luciferr]

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ETERNALWAR

SPINOSAURUS

ASCENDANTS

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ah death,

the exiles often laughed in the face of it, dancing away from its reach and yet inevitably it came for them all - but they'd always had the outlook that while inevitable it was just another thing to deal with, one last great hurrah before the end was something they'd all sort.

it was why it'd hurt so much when Alci, dear ol man, had been robbed of a last great hurrah by some sneak - and why she now still sought to hunt down the culprit.

but these people, these ascendants all seemed to mostly want a quiet death, a full one - and in its way it was the same as theirs even if it was no great headlong charge into the inevitable, there was something to be said about a softer ending.

the great spined queen was merely a sentinel here, yet she dipped her head to the skies "ere's to you margaritta, hope yer happy up there" before she moved away from the mourners humming a quiet song that sounded something reminiscent of the one both hotelhell and margerine had caught her singing once - it had been something customary to hers to not be sad for a life well lived after all.

"-Let's go have some fun before, They put us in the ground~"

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© LEXASPERATED

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]He had no time to finish his cigarette before he heard of another observer dropping just after he had visited Suiteheart's...location of passing, a demise found on the waters. As such the stench of smoke still lingered around the demon as he rushed on over to find Onision and Eternalwar again, along with the company of Harland and Moonmade this time. It was none other than Margaery, the wife of Suiteheart...and one of his customers. He had no intentions of retrieving the dagger from her. Now was not the time to think of his possessions.

"Soulmates, huh? Best be livin' it up in Heaven with each other," he drawled softly as he stopped just before the roses that surrounded Margaery's body. It surely could not be a coincidence that once one member passed away in alleged peace, her wife and the mother to her children were to drop on the same day.

But Zjarr could feel that this death, too, was not one out of spite. Perhaps it was a pact between the two, to die together and follow each other up the vast stairway to Heaven (if the song was even remotely accurate) to spend their time there, free from the plight of attempting to lead a mortal lifestyle with the curse of immortality. Sometimes dead was simply better. Or perhaps he had an overactive imagination and inaccurately drew clues from both of their deaths. But with seemingly no perpetrator involved, it felt very true.

"Do you miss her, Zjarr?"

The piercing, distinct voice of none other than Silas "Flamey" Ignibus touched his ears, and his ears alone.

"Did you think you would have her forever?"

The damned cripple didn't speak of Margaery, or Suiteheart, or anyone here. He spoke of Snowblind.

"Or were you going to leave her?"

SHUT UP, YA BASTARD! YOU DON'T KNOW ME! DON'T EVER SPEAK TO ME EVER FUCKING AGAIN, YOU IRRELEVANT SON OF A BITCH!

Silence followed as the cyborg wolf looked down upon his body. He was quivering, a soft growl exiting his lips that he just now noticed. He felt the strangest emotion that was all too similar to that of hate: envy. And such an emotion filled him with guilt soon after he processed it. Envious? Of the dead? Of these two? Ah, man, you really are off the deep end, aren't ya?

With a soft huff he would finally turn on his heels and run off, his heart pounding and his muscles tense. The faint heat of rage boiled within him, and now was not the time to tend to his rage when he was meant to sympathize with those who were so deeply impacted by the recent losses of the Ascendants. The loss of people he silently respected and would honor as the role models and mothers of an entire Clan.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]how'd it get so scandalous?[/glow] — ☼

[★ HAZEL]

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as love filled night gives way to day

For days, Hazel could feel the chill. Its cold, familiar claws sunk into her spine, dragged nails against chalkboard in her ears like she was supposed to do something. It called out her name, whispered it on the wind to brush against the shell of her ear. Hazel hadn't a clue what it was waiting for. The pit in her stomach grew heavier every day until she was walking on her toes, waiting for an aura to flicker and fade like candlelight. Anticipation made her heart beat heavy with dread until she could barely stand it: the chill never gave her warning. Not in advance. It was always sudden, always a whirlwind of uncertainty and terror and you weren't fast enough. She was in a constant race with Death, and catching it seemed to be impossible.

The day Margaery Folie-Mikaelson's body crumpled to the ground for the last time, Hazel felt it like a whip of winter wind. It froze her veins solid; it froze her mind, her body: the chill slamming into her rib cage with such force she audibly gasped, winded. A flurry of scents pressed themselves against her nose: roses, wildflowers, perfume. A warm chuckle echoed in her ears. Velvet scrunched beneath her paws. Hazel blinked, breathing too hard for something that happened in a split moment.

Hazel didn't remember moving. She didn't recall the brush of grass or the blue of the sky. She only felt the tug of something morbidly awful draw her ever closer to the cloying scent of roses. She followed the bubbling dread and utter terror rising in the back of her throat, because she already knew what this was. She'd felt it for days; had been anticipating something big for days. Had stuck near Bastille because of it, honestly, worried it might be him.

Roses parted by a breeze, exposing the night terror that was turning into reality. Hazel felt the scene suck the air from her lungs, felt it leave her lips on a breathless sob. Others were there: Harland and Moon and Etty and Zjarr, but it wasn't as if she acknowledged them. Nor did she acknowledge the earth splinter beneath her touch and the trove of sapphire and lapis lazuli stones that filled the cracks. Tears welled in her throat, blocked her airway and choked her, waiting for her to breathe again. Hazel didn't, not wanting to breathe in a world where Margaery didn't. To live in a world where Margaery didn't.

Part of her thought this would be temporary, like the times before; part of her thought that this wasn't final. The other part of her knew better. The prolonged chill that haunted her confirmed as much, whispering wordless things in her ear.

As she stared, fat tears rolling down her face, Hazel realized this was...it. Never again would she hear Margy's warm laugh, or feel relief when she walked into a room. No longer would Hazel have that source of comfort wherever she went; no longer would she feel that motherly protection, that soothing knowledge of being loved in such an unconditional, loyal way. In the way that only mothers could. Memories flashed vividly in her mind, of soft nights and soft lights and grateful hugs and soft thank you's. Of Latin nicknames, of excitement bubbling so fast between the two of them that English would fail them and Latin danced on their lips like old friends from an old world.

Because never again would Hazel have Margaery.

Slowly, Hazel moved to sit near Margaery's head, heedless of the tears dripping onto the chocolate's point soft fur. "Amabo, noli me relinquere non poteris...possum vivere nec sine te," She croaked, English failing her. "Cito Est - Im 'non parati te perdere, Margy..." Every word was harder; every word felt thicker on her tongue. In her mind, she knew Margy was lost to them and she was pleading with a higher power, but...Hazel couldn't stop, not even when tears blurred her vision and she pressed her nose against Margy's cold fur. "Please, I can't lose you...you helped return my childhood to me -" Her wisp of a voice broke on a sob. "Iterum tu mihi est familia."

(Amabo, noli me relinquere non poteris...possum vivere nec sine te. - Please, do not leave me...I cannot handle life without you.
Cito Est - Im 'non parati te perdere, Margy ... It's too soon - I'm not ready to lose you, Margy...
Iterum tu mihi est familia. you gave me a family again.)

HAZEL E CAELUM — THE ASCENDANTS — MOODBOARD — PLAYLIST — TAGS

© MADI

[Warringkingdoms]

  [font=trebuchet ms]Over the course of three and a half months, Rin had seen enough death for a lifetime.

  Part of her wondered if she should even bother grieving anymore, when it happened so often, and she never knew if it would stick or not. Starrynight had never returned. Margaery had returned after a few days, and Suiteheart had taken about the same time a few weeks later. Maes had never returned, though in his case there was magic involved that had most likely damaged or destroyed his soul. Bastille was alive again within minutes.

  Death was her puppeteer, and despite seeing the strings, she could not stop herself from going through the motions. She could not stop herself from feeling, from fighting, from fearing. What it was she feared, she wasn't sure anymore. Was it abandonment? Was it the guilt of knowing someone else had suffered when she could have saved them? Was it the possibility of the clan crumbling to ruin if the bloodshed continued?

  Perhaps... she feared the day when each of her clanmates would eventually be gone for good.

  The soft scent of roses could not hide the stench of death, even without blood to herald the reaper's arrival. Rin had dreaded the moment when she would find out who had been snatched away, but she knew it would be better for her to discover the body than someone younger and more innocent. (Too late to accomplish that, she reflected bitterly as whimpers rang through the air.)

  The sight of Margaery lying lifeless in a bed of roses was comparable to being struck head-on by a car.

  Rin stood, frozen to the spot, without a mark on her- yet she could almost feel herself being flung across the field, her broken legs crumpling uselessly beneath her, blood pouring from where she had been hit. Compared to hearing about her close friend's death secondhand, finding the body in person was so much worse. There was no denying what her own eyes could see.

  She was reminded, her eyes honing in on Margaery's peaceful smile, of how things had been just a few months prior. How tired the vampire had been of living, how much she had been going through- and how much worse it had gotten just a few weeks ago, after falling out with Suiteheart. She had suffered several lifetimes' worth of grief and loss.

  This, Rin could tell deep within herself, was the look of someone who had accepted death, who would not be coming back. Though she had no idea how she even understood that, she felt a pang of empathy for the tired and the fallen.

  Once upon a time, she had thought that to grieve for the dead was to express anger, or feel that it was unfair, or to want them back in the world of the living at the expense of their own freedom. She had thought there was always someone to blame, even if that someone was just the mysterious forces at work in the universe. There was always an ulterior motive behind every anguished wail, even if it was nothing more than self-pity or greed.

  She had felt that she had no right to cry.

  Now, however, tears streaked freely down her face, and she made no attempt to stop them. Margaery was happy now, wherever she was. Rin understood that much, understood there was no underlying cause behind this sudden tragedy beyond mere exhaustion with life. She could not, would not beg her friend to return, to a world of troubles and trials. They would see each other again someday, be it in the next life or otherwise.

  For now, though, this was goodbye. For once, she would let that be reason enough to cry.

  It was then that the very conspicuous absence of Suiteheart struck her. Rin could detect a very faint scent on Margaery's form, but Suite herself was nowhere to be seen.

  Biting her lip, she murmured, "Hold on." Who she wanted to hold on, or what she wanted them to hold on for, was unclear. Perhaps she meant Margaery, perhaps she meant the grieving Harland and Moonmade, perhaps she meant the garden that surrounded them. It did not matter, in the grand scheme of things.

  With that, she bolted off, off to find Suiteheart. It only made sense that the two would go to their deaths together, but she could not just leave another friend to die.

[Grimm]

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And come to him they do. It does not matter how hard they try to hold it back the cage of their teeth can hold the sound back for only so long and forth does the croaking sob flow, words lost now within it. Against Moon's leg they fall, small paws locking around the extremity, refusing to release him. Damned be their feelings, this gentle want to not hurt again, it had lead to nothing but hardship and so Harland let themself lean into gold dusted fur, sobs swallowed in it as they nestle closer, unable to offer the proper goodbye their heart longs to give.

There would be time enough for that, for now the child would grieve with bitter tears, let it tear at them until there was nothing left and do their best to pick up the pieces once all was done.