YOU CAN LIE BUT I KNOW THAT YOU'RE NOT FINE | PRIVATE

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

[color=#b14767]"Bastille, if you don't open this door right now I swear to the Gods above that I will break it off its hinges."

This was an awful decision.

But then again, she had been full of them as of late.

Her behavior had been so morally dodgy this past week that admittedly, she was losing sight of who she truly was. First, came the hunger that not even the well-stocked refrigerator and the loners she had slaughtered could sate. Then, came her impulsive decision to murder her mother as if she hadn't been the one to birth her all those centuries ago. Centuries... it was strange to think about, strange to even accept that she had lied to everyone, that she had walked on this planet far longer than she proclaimed, longer even then anyone else she knew. Immortality had treated her pleasantly until now, until this terrible pregnancy took away her sense of reason.

Until Bastille rejected her... rejected everyone.

She banged angrily upon his door, eyes surprisingly gray given her current emotional state. [color=#b14767]"Listen, among other things, I just killed my own mother and a couple loners and I"m having one hell of a week. Open the door please, I'm tired of you casting me aside. Suite aside. Hazel aside. I never did anything but care for you! I'll continue to care for you forever, Bastille, but if you don't open that door..." Margaery trailed off, frustration radiating off of her in waves.

What else was she to say? What else could she do? She was angry, unbelievably so, but those feelings were directed entirely at herself. Bast was misguided, lost. Starrynight's death had killed a part of him too it seemed and all Margaery wished to do was comfort him... even though the beast that lurked beneath her own skin dared her to grow dark with hatred. I could never hate him, She clarified with her subconscious, feeling displeasure wash over her in an almost instantaneous response, You won't make him hate me.

Perhaps that was Margaery's fatal flaw. Where most were cursed with excess hubris, she had too tender of a heart, even underneath the steel-lined thorns she guarded it with. Just like her mother, she gave out second chances like they were nothing, like her own conflicted feelings didn't matter. She had grown so accustomed to believing that she was an insignificant being that her own self-loathing had transformed into her Achilles-Heel of sorts. Her one weakness was her lack of belief in herself and her nearly impossible belief in others.

[color=#b14767]"Open the damn door."

She paused, refusing to give in to the sudden sting of tears in her eyes.

[color=#b14767]"Please."

[BASTILLEPAW]

AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT

Bastille was coming down from something -- he wasn't really sure what cocktail Rad had given him to test out this time, but he could report to her later that his head had spun for a solid 6 hours and he'd lost sensation in one paw (weird, how it seemed located in just one, but whatever). Now, he felt a bit groggy and like he was lacking something, the subtle hum under his skin giving way to the void. His souls seemed quietly, less ready to jump up the second he regained some sense of sobriety, but still -- he felt off, jilted, unsteady when it was just him and his thoughts and no buffer between the two.

The sudden pounding and screaming at the door had his head coming up, and Bastille glared at it as he realized who it was. Gods, that fucking hurt when he was withdrawing, and he felt a spark of annoyance and something nasty. Oh, so Pollie hadn't given up entirely. Great. With a hiss, he yanked the door open and looked at her flatly, evidently not at all bothered by the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"What do you want?" he asked, voice flat and cold, "Because I seriously doubt you're just here to check up on my well-being or try to mother me." He felt something hot and angry rolling in his blood, the flickering temptation rising that encouraged him to string her up, rip her throat out, but Bast stayed still. Reminded himself not to let Pollie in. Besides, he had enough of his own irritation with Margaery and Suiteheart to withstand anger without him.

[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGS

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

Margaery was surprised that he even opened the door. She had half expected him to dismiss her or worse, pretend as if he wasn't home, avoiding her as he had so diligently done these past few days. For a moment her hard expression softened, desperation dancing so clearly upon her features. She missed him. Missed being able to look at him and know that he didn't hate her. Missed the strange sense of family that his mere presence provided her. But she wasn't a fool, she knew that he didn't miss her, that if she dropped dead right before his eyes, he probably wouldn't even flinch.

But then he began to speak to her and that softness disappeared, consumed once more by her own white-hot anger. Not at him though. No, this was her fault... if she had just been better, done better, another child of hers wouldn't have been so easily lost. [color=#b14767]"Two things. I'm going to start with the one that'll anger you the least even though I know that anything that comes out of my mouth somehow has the capacity to fucking make you hate me," She paused, inhaling a deep breath to steady herself. The monster tugged incessantly at her, practically begging to be unleashed so that it could protect the fragile side of Margaery. She refused it. [color=#b14767]"I want to train Hazel defensively. I need her to be able to stand up for herself... I need her to be able to protect herself from.. from..." You.

Initially, the enemy had been Tanglewood, not Bastilleprisoner. Her mind somehow betrayed her, convinced her that perhaps he was the danger here. She was almost inclined to believe that. Almost. [color=#b14767]"The second thing, well you won't like the second thing because I am here to mother you. I don't know what the fuck I did to you to make you hate me but I'm tired of you behaving like a child and pushing us all away. I can understand Suite and I because you're some sort of edgy teen who could give less than two fucks about authority but really... Hazel? I thought you to be better than that, Bastilleprisoner."

There was another moment's hesitation before she sighed, her rage quelling slightly. [color=#b14767]"I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you hate me, really I am. I don't know what I have to do to exactly prove that to you because part of me is convinced that this is a forever type of thing. Only a few days ago, everything was alright and then I speak a few phrases of Latin because god forbid I grew up speaking the language and you freak out!"

"Shun me all you want but leave my wife and Hazel out of it. I thought you were better than this."

[BASTILLEPAW]

AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT

Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't just kept walking. That first day, when he'd run into Starrynight -- he hadn't been here to answer an invitation. He hadn't been actively seeking the Ascendants. He'd never even fucking heard of the place, and suddenly there was this bright, excitable guy wanting to know if he'd gotten the message. He could have said no and kept going, kept living his easy, steady life of... nothingness. No groups, no people, no horrible emotions twisting him into knots, no connections, no problems. He had thought that he might be happier here, for a moment there. But was he really? Was it worth it?

What good had he gotten out of it all? Starry and all his joy, but at what cost? Wouldn't he have been better off not knowing, not feeling this soul-wrenching agony in his absence? He had thought that maybe it was a good thing that he was learning what it meant to feel things, again. To feel something other than that empty apathy or the anger of his first few months of life. He'd felt almost... less hopeless, like maybe he could be something more than just failure and darkness; he'd felt content, letting the Ascendants wrestle something out of him. Had enjoyed those quiet moments reading to Hazel or watching her aura flare radiantly, had been willing to admit to himself that he took comfort in Suite and Margy's presences, in visiting Luna when he needed someone to ground him. But what did it matter now, when letting them all in was killing him slowly, ripping apart every shred of his control and reducing him to nothing but that anger and despair?

Wouldn't he take it all back if he could?

He thought so, as he stared back at Margaery with no change. His stare was still just... flat, unmoved, as he looked back at her. He was angry, yes, had that vicious twist in his gut, but more than that he was just sick of her. Sick of her forcing her way into his life just to ruin everything, to hurt him, to make him regret ever teaching himself how to feel again in the first place. He was sick of her acting like she actually cared about him, when all she cared about was convincing herself that she wasn't a horrible fucking mother.

He felt something in him still at her words. Had she really expected this to anger him the least? He was supposed to train Hazel, had thought about it before -- not seriously, or with any formality, but little things. Defense. Balance. How not to get kidnapped, like Luna. And Margaery was taking her, just like she took away the Latin and reading. He should have felt something twist in him, should have felt the wave of anger, but there was... nothing. He'd already accepted that she was taking Hazel away from him, his only friend, and addition to that fact couldn't hurt him now. It could only prove his point.

No, what got him was the sinister suggestion there, as if she had to protect Hazel from him. As if he were the fucking monster, when she'd just confessed to kill her own mother, when she was a fucking plague -- when she was going to force Hazel to let her in and break her heart, too. It turned his blood to ice, and the rest of her words were nothing to him, a jumble of useless complaints. Because he didn't care. He didn't care what she had to say to him, didn't care that she thought he was being unfair, didn't care that she was hurt. There was nothing but cold apathy and a low burning anger.

"Oh, cry me a fucking river, Margaery," he cut in, voice chilled as he stared at her evenly, unwavering. He was crossing a line, could feel the moment something shifted in his chest, but he didn't have the fucks to give about it. "Do you ever just get exhausted pretending that you care all the damn time? Because I feel fucking exhausted for you. You don't care about me. You don't care about Hazel. All you fucking care about is proving to yourself that you're not a shitty fucking mother. You weasel your fucking way into people's lives and you insert yourself where you don't belong and you're just so fucking desperate to act like the perfect fucking mother and you know what?"

There was no escalation to his tone, no heat, no fire -- just ice. "You're selfish. You're selfish and you ruin everything, and you're not a mother. You're greedy, and you lie, and you're just looking out for yourself and what makes Margaery happy. So you know what? Fine. Teach Hazel how to read, and teach her that she needs to defend herself from me, and go on pretending like you give a fuck about me as if you're not stealing my one friend away so that you can try again on someone else. Because guess what, Margaery? It's not going to be any different. You're going to fuck everything up with her, too. You and Suiteheart acting like you're fucking mothers of the year, as if you wouldn't turn on your fucking children in a heartbeat... oh, sorry, as if you haven't already."

Too far, too far, he was stepping into territory he wasn't supposed to, dredging up things he wasn't supposed to share, and yet. His voice was a little lower as he sneered, "Maybe if you weren't so fucking obsessed with yourselves, Lily wouldn't have begged me to wipe you from her memories. What do you think it was that broke her, Margaery? Was it you trying to kill her? I think that's a cop out. I think the truth is that you used her to prop yourself up and feel like a good fucking mother, the both of you, and I think you ruined her, too. I think you pretended to care and you tore her down, again and again. I think she wanted you out of her life because she realized what I should have before I let you into my goddamn life."

Silence, for a beat, and then: "I have a mother, and she cared for me, and I loved her. I don't need either of you trying to force yourselves into some role you don't belong in, just so that you can ruin my fucking life like the rest of your children. You. Are not. My mother. And I don't want you to be. So do me a favor and fuck off, because I'm not interested in being mothered."

[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGS

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

Like Bast, Margaery had also contemplated what would have happened if she had made different choices. Done different things. Sometimes, she longed to be back at home, surrounded by her real family, suffocated and sheltered but not at fault. Never at fault. Her father was prone to bouts of anger, his temper uncontrollable and unpredictable, but he always calmed when he saw her. She was the family's flower- a symbol of hope, a symbol that no matter what, they'd have each other. Always and forever. She wouldn't have been happy, but at least she wouldn't have been here, pregnant and suffering at the hands of someone she cared too deeply for. She would have her mother and she would have her father and she would have the insatiable darkness that continued to beckon her, even now, even as she continued to collapse in on herself. What more could she need?

See, the truth was, Bastilleprisoner was merely confirming all of her fears and insecurities in one fell swoop. Lilyspoise had done this to her once, harping on the fact that she was a failure and someone that was not her mother, breaking the chocolate point in doing so. She had picked up the shattered remains of herself and put them back together but it seemed as if history had the nasty habit of repeating itself. Margaery, admittedly, didn't know why she was surprised or even why she was still here, trembling before him, letting the reality of her awfulness sink in. She should have left before he even had a chance to destroy her. She should never have left her father's side.

Nik had called her a fool so many times, blaming her ability to love easily and helplessly on why she was constantly getting hurt. She was just like her mother, he told her, and that was why he had to protect her and oppose anyone who even thought to lay a finger on her. That sort of innocence was foolish indeed, but something he was strangely ready to defend. Perhaps it was because he saw himself buried deep within his daughter, in the parts of her with too sly a tongue but wide eyes and a love for the world and the gifts it had to give. Perhaps he wished to protect that little ounce of humanity that his last and only daughter exhibited so wildly. So passionately.

But that didn't matter. Her father didn't matter. Not right now, not when she once more experienced the world crumbling at her feet, the earth itself threatening to engulf her. Honestly, she'd prefer that fate over this. She thought that she knew what hell was, being cursed to eternal damnation and all. Turns out, she didn't. Not until this moment. Not until Bast absolutely ripped her to shreds.

[color=#b14767]"I do care," She cut in quietly, though her anger had long since dissipated. She couldn't find it in herself to even dredge up a bit of the emotion. Bast was tired of her so called facade and she was tired of feeling an unfamiliar rage. [color=#b14767]"I'm trying my best! Okay! Do you not think that I haven't lost everything I-I love at one point?" She could feel her tears coming, hot and fresh and ready to spill over her cheeks at any second, [color=#b14767]"Do you seriously believe that I'm doing this because I'm s-selfish?" They were here now and it took everything in Margaery's power for her to choke back a sob. [color=#b14767]"My own mother chose my psychopath of a father over me. I grew up without a solid mom figure in my life and that... that fucked me up okay... And I'm trying, Bast... I'm trying so hard... Not to be selfish... Not to ruin everything. I don't want to ruin everything, I don't want to hurt you..."

She was crying quietly, ashamed to have succumbed to her sadness so easily in font of him but doing nothing in particular to ease the flow of tears. [color=#b14767]"I'm not t-trying to steal Hazel away from you. I never d-did anything to you with the intention of inflicting... of inflicting pain. I've tried to be nothing b-but there for you and that wasn't good enough. It's never good enough, is it?" She inquired, though mostly to herself. What had she done wrong? Where had she gone wrong? Was he berating her, breaking her, over the fact that she could speak Latin? Over the fact that she genuinely did care about Hazel and wished to see her happy and at ease?

But perhaps he was right.

Perhaps she was the shitty mother from her nightmares.

Perhaps she was cursed to inflict damage upon every child she thought to mother.

And then he was speaking of Lilyspoise and the world seemingly faded around her in response. He was the one that took her memories. He knew everything. And he was fucking using it against her. To break her. To take away that last little bit of happiness that she had been so desperately clinging to, so afraid to let go of. [color=#b14767]"N-no..." She gasped, a paw raising to reflexively cover her parted mouth, [color=#b14767]"No." But it wasn't like he was speaking anything but the truth. She had broken Lil, just as Bastilleprisoner was breaking her. It was ironic almost- how she was destined to fail either herself or her children every single time she put an effort in. [color=#b14767]"Not my daughter... Why... Why would you do that to my little girl?"

Her tears stopped suddenly but that sadness remained upon her face, contorting her features in such a way that it looked like the very life had been strangled out of her by her own melancholy. [color=#b14767]"I'm a monster," She began, her voice deathly soft, wavering, shattered, a true extension of how she felt on the inside, [color=#b14767]"Not a mother."

She hesitated, a shaky breath inhaled.

A shaky breath exhaled.

[color=#b14767]"Thank you for finally proving that to me."