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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
This had been a stupid move.
A stupid, impulsive move.
Terrified of the concept of Bast turning into a similar version of Mother (despite the fact that he was the equivalent of a purring cat at the moment), Hazel had completely forgone the fact that Bastille was extremely tactile, and had so far violated her personal space twice. Both of which were...admittedly justified, but. He had a bad habit of breaking the one rule that made her most uncomfortable, and she had a worse habit of setting herself up in situations that gave him that opportunity.
When he grabbed her hands, Hazel went rigid.
She was already confusing anger and fear with some type of guilt, and now there was this bleeding heat burning its way through her nervous system, sending goosebumps rippling across her arms. His fingers were slotted through hers, unknowingly strong and easily dwarfing her hands. She sat, shell-shocked, eyes able to count every freckle on his knuckles from the close range.
Then he was talking, and the first words past his alcohol stained lips were lumen meum. Hazel’s heart stopped. My light, he called her. She didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know what to do with the twist in a deep part of her soul, or how it made her feel some type of way; didn’t know how to apply it to this situation, with her racing heart and fear and frustration. Her fury was flickering, melting, solidifying and then glowing red-hot again because how dare he call her that in this situation? How fucking dare he toss the endearment at her when he was this drunk, when it wouldn't be said in any other context?
As Bastille tilted just the slightest bit forward - a mere shift of weight - Hazel’s blood ran cold. Old, familiar memories slammed against her cranium, and the it was suffocating, all-encompassing and terrifying just like every other time. She had walked right into this, that much was obvious, but fuck - this was too much.
Hazel lurched back, ripping her hands away, heart stuttering and breath hitching, panic a little too evident in her eyes. Glass shards shattered. Hazel shuffled back a few inches, eyes wide. Nails scraped down her arms, peeling away the bandana. Fear shot through her heart.
“Don’t touch me.” She breathed, cradling her hands against her chest. They burned where his fingers had pressed against her skin.
Shay had stepped between them at this point, and Hazel had failed to register that she was just echoing the Cosmic General. She was stuck, staring at Bastille and everything that was off about him, knowing that he was different as she watched his eyes - fever bright - and listened to him whine. Listened to play this character that wasn't him. She couldn't even pay attention to anyone else.
“You’re not even you, are you?” She whispered, voice regaining some of it’s brittleness. Her previous words had been harsh, and quite frankly, she didn't care. It didn't feel like she was talking to the real Bastille, anyway. "Give him back. He was less pathetic than you are." She said, tone condoning and bitter.
ooc sldfjasdl this is a horribly written post she just experienced like, all of puberty in under thirty seconds wow
A stupid, impulsive move.
Terrified of the concept of Bast turning into a similar version of Mother (despite the fact that he was the equivalent of a purring cat at the moment), Hazel had completely forgone the fact that Bastille was extremely tactile, and had so far violated her personal space twice. Both of which were...admittedly justified, but. He had a bad habit of breaking the one rule that made her most uncomfortable, and she had a worse habit of setting herself up in situations that gave him that opportunity.
When he grabbed her hands, Hazel went rigid.
She was already confusing anger and fear with some type of guilt, and now there was this bleeding heat burning its way through her nervous system, sending goosebumps rippling across her arms. His fingers were slotted through hers, unknowingly strong and easily dwarfing her hands. She sat, shell-shocked, eyes able to count every freckle on his knuckles from the close range.
Then he was talking, and the first words past his alcohol stained lips were lumen meum. Hazel’s heart stopped. My light, he called her. She didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know what to do with the twist in a deep part of her soul, or how it made her feel some type of way; didn’t know how to apply it to this situation, with her racing heart and fear and frustration. Her fury was flickering, melting, solidifying and then glowing red-hot again because how dare he call her that in this situation? How fucking dare he toss the endearment at her when he was this drunk, when it wouldn't be said in any other context?
As Bastille tilted just the slightest bit forward - a mere shift of weight - Hazel’s blood ran cold. Old, familiar memories slammed against her cranium, and the it was suffocating, all-encompassing and terrifying just like every other time. She had walked right into this, that much was obvious, but fuck - this was too much.
Hazel lurched back, ripping her hands away, heart stuttering and breath hitching, panic a little too evident in her eyes. Glass shards shattered. Hazel shuffled back a few inches, eyes wide. Nails scraped down her arms, peeling away the bandana. Fear shot through her heart.
“Don’t touch me.” She breathed, cradling her hands against her chest. They burned where his fingers had pressed against her skin.
Shay had stepped between them at this point, and Hazel had failed to register that she was just echoing the Cosmic General. She was stuck, staring at Bastille and everything that was off about him, knowing that he was different as she watched his eyes - fever bright - and listened to him whine. Listened to play this character that wasn't him. She couldn't even pay attention to anyone else.
“You’re not even you, are you?” She whispered, voice regaining some of it’s brittleness. Her previous words had been harsh, and quite frankly, she didn't care. It didn't feel like she was talking to the real Bastille, anyway. "Give him back. He was less pathetic than you are." She said, tone condoning and bitter.
ooc sldfjasdl this is a horribly written post she just experienced like, all of puberty in under thirty seconds wow
★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better