06-18-2018, 08:58 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
Hazel pushed her pants leg back down, eyes glued to the scars the denim couldn’t cover. Most days she had a false sort of confidence that allowed her to ignore those scars; to pretend they didn’t exist. Other days she couldn’t bear to look at them, knowing that they were stuck with her forever and that they might even drive some people away. She drew a slow breath in, pushing the thought away.
“I know I can’t fix the way you feel sometimes, though I wish I could.” She admitted to Margy, fiddling with the hairbrush. “I just want you to know that you’re being unfair to yourself if you believe in something told to you by someone who hardly knows you.” She shrugged, returning to fiddling with Margy’s hair. She found that it was...a nice distraction. So Hazel began braiding small sections of the brown curls, letting the methodical rhythm of over, under, over, under pull her out of her head.
“You’re a really amazing person, Margaery,” She said softly, fondly. “You make me think of what a mother is supposed to be. Sweet and caring and protective and protective. That’s fine if you don’t want to believe me, but know that all people have their flaws — and that doesn’t make them bad people.” Hazel adjusted her grip on Margy’s hair. “I think it’s what makes them human.”
Wow, that sounded...kind of cheesy. Hazel grimaced at herself. She was about to tell Margaery to ignore it, but Margy was already turning around, tears on her cheeks and concern in her eyes. Hazel froze, because that...that wasn’t really the reaction she was hoping her words would have. “Hey, hey — don’t cry, it’s alright.” She murmured, reaching for Margy but stopping just before her fingers brushed against the woman’s pale, ashen skin. The contrast between the two colors was stark and Hazel, ever the one to marvel at the little things, let her eye linger on it before she refocused.
“I — you’re welcome.” Hazel was now just a bit confused, but happy to help. Then Margy was asking if she could hug her, and Hazel froze up again, golden eyes wide as a chill ran down her spine. The only hug she had received was from Bastille, and that was to snap her out of a panic attack. In fact, that wasn’t what had even calmed her down, it was the smoke and pine scent that clung to his skin. Could she handle it if she let Margy hug her?
“Uh,” She squeaked out, panic a little evident in her eyes. At this point, she wasn’t even thinking about Margy’s vampirism anymore. She could only feel the heat radiating off the other and think about how all consuming and searingly hot it was. “...sure, Margy.” She all but whispered.
“I know I can’t fix the way you feel sometimes, though I wish I could.” She admitted to Margy, fiddling with the hairbrush. “I just want you to know that you’re being unfair to yourself if you believe in something told to you by someone who hardly knows you.” She shrugged, returning to fiddling with Margy’s hair. She found that it was...a nice distraction. So Hazel began braiding small sections of the brown curls, letting the methodical rhythm of over, under, over, under pull her out of her head.
“You’re a really amazing person, Margaery,” She said softly, fondly. “You make me think of what a mother is supposed to be. Sweet and caring and protective and protective. That’s fine if you don’t want to believe me, but know that all people have their flaws — and that doesn’t make them bad people.” Hazel adjusted her grip on Margy’s hair. “I think it’s what makes them human.”
Wow, that sounded...kind of cheesy. Hazel grimaced at herself. She was about to tell Margaery to ignore it, but Margy was already turning around, tears on her cheeks and concern in her eyes. Hazel froze, because that...that wasn’t really the reaction she was hoping her words would have. “Hey, hey — don’t cry, it’s alright.” She murmured, reaching for Margy but stopping just before her fingers brushed against the woman’s pale, ashen skin. The contrast between the two colors was stark and Hazel, ever the one to marvel at the little things, let her eye linger on it before she refocused.
“I — you’re welcome.” Hazel was now just a bit confused, but happy to help. Then Margy was asking if she could hug her, and Hazel froze up again, golden eyes wide as a chill ran down her spine. The only hug she had received was from Bastille, and that was to snap her out of a panic attack. In fact, that wasn’t what had even calmed her down, it was the smoke and pine scent that clung to his skin. Could she handle it if she let Margy hug her?
“Uh,” She squeaked out, panic a little evident in her eyes. At this point, she wasn’t even thinking about Margy’s vampirism anymore. She could only feel the heat radiating off the other and think about how all consuming and searingly hot it was. “...sure, Margy.” She all but whispered.
★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better