06-21-2018, 11:03 AM
AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT
The strange thing about the regression fallacy was that it was so readily obvious and yet so easy to fall into. He knew that logically, life must regress towards the mean. Extreme could not follow extreme over and over and over. At some point, it all had to crash back towards the center, slipping away from extremity; at some point, the apathy must give way to something else. Bastille had convinced himself that something had to trigger it -- that he couldn't be fixed just because. He'd venture too far off course. He'd seen tragedy and barely batted an eye. No, something more than just Fate had to combat the utter chill in his souls, and there was his fallacy.
Maybe he could have known that it would start with Hazel, but he wasn't anticipating this. The sudden flicker of awareness in the back of his thoughts, the draw that ensnared him and reeled him in -- panic and distress so palpable that he could sense from the middle of the Observatory. He had always had an innate radar for those suffering -- those who wanted to give something, wanted to make it all go away, his clientele -- but this was... different. Something about this was different, pulling on him in a way he couldn't quite place, and he followed it instinctively, abandoning his task without second thought. There was something there, eating away at him as he tracked the flaring waves of emotion, tinges of something familiar and golden--
The whisper of divinity.
He realized who it had to be the second that particular signature registered, and then he was running, chasing the source like he was following a thread of nasty sensations; the closer he got the thicker it was, her aura radiating distressed signals so vividly that he wondered how he hadn't realized before. Who else had a range that strong or clear? Hazel had the strongest aura he'd ever seen, and he should have known.
Could he taste the panic on his tongue as he got closer and closer? It was hard to say. Her signals were like a blanket, curling over his skin and heating it with flames, and there was something -- something not right. Could he feel it, though? The panic and desperation and wild flicker of fear and worry in his gut at the prospect of her not being okay? He could feel something. A turbulence, the frantic drum of his heartbeat, the tinges of wrong wrong wrong. The certainty that he had to get to her and get to her now. There was nothing in his system to help him get to that sensation and yet.
And yet.
He found them just when he thought he was going to lose patience, the tether yanking at him with increased urgency getting unbearable. His gaze fell on Hazel, blind to everyone else, and her aura was so bright, so radiant, ingiting with her terror and panic; he couldn't look away from her as for a beat he forgot how to breathe, the impact of her aura and that pull so much up close. The panic was copper of his tongue, making his throat constrict and burn, all of her distress shifting through him so quickly that it was briefly nauseauting. He had to get to her but--
But there was Suiteheart, in his fucking way, and his attention fixed instantly on the way she reached for Hazel, the way she felt so comfortable touching her, the way she thought she had a right to. Something surged through him so violently that he stumbled a step in the face of it. It was vicious and wild and angry, a primal desire to rip her throat out because here she was touching what was his and being allowed and she was in his way, was soothing Hazel when that was the one thing he had and could do, was-- was-- a threat and he wanted her dead.
The tangent thoughts sidelined him, the sudden crisp clarity of emotions withering in his chest, and belated he realized that it could only be Pollutedsoul but the wild panic and desperation to get to Hazel and get her out of his way was thick and overwhelming, too much to ignore in the face of Hazel's distress.
"Get out of my way," he said, dismissive, low as he barely even spared Suite a fucking glance. He was already zeroed in on Hazel once more, that raging storm of emotion that surrounded her and seeped into his skin and screamed at him to fix it fix it fix it just as loudly as something dark chanted that she was mine mine mine and he crashed into her without even thinking about it.
She doesn't want you to touch her, logic might have argued, but Bastille's arms were around her before any concern could register and he was pulling her closer, inhaling vanilla gold honey and feeling that chaos consume him even more readily with her skin setting his on fire.
"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he breathed steadily, swallowing against the vibrant emotions clamoring through his blood as he tried to focus on keeping himself calm, on choking back the panic and the desperation and the possessiveness and not letting her emotions sweep him up into the fray. "It's okay, Hazel, you're okay, you're okay, find my heartbeat, find my heartbeat, c’mon, Haze--"
Except that his heartbeat was too quick and there was nothing to pace herself against and the acric tang of panic was stronger now and he couldn't focus on anything other than the fact that he had to calm her down because if he couldn't-- if he couldn't he'd ruined everything and she was gone and Suite would do it-- And Suite was allowed to touch and possibly could help her and oh, there was fresh panic, a wave of sensation crashing through his systems and derailing any grasp of control that he had, his own emotions deciding to come back online in vicious bursts just in time for him to react to Hazel's.
"You're okay," he breathed, hoarse, frantically pushing at her thoughts, struggling to ensnare that panicked sensation and the terror and to soothe it, to pull it away from her, to coax it to his bidding -- something, anything he could do to make it stop because he had to, he had to help, he had to make it all go away or else he would lose her and he couldn't lose her--
His grip tightened as he pulled, yanking at her emotions and aura with a sense of vicious desperation, yanking and pulling the panic towards himself beacuse the manipulation should be working and it wasn't and the more she panicked the more desperate he got because she was screaming--
And suddenly his skin was on fire, flames shooting down his spine as something golden and radiant burst through his thoughts wildly, infecting everything, leaking into his veins. Mentally, Bastille recoiled, startled, skittering away from her thoughts and emotions but her panic was still there, humming under his skin, and he exhaled into her hair shakily as he choked out, "Fuck."
[ have some scattered chaos and a good ol bond ]
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSMaybe he could have known that it would start with Hazel, but he wasn't anticipating this. The sudden flicker of awareness in the back of his thoughts, the draw that ensnared him and reeled him in -- panic and distress so palpable that he could sense from the middle of the Observatory. He had always had an innate radar for those suffering -- those who wanted to give something, wanted to make it all go away, his clientele -- but this was... different. Something about this was different, pulling on him in a way he couldn't quite place, and he followed it instinctively, abandoning his task without second thought. There was something there, eating away at him as he tracked the flaring waves of emotion, tinges of something familiar and golden--
The whisper of divinity.
He realized who it had to be the second that particular signature registered, and then he was running, chasing the source like he was following a thread of nasty sensations; the closer he got the thicker it was, her aura radiating distressed signals so vividly that he wondered how he hadn't realized before. Who else had a range that strong or clear? Hazel had the strongest aura he'd ever seen, and he should have known.
Could he taste the panic on his tongue as he got closer and closer? It was hard to say. Her signals were like a blanket, curling over his skin and heating it with flames, and there was something -- something not right. Could he feel it, though? The panic and desperation and wild flicker of fear and worry in his gut at the prospect of her not being okay? He could feel something. A turbulence, the frantic drum of his heartbeat, the tinges of wrong wrong wrong. The certainty that he had to get to her and get to her now. There was nothing in his system to help him get to that sensation and yet.
And yet.
He found them just when he thought he was going to lose patience, the tether yanking at him with increased urgency getting unbearable. His gaze fell on Hazel, blind to everyone else, and her aura was so bright, so radiant, ingiting with her terror and panic; he couldn't look away from her as for a beat he forgot how to breathe, the impact of her aura and that pull so much up close. The panic was copper of his tongue, making his throat constrict and burn, all of her distress shifting through him so quickly that it was briefly nauseauting. He had to get to her but--
But there was Suiteheart, in his fucking way, and his attention fixed instantly on the way she reached for Hazel, the way she felt so comfortable touching her, the way she thought she had a right to. Something surged through him so violently that he stumbled a step in the face of it. It was vicious and wild and angry, a primal desire to rip her throat out because here she was touching what was his and being allowed and she was in his way, was soothing Hazel when that was the one thing he had and could do, was-- was-- a threat and he wanted her dead.
The tangent thoughts sidelined him, the sudden crisp clarity of emotions withering in his chest, and belated he realized that it could only be Pollutedsoul but the wild panic and desperation to get to Hazel and get her out of his way was thick and overwhelming, too much to ignore in the face of Hazel's distress.
"Get out of my way," he said, dismissive, low as he barely even spared Suite a fucking glance. He was already zeroed in on Hazel once more, that raging storm of emotion that surrounded her and seeped into his skin and screamed at him to fix it fix it fix it just as loudly as something dark chanted that she was mine mine mine and he crashed into her without even thinking about it.
She doesn't want you to touch her, logic might have argued, but Bastille's arms were around her before any concern could register and he was pulling her closer, inhaling vanilla gold honey and feeling that chaos consume him even more readily with her skin setting his on fire.
"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he breathed steadily, swallowing against the vibrant emotions clamoring through his blood as he tried to focus on keeping himself calm, on choking back the panic and the desperation and the possessiveness and not letting her emotions sweep him up into the fray. "It's okay, Hazel, you're okay, you're okay, find my heartbeat, find my heartbeat, c’mon, Haze--"
Except that his heartbeat was too quick and there was nothing to pace herself against and the acric tang of panic was stronger now and he couldn't focus on anything other than the fact that he had to calm her down because if he couldn't-- if he couldn't he'd ruined everything and she was gone and Suite would do it-- And Suite was allowed to touch and possibly could help her and oh, there was fresh panic, a wave of sensation crashing through his systems and derailing any grasp of control that he had, his own emotions deciding to come back online in vicious bursts just in time for him to react to Hazel's.
"You're okay," he breathed, hoarse, frantically pushing at her thoughts, struggling to ensnare that panicked sensation and the terror and to soothe it, to pull it away from her, to coax it to his bidding -- something, anything he could do to make it stop because he had to, he had to help, he had to make it all go away or else he would lose her and he couldn't lose her--
His grip tightened as he pulled, yanking at her emotions and aura with a sense of vicious desperation, yanking and pulling the panic towards himself beacuse the manipulation should be working and it wasn't and the more she panicked the more desperate he got because she was screaming--
And suddenly his skin was on fire, flames shooting down his spine as something golden and radiant burst through his thoughts wildly, infecting everything, leaking into his veins. Mentally, Bastille recoiled, startled, skittering away from her thoughts and emotions but her panic was still there, humming under his skin, and he exhaled into her hair shakily as he choked out, "Fuck."
[ have some scattered chaos and a good ol bond ]
Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword, Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door. [b][sup]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[/sup][/b]