06-26-2018, 03:43 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ I NEVER HAD NOBODY TOUCH ME LIKE I’M G L A S S WITH A MOON BIRD KISS
Hazel had quieted for the most part, breath coming in little shuddering gasps that she attempted to muffle against her lip. Deus, that had been so much worse than the last; this actually left her drained - bone dry mentally, physically, and emotionally. The exhaustion seemed to press her further into the ground, coaxing with a gentle murmur of sleep, Hazel. Sleep.
But she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to stay awake so she would remember the warmth pressed against her, the comfort. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat that she could count, track. The rise and fall of his chest. The rumble of his voice that she felt tickle her skin, making her curl her trembling fists tighter into his shirt as if she could hold him there. He felt so real, so alive. It was like sitting in front of a camp fire, the heat coloring her cheeks pink and spreading warmth to tingle in her fingertips.
There was still that open gateway in her mind, threading emotions that didn’t make sense into her nervous system: anticipation, anxiety - sudden ease. Ease that she could physically feel roll off his shoulders as he relaxed, loosening his grip. And she was out of it just enough, hovering just outside of conscious, to feel the fear and confusion melt into the fog shrouding her mind. It was all a warm glow, the wisp of a tether that tied her to the earth and held her there. She was afraid that if she let go, she’d pass out completely, and be plunged back into stone cold isolation she so cruelly enforced upon herself.
Because Hazel was aware of how she usually reacted to touch. She knew that her nerves were on fire and she knew that logically, she should be shoving out of his arms right now. But everything about him was keeping her from slipping into that mindscape; from falling asleep and coming face to face with those nightmares she had been so dutifully promised. Hazel took in breath after hiccuping breath, the scent of pine and smoke strongest against his neck and shirt, her insistent pressing close to him a silent please don’t let me fall asleep - please don’t let me close my eyes.
If she closed her eyes, the ache in her bones and throb in her head would cease, yes. But then images, bloody, screaming, horrifying images would infect her dreams, and she’d fling herself awake, shaking and screaming like she had so pathetically a few moments ago. And it was that fear that kept her awake; that need to not be pathetic and dependent that would burn hot in her chest.
Hazel turned her head, letting him murmur things into her hair that sounded like water running over pebbles. “You’re perfect,” filtered in amongst the shroud of things, and shakily, unconsciously, Hazel echoed it, mumbling “Perfectus es,” At him. She kept her eyes on her knees, though they grew blurry as her vision unfocused and refocused. She wanted to squeeze them shut, knowing that if she did, everything wouldn’t be quite so bright. But stubbornly, she refused.
A different voice - higher, sweeter - melted through the warbled sound around her, and it took everything Hazel had to latch on to it, to translate it into something she could understand. Shay, she realized belatedly. Asking something. Something about her - to her?
“Water,” Hazel croaked, near feverish. “Head hurts.” Even talking was exhausting. The concept of standing and walking back to the observatory was far too much to comprehend, so she turned her head back against Bastille, concentrating on counting the number of times his heartbeat pressed up against his chest.
But she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to stay awake so she would remember the warmth pressed against her, the comfort. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat that she could count, track. The rise and fall of his chest. The rumble of his voice that she felt tickle her skin, making her curl her trembling fists tighter into his shirt as if she could hold him there. He felt so real, so alive. It was like sitting in front of a camp fire, the heat coloring her cheeks pink and spreading warmth to tingle in her fingertips.
There was still that open gateway in her mind, threading emotions that didn’t make sense into her nervous system: anticipation, anxiety - sudden ease. Ease that she could physically feel roll off his shoulders as he relaxed, loosening his grip. And she was out of it just enough, hovering just outside of conscious, to feel the fear and confusion melt into the fog shrouding her mind. It was all a warm glow, the wisp of a tether that tied her to the earth and held her there. She was afraid that if she let go, she’d pass out completely, and be plunged back into stone cold isolation she so cruelly enforced upon herself.
Because Hazel was aware of how she usually reacted to touch. She knew that her nerves were on fire and she knew that logically, she should be shoving out of his arms right now. But everything about him was keeping her from slipping into that mindscape; from falling asleep and coming face to face with those nightmares she had been so dutifully promised. Hazel took in breath after hiccuping breath, the scent of pine and smoke strongest against his neck and shirt, her insistent pressing close to him a silent please don’t let me fall asleep - please don’t let me close my eyes.
If she closed her eyes, the ache in her bones and throb in her head would cease, yes. But then images, bloody, screaming, horrifying images would infect her dreams, and she’d fling herself awake, shaking and screaming like she had so pathetically a few moments ago. And it was that fear that kept her awake; that need to not be pathetic and dependent that would burn hot in her chest.
Hazel turned her head, letting him murmur things into her hair that sounded like water running over pebbles. “You’re perfect,” filtered in amongst the shroud of things, and shakily, unconsciously, Hazel echoed it, mumbling “Perfectus es,” At him. She kept her eyes on her knees, though they grew blurry as her vision unfocused and refocused. She wanted to squeeze them shut, knowing that if she did, everything wouldn’t be quite so bright. But stubbornly, she refused.
A different voice - higher, sweeter - melted through the warbled sound around her, and it took everything Hazel had to latch on to it, to translate it into something she could understand. Shay, she realized belatedly. Asking something. Something about her - to her?
“Water,” Hazel croaked, near feverish. “Head hurts.” Even talking was exhausting. The concept of standing and walking back to the observatory was far too much to comprehend, so she turned her head back against Bastille, concentrating on counting the number of times his heartbeat pressed up against his chest.
★ — 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