they don't want souls like ours :: [CF vs MI, day 3]
Jul 4, 2021 0:37:44 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Jul 4, 2021 0:37:44 GMT -5
Love Bellisario feels absolutely shaken.
It persists in a heavy heart through gnashing teeth and bared fangs, ice cold stares and nonchalant demeanor not enough of a front to block out the fact that he feels himself slipping through the cracks in his own facade. The shattered glass leftover from a fist in the mirror pushes and pulls against his skin, and it's in the dead of the night and in the calm sighs that he feels escape from Julian's chest that he catches sight of his own twisted reflection. Their conversation had carved itself into his skin with bloody claws and searing pain, burning hotter than any diamond symbol brand or tattoo that sat heavy on his chest.
Stood in the cabin shower, cloaked in nothing but lukewarm water and their bodies pressed against one another in the cramped space Julian had played him like a fucking piano, pressing every button and key and hitting every note until a symphony had been constructed. He'd fallen into it like a misstep into a trap, memories of his Father's birthday warning clouding his judgement and making him believe that the best move was to waltz right into the bear trap that was the career from One. And waltzed he had, wiped away every crocodile tear from ice blue eyes and scraped the venom and poison from his own tongue with dulled claws. It'd only been for a moment, three honest truths and one lie told only to himself, would it really hurt to be honest-
A dropped guard can get you a knife in the back, but a dropped facade can lead to a strike to the heart. It's just like Emerson had warned him, "watch your six.", because the Career had stood behind him with hands clasped to his shoulders and nearly forced every thread wire and lie he'd painstakingly laced into his skin to crumble and fall, had nearly seen him for what he was and not for what he wanted him to be.
It's the first time he's seen Julian as an actual threat, turning around and catching site of the boy in between the droplets of water dancing between them, their eyes connecting. Anger and embarrassment and shame had welled up from his heart and forced their way up his throat, until he'd choked on his own words and bitten them down until his tongue had bled again with all the toxins and venoms of little white lies. It was in that moment, all locked eyes and forced touch and pounding water that he'd realized he'd lost the battle, that he'd let himself hate the boy standing in front of him.
It makes him sick, to feel that failure in his bones and his heart and every diamond symbol that is carved into his skin.
Because he hates Julian Le Roux for the way he walks and the way he talks and the way he carries himself and his fucking legacy. He hates Julian Le Roux for the fact that he can walk barefoot on the glass remains of his own failures and still plant a grin on his face. He hates Julian Le Roux because the boy cares.
And, most of all, he hates Julian Le Roux simply because the boy will never hate him back.
Because his Father had taught him that hatred is the easiest emotion to work with, that hatred can take the heart and soul of a person with a willpower of the gods and turn them into putty in your hands, from diamond to clay and completely malleable in all it's forms. Hatred was what had made Emerson Le Roux so easy to work with, what had made her so easy to take down, what had made it so easy for him to watch. And, through heartache and heartbreak and flirting and flashed teeth and shit-eating grin he'd waited for Julian to do the same, to follow the same path and fall accordingly.
By the time he'd realized he was teetering on the edge of the cliff himself it was too late. It gnaws at him as sleep lulls him in and the nightmares start once again.
When he wakes he is blood and lust and everything in between, facade wrapped tighter and dreams of the night prior choked down so that they no longer write themselves in the bags under his eyes.
He feels Julian stir in the soft ebb and flows of the morning, sunlight sinking in through dusty windows and bending itself along the surface of the floorboards. His eyes follow the blanket of dust that floats in the air in its light, watching the particles softly bounce and float until they sink once again into the shadows of the cabin. It's quick and it's painless and it reminds him of just how fast a light can go from shining bright to snuffed out, from flame to embers that do nothing but wait for the sands of their hourglass to run out.
He tightens his grip around Julian's body, squeezing softly in a way that any eyes glued to a camera would call endearing. But it's in the sweltering warmth of his body and ice cold skin against skin and the way he breathes down the back of Julian's neck that it goes from a welcome to a warning, his fingertips tracing an X against the boy's bare chest underneath thin blanket. Stop playing with me.
"Keep your guard up." He warns as they make their way through the wooded trail. He'd initially opted for the picnic field, its open space and moveable landscape drawing his attention and offering the best chance at working with a strategic advantage. But he's diplomatic by nature, at least for now, and the rest of his alliance had opted to venture into the expansive forest trail, hoping to arc around towards the Lake for a source of water. He'd mumbled several censored words under his breath as he'd realized he was outnumbered, already drawing his weapon before they'd even set off.
The trees offer nothing but harsh warnings of what is to come, every dancing shadow and screaming animal sending his senses and instincts into overdrive with expectation. His eyes dart from tree to tree and branch to branch with the expectations of some wary climber launching a knife directly into one of their skulls. By the time he hears the soft cracking of a branch and throws his hand up for them to stop it is already too late, another pair of eyes trained dead on their alliance and weapons already drawn. He gulps as they draw closer to one another, taking in the daunting form of the two Sevens in their natural habitat. His gaze drifts to Julian, feeling the rage of seeing Reece drip from his flesh and blood. Go ahead, act reckless. He nearly taunts, but one look towards the two he'd be stuck with tells him a reckless play like that would do nothing but get him killed. Waverly had proven her worth, but she was no Career. And Chad? Well, picking daisies could get a guy farther than he'd ever thought.
"Peacekeeper training prepare you for this, Aspen?" He says sarcastically as the two alliances converge, fangs bared and weapons drawn and the stale smell of fear and survival between them. He tells himself to relish in it, to savor the fact that what he'd trained for and tested for and lived and breathed for his entire life was now sitting right in front of him. And, any other day that would be absolutely accurate. But standing there, white knuckles wrapped around the makeshift spear is nothing but an ice cold truth.
Love Bellisario is a boy scared shitless by his own failures, a boy with everything to prove and everything to lose.
It persists in a heavy heart through gnashing teeth and bared fangs, ice cold stares and nonchalant demeanor not enough of a front to block out the fact that he feels himself slipping through the cracks in his own facade. The shattered glass leftover from a fist in the mirror pushes and pulls against his skin, and it's in the dead of the night and in the calm sighs that he feels escape from Julian's chest that he catches sight of his own twisted reflection. Their conversation had carved itself into his skin with bloody claws and searing pain, burning hotter than any diamond symbol brand or tattoo that sat heavy on his chest.
Stood in the cabin shower, cloaked in nothing but lukewarm water and their bodies pressed against one another in the cramped space Julian had played him like a fucking piano, pressing every button and key and hitting every note until a symphony had been constructed. He'd fallen into it like a misstep into a trap, memories of his Father's birthday warning clouding his judgement and making him believe that the best move was to waltz right into the bear trap that was the career from One. And waltzed he had, wiped away every crocodile tear from ice blue eyes and scraped the venom and poison from his own tongue with dulled claws. It'd only been for a moment, three honest truths and one lie told only to himself, would it really hurt to be honest-
A dropped guard can get you a knife in the back, but a dropped facade can lead to a strike to the heart. It's just like Emerson had warned him, "watch your six.", because the Career had stood behind him with hands clasped to his shoulders and nearly forced every thread wire and lie he'd painstakingly laced into his skin to crumble and fall, had nearly seen him for what he was and not for what he wanted him to be.
It's the first time he's seen Julian as an actual threat, turning around and catching site of the boy in between the droplets of water dancing between them, their eyes connecting. Anger and embarrassment and shame had welled up from his heart and forced their way up his throat, until he'd choked on his own words and bitten them down until his tongue had bled again with all the toxins and venoms of little white lies. It was in that moment, all locked eyes and forced touch and pounding water that he'd realized he'd lost the battle, that he'd let himself hate the boy standing in front of him.
It makes him sick, to feel that failure in his bones and his heart and every diamond symbol that is carved into his skin.
Because he hates Julian Le Roux for the way he walks and the way he talks and the way he carries himself and his fucking legacy. He hates Julian Le Roux for the fact that he can walk barefoot on the glass remains of his own failures and still plant a grin on his face. He hates Julian Le Roux because the boy cares.
And, most of all, he hates Julian Le Roux simply because the boy will never hate him back.
Because his Father had taught him that hatred is the easiest emotion to work with, that hatred can take the heart and soul of a person with a willpower of the gods and turn them into putty in your hands, from diamond to clay and completely malleable in all it's forms. Hatred was what had made Emerson Le Roux so easy to work with, what had made her so easy to take down, what had made it so easy for him to watch. And, through heartache and heartbreak and flirting and flashed teeth and shit-eating grin he'd waited for Julian to do the same, to follow the same path and fall accordingly.
By the time he'd realized he was teetering on the edge of the cliff himself it was too late. It gnaws at him as sleep lulls him in and the nightmares start once again.
When he wakes he is blood and lust and everything in between, facade wrapped tighter and dreams of the night prior choked down so that they no longer write themselves in the bags under his eyes.
He feels Julian stir in the soft ebb and flows of the morning, sunlight sinking in through dusty windows and bending itself along the surface of the floorboards. His eyes follow the blanket of dust that floats in the air in its light, watching the particles softly bounce and float until they sink once again into the shadows of the cabin. It's quick and it's painless and it reminds him of just how fast a light can go from shining bright to snuffed out, from flame to embers that do nothing but wait for the sands of their hourglass to run out.
He tightens his grip around Julian's body, squeezing softly in a way that any eyes glued to a camera would call endearing. But it's in the sweltering warmth of his body and ice cold skin against skin and the way he breathes down the back of Julian's neck that it goes from a welcome to a warning, his fingertips tracing an X against the boy's bare chest underneath thin blanket. Stop playing with me.
—
"Keep your guard up." He warns as they make their way through the wooded trail. He'd initially opted for the picnic field, its open space and moveable landscape drawing his attention and offering the best chance at working with a strategic advantage. But he's diplomatic by nature, at least for now, and the rest of his alliance had opted to venture into the expansive forest trail, hoping to arc around towards the Lake for a source of water. He'd mumbled several censored words under his breath as he'd realized he was outnumbered, already drawing his weapon before they'd even set off.
The trees offer nothing but harsh warnings of what is to come, every dancing shadow and screaming animal sending his senses and instincts into overdrive with expectation. His eyes dart from tree to tree and branch to branch with the expectations of some wary climber launching a knife directly into one of their skulls. By the time he hears the soft cracking of a branch and throws his hand up for them to stop it is already too late, another pair of eyes trained dead on their alliance and weapons already drawn. He gulps as they draw closer to one another, taking in the daunting form of the two Sevens in their natural habitat. His gaze drifts to Julian, feeling the rage of seeing Reece drip from his flesh and blood. Go ahead, act reckless. He nearly taunts, but one look towards the two he'd be stuck with tells him a reckless play like that would do nothing but get him killed. Waverly had proven her worth, but she was no Career. And Chad? Well, picking daisies could get a guy farther than he'd ever thought.
"Peacekeeper training prepare you for this, Aspen?" He says sarcastically as the two alliances converge, fangs bared and weapons drawn and the stale smell of fear and survival between them. He tells himself to relish in it, to savor the fact that what he'd trained for and tested for and lived and breathed for his entire life was now sitting right in front of him. And, any other day that would be absolutely accurate. But standing there, white knuckles wrapped around the makeshift spear is nothing but an ice cold truth.
Love Bellisario is a boy scared shitless by his own failures, a boy with everything to prove and everything to lose.
Love attacks Nora with spear
_KsUOThNTOspear
[Block]
-- Accuracy, Day 3 --
spear
[Deep gash on right calf - 8.0, +1 strength]
_KsUOThNTOspear
[Block]
-- Accuracy, Day 3 --
spear
[Deep gash on right calf - 8.0, +1 strength]
spear·spear
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