winter ; angelic @fuhroooze - Tumblr Blog

Back At It Again At Academy Of Despair | | Revival Post

The last thing he remembered was a feeling of relief. Like he had finally payed for his sins that he had committed on the island. Unfortunately, this game never ended. He had to keep coming back and everytime he did he felt more guilty. The punishment would never end. But it was his fault and it was the price he had to pay.

Now, who was this person standing before him. She looked pretty normal…however, he couldn’t really say at the moment. He would probably have to rub his eyes or something to unblur his vision. Were those…wings he saw? That was impossible, why would any of his brothers and sisters come here? That’s right…it was impossible. It must have been some other type of being.

Rubbing his eyes, Castiel sat up fully in the cot. Now that his vision was better he could see that those were wings. They were too small to be the wings of an angel. She must have been some other being. This was oddly a relief for him. He did not want his family to see him like this.

"No I uh, I-I think I know what happened. Well, up until I…died, but after that I’m…I’m unsure."

fuhroooze

{ ; Froze may give prayer to God of gods himself, yet perhaps never were to be answered, even if this was only sensation to plague in own's gut. Wings fold upon back and gaze is only that of troubled being. Immediately, she must question his words, but as soon gives restraint to keeping it bound from verbality expression to other. He held expression of concern and it stimulated, even if a feather's touch yet firm, within her that there was much more beyond her current knowledge.

Naturally, of course, she was well conscious that this place was in the very thick seed of mystery. With such abundance of populace, however, perhaps it would not be so difficult to give breakage to said metaphor; yet now she must consider that there is much more than she could have brewed in small thought, even in expanse cauldron. In specifics, it comes to this man, who she feels is much more than mere human. Humans only to crowd these islands is what she had thought true, much so, yet by some manipulation of Etihw must she feel otherwise if only for him.

Next words to be given, in conclusion: Test of sorts, but still representation of the... good of her heart.

“　Died ― ... ... ...　”

A sigh as expression may give change from the slight surprise that would only manifest in physical nature of form, and rather may give allowance to appearance of slightest tint of regret via the closing of her eyes, in the dye of stoicism.

“　If only I could heal...　”

Foolish that she would even be saying with such purpose as given in aforementioned word; human or otherwise, would it not be of ease to discern that she was of angelic being?

#watchingthecosmos

intheshadowofdamnation

He stirs not immediately from the distracting pull of the television; while conversation with another is by far superior to the sight of his own burning, flailing body, there is something horribly captivating about seeing himself go up in literal flames. Throat tightens, and it takes him a moment to realize another stood before him, thrusting inquiries unto his raw and stinging lap. “…things got a little too hot for me to handle.” He says matter-of-factly, stirring with an inhale through his nostrils to reach for a remote at the bedside table.

Fingers brushing it, Dean’s tired gaze slides in his visitor’s direction. He pauses, eyes taking in the sight of her feathery white wings. He should be surprised, should make at least a comment— but after what he’s seen on this island, from the normal (normal being vampires and ghosts) to the outright unreal (winged succubi and talking blue jays), he merely purses his lips in silent acknowledgement and lifts the remote, returning gaze to the television, no reaction arising when the power button fails to work, leaving the image of another dying child plastered to the wall. “Mandatory viewing… ain’t that a shocker.”

fuhroooze

{ ; His answers, not much medicine for her confusion. Brows come to furrow themselves as she looks to him, feet as guidance merely a few steps closer. Wings fan out and while yet displayed well and in better status for viewing than previous stance of them, they cripple slightly as they come together again. Nervous wing movement. A common body expression of hers, yet it would not seem like much to common entity.

She breathes out, exhalation, a bit heavy as if to border upon sigh but not quite. Gaze averted as eyeballs move in their sockets, pupils glancing for a short moment to the rest of the infirmary. They are not found in solitude; many others have gathered here in lameness, be it injury or sickness, though it may so seem to be much more of the former. Oddity, one she cannot explain, and to a notable degree does Froze dislike not knowing such things. If chaos of any sort, any variety, were to be brought upon the land which she would so inhabit now, willingly or otherwise ― it was of her concern.

Angel of perhaps nineteen years' appearance looks back to other once more.

“　Not just you.　”

Gesture she would, as is primary instinct, but rather refrains from doing so on contrary. It is evident and she need not mark in physical motion to the obvious. Froze looks to the screen presented toward the both of them and she finds disgust in eminence.

“　... ... ... What's going on...?　”

#intheshadowofdamnation

intheshadowofdamnation

Wow. Look at all these kids flocking to the infirmary. Better watch out for the man still confined to his cot (the burns on his chest would be paining like a bitch for a long, long time), whose eyes are still locked on a television screen mounted to the wall. The Gnome game recap has since finished, but he can still see himself burning alive while the bear talks over his screaming like some kind of insane sports announcer.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen himself die before, but somehow, it’s a little less tolerable when the version of himself dying isn’t a shapeshifter, and he’s still carrying the wounds of his own demise.

fuhroooze

{ ; A second time will she find herself in infirmary, though man to communicate with differs; injured, no doubt, and the nerves in right hand are stimulated and give her tendons to twitching aforementioned limb, slightly, wanting to give prayer to all Etihw and creations of holiness which would invoke healing upon this damaged man. Only physical touch, never for the soul.

To confront, or otherwise? For moment's cause will she only observe unto bed-struck man. O, does she feel the resentment for the fact that she is stripped of what all entitles her in angel status save for wings perched upon back dutifully, and even so their function minimized; is she not as helpless as this human, those who seem much more populace of island?

“　What happened?　” Productivity in question.

#intheshadowofdamnation

like for a starter.

#{ ; outofprayers

revxngeful

A school of murder, huh? No one’s got time for that.

fuhroooze

{ ; Aye, neither does she.

watchingthecosmos

Back At It Again At Academy Of Despair | | Revival Post

When he had first arrived here this what not what he had expected. Yes, Castiel was aware there was to be death and pain and suffering. But honestly, he never expected it to actually happen. These were children, yet they were so bloodthirsty. It was wrong and he needed to save them. He needed to save all of them. It was his job, his duty. It was what God created him for.

And he failed. Again.

Castiel remembered when he first came onto this island. It was peaceful, he had found people there whom he trusted. Dean had given him hope. Hope that they would survive and that these kids would escape. That maybe they could finally be back at home and where they belonged.

And happy.

But all it took was one simple thing and he lost it. All the hope, all the strength. Any and all belief he had in these children was gone. He had fallen just as they had. He had played the game of the bear and killed not one, but two people. One out of pure rage and the other…he never even meant or wanted to kill. That was his friend.

It had happened. He had fallen into despair. He wasn’t any better than the other killers. The only difference between Castiel and the other killers was he had taken two lives. So if anything he was worse than the others.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was able to see from his eye again. But hadn’t Bel… Was that possible? He looked around the room, attempting to prop himself up on his elbows. It hurt and he let out a small grunt of pain, but he managed. How long had he been out? And what had happened? Was his team safe? Did they make it? Was no one else hurt?

There were many questions buzzing around in his mind, but one thing was sticking out to him right now. Someone was in the room. He looked at them with slightly blurred vision due to the fact he had just woken up after being stabbed in the eye.

'Who are…I mean, um, what…what happened? Is the…is everyone okay?”

fuhroooze

{ ; Island was of Thanatos's play. His existence, often regarded as merciless and indiscriminate, a being full of hatred towards others and others' hatred to himself, striking arrow of demise into the core of all souls who lurk here and his poisons weaved in all materials that construct each location, each island. Death was of awful smell, that of Thanatos and Tartarus and perhaps accidental and minimal blood of Ares, and Froze was not so keen nor quite so mature in angelic ability to detect such a fowl odor, especial for Gods not associated with the Grey Garden.

Death and battle, definitely, were to be the two core phenomena of this land, and every soul would be taken to a stripped state, losing state of immortality if they had ever been given such, exposed to deathbringer in sword or otherwise. Emotions, most definitely, surrounded. The morals of man, angel and demon, tested as they were stressed to almost a breaking point. Angel, she definitely still may be, with wings composed of nothing but holy feathers even if bloodied at points in her life, yet she finds no blessing in her vein nor marrow to give healing unto these bodies or cast her prayers to manifest in form of offensive spell. Only three feet can she surface for a limited amount of time, and if nothing else, it shows the utmost proof. Froze is powerless; helpless, has no God given gifts to at least let herself survive.

More proof, indeed, that this place is destined to nothing but bloodshed and cruelty, as she comes across the infirmary and any bed not taken all may seem virgin left. A voice calls out unto her ears and she cannot bring any other motion otherwise of halting in space of doorway, as she looks to this man. After he is all well and heard, Froze gives herself to step forward a bit; distance between their entities, yet prominent, but she does not feel content if she were to raise her chin even slightest other than what may be necessary for the chaining and locking in eye contact. This man can be given at least a minuscule slice of trust from her own; confused and afraid, in description, was not quite fitting of adjectives for those to beware.