[private] the sound of your voice in the aching - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Forest (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=73) +---- Thread: [private] the sound of your voice in the aching (/showthread.php?tid=30228) Pages:
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RE: the sound of your voice in the aching - despoina - 09-10-2021 DESPOINA I guess the sound of your voice in the aching will just have to do RE: the sound of your voice in the aching - Torryn - 09-11-2021 YOU'RE WALKING IN THE SHADOWS OF YOUR FEAR AND YOU'RE HEADED FOR THE GALLOWS, SIN AROUND YOUR THROAT AND NO ONE'S NEAR He is surprised when she steps forward. When the warmth of her body is suddenly curled against his cool shadows, and he almost feels guilty for how easily he caves into her. Her lips brush against his chest, right where his heart—the only real piece of him that remains at all—beats erratically, and she again incites that war that is always a breath away from raging inside of him. The part of him that knows exactly how to love her, always locked in battle with this new, feral part of him that only wanted to take exactly what it needed to survive. He almost wonders if it’s worse, to have the ability to recognize all the things he does wrong, but to not have the means to control it. Like watching himself destroy her from the outside looking in, and no way to stop it. But he can’t help himself, because the moment she touches him, hardly a second passes before he is returning it. Before he is draping his neck over hers and pulling her in tighter, burying his face in her dark hair and closing his eyes against the feeling of his chest trying to split apart. “Nothing else is going to happen,” he whispers fervently into her skin, trailing his lips along her neck. “I can’t lose you, and I know that I’m going to if I don’t stop,” there is an urgency to his voice, low and hushed as it is, and he can feel his heart squeezing again inside of his chest. “I never want anything bad to ever happen to you, but I am the bad.” It is only when she offers to help that he goes still and quiet, and though she can’t see it, there is a quiet kind of darkness that settles on his face. He can’t stand the thought of her seeing him like that. Can’t stomach the idea of her watching him prey on anyone that he can find, or the way he toys with their emotions to make them afraid when he is feeling desperate. And he realizes that there could never be any truth to what he had just told her moments before. He was always meant to lose her, because no matter how hard they loved each other, he was impossible to change. Eventually, he steps back, shaking his head slowly. His jaw tightens and clenches, his eyes closed as he tries to work up the nerve to say what he knows needs to be said. “I will never let you go, Despoina,” there is a growl somewhere in his chest, in the back of his throat, because he hates the truth of what he is about to say. “The only way you will ever be happy is if you leave, but I will never be the one to release you.” Finally he turns his red eyes back to her face, bright and burning, matching the fire-like pain in his chest. “There is no fixing this—fixing me. But without me in your life I promise, you will learn to be just fine.” T O R R Y N
RE: the sound of your voice in the aching - despoina - 09-11-2021 DESPOINA I guess the sound of your voice in the aching will just have to do RE: the sound of your voice in the aching - Torryn - 09-12-2021 YOU'RE WALKING IN THE SHADOWS OF YOUR FEAR AND YOU'RE HEADED FOR THE GALLOWS, SIN AROUND YOUR THROAT AND NO ONE'S NEAR “I am yours,” he confirms with his mouth again brushing along her neck, but saying the words twists the knife deeper into his gut. He cannot imagine a crueler fate than the one he has been dealt—to be cursed to love someone who is full of all the horrible things that he craves. To both simultaneously be drawn to her because she is brimming with sorrow but also wishing she never felt such things. It makes him stare at her with a vulnerable kind of brokenness that so rarely managed to make it beyond the harsh red glare, a glimmer of the normal boy that had died for his family breaking through. The boy that wants to break apart at hearing her say she never wanted to be happy, because he knows it is a lie. The boy that knows all too well what a normal love looks like, and recognizes that he will never be able to give it to her. He doesn’t say anything though, only closes his eyes against it. He does not argue with her, does not tell her that choosing to stay with him will condemn her to a lifetime of despair and heartbreak, which had to be worse than longing and wishing. The longing would go away eventually, he is sure of it. She would find someone else to fill up the space he left, which he doesn’t think would be hard, given all he is is just shadow and bone. His glowing eyes snap back to hers when she offers her help, with such a sudden surge of agony that he tastes it again on his tongue. He shakes his head, a definitive no already prepared, but then she tells him that he must feel it—that he must feel all of the things that radiate from her, and he goes quiet. There, in the silence that stretches between them, he remembers the first time he met her. How even then she had been saturated in sorrow, that it filled her until it poured over. How almost immediately it sparked a fire in both parts of him; how he had thought himself lucky to find her when she was full of exactly what he needed, but also recognizing how twisted that was, to want someone to be broken. “I know,” the two words are quiet and taut with unspoken emotions, wondering if he could ever even begin to explain it all to her. If he could ever possibly untangle how much she causes him to fight with himself, how it is a daily battle to not consume her. “I felt it all from the moment I met you, and it was why I stayed away from you at first.” He watches her carefully, searching her pretty face, afraid of how that honesty will injure her even though he had only done it to protect her. “The thought of using you for that has always been unbearable.” He has stepped forward again now, still holding her gaze. In a painfully slow motion he reaches for her, gently brushing her forelock away from her face, and then letting his lips trail from her temple and following the curve to her throat. He lingers there, feeling her pulse beneath his touch, bright eyes closed as he rests his forehead against her neck. It feels like hours that he waits there, debating, fighting, turning over the consequences in his mind. When he does, at last, begin to slowly drain it from her he does it with his mouth caressing gently along her neck, her shoulder, the top of her back, as if that somehow will make it okay. He does not know what it feels like, has never really paid attention to how they react, though he has always been methodic and merciful. He does not think it hurts, because he has learned that he can drain them while staring them in the eye, and all that is there is a sudden emptiness, and that look of realization just before he disappears because they know he took something from them. But he is all the more careful with her, mindful of what it does to her, and he cannot bring himself to take it all. He stops when his own sorrow and regret becomes too much, the guilt nearly overpowering as he suddenly rests his head against her side, right where he can hear her heartbeat inside of her ribs. “I’m sorry, Des,” his voice is quiet and hoarse with the shadows and the tangle of emotions he is grappling with, his breathing nearly ragged with remorse. “I’m sorry.” T O R R Y N @despoina RE: the sound of your voice in the aching - despoina - 10-01-2021 DESPOINA I guess the sound of your voice in the aching will just have to do RE: the sound of your voice in the aching - Torryn - 10-24-2021 YOU'RE WALKING IN THE SHADOWS OF YOUR FEAR AND YOU'RE HEADED FOR THE GALLOWS, SIN AROUND YOUR THROAT AND NO ONE'S NEAR In the wake of his satisfaction he feels nothing but shame. Once the pangs of hunger have subsided and he is able to see her clearly through the fog, is able to feel the way she weakly rests against him and how her skin is damp with sweat, the guilt is brought into sharp relief. He reaches for her, twisting until his shadowed neck is draped over hers and he can pull her closer to him, as if having her closer will somehow lessen the pain that has driven like a blade into his chest. He wants to correct her and tell her that there will not be a second time; he wants to argue until she relents and accepts that she will not be his sacrifice, because he will not allow it. If anything, this had cemented it, but he did not want her to try and fight with him now. Instead all he does is press his mouth to the top of her neck, gently dragging his lips down her damp skin and along the curve of her cheek. “Maybe,” he manages a noncommittal answer for her, hoping the uncertainty he feels does not leak into his voice. For a moment his red eyes close, focusing only on the steadfast rhythm of her heartbeat, before finally murmuring gently into her dark mane, “You should rest. I promise I’ll be right here.” A promise that he intends to keep, for as long as she will let him. T O R R Y N an extremely late closer lmao |