05-08-2017, 10:14 PM
i'm not going to change, so stay out of my way.
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
The weariness is etched into the deep, hollowed lines of his strong features; carved into the muscle and bone that lay beneath his russet and indigo skin. The burden is heavy upon his shoulders, settled between and grating on the tired vertebrae that cling together with a delicate thread of sinewy ligaments – he is wrought with fatigue, leaning against her with a weakness that is far more complex than that of any physical embodiment. She can feel the heat of his scorned, blistering heart through his touch, thrumming roughly against the iron confinement of its cage- thump, thump, thump - but it is not long before she realizes it is her own pounding heart she is listening to.
Though he is worn thin by time and its cruel hand, he is still solid – stoic when lost in thought, and unwavering as the forceful gust urges against their bodies. He is unmoved, even as her lips touch the sharp ridge of his cheek or the place beneath his chin where his blood hums quietly within his veins. She is uncertain as to what she is doing, and perhaps if she were to linger on the thought for too long, she might find herself flustered, or apologetic – but instead, she says nothing, and she presses the logical side of her to the deepest recesses of her mind.
They are but two wayward, aching souls, drifting out to sea, with little but gasping breaths keeping them afloat. The image has burned itself into her mind, and it is not long before Magnus has entered her mind (though she tries to stifle it, she tries to forget) – with his tremulous confession of wondering about how it might feel to meet his end again, to allow the sea to carry him out into its dark depths. Anguish and anger grasps tightly onto her heart, and she is forced to swallow the wretched fury, with burning tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. The irony is not lost on her that his darkest confession is becoming her truest reality.
Gently, she turns her cheek – staring out into the churning, roaring waves yet again, willing the tears that threaten to fall to disappear. With a wavering breath, she quiets her own grief (over what never really was, over what was lost) and suffocates it, as her tired hazel eyes meet with the brewing hurricane of his own.
I have to start over, don’t I?
So much complexity hidden within such a simple question.
A humorless chuckle rises from her throat, reverberating against his skin as she reaches up to brush away his dampened forelock, seeking to meet with his eyes more keenly. His question is deceivingly effortless and uncomplicated, yet she knows that it is never that easy, and he does too. A heavy sigh of a breath she did not realize she had been holding emerges then, as a soft breeze interlaces itself with her pale, tangled tresses, whipping it around her crown and across her cheek.
”Nothing is that simple, Warrick – I think you know that,” she murmurs, her brow furrowing in thought. ”but you cannot let your grief keep you from living. Time is fleeting, and life is too short.” Then, her gaze searches his, tracing the creases of his bright, icy stare as his words fade into the echoing sound of the ocean lapping at the shore. ”They would want you to be happy. And those we love never truly leave us – they are always with us.”
And then, her name is uttered sharply, drawing her attention to him again just as she had begun to watch the dull gray haze meet with the darkening horizon – and instead, she is looking into the eye of the storm, one that is building and growing inside of his mind. I will keep above the tide, he says, and the warmth of a genuine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, where heavy downward creases lay. As her cheek rests again against his throat, beneath the crook of his neck, she can feel his words vibrating against her ear, and then his own whiskered lips are pressed against the bridge of her nose – and she is watching him, as the hum of his words emerges from the dark indigo of his lips pressed against her skin.
You must keep your head, too.
I will, she thinks.
”I will,” she says, her quivering voice betraying her.
Though he is worn thin by time and its cruel hand, he is still solid – stoic when lost in thought, and unwavering as the forceful gust urges against their bodies. He is unmoved, even as her lips touch the sharp ridge of his cheek or the place beneath his chin where his blood hums quietly within his veins. She is uncertain as to what she is doing, and perhaps if she were to linger on the thought for too long, she might find herself flustered, or apologetic – but instead, she says nothing, and she presses the logical side of her to the deepest recesses of her mind.
They are but two wayward, aching souls, drifting out to sea, with little but gasping breaths keeping them afloat. The image has burned itself into her mind, and it is not long before Magnus has entered her mind (though she tries to stifle it, she tries to forget) – with his tremulous confession of wondering about how it might feel to meet his end again, to allow the sea to carry him out into its dark depths. Anguish and anger grasps tightly onto her heart, and she is forced to swallow the wretched fury, with burning tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. The irony is not lost on her that his darkest confession is becoming her truest reality.
Gently, she turns her cheek – staring out into the churning, roaring waves yet again, willing the tears that threaten to fall to disappear. With a wavering breath, she quiets her own grief (over what never really was, over what was lost) and suffocates it, as her tired hazel eyes meet with the brewing hurricane of his own.
I have to start over, don’t I?
So much complexity hidden within such a simple question.
A humorless chuckle rises from her throat, reverberating against his skin as she reaches up to brush away his dampened forelock, seeking to meet with his eyes more keenly. His question is deceivingly effortless and uncomplicated, yet she knows that it is never that easy, and he does too. A heavy sigh of a breath she did not realize she had been holding emerges then, as a soft breeze interlaces itself with her pale, tangled tresses, whipping it around her crown and across her cheek.
”Nothing is that simple, Warrick – I think you know that,” she murmurs, her brow furrowing in thought. ”but you cannot let your grief keep you from living. Time is fleeting, and life is too short.” Then, her gaze searches his, tracing the creases of his bright, icy stare as his words fade into the echoing sound of the ocean lapping at the shore. ”They would want you to be happy. And those we love never truly leave us – they are always with us.”
And then, her name is uttered sharply, drawing her attention to him again just as she had begun to watch the dull gray haze meet with the darkening horizon – and instead, she is looking into the eye of the storm, one that is building and growing inside of his mind. I will keep above the tide, he says, and the warmth of a genuine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, where heavy downward creases lay. As her cheek rests again against his throat, beneath the crook of his neck, she can feel his words vibrating against her ear, and then his own whiskered lips are pressed against the bridge of her nose – and she is watching him, as the hum of his words emerges from the dark indigo of his lips pressed against her skin.
You must keep your head, too.
I will, she thinks.
”I will,” she says, her quivering voice betraying her.
Ellyse
@[Warrick]