[P] hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: [P] hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go (/showthread.php?tid=23513) |
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hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go - Rohan - 04-05-2016 Can’t feel anything—when will I learn? I push it down, push it down.
The ocean breeze is cold as it drifts in from the horizon, picking up the water’s briny spray and carrying it to sandy white shores. He listens to the waves as they lull back and forth, ever reaching, ever receding, somehow frustrating and comforting at the same time (how twisted and confusing the mind is). He purses his lips, watching the frothy waves as they lick and grasp for his hooves, never quite making their mark. Still, there is something admirable about the ocean’s persistence—its ceaseless determination to lure you into its deep and powerful depths. Not for the first time, Rohan wonders what it would be like to give in; to surrender to the ocean’s call and allow foamy waters to carry him away (down, down, down). Would it be worth it, to feel that final sense of weightlessness, of freedom, before dissolving into the darkness altogether? Would it be worth it to give in? The stallion sighs heavily, scowling to himself as he tucks his chin in towards his chest. For as much daydreaming as he does, he knows nothing about giving in or surrendering—he simply doesn’t submit. There is too much fight (too much pride) in his blood to allow himself to quit. Having built himself out of anger, blood, and bone, Rohan would rather be beaten into the ground before yielding to defeat, before giving in. Perhaps that is his notes; Bad post but YAY so excited to have them together again! “Speech.” rohan RE: hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go - Enna - 04-05-2016
@Rohan RE: hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go - Rohan - 04-16-2016 Can’t feel anything—when will I learn? I push it down, push it down.
When he first sees her, he thinks that perhaps this is a dream. Perhaps she has come to him now, and none of that infernal grief had ever happened between them, and all is right again as it had been (perhaps, just perhaps). But life is never that easy—never that forgiving. When her figure on the horizon splits into two, he is grounded once again to reality, wrenched from the delusion of fantastical thoughts and his own selfish dreams. He should have known by now, not to hope for foolish things (no matter how much he might want to). He must let go. It shouldn’t be this hard. He feels something twist in his chest when she draws near (near enough to touch; he can imagine the heat radiating between them). There is only silence at first, neither of them wanting to speak (he for fear of the bitterness that lays wait on the back of his tongue, of that cruel lion of pride that is ever so eager to bare its teeth and slash its claws); for now, he can only stare. How long has it been, since he has seen those bright, bright eyes? How long has it been, since he had buried his face in those lily-white curls, and caressed the satin skin across her neck? Too long. The stallion drifts again, far too eager to abandon responsibility, seduced by the wondrous temptation of An old friend? He wants to demand of her, You dare to keep my identity from him? A multitude of sore words boil to the tip of his tongue, resting there like burning embers, just waiting to let loose their flames. But they die as quickly as they had been kindled, smothered by a rare sense of shame that settles heavily across his shoulders. What right does he have now, to claim this title? He who had abandoned it, tossed it aside like garbage and stomped it into the ground (and unwittingly her heart along with it). He had not wanted to be a father at all, then. Why should that change now? It is better this way, he realizes, and the reality of it hits him with a force he hadn’t been expecting. How can he hurt for the loss of something he had never even wanted? Clearing his throat gruffly, the Warlander swallows past the grief in his heart, his ears tipping backwards and his smile flat as he looks to the boy (because he has never been good at controlling his wild, wild emotions). “Hello, Etziel; it’s nice to meet you.” There is so much of her in him (so much of himself, perhaps), and he can only hope that he comes to practice more foresight than his foolish father. When Enna continues, he turns to her too eagerly, hoping to lose himself in the cadence of her voice. She is so gentle, so affectionate towards the boy; he is not surprised. Rohan has never had a doubt that she would make a great mother, all of his mistrust has been directed inwards, like daggers (which makes him push them away all the more fervently). Still, he cannot deny the painful warping of his heart as it is tied and twisted, a momentary flicker of sorrow managing to find its way into his eyes. Is that what they have become now? A story? It takes him a moment to answer the boy, green eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer (if only to hold her there), before he turns to Etziel with a rough chuckle. “It is something you can only learn right then, when suddenly caught in the heat of battle,” he forces a smirk for the kid’s sake, memories of their intimacy then reaching out to sting him now. “The girl was very brave too, you know,” His eyes wander to her face, as though the words are meant for her rather than “Speech.” rohan RE: hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go - Enna - 05-25-2016 and this is how it hurts when i pretend i don't feel any pain
“I don’t know. Ama worries too much and I never get to have any fun because she’s always right there telling me not to do this or not to do that because she wants me safe.” He pauses to look at you, scrunching his face and sticking out his little tongue. Beneath his satire there is a glimmer of affection, the smallest hint of a smile. “All of the other girls that I know are the same. Maybe you just thought it was a girl but it was really a boy. That makes more sense to me.” You cannot help but to laugh in spite of (because of) his mockery, laugh at all of the things he couldn’t possibly know. A quick glance is thrown to the man as if you need reassurance, as if all of those moments that have passed between the two of you, how you would have given him forever if only he had wanted it (wanted you), every ounce of unrequited love that sits so heavy now in your chest, would mean nothing if he did not remember too. He does his best to pretend your amusement has gone unnoticed, does his best to not betray the heat that rises to his skin in embarrassment, in annoyance, though you cannot help but notice the flick of his ears tilting backwards, the way he ever so subtly rolls his eyes, only serving to renew your humor. It strikes a cord within your soul, a papercut that stings, bleeds, and you can only try to ignore it; to reassure yourself that it is normal for children to rebel, for them to feel smothered before they understand the way the world works, that you are doing what is right for him, even if it strains, fractures, the bond between the two of you. That, someday, he would grow up and know that everything that you have done, all the things you have sheltered him from despite his protests, his anger, had been for him. “You know, maybe he’s right.” You grin, shrugging your shoulders, pushing away the memories of a man you used to know, all of his concern, the days, weeks that followed when it had only been the two of you, when you had thought that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t only you that burned. “Girls really are just good for worrying.” Afterall, it had been worry that led you to follow him blindly into the heart of the earth the day you had met, worry that sent you chasing after him when the sounds of chaos had him throwing himself in danger’s way too, too many times; worry that had carved him a place in your heart. “Unless there is something—perhaps someone—worth being brave for.” You do not look to him as he had looked to you, afraid, always afraid, of finding a lack of his affection, of seeing the stark contrasts between reality and all of your wide-eyed dreams. “Besides, if I didn’t worry about you, who would?” It is meant for the both of them; though you nudge the colt’s tiny shoulder, smile yet again, unwilling to allow the sandstone man the chance to look deeper, to understand. Etziel only huffs, shying from your touch in his typical stubborn fashion, unwanting to provoke further conversation about women and their silly, ineffectual ways. Maybe Rohan had someone else—for all of the time you have spent with him he has spent more away, more alone; the thought causes you to shift uncomfortably, pinpricks of jealousy cutting through the remnants of tenderness that you still hold for the man despite everything, your bitterness sour as it rises in the back of your throat. What would it mean if he had? He had pushed you away—rejected you when you had offered the prospect of a life together, when you came with nothing but love, dreams woven of what could be. What would it mean if there was someone else—if, in all of his choices, his @Rohan RE: hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go - Rohan - 08-11-2016 Can’t feel anything—when will I learn? I push it down, push it down.
The stallion smiles at the boy’s spitfire declarations, the skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes while he laughs, low and short as it rumbles from his chest. He remembers being so young—unburdened by anything but a youth’s concern, skipping about palace halls and pulling the pretty girls’ hair for sport (of course, that is how a boy shows his affection, is it not?). His heart had far exceeded his body then, swollen with grand adventures and childish mischief. Perhaps a part of him hasn’t changed; he still dreams, although all the fantasies in the world cannot relieve the mistakes and troubles that burden him now. Silencing his laughter to a low hum, the tall stallion lowers his head towards the boy, amusement still sparking in the shadow of his eyes. “You should listen to your mother, she knows what she’s doing,” he can’t help but look to her for a moment, smiling crookedly, knowing that sooner or later Etziel will learn how the wisdom of women shines in comparison to the folly of men. In spite of all his rebellion, all of his silly anger, Rohan had always respected his mother. Giving the young colt a mischievous wink, he raises his head, one side of his brow rising in light question when the brown mare speaks. Freely, she gives validation to the boy’s hot words, perhaps for the sake of his untested heart, sparing him of insecurity like any mother does (like the good mother Rohan always knew she would be). Earthy eyes watch her with a quiet intensity, silently imploring her for forgiveness, wordlessly communicating all the things that he cannot All the same, she doesn’t meet his eye, placing another brick to the wall that they endlessly seem to dance around. He presses against it (cold, hard stone), almost pushing, before he leans back with an inaudible sigh. The Warlander doesn’t deserve to push her now, not after all the heartache he has put her through (and yet, he still couldn’t promise that things could’ve been different, that given the chance, he wouldn’t do the same thing). He wants her (needs her), and yet his abominable ego is far too swollen to allow him the chance to settle humbly into her arms. The boy’s boredom cracks into the heavy silence, igniting a smile from both of his parents (an idea still so foreign, strange, and terrifying for the antlered man). With hardly a breath lost, the colt is bounding down the shoreline—green eyes turn then to the little mare, nearly begging for her to stay (this can’t be goodbye again), though she takes the direction now. Curving close enough to touch, she turns after her son. The stallion’s bearded chin hovers so close to her skin, radiating with the warmth, memories of sunsets and mingling breaths blossoming to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t hesitate in accepting her silent invitation, settling comfortably at her shoulder. Perhaps for a moment far too short, and a night far too rare, everything will be okay again. “Speech.” rohan |