lost ff: scribbled on the backs of railway guides (s/j)
title: scribbled on the backs of railway guides
pairing: james+jules
word count: 1812
summary: 30 more sentences over 3 years
notes: title taken from auden's o tell me the truth about love and prompts taken from 1sentence. the first batch can be found here. i am truly addicted to writing them, it is sad and pathetic but fun and perfect for someone with little creativity and commitment issues like myself. any and all comments would be, by me, appreciated
Belief
She thanks him for believing in her, but that seems a silly because it’s not like it took effort - he always believes in her.
Book
“I can’t stand The Grapes of Wrath,” she tells him, tossing the book on the table, and he looks surprised at her admission, retorting quickly with a “how can you possibly say that?” and she widens her eyes, urging him on with “because it’s true.”
Child
“He’d be such a terror, an amusing sarcastic terror,” she laughs a little, her fingers flirting with the surface of the sand, her eyes searching the sky for unfamiliar constellations, and she hears him let out an amused chuckle before he counters her prediction, sea breeze and salt water in his voice - “she’d be beautiful.”
Chocolate
Juliet swirls her spoon through the delicious confection, her eyes an almost childlike wide at the sweet joy of the treat, and he eyes her, curious and craving, and when she meets his gaze she smiles a greedy smile and shakes her head, licking the spoon.
Despair
Down, down, down, she goes, a slip, a weakness, a echoing cry, and she takes the whole world with her - sun, moon, stars, light - down, down, down, the best part of him, torn away, and there can’t be anything now, can’t be anything but this if she’s not here (where is she?).
Drink
“To the ones that got away,” he says, raising his glass slightly towards her, and she brings hers forward, ticking it quietly against his, adding, “to the ones here now.”
Forever
“I love you,” he says, breath hot on her skin, and it doesn’t sound like a promise, doesn’t sound like an obligation, doesn’t sound like a vow - it sounds like tomorrow.
Freedom
One of the most liberating things about each other, they’ve discovered, is the fact that they don’t have to conceal their past, explain it, or apologize for it - it simply doesn’t matter, or, more aptly, it doesn’t matter enough.
God
She is not a religious person, not by any means, and it has never been a choice or a conscious effort but more a shrug of the shoulders and a glossary of knowledge; but there are words in her head - soft glances, stained glass - and somewhere in between getting the rope and having a pow-wow she sits on the end of their bed, head down with closed eyes, and she asks someone - anyone - for help, because her world is slipping away (and Lord, she wants to keep it), so the words roll off, both foreign and familiar on her tongue, till she reaches now and at the hour of our death, amen and with that it as if her finger hit the wrong key, a note warped by sour reality and salty tears, and her mouth seems to burn with a bitter rust and no - some people just shouldn’t ask God for any favors.
Hands
They fit - isn’t that odd? - like puzzle pieces or broken glass, they just slide right into place with a click and a sigh, and it all makes sense, somehow, someway, tangled in each other’s lives, nimble fingers and rough skin.
Home
“You know, it doesn’t really make sense,” he tells her, barely looking up from the book in his lap, but she gives him her attention and he continues, “with the new recruits coming in, they need the space, and I’m always here anyway,” and he’s almost nervous, with his sideways gaze (isn’t that sweet?) and she pulls her knees up close to her, fingers pressing back the smile on her mouth, and she replies in pseudo-nonchalance, “you’re right.”
Hope
It hurt in a way the prettiest prose can’t do justice - her body, her mind, her heart - but with all she had in her, all she had left, with the litany of a thousand kisses and a dozen dreams still fresh on her skin, she banged, banged, banged till it worked and it wasn’t for her, no, it was for him - always for him.
Life
They are, at all times, three things to each other: the past, the present, and the future - two crackerjack time travelers, lovers born out of circumstance and conflict, friendship and familiarity, a couple baptized by gunfire and bruised hearts, their lives play on repeat, destined always to be circular, meant to forever fight for their place, to find each other, to fall in love, again and again, world without end, to the amusement of ironic gods.
Music
She sings Uptown Girl as she cuts up the vegetables and he watches her from the doorway, her rough and untrained voice bordering on delightful, and as it turns out she’s the original artist, right there in their kitchen.
Names
She never calls him Sawyer, not once, that antiquated vestige of a life now swept aside, and it isn’t a conscious effort or a meaningful decision, that is just never who he was to her, never who he’ll be.
New
She’s surprised when he shows up and even more surprised when he grabs her and pulls her away from the group, back behind one of the cars, and she asks him what he’s doing there as his lips brush against her cheek and she can’t help but melt a little when he pulls her closer to him and says with his trademark grin “I missed you,” and oh, she’s in trouble - she’s in such, such trouble.
Picture
He’s got it in a book somewhere playing, quite convincingly, the part of a bookmark shoved between the pages of his favorite novel; but that’s not why it’s there, no, and he knows just where to find it - a slightly discolored Polaroid of her, hair pulled back, clad in sleepwear, toothbrush in mouth, and she’s turned ever so slightly, having caught him in the act, a bemused and annoyed expression that is mixed so finely that only she could convey it, only her, only to him, and he loves that shot, even more than the novel it sits in.
Promise
The air is still around them, thick with the tropical humidity, and Juliet sits at the other end of the bed, sheet wrapped around her, feet up against his side, and his hand against her skin and the still raw feeling of his lips against hers are perfect - too perfect - and the day and their new quandary comes back to her, so she says to him, her voice a steady beat, “I don’t ever want to miss you,” and there’s a vulnerability there that could make her break, and he replies with two tons of calm, “you won’t have to.”
Rain
It hits the window, the roof and the walls, trying pathetically to push its way in on their intimate scene, but they ignore it, all eager hands and wanting lips, sweet, hopeful eyes - and this couldn’t possibly be the first time, no, it couldn’t possibly - and the rain isn’t an omen or a tearful prediction, it simply keeps time with them, stirring up the ground, making it fresh and new.
Search
She loves him, she realizes almost suddenly, quick like a breeze or a thunderclap, and with that it seems clearer, like a world with a new lens, and it strikes her as funny almost - the things you find when you stop looking.
Sex
With her feet curled up under her on the couch she watches him as he flips through a magazine, beer sweating in his hand, and she speaks abruptly, her voice strong with the confidence of facts, “I’m not going to sleep with you,” and his reaction is nearly nil, his face barely giving away evidence of pleasure as he replies “I didn’t imagine you would.”
Silence
It drags on for eons, the deep and screaming silence that occurs the moment he pulls his lips from hers and opens his eyes to read her gaze, and she’s such a pretty potion, such a remarkable remedy, and he wants so much more than just that, so much more than this unpunctuated moment, and so he waits with a bit of baited breath until she saves his life by sending up a smile.
Strange
He’s coming over for dinner tonight, which is an occurrence that has become frequent enough to merit routine, and as she walks to open the door she passes a mirror and stops, quickly fussing with her hair and oh - why did she do that?
Tears
As it turns out, crying isn’t such a terrible thing, not when you have someone to wipe your tears away.
Temptation
Juliet catches him looking at her sometimes now, in a way that gives him away, in a way that maybe he shouldn’t - and she will feel flushed, will shift her body, move her hands - but she likes it a little, in a way that maybe she shouldn’t.
Unknown
Sometimes she wonders how he would act on a roller coaster, if he’d be stingy or generous when tipping the pizza guy, what it would be like to eye him in a darkened movie theater, to shop for him at Christmas, to kiss him in an elevator, what they would be like away from all this, back in that vague memory once referred to as “home;” but she makes these thoughts abbreviated, doesn’t card catalog them in her mind because there’s no use to it, he’s him and they’re them - here, there, now, then.
View
They’re all at the barbeque for the new recruits where it’s hotter than blazes, and Miles follows Jin’s eye line towards a tree where they stand: LaFleur with his hand propped up beside Juliet’s head, body leaning in close to her, her fingers entwined with his down at their side, and he says something that makes her laugh - a light happy note that is clear even from a distance - and Jin turns back to Miles, saying “nice couple” in his ever improving English, to which Miles replies, almost nonplussed, “yeah, it’s weird, isn’t it?”
Wind
He takes her hand, snaking his fingers through hers with a gentle grasp, a feeling so natural it is almost absurd, and they walk together down the beach, into the unknown, but this time with the wind at their backs, and that makes all the difference.
Whisky and Rum
Juliet giggles - an overtly feminine act that fits her oddly, unexpectedly in a charming sort of manner - and he shakes his head, “you’re drunk, Blondie” he tells her and she purses her lips, leaning her head on her hand before replying, voice and eyes steady and clear, “can you blame me?”
Young
If you average out her ages - the two decade spanning versions of her that fumble about this planet - it comes out to be around 20, and it’s funny because sometimes, when he kisses her, that’s how old she feels.
pairing: james+jules
word count: 1812
summary: 30 more sentences over 3 years
notes: title taken from auden's o tell me the truth about love and prompts taken from 1sentence. the first batch can be found here. i am truly addicted to writing them, it is sad and pathetic but fun and perfect for someone with little creativity and commitment issues like myself. any and all comments would be, by me, appreciated
Belief
She thanks him for believing in her, but that seems a silly because it’s not like it took effort - he always believes in her.
Book
“I can’t stand The Grapes of Wrath,” she tells him, tossing the book on the table, and he looks surprised at her admission, retorting quickly with a “how can you possibly say that?” and she widens her eyes, urging him on with “because it’s true.”
Child
“He’d be such a terror, an amusing sarcastic terror,” she laughs a little, her fingers flirting with the surface of the sand, her eyes searching the sky for unfamiliar constellations, and she hears him let out an amused chuckle before he counters her prediction, sea breeze and salt water in his voice - “she’d be beautiful.”
Chocolate
Juliet swirls her spoon through the delicious confection, her eyes an almost childlike wide at the sweet joy of the treat, and he eyes her, curious and craving, and when she meets his gaze she smiles a greedy smile and shakes her head, licking the spoon.
Despair
Down, down, down, she goes, a slip, a weakness, a echoing cry, and she takes the whole world with her - sun, moon, stars, light - down, down, down, the best part of him, torn away, and there can’t be anything now, can’t be anything but this if she’s not here (where is she?).
Drink
“To the ones that got away,” he says, raising his glass slightly towards her, and she brings hers forward, ticking it quietly against his, adding, “to the ones here now.”
Forever
“I love you,” he says, breath hot on her skin, and it doesn’t sound like a promise, doesn’t sound like an obligation, doesn’t sound like a vow - it sounds like tomorrow.
Freedom
One of the most liberating things about each other, they’ve discovered, is the fact that they don’t have to conceal their past, explain it, or apologize for it - it simply doesn’t matter, or, more aptly, it doesn’t matter enough.
God
She is not a religious person, not by any means, and it has never been a choice or a conscious effort but more a shrug of the shoulders and a glossary of knowledge; but there are words in her head - soft glances, stained glass - and somewhere in between getting the rope and having a pow-wow she sits on the end of their bed, head down with closed eyes, and she asks someone - anyone - for help, because her world is slipping away (and Lord, she wants to keep it), so the words roll off, both foreign and familiar on her tongue, till she reaches now and at the hour of our death, amen and with that it as if her finger hit the wrong key, a note warped by sour reality and salty tears, and her mouth seems to burn with a bitter rust and no - some people just shouldn’t ask God for any favors.
Hands
They fit - isn’t that odd? - like puzzle pieces or broken glass, they just slide right into place with a click and a sigh, and it all makes sense, somehow, someway, tangled in each other’s lives, nimble fingers and rough skin.
Home
“You know, it doesn’t really make sense,” he tells her, barely looking up from the book in his lap, but she gives him her attention and he continues, “with the new recruits coming in, they need the space, and I’m always here anyway,” and he’s almost nervous, with his sideways gaze (isn’t that sweet?) and she pulls her knees up close to her, fingers pressing back the smile on her mouth, and she replies in pseudo-nonchalance, “you’re right.”
Hope
It hurt in a way the prettiest prose can’t do justice - her body, her mind, her heart - but with all she had in her, all she had left, with the litany of a thousand kisses and a dozen dreams still fresh on her skin, she banged, banged, banged till it worked and it wasn’t for her, no, it was for him - always for him.
Life
They are, at all times, three things to each other: the past, the present, and the future - two crackerjack time travelers, lovers born out of circumstance and conflict, friendship and familiarity, a couple baptized by gunfire and bruised hearts, their lives play on repeat, destined always to be circular, meant to forever fight for their place, to find each other, to fall in love, again and again, world without end, to the amusement of ironic gods.
Music
She sings Uptown Girl as she cuts up the vegetables and he watches her from the doorway, her rough and untrained voice bordering on delightful, and as it turns out she’s the original artist, right there in their kitchen.
Names
She never calls him Sawyer, not once, that antiquated vestige of a life now swept aside, and it isn’t a conscious effort or a meaningful decision, that is just never who he was to her, never who he’ll be.
New
She’s surprised when he shows up and even more surprised when he grabs her and pulls her away from the group, back behind one of the cars, and she asks him what he’s doing there as his lips brush against her cheek and she can’t help but melt a little when he pulls her closer to him and says with his trademark grin “I missed you,” and oh, she’s in trouble - she’s in such, such trouble.
Picture
He’s got it in a book somewhere playing, quite convincingly, the part of a bookmark shoved between the pages of his favorite novel; but that’s not why it’s there, no, and he knows just where to find it - a slightly discolored Polaroid of her, hair pulled back, clad in sleepwear, toothbrush in mouth, and she’s turned ever so slightly, having caught him in the act, a bemused and annoyed expression that is mixed so finely that only she could convey it, only her, only to him, and he loves that shot, even more than the novel it sits in.
Promise
The air is still around them, thick with the tropical humidity, and Juliet sits at the other end of the bed, sheet wrapped around her, feet up against his side, and his hand against her skin and the still raw feeling of his lips against hers are perfect - too perfect - and the day and their new quandary comes back to her, so she says to him, her voice a steady beat, “I don’t ever want to miss you,” and there’s a vulnerability there that could make her break, and he replies with two tons of calm, “you won’t have to.”
Rain
It hits the window, the roof and the walls, trying pathetically to push its way in on their intimate scene, but they ignore it, all eager hands and wanting lips, sweet, hopeful eyes - and this couldn’t possibly be the first time, no, it couldn’t possibly - and the rain isn’t an omen or a tearful prediction, it simply keeps time with them, stirring up the ground, making it fresh and new.
Search
She loves him, she realizes almost suddenly, quick like a breeze or a thunderclap, and with that it seems clearer, like a world with a new lens, and it strikes her as funny almost - the things you find when you stop looking.
Sex
With her feet curled up under her on the couch she watches him as he flips through a magazine, beer sweating in his hand, and she speaks abruptly, her voice strong with the confidence of facts, “I’m not going to sleep with you,” and his reaction is nearly nil, his face barely giving away evidence of pleasure as he replies “I didn’t imagine you would.”
Silence
It drags on for eons, the deep and screaming silence that occurs the moment he pulls his lips from hers and opens his eyes to read her gaze, and she’s such a pretty potion, such a remarkable remedy, and he wants so much more than just that, so much more than this unpunctuated moment, and so he waits with a bit of baited breath until she saves his life by sending up a smile.
Strange
He’s coming over for dinner tonight, which is an occurrence that has become frequent enough to merit routine, and as she walks to open the door she passes a mirror and stops, quickly fussing with her hair and oh - why did she do that?
Tears
As it turns out, crying isn’t such a terrible thing, not when you have someone to wipe your tears away.
Temptation
Juliet catches him looking at her sometimes now, in a way that gives him away, in a way that maybe he shouldn’t - and she will feel flushed, will shift her body, move her hands - but she likes it a little, in a way that maybe she shouldn’t.
Unknown
Sometimes she wonders how he would act on a roller coaster, if he’d be stingy or generous when tipping the pizza guy, what it would be like to eye him in a darkened movie theater, to shop for him at Christmas, to kiss him in an elevator, what they would be like away from all this, back in that vague memory once referred to as “home;” but she makes these thoughts abbreviated, doesn’t card catalog them in her mind because there’s no use to it, he’s him and they’re them - here, there, now, then.
View
They’re all at the barbeque for the new recruits where it’s hotter than blazes, and Miles follows Jin’s eye line towards a tree where they stand: LaFleur with his hand propped up beside Juliet’s head, body leaning in close to her, her fingers entwined with his down at their side, and he says something that makes her laugh - a light happy note that is clear even from a distance - and Jin turns back to Miles, saying “nice couple” in his ever improving English, to which Miles replies, almost nonplussed, “yeah, it’s weird, isn’t it?”
Wind
He takes her hand, snaking his fingers through hers with a gentle grasp, a feeling so natural it is almost absurd, and they walk together down the beach, into the unknown, but this time with the wind at their backs, and that makes all the difference.
Whisky and Rum
Juliet giggles - an overtly feminine act that fits her oddly, unexpectedly in a charming sort of manner - and he shakes his head, “you’re drunk, Blondie” he tells her and she purses her lips, leaning her head on her hand before replying, voice and eyes steady and clear, “can you blame me?”
Young
If you average out her ages - the two decade spanning versions of her that fumble about this planet - it comes out to be around 20, and it’s funny because sometimes, when he kisses her, that’s how old she feels.