If the seas catch fire, part 9 (fin)
anonymous
February 20 2012, 20:01:21 UTC
x.
Nothing is the same, but eventually everything's similar enough.
In the end, it's all about reclamation.
In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens.
His mouth looks the same, the cadence of his voice unmistakably right when he speaks.
His eyes, too, are the same, flashing with split-second hesitation but not an ounce of doubt and that distinction has always made all the difference to her. It's not as clear now; it's been muddied by time and experience and betrayal, by mistakes made and regrets kept deep in their hearts or worn bright on their sleeves. War paints everything in heavy streaks of grey.
But she finds, as he returns her kiss and deepens it, that it doesn't matter.
This matters: the feel of him, the taste, his self-contained smile and her cocky satisfaction as she wrings it out of him, the different angle of old memories and new scars. His energy alongside her own, forming a shivering shield. How her hands over his chest mirror his mouth grazing the veins on her bare neck as they give in and let go.
Re: If the seas catch fire, part 9 (fin)
anonymous
February 21 2012, 19:52:23 UTC
p.s.: same anon as above wondering if you've written other stuff, as I'd really like to read them! (judging by your "another fill" comment, I'm assuming you have!)
Re: If the seas catch fire, part 9 (fin)
anonymous
March 8 2012, 10:28:33 UTC
This was beautiful and heartbreaking. There were so many little bits that were just perfect.
"In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens."
Nothing is the same, but eventually everything's similar enough.
In the end, it's all about reclamation.
In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens.
His mouth looks the same, the cadence of his voice unmistakably right when he speaks.
His eyes, too, are the same, flashing with split-second hesitation but not an ounce of doubt and that distinction has always made all the difference to her. It's not as clear now; it's been muddied by time and experience and betrayal, by mistakes made and regrets kept deep in their hearts or worn bright on their sleeves. War paints everything in heavy streaks of grey.
But she finds, as he returns her kiss and deepens it, that it doesn't matter.
This matters: the feel of him, the taste, his self-contained smile and her cocky satisfaction as she wrings it out of him, the different angle of old memories and new scars. His energy alongside her own, forming a shivering shield. How her hands over his chest mirror his mouth grazing the veins on her bare neck as they give in and let go.
And the rest is symmetry.
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(I have written a lot of stuff but not for the meme and I never know if it's okay to break the anon cover around here. )
/anon author
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This was beautiful.
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"In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens."
Loved this part.
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