FIC: Out of Mind (LotRPS)
Title: Out of Mind
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotRPS
Pairing: Bean/?
Rating: G
Archive: Lothlorien, sons_of_gondor, and Green Opals.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Absolutely did not happen. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Summary: Having begun a course of laser-treatment to remove his Fellowship tattoo, Sean finds that things that are out of sight may not be so far out of mind.
Notes: A drabble, following directly from Out of Sight. (Pairing info is revealed at the end.)
Out of Mind
By Galadriel
"It's not like that, Sean. It's just-- You're so far away, and we're both so busy..."
Sunglasses slipping, Sean squinted against brightness. Gauze wisps pressed against his shoulder, sealing tattoo and memory beneath. Promises of peeling skin, fading ink -- slow beats of willful forgetting in three-week breaths -- were crisply folded, tucked, pocketed.
Piercing ringing pushed him immediately off-kilter. Half-blind in dazzling light, he blanched; wavered between question and answer before old habits took over. His voice -- roughened by stale anger, denials, pleas; silent nights echoing long-past knocks, warm greetings -- formed two soft syllables never meant to be spoken again: "Viggo."
END
(August 25, 2006)
Continue on to Out of Time or Out of Exile.
(Two different versions of what happens next.)
Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, rugbytackle, fellow_shippers.
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotRPS
Pairing: Bean/?
Rating: G
Archive: Lothlorien, sons_of_gondor, and Green Opals.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Absolutely did not happen. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Summary: Having begun a course of laser-treatment to remove his Fellowship tattoo, Sean finds that things that are out of sight may not be so far out of mind.
Notes: A drabble, following directly from Out of Sight. (Pairing info is revealed at the end.)
Out of Mind
By Galadriel
"It's not like that, Sean. It's just-- You're so far away, and we're both so busy..."
Sunglasses slipping, Sean squinted against brightness. Gauze wisps pressed against his shoulder, sealing tattoo and memory beneath. Promises of peeling skin, fading ink -- slow beats of willful forgetting in three-week breaths -- were crisply folded, tucked, pocketed.
Piercing ringing pushed him immediately off-kilter. Half-blind in dazzling light, he blanched; wavered between question and answer before old habits took over. His voice -- roughened by stale anger, denials, pleas; silent nights echoing long-past knocks, warm greetings -- formed two soft syllables never meant to be spoken again: "Viggo."
END
(August 25, 2006)
Continue on to Out of Time or Out of Exile.
(Two different versions of what happens next.)
Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, rugbytackle, fellow_shippers.