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paradise-city.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2003-02-11 10:04 am
paradise-city.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-02-11 10:04 am
Autumn (LOTR RPS, G, EW/SA)
Title: Autumn
Pairing: Elijah Wood/Sean Astin
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue.
Feedback: Along with criticism, both are greatly appreciated.
Note: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
contrelamontre taste challenge.
[7:18 pm]
Autumn tastes bitter.
It tastes like missed chances and lost opportunities; doors closing shut before you have a chance to see what lies behind. The air smells crisp and cold with the tang of dead leaves falling slowly to the ground and the sharp edge of it feels as though it could draw blood.
Winter tastes dead. Cold and barren, winter is a time to feel an oblique sort of pain, as though not even your demons can be bothered to wake enough to pain you. They, too, would rather lie dormant, watching from behind a curtain of snow as you do their work for them, slowly driving yourself mad by degrees, using only the wisps of thought that float on the frigid air.
Spring tastes like anticipation, like escape is coming within reach. As the world slowly wakes, the senses come alive and the itch to do, to be sets in, impatient and excited. Spring is a time of preparation, of chances dancing bright on the horizon as the world slowly explodes from darkness to color.
Summer tastes like freedom; impulsive and reckless, sultry and dangerous. Summer is a time to throw caution to the wind and to be someone you're not; to live, really live, and feel, really feel, if just one for one day that will make all the others worthwhile. Summer is a time to be brave, to be wild and free, invincible in the knowledge that pain cannot possibly find you when the sun is shining so brightly.
Autumn tastes like disappointment. The best is behind you and the worst is ahead; you're caught in a limbo that crunches and shatters beneath your feet, leaving only a trace of dust to show that anything was ever there. And that's what it feels like, dust. Not enough to hold on to, but too much to be able to forget.
Autumn tastes like regret.
But mostly, autumn tastes like Sean.
[7:39 pm]
Pairing: Elijah Wood/Sean Astin
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue.
Feedback: Along with criticism, both are greatly appreciated.
Note: Written for the
contrelamontre taste challenge.[7:18 pm]
Autumn tastes bitter.
It tastes like missed chances and lost opportunities; doors closing shut before you have a chance to see what lies behind. The air smells crisp and cold with the tang of dead leaves falling slowly to the ground and the sharp edge of it feels as though it could draw blood.
Winter tastes dead. Cold and barren, winter is a time to feel an oblique sort of pain, as though not even your demons can be bothered to wake enough to pain you. They, too, would rather lie dormant, watching from behind a curtain of snow as you do their work for them, slowly driving yourself mad by degrees, using only the wisps of thought that float on the frigid air.
Spring tastes like anticipation, like escape is coming within reach. As the world slowly wakes, the senses come alive and the itch to do, to be sets in, impatient and excited. Spring is a time of preparation, of chances dancing bright on the horizon as the world slowly explodes from darkness to color.
Summer tastes like freedom; impulsive and reckless, sultry and dangerous. Summer is a time to throw caution to the wind and to be someone you're not; to live, really live, and feel, really feel, if just one for one day that will make all the others worthwhile. Summer is a time to be brave, to be wild and free, invincible in the knowledge that pain cannot possibly find you when the sun is shining so brightly.
Autumn tastes like disappointment. The best is behind you and the worst is ahead; you're caught in a limbo that crunches and shatters beneath your feet, leaving only a trace of dust to show that anything was ever there. And that's what it feels like, dust. Not enough to hold on to, but too much to be able to forget.
Autumn tastes like regret.
But mostly, autumn tastes like Sean.
[7:39 pm]