Still Lives and a Wedding [#1, 31, 27, 3, 30, 22, 43, 46, 50, 47, 51]
Title: still lives and a wedding
Series: star wars
Theme no.: 1, 31, 27, 3, 30, 22, 43, 46, 50, 47, 51
Character(s)/Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Padmé Amidala
Rating: R (allusions to naughty things)
1. Beginnings.
It started with a kiss. It was not the first, but it was by far the most vivid, the most bitter, heavy with fate and foreshadowing. They supposed that the war was responsible for their marriage as well, just because everything was, only neither of them could pinpoint the beginning of their own insanity, and neither of them cared for the end, so they both supposed that the middle was all that should matter.
31. It's about creeds and deeds
but words, chivalry seldom needs
She never understood why he refused to get married. She would implore him -- beg him, even -- to consider her wishes in this, that it was not right to do this unwed, that it simply was not done. He, fresh from a society where marriage meant nothing more than hastily exchanged credit chips in the market and more children to be sold, never understood why she wanted to marry at all. Don’t you think, he’d whisper, tracing patterns on the back of her neck with a fingertip, that it doesn’t matter how I love you, but only that I do?
27. Tales of manly perseverance. (Or the lack thereof.)
She always made things unnecessarily complicated, tried to pull away from him the first night they were wed, glanced at her bare thighs, eyes wide, wondered about consequences and outcomes and that she may even (the gods forbid) become pregnant. But it was, he snapped, too late to think of such matters now, not when they were wed, finally, unchallenged. And when she tried to speak, he cut her off with a kiss, his teeth drawing blood from her swollen lip, and although she gave a token protest, she pushed herself closer to him as she did so, arching her back as he claimed his victory.
3. Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.
Whenever they saw each other, after those days and weeks and months of separation, she would always talk about the war, pressing him, begging him for news of dates of deaths and defeats and he, fresh from the front lines, the grit of the battle still raw in his eyes, would always kiss her to shut her up, trying not to see the blood every time he closed his eyes. She was tenacious, though, and he tried not to think about how, once upon a time, he might even have admired that tenacity, loved her for it and told her it was beautiful. But now he pushed her away, sheets twisting around his body, and tried to forget.
(He always came to her to escape it, not for more, and he began to wonder if she already knew.)
30. I have all these thoughts, and I'm pretty sure they all contradict each other.
He never understood why she was so prudish about sex. She always drew the sheets tightly around them like camouflage, spoke of it quietly, like a litany, washed herself afterwards like a sinner, scrubbing at her skin with hot water as though she would remove the very touch of him from her skin.
He once asked her if he truly repulsed her that much, if she should find someone better, more whole. She always replied that she loved him, broken or no, but she said it too many times for it to be real, and they both knew that he did, and they both knew that she knew.
22. Charisma: a form of voodoo
He hated her over reliance on words, her desperation to cocoon everything in a safe bundle of nouns and adjectives and ever-lengthening similies until he lost control of the meanings and felt himself drowning. She once asked him why he had never told her that he loved her, and that angered him more than ever before, because he had pleasured her in more ways than he could remember and fought for her and died for her, and if that wasn’t proof of his love for her, then he didn’t know what was.
(He still told her he loved her, though. Just that once.)
43. A trap from which it will be hard to escape with dignity and honour.
She hated the changes, the way he would be different every time she saw him. She knew about war; knew it was violent. But she saw the shadows in his eyes, the scars on his face, the set of his jaw, and she realised just how violent war could be.
He always said she never changed.
50. The second-hand victims of loneliness
She sometimes wondered what happened to the man she married. But she could never see the resemblance, no matter how hard she tried.
46. Ere we were disunited?
The arguments became more heated as they grew older. They sought forgiveness more often too, spending hours in bed together, each snatched meeting shorter than the last, another casualty of war.
(And when she became pregnant, her first thought was that she was too young, but he was younger, younger than she, only life had buried his youth deep enough for all but himself to forget it.)
47. Cease, cease - for such wild lessons madmen learn
He gripped her tightly, like glass, crushing her, objectifying her. And she looked into those dark, bloodstained eyes, searching for traces of blue, of Naboo skies and crystal lakes and the wedding ring she knew he wore, burning against his chest. There were none. And then, like glass, she shattered and broke into a thousand and one pieces. But his hands were gloved, and his heart was stone, and so he failed to notice.
51. We build worlds that destroy us.
The last time that they argued, they didn’t forgive each other afterwards.
(Although it didn’t matter, because he was gone, and she was dead, and there was no more to forgive after that.)
Series: star wars
Theme no.: 1, 31, 27, 3, 30, 22, 43, 46, 50, 47, 51
Character(s)/Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Padmé Amidala
Rating: R (allusions to naughty things)
1. Beginnings.
It started with a kiss. It was not the first, but it was by far the most vivid, the most bitter, heavy with fate and foreshadowing. They supposed that the war was responsible for their marriage as well, just because everything was, only neither of them could pinpoint the beginning of their own insanity, and neither of them cared for the end, so they both supposed that the middle was all that should matter.
31. It's about creeds and deeds
but words, chivalry seldom needs
She never understood why he refused to get married. She would implore him -- beg him, even -- to consider her wishes in this, that it was not right to do this unwed, that it simply was not done. He, fresh from a society where marriage meant nothing more than hastily exchanged credit chips in the market and more children to be sold, never understood why she wanted to marry at all. Don’t you think, he’d whisper, tracing patterns on the back of her neck with a fingertip, that it doesn’t matter how I love you, but only that I do?
27. Tales of manly perseverance. (Or the lack thereof.)
She always made things unnecessarily complicated, tried to pull away from him the first night they were wed, glanced at her bare thighs, eyes wide, wondered about consequences and outcomes and that she may even (the gods forbid) become pregnant. But it was, he snapped, too late to think of such matters now, not when they were wed, finally, unchallenged. And when she tried to speak, he cut her off with a kiss, his teeth drawing blood from her swollen lip, and although she gave a token protest, she pushed herself closer to him as she did so, arching her back as he claimed his victory.
3. Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.
Whenever they saw each other, after those days and weeks and months of separation, she would always talk about the war, pressing him, begging him for news of dates of deaths and defeats and he, fresh from the front lines, the grit of the battle still raw in his eyes, would always kiss her to shut her up, trying not to see the blood every time he closed his eyes. She was tenacious, though, and he tried not to think about how, once upon a time, he might even have admired that tenacity, loved her for it and told her it was beautiful. But now he pushed her away, sheets twisting around his body, and tried to forget.
(He always came to her to escape it, not for more, and he began to wonder if she already knew.)
30. I have all these thoughts, and I'm pretty sure they all contradict each other.
He never understood why she was so prudish about sex. She always drew the sheets tightly around them like camouflage, spoke of it quietly, like a litany, washed herself afterwards like a sinner, scrubbing at her skin with hot water as though she would remove the very touch of him from her skin.
He once asked her if he truly repulsed her that much, if she should find someone better, more whole. She always replied that she loved him, broken or no, but she said it too many times for it to be real, and they both knew that he did, and they both knew that she knew.
22. Charisma: a form of voodoo
He hated her over reliance on words, her desperation to cocoon everything in a safe bundle of nouns and adjectives and ever-lengthening similies until he lost control of the meanings and felt himself drowning. She once asked him why he had never told her that he loved her, and that angered him more than ever before, because he had pleasured her in more ways than he could remember and fought for her and died for her, and if that wasn’t proof of his love for her, then he didn’t know what was.
(He still told her he loved her, though. Just that once.)
43. A trap from which it will be hard to escape with dignity and honour.
She hated the changes, the way he would be different every time she saw him. She knew about war; knew it was violent. But she saw the shadows in his eyes, the scars on his face, the set of his jaw, and she realised just how violent war could be.
He always said she never changed.
50. The second-hand victims of loneliness
She sometimes wondered what happened to the man she married. But she could never see the resemblance, no matter how hard she tried.
46. Ere we were disunited?
The arguments became more heated as they grew older. They sought forgiveness more often too, spending hours in bed together, each snatched meeting shorter than the last, another casualty of war.
(And when she became pregnant, her first thought was that she was too young, but he was younger, younger than she, only life had buried his youth deep enough for all but himself to forget it.)
47. Cease, cease - for such wild lessons madmen learn
He gripped her tightly, like glass, crushing her, objectifying her. And she looked into those dark, bloodstained eyes, searching for traces of blue, of Naboo skies and crystal lakes and the wedding ring she knew he wore, burning against his chest. There were none. And then, like glass, she shattered and broke into a thousand and one pieces. But his hands were gloved, and his heart was stone, and so he failed to notice.
51. We build worlds that destroy us.
The last time that they argued, they didn’t forgive each other afterwards.
(Although it didn’t matter, because he was gone, and she was dead, and there was no more to forgive after that.)