(no subject)
Title: Stupid (1/?)
Pairing: Norrington/Elizabeth (Mentioning of Will/Elizabeth)
Rating: Hard R, mild NC-17
Notes: This is part one of a most likely two part series. This is also a challenge piece, which is discussed in the "summary/challenge."
Summary/Challenge: By sampaguita_blue: Can someone write a Norribeth fic based on the song/video "Stupid" by Sarah Mchlachlan --- with Will being Elizabeth's stodgy, rut-inducing husband and the good Commodore being the guy she cheats with... ending with Elizabeth and Will sitting on a couch looking away from each other and Elizabeth shrinking away from his touch. Link to "Stupid" lyrics here.
Elizabeth had cried herself to sleep again. It was the fifth time this week, and the third week this month.
It was too much, it was too hard. And she was so young after all.
She was supposed to be a dutiful wife, a loving wife, a gentle and genial wife. But was not Will supposed to be all those things and more for her? He did try, didn't he? Yet he was gone so often and for so long, at the tavern, at the smithy, at the stables. It seemed that he had no time for her any longer, as if his mind were preoccupied to the point of disillusionment. Elizabeth pretended that she did not see every time he would gaze out their bedroom window at the sea. She pretended that she could feel something when he would then desperately need to fornicate; pretend she could taste the passion in his lips and call it her own; pretend she could still quiver at the calluses of his worn hands running over her naked skin; pretend she could still feel desire and need and pleasure when he would make love to her. But in all her pretending, she could not make reality. Elizabeth Swann-Turner...had fallen out of love.
She blinked away the tears that collected in the corners of her eyes and ran her palm over her tired lids. Will's arm lay protectively around her waist. He felt like an anvil: heavy, dead, and dull. Quietly she slipped out from beneath his grasp and fled from the canopy bed.
The moonlight was dim as it cast its lonely beams through the tall paneled windows in the corridor. The squished rectangles of blue light guided her path towards the library. Elizabeth tripped and stumbled over decorative hallway sofas and tables in her way, but Will slept like the dead, he would not wake.
At long last, she arrived at her destination, and closing the door behind her, Elizabeth slumped bonelessly into a high-backed chair. She lit a candle, burned her finger. Her jaw trembled as she scowled at the tiny flame that danced happily upon its blackening wick. How simple it all was for something not made of flesh and bone. How wonderful it would be to be a little flame, to have no heart and no body. But in truth, Elizabeth was a flame, and she had merely been blown out.
Hot tears sprang to her eyes and slid down her cheeks. They left stains upon her creamy skin, marring them with salted water. Elizabeth buried her head in her arms and wept openly.
__________________________________________
"Mistress, Commodore Norrington's arrived," said a plump maid to Elizabeth. She nodded to the girl, and off she went into the kitchen.
Elizabeth sighed and looked at the neat array of cards she held fanned out in her hand. Spades, three clubs, and one heart. She glanced to Will on her left, and back to her cards. Her King of Hearts lay on her right. Carefully she molded her cards into a neat stack and placed them face down. She rose to great the Commodore as he entered and took his seat. He shook Will's hand.
"Go glad you could join us, James," said Will brightly, releasing his friend's hand.
Ever since Will had acquired the smithy in the wake of Master Brown's death, he and James had come to some strange accord akin to friendship. James visited once a month-or more if he so chose, but once a month was the average-and went riding with the Turners, or joined them for supper and music, or other such frivolous activities that Elizabeth never really took enjoyment in, and in truth Norrington had confided in her that neither did he.
But tonight Will had wished for a card game. He had become infatuated with the prospect of it ever since he had learned a myriad of little card matches from his friends at the tavern, and had taken it upon himself to invite any and all people the Turners considered friends to their small estate for such a party. Norrington was, of course, the guest of honor.
The little group ooh-ed and ah-ed over Will's mastery of cards. They clapped for him when he won, pouted when he lost, laughed when he jested. Somehow the blacksmith had become the aristocrat.. It pained Elizabeth to see it so. Her pirate truly was gone, and now she was unsure as to whether or not she wanted him back in the first place.
Elizabeth sighed softly to herself, her lips full and pouting with resentment and regret. The soft amber of her eyes turned liquid and soft, dull but still pretty. She had been drained of her lifeblood, her spirit. So this was what it meant to be married.
The King of Hearts in her hand glared up at her, a jarring red against all her other black cards. She inspected him closely. His curly white wig, his prestigious jawline. He was a surprisingly handsome fellow, but there was more too him
Pairing: Norrington/Elizabeth (Mentioning of Will/Elizabeth)
Rating: Hard R, mild NC-17
Notes: This is part one of a most likely two part series. This is also a challenge piece, which is discussed in the "summary/challenge."
Summary/Challenge: By sampaguita_blue: Can someone write a Norribeth fic based on the song/video "Stupid" by Sarah Mchlachlan --- with Will being Elizabeth's stodgy, rut-inducing husband and the good Commodore being the guy she cheats with... ending with Elizabeth and Will sitting on a couch looking away from each other and Elizabeth shrinking away from his touch. Link to "Stupid" lyrics here.
Elizabeth had cried herself to sleep again. It was the fifth time this week, and the third week this month.
It was too much, it was too hard. And she was so young after all.
She was supposed to be a dutiful wife, a loving wife, a gentle and genial wife. But was not Will supposed to be all those things and more for her? He did try, didn't he? Yet he was gone so often and for so long, at the tavern, at the smithy, at the stables. It seemed that he had no time for her any longer, as if his mind were preoccupied to the point of disillusionment. Elizabeth pretended that she did not see every time he would gaze out their bedroom window at the sea. She pretended that she could feel something when he would then desperately need to fornicate; pretend she could taste the passion in his lips and call it her own; pretend she could still quiver at the calluses of his worn hands running over her naked skin; pretend she could still feel desire and need and pleasure when he would make love to her. But in all her pretending, she could not make reality. Elizabeth Swann-Turner...had fallen out of love.
She blinked away the tears that collected in the corners of her eyes and ran her palm over her tired lids. Will's arm lay protectively around her waist. He felt like an anvil: heavy, dead, and dull. Quietly she slipped out from beneath his grasp and fled from the canopy bed.
The moonlight was dim as it cast its lonely beams through the tall paneled windows in the corridor. The squished rectangles of blue light guided her path towards the library. Elizabeth tripped and stumbled over decorative hallway sofas and tables in her way, but Will slept like the dead, he would not wake.
At long last, she arrived at her destination, and closing the door behind her, Elizabeth slumped bonelessly into a high-backed chair. She lit a candle, burned her finger. Her jaw trembled as she scowled at the tiny flame that danced happily upon its blackening wick. How simple it all was for something not made of flesh and bone. How wonderful it would be to be a little flame, to have no heart and no body. But in truth, Elizabeth was a flame, and she had merely been blown out.
Hot tears sprang to her eyes and slid down her cheeks. They left stains upon her creamy skin, marring them with salted water. Elizabeth buried her head in her arms and wept openly.
__________________________________________
"Mistress, Commodore Norrington's arrived," said a plump maid to Elizabeth. She nodded to the girl, and off she went into the kitchen.
Elizabeth sighed and looked at the neat array of cards she held fanned out in her hand. Spades, three clubs, and one heart. She glanced to Will on her left, and back to her cards. Her King of Hearts lay on her right. Carefully she molded her cards into a neat stack and placed them face down. She rose to great the Commodore as he entered and took his seat. He shook Will's hand.
"Go glad you could join us, James," said Will brightly, releasing his friend's hand.
Ever since Will had acquired the smithy in the wake of Master Brown's death, he and James had come to some strange accord akin to friendship. James visited once a month-or more if he so chose, but once a month was the average-and went riding with the Turners, or joined them for supper and music, or other such frivolous activities that Elizabeth never really took enjoyment in, and in truth Norrington had confided in her that neither did he.
But tonight Will had wished for a card game. He had become infatuated with the prospect of it ever since he had learned a myriad of little card matches from his friends at the tavern, and had taken it upon himself to invite any and all people the Turners considered friends to their small estate for such a party. Norrington was, of course, the guest of honor.
The little group ooh-ed and ah-ed over Will's mastery of cards. They clapped for him when he won, pouted when he lost, laughed when he jested. Somehow the blacksmith had become the aristocrat.. It pained Elizabeth to see it so. Her pirate truly was gone, and now she was unsure as to whether or not she wanted him back in the first place.
Elizabeth sighed softly to herself, her lips full and pouting with resentment and regret. The soft amber of her eyes turned liquid and soft, dull but still pretty. She had been drained of her lifeblood, her spirit. So this was what it meant to be married.
The King of Hearts in her hand glared up at her, a jarring red against all her other black cards. She inspected him closely. His curly white wig, his prestigious jawline. He was a surprisingly handsome fellow, but there was more too him