My brain exploded
And so here are not one, not two, but three ficlets. All in a different fandom, and one by request! No warnings for anything.
First, for rakshathedemon, who requested Spike. A note before you read: in one episode of Buffy (season five, I think?), Spike is watching TV, and he yells at the screen, "Pacey, you blind fool! Can't you see she doesn't love you?" While my mind reeled at Spike watching Dawson's Creek, it did give me this idea.
Fanboy
“Welcome to the Sunnydale Public Library!” the computer chirped, and Spike yelped, scrabbling for the mute button.
He glanced furtively around the darkened room, but saw no-one. He hadn’t expected there would be a security guard - there’d never been one before - but in Sunnydale, you could never tell what someone would think worth guarding.
Bloody machine, he grumbled to himself. Liked it better when all you had to do was give the librarian a wink and she’d find exactly what you wanted right quick. Not that William had ever had the nerve to wink at a librarian, the spineless git.
He dug his library card out of his wallet, and punched the number in the “Cardholder” field, and waited while it processed. I really need to get one of these, he thought. Not that it would do him a lot of good. He sure couldn’t get DSL or hell, even dial-up in his crypt. Not even on the Hellmouth.
I could get a whatchathingie -wireless connection, he thought suddenly. Steal a nice laptop with all the trimmings, sweet-talk the witch into working her hoodoo on it, and Bob’s your uncle, surfing in the comfort of me own home.
He clicked on the “Internet” icon, typed the URL into the address bar, and grinned when the site’s homepage appeared on the screen.
Currents: A Dawson’s Creek Pacey/Joey Fanfic Archive.
Welcome!
With a happy sigh, Spike entered his username and password, and began looking for updated stories.
~*~
Ummm...yeah, this one's Pirates of the Caribbean. Not quite sure how that happened.
Norrington, could be AU, could be not AU. Take your pick. Definitely an alternate reading of the text.
Silent as the Grave
Commodore James Norrington has a secret he will take to the grave.
It is not that he thinks his wig confoundedly itchy and wholly unsuited for Caribbean climes (although this is, in fact, true).
It is not that he was sent to Port Royal to extricate him from a dreadful scandal back home (“scandal” is such an melodramatic word, and “dreadful” is entirely objective).
And it is not that he is concealing piles and piles of treasure, confiscated from various pirates (how this particular rumour started is a mystery).
It is that he does not love Elizabeth Swann. Not that he is no longer in love with Elizabeth Swann, but that there never was a point at which he was in love with her.
It cannot be denied that he asked for her hand in marriage, and had every intention of marrying her. But love is not the only reason one marries. There is duty.
A commodore should be married, though he will likely spend more time away from his wife than with her. A commodore - a proper English commodore-should have a beautiful, well-bred, gracious wife at his side when he appears at social functions; a wife who understands the importance of appearances, who will host parties and charm all the influential guests (the need for heirs is an indelicate subject, and shall be mentioned no further).
Yes, he was displeased when Miss Swann threw him over for young Mr. Turner; he is fortunate that the citizens of Port Royal took his reaction for signs of a broken heart.
But it is not a broken heart that darkens his face and tightens his jaw when he thinks of Miss Swann's impending nuptials.
It is that Commodore James Norrington hates to lose.
~*~
And LOTR! Imrahil and Mrs. Imrahil
Pleasure Cruise
“I woke, and you were not there.”
Imrahil laid a hand on the slim arm that had gone around his waist. “I was bidding the sea good-night,” he confessed. “ ‘Tis a years-long habit, whenever I am a-shipboard.”
“You are be-swanned,” she said, surprise in her voice, and light fingers touched the back of his shoulder. “I would not have thought.”
“You only now noticed?”
A pause. “I have never been in a position to notice,” she replied, and Imrahil could almost hear her blushing. But then warm lips kissed the tattoo he could not see, and he was pleased at the careful touch.
She slid her other arm around him, and laid her cheek against the flat of his shoulder blade. The silk of her dressing gown was cool against his back; the gentle breeze made her loose hair dance, tickling the nape of his neck.
They looked out over the smooth clean water silently, motionless except for her thumb idly brushing his wrist, and Imrahil could not remember when he had last been so content.
She shivered when the wind kicked up briefly, and he turned his head toward her. “We should go below,” he said. “Your father will likely take you back if I allow you to catch a chill on your wedding night.”
He felt her smile against his skin. “Not until you are quite finished bidding your mistress good evening,” she replied, both teasing and not. “It would not do to make her angry.”
He chuckled, but did not deny the truth of it her words. He turned, drew her to stand next to him. “I am almost finished,” he said. “I had thought to introduce you to one another.”
She gave a brilliant, sweet smile, tilting her face up to be kissed, and the waves against the hull were a hushed sigh.
First, for rakshathedemon, who requested Spike. A note before you read: in one episode of Buffy (season five, I think?), Spike is watching TV, and he yells at the screen, "Pacey, you blind fool! Can't you see she doesn't love you?" While my mind reeled at Spike watching Dawson's Creek, it did give me this idea.
Fanboy
“Welcome to the Sunnydale Public Library!” the computer chirped, and Spike yelped, scrabbling for the mute button.
He glanced furtively around the darkened room, but saw no-one. He hadn’t expected there would be a security guard - there’d never been one before - but in Sunnydale, you could never tell what someone would think worth guarding.
Bloody machine, he grumbled to himself. Liked it better when all you had to do was give the librarian a wink and she’d find exactly what you wanted right quick. Not that William had ever had the nerve to wink at a librarian, the spineless git.
He dug his library card out of his wallet, and punched the number in the “Cardholder” field, and waited while it processed. I really need to get one of these, he thought. Not that it would do him a lot of good. He sure couldn’t get DSL or hell, even dial-up in his crypt. Not even on the Hellmouth.
I could get a whatchathingie -wireless connection, he thought suddenly. Steal a nice laptop with all the trimmings, sweet-talk the witch into working her hoodoo on it, and Bob’s your uncle, surfing in the comfort of me own home.
He clicked on the “Internet” icon, typed the URL into the address bar, and grinned when the site’s homepage appeared on the screen.
Currents: A Dawson’s Creek Pacey/Joey Fanfic Archive.
Welcome!
With a happy sigh, Spike entered his username and password, and began looking for updated stories.
~*~
Ummm...yeah, this one's Pirates of the Caribbean. Not quite sure how that happened.
Norrington, could be AU, could be not AU. Take your pick. Definitely an alternate reading of the text.
Silent as the Grave
Commodore James Norrington has a secret he will take to the grave.
It is not that he thinks his wig confoundedly itchy and wholly unsuited for Caribbean climes (although this is, in fact, true).
It is not that he was sent to Port Royal to extricate him from a dreadful scandal back home (“scandal” is such an melodramatic word, and “dreadful” is entirely objective).
And it is not that he is concealing piles and piles of treasure, confiscated from various pirates (how this particular rumour started is a mystery).
It is that he does not love Elizabeth Swann. Not that he is no longer in love with Elizabeth Swann, but that there never was a point at which he was in love with her.
It cannot be denied that he asked for her hand in marriage, and had every intention of marrying her. But love is not the only reason one marries. There is duty.
A commodore should be married, though he will likely spend more time away from his wife than with her. A commodore - a proper English commodore-should have a beautiful, well-bred, gracious wife at his side when he appears at social functions; a wife who understands the importance of appearances, who will host parties and charm all the influential guests (the need for heirs is an indelicate subject, and shall be mentioned no further).
Yes, he was displeased when Miss Swann threw him over for young Mr. Turner; he is fortunate that the citizens of Port Royal took his reaction for signs of a broken heart.
But it is not a broken heart that darkens his face and tightens his jaw when he thinks of Miss Swann's impending nuptials.
It is that Commodore James Norrington hates to lose.
~*~
And LOTR! Imrahil and Mrs. Imrahil
Pleasure Cruise
“I woke, and you were not there.”
Imrahil laid a hand on the slim arm that had gone around his waist. “I was bidding the sea good-night,” he confessed. “ ‘Tis a years-long habit, whenever I am a-shipboard.”
“You are be-swanned,” she said, surprise in her voice, and light fingers touched the back of his shoulder. “I would not have thought.”
“You only now noticed?”
A pause. “I have never been in a position to notice,” she replied, and Imrahil could almost hear her blushing. But then warm lips kissed the tattoo he could not see, and he was pleased at the careful touch.
She slid her other arm around him, and laid her cheek against the flat of his shoulder blade. The silk of her dressing gown was cool against his back; the gentle breeze made her loose hair dance, tickling the nape of his neck.
They looked out over the smooth clean water silently, motionless except for her thumb idly brushing his wrist, and Imrahil could not remember when he had last been so content.
She shivered when the wind kicked up briefly, and he turned his head toward her. “We should go below,” he said. “Your father will likely take you back if I allow you to catch a chill on your wedding night.”
He felt her smile against his skin. “Not until you are quite finished bidding your mistress good evening,” she replied, both teasing and not. “It would not do to make her angry.”
He chuckled, but did not deny the truth of it her words. He turned, drew her to stand next to him. “I am almost finished,” he said. “I had thought to introduce you to one another.”
She gave a brilliant, sweet smile, tilting her face up to be kissed, and the waves against the hull were a hushed sigh.