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fellowshippers2004-08-20 01:03 pm
cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-08-20 01:03 pm
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lotrpschallenge #17
Rated: PG
Pairing: EW/VM <---God help us all
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one
Summary: Elijah's in love.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing
Notes: written forlotrpschallenge #17. There's probably some standard story about the photograph I've included here, but I made this up, so outrageous liberties are par for the course, non?
Dedication: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dalehead it's still sooky and navel gazey but at least it's not depressing
Hurry up and wait. A Hollywood cliché to be sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true. The slightest thing and all the carefully crafted schedules can come to a grinding halt. For untold seconds, minutes, or hours. The only thing to do is bide time until what ever crisis has passed and things are up and running again. Sometimes the thing that causes the grinding halt is not so slight at all. Like out of nowhere snowstorms while stuck on the side of a mountain. A thick white mantle covers the world in quiet.
Crystalline flakes quickly obscure the surrounding rocky ground, making the rocks appear to be the burial mounds of some long gone society. While Billy wonders if catering brought any tea, Astin wonders what the risk of avalanche is this time of year. Dom wonders if, from this distance, he can hit Orlando with the carefully crafted ball of new fallen snow he is now tossing from hand to hand in eager anticipation of it’s impending flight. But, Elijah just wonders if New Zealand snow tastes like Iowa snow. He tilts his head skyward to find out.
The faint click of a camera shutter is no stranger to Elijah’s ears. He smiles when he sees Viggo smirk before quickly turning his lens to the craggy landscape. He smiles because he is hiding. Hiding the pounding of his heart, and the hitching of his breath. Viggo: studying him through the cool, impartial glass of 35mms. Elijah wonders if Viggo can see the truth. He is burning, with a strange fire, melting from the inside out.
It was stupid. Immature. Ridiculous. Elijah supposes people got crushes on their co-workers all the time. On-set romances are practically an expectation. But a guy should not fall a little bit maybe in love with a guy old enough to be his father. Freud would have a field day, Elijah is quite sure. He tries to tell himself he is just impressed by Viggo. Just overwhelmed by the innate coolness the other actor effortlessly exudes in his every action. He simply wants to be around him, like countless numbers of cast and crew, so no one looks any deeper into it than that, Elijah hopes.
Going out of his way to spend time with Viggo is explained away as a means to combat homesickness. Americans were in short supply on set, and they had to stick together. Hadn’t they? Never mind that Elijah is quite sure Viggo is from a country all his own, having little to do with lines on a map. Nowhere he has ever been, somewhere he would like to go. Elijah has tried to ignore the heady mix of want and need that swims through his veins at the slightest glance from storm coloured eyes. He’s told himself that he isn’t jealous at all, every time Orlando and Viggo disappear to watch the dawn, or walk in the forest, or whatever it is they did. He tries to pretend he hasn’t memorised the way Viggo would scratch his head or smooth his hair just before he laughs. He tries to pretend that he wouldn’t do anything, anything at all, to be the one to make Viggo laugh.
Elijah has come to dread sleep. Dread his dreams. His subconscious feeds him lies that he desperately wants to be true. Upon waking, before he can shake away the limb-heavy memory and the images so vividly painted behind his eyes, Elijah thinks to himself that it could be real. That soft glances and lingering touches and gravel-throated whispers spoke of more than just the fringes of an unlikely friendship. The elevator free fall when he relegates dreams to sleep is becoming too much to bear.
Tilting his head skyward, Elijah squints again into the mottled light, feeling the cold fat flakes brush butterfly soft against his skin before melting into tears against his cheeks. He feels a whisper of callused thumb across the exposed flesh of his neck. Soft lips press against his temple. A low voice murmurs, “I wonder if New Zealand snow tastes the same as the snow at home?” and Elijah watches as a dimpled chin is thrust skyward, a wide mouth parts in a maniac’s grin, and a pink cat’s tongue gently flicks at the lace-like iciness of the falling snow.
Elijah doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if speaking will make the moment less real. He wants it to be real. Wants it to be memory, not dream. So, Elijah leans his weight into the solid woollen warmth of the man next to him. An arm encircles his waist and the two survey the heavens.
When Elijah arrives at make-up the next morning, a brown envelope is propped against his mirror. He drags his thumb along the lip of the envelope, tearing it open. Inside is a lone photo; Elijah, not Frodo, sits in the whirling snow. Sitting down hard, Elijah’s blue eyes widen. The black and white image floats unsteadily before him. He can’t stop looking at it. Because. Because, in that photo, in the moment it was taken, Elijah looks just exactly how Viggo makes him feel.
As he is reverentially placing the photo to lean against the make-up mirror, Elijah notices a dark scribble on the back. He turns it over and reads:
"Sometimes the best things in life are the most unexpected"-Viggo
Pairing: EW/VM <---God help us all
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one
Summary: Elijah's in love.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing
Notes: written for
lotrpschallenge #17. There's probably some standard story about the photograph I've included here, but I made this up, so outrageous liberties are par for the course, non?Dedication: For
dalehead it's still sooky and navel gazey but at least it's not depressingHurry up and wait. A Hollywood cliché to be sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true. The slightest thing and all the carefully crafted schedules can come to a grinding halt. For untold seconds, minutes, or hours. The only thing to do is bide time until what ever crisis has passed and things are up and running again. Sometimes the thing that causes the grinding halt is not so slight at all. Like out of nowhere snowstorms while stuck on the side of a mountain. A thick white mantle covers the world in quiet.
Crystalline flakes quickly obscure the surrounding rocky ground, making the rocks appear to be the burial mounds of some long gone society. While Billy wonders if catering brought any tea, Astin wonders what the risk of avalanche is this time of year. Dom wonders if, from this distance, he can hit Orlando with the carefully crafted ball of new fallen snow he is now tossing from hand to hand in eager anticipation of it’s impending flight. But, Elijah just wonders if New Zealand snow tastes like Iowa snow. He tilts his head skyward to find out.
The faint click of a camera shutter is no stranger to Elijah’s ears. He smiles when he sees Viggo smirk before quickly turning his lens to the craggy landscape. He smiles because he is hiding. Hiding the pounding of his heart, and the hitching of his breath. Viggo: studying him through the cool, impartial glass of 35mms. Elijah wonders if Viggo can see the truth. He is burning, with a strange fire, melting from the inside out.
It was stupid. Immature. Ridiculous. Elijah supposes people got crushes on their co-workers all the time. On-set romances are practically an expectation. But a guy should not fall a little bit maybe in love with a guy old enough to be his father. Freud would have a field day, Elijah is quite sure. He tries to tell himself he is just impressed by Viggo. Just overwhelmed by the innate coolness the other actor effortlessly exudes in his every action. He simply wants to be around him, like countless numbers of cast and crew, so no one looks any deeper into it than that, Elijah hopes.
Going out of his way to spend time with Viggo is explained away as a means to combat homesickness. Americans were in short supply on set, and they had to stick together. Hadn’t they? Never mind that Elijah is quite sure Viggo is from a country all his own, having little to do with lines on a map. Nowhere he has ever been, somewhere he would like to go. Elijah has tried to ignore the heady mix of want and need that swims through his veins at the slightest glance from storm coloured eyes. He’s told himself that he isn’t jealous at all, every time Orlando and Viggo disappear to watch the dawn, or walk in the forest, or whatever it is they did. He tries to pretend he hasn’t memorised the way Viggo would scratch his head or smooth his hair just before he laughs. He tries to pretend that he wouldn’t do anything, anything at all, to be the one to make Viggo laugh.
Elijah has come to dread sleep. Dread his dreams. His subconscious feeds him lies that he desperately wants to be true. Upon waking, before he can shake away the limb-heavy memory and the images so vividly painted behind his eyes, Elijah thinks to himself that it could be real. That soft glances and lingering touches and gravel-throated whispers spoke of more than just the fringes of an unlikely friendship. The elevator free fall when he relegates dreams to sleep is becoming too much to bear.
Tilting his head skyward, Elijah squints again into the mottled light, feeling the cold fat flakes brush butterfly soft against his skin before melting into tears against his cheeks. He feels a whisper of callused thumb across the exposed flesh of his neck. Soft lips press against his temple. A low voice murmurs, “I wonder if New Zealand snow tastes the same as the snow at home?” and Elijah watches as a dimpled chin is thrust skyward, a wide mouth parts in a maniac’s grin, and a pink cat’s tongue gently flicks at the lace-like iciness of the falling snow.
Elijah doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if speaking will make the moment less real. He wants it to be real. Wants it to be memory, not dream. So, Elijah leans his weight into the solid woollen warmth of the man next to him. An arm encircles his waist and the two survey the heavens.
When Elijah arrives at make-up the next morning, a brown envelope is propped against his mirror. He drags his thumb along the lip of the envelope, tearing it open. Inside is a lone photo; Elijah, not Frodo, sits in the whirling snow. Sitting down hard, Elijah’s blue eyes widen. The black and white image floats unsteadily before him. He can’t stop looking at it. Because. Because, in that photo, in the moment it was taken, Elijah looks just exactly how Viggo makes him feel.
As he is reverentially placing the photo to lean against the make-up mirror, Elijah notices a dark scribble on the back. He turns it over and reads:
"Sometimes the best things in life are the most unexpected"-Viggo
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Thanks very much,love!
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absolutely
This must be 'true', even if if isn't 'real life'.
Lovely.
(and God will have to help us all with THIS pairing...)
Re: absolutely
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"Elijah is quite sure Viggo is from a country all his own, having little to do with lines on a map",
is one of those notions that strikes one as being so true as to be self-evident. And frankly, it is clever stuff like this that puts the "r" in "rps".
Thank you, it is not a pairing I'd thought about (for the reasons E gives within the fic), but as a unrequited (despite being two-sided) thing it really works.
I like reading the challenge fics ... they challenge me (with my own pref pairing) to take a trip on another ship :)
Thanks again.
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