Angsty Sue Goes to Rivendell
The parodic merging of every awful LotR self-insert I have stumbled upon... with a few logic bombs thrown in. Not for the faint of heart.
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Lydia fled upstairs to her room, sobbing violently. She'd always known that her family didn't care about her, but never before had she realized the depths of their hatred. Her mother had actually tried to get her to wash the dinner dishes! Lydia slammed the door closed and collapsed onto her king-sized canopy bed, wishing she had never been born. Her whole family loathed her, and only kept her around to act as their lowly, menial servant! Even her brother had turned on her tonight. "You're being ridiculous, Lyd," he'd said in an exasperated tone. "It's Thursday. It's your turn."
He didn't understand. No one could understand her! Not with her black clothing and her expressive poetry! She was a tortured, poetic soul, and so original too. Only she knew what lay within the figurative, (naturally) dark pools that represented the utter depth of her anguish. And it hurt so very much to know that she was the only one who would ever be able to see it.
There was only one thing that could ease that lonely existential pain, and Lydia found it in her Lord of the Rings books. Well, actually her Lord of the Rings movies. (Lydia never had much patience for reading.) Many an afternoon had she spent in her spacious room, raptly watching her favourite characters on the 52" plasma-screen TV her hateful, uncaring family had bought for her. She would fantasize constantly about joining Legolas and Arwen in Rivendell, all the while painting her nails a very original shade of black. It cheered her. Er, that is to say, it soothed the darkness that was her soul.
But alas, Lydia didn't have the heart to watch anything tonight. She felt clouded and obscured by the fog of her sorrow. Briefly she considered entering her private Jacuzzi bath to make scratches on her wrists, but she was so stricken with grief she couldn't even muster the will to do that.
And so Lydia remained on her king-sized bed, weeping inconsolably and clutching at the expensive black silk covers, thinking of the utterly deprived, loathsome life that had been thrust upon her. She wasn't loved, had never been loved! If she were loved, her family wouldn't make her take out the trash on Sundays! If she were loved, she'd be allowed to play her music at full volume while the baby was sleeping! Lydia felt the hot tears sliding down her cheeks. She slumped down, her glorious, true black (actually true mousy brown, but that was what dye was for) hair spilling elegantly over her sorrowful countenance.
Eventually Lydia's sobs quieted. The tension eased from her lithe frame, and her face relaxed: she was asleep. She snuggled deeper into the luxurious heated water mattress, for the evil, abusive mother who had bought it for her was finally pushed from her untroubled mind.
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Lydia's family would never see her again. She was assumed to be either a runaway or a victim of abduction, though the police noted that nothing had been taken from her room. Her entire video collection, however, was burned to a blackened crisp.
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Lydia awoke slowly, stretching her rejuvenated limbs lazily. She squinted her eyes against the bright spring sunshine. Where was she? Everything looked so familiar... the graceful arches and domes of a city in the midst of a forest... the river beside her... the slim, blond archers gazing down at her, aligned in a circle around her sleeping form. She had never been here before! But...
She realized suddenly, with a tinkling laugh, where she was. She was in Rivendell, just as it had been shown to her in Peter Jackson's epic movies! Long had she imagined herself here, on the banks of the river, sitting in Legolas' arms as she read to him her beautiful poetry...
And there he was! Legolas, gazing down at her serenely, blond and beautiful, and his eyes alight with love for her. For she was truly the girl he had been waiting for all these years, with hair dark as night and skin as fair as snow.
"Legolas," she spoke, her lovely voice faltering, for she was overcome with the joy of her love for him. "I've been waiting so long for you! I love you so, I fear my heart will burst for it."
Legolas brought his arms around Lydia, kissing her tenderly. "I too, have been waiting for you. Your love fills me as nothing else ever has or ever can. I have been empty all my life, but you have made me complete. Come, so that we ma
BOOM.
The author stops typing mid-sentence, spitting out a vile cuss word as she hits her head on the low attic ceiling. "What was that?" she screeches.
It is silent for a moment. Suddenly, a hissing sound fills the room, and a thick yellow smoke rises from the floor. The Suethor is afraid, but soon she is overcome by the fumes. Her limbs take on a robotic precision, and her face loses its stuporous expression to take on a hard sort of clarity. Her eyes narrow, and her entire body becomes stiff. It is now clear that she has been hit by a logic bomb, and a rather nasty one at that.
With quick, jerking movements, she begins once again to type...
"Hngreo rgesoi grui!" The girl squealed, wrapping her arms around Legolas tightly.
Legolas blinked. He didn't know how he got here or why he was being squeezed to death by a babbling human, but he did know he didn't like it. He hastily maneuvered himself out of her locked arms and rubbed his bruised shoulders.
"What's it saying?" He hissed at the other elves. "And why am I in Rivendell?"
They appeared to be equally mystified. "It made sense a second ago," one of the elves grumbled. "I just don't... I can't... quite remember what it... Oh, what an awful language! You don't suppose it's an orc?"
Legolas did not answer, being occupied once again by the rather unpleasant task of squirming out of the Sue's grasp. He threw his perfect, thin body into smooth, graceful, swoon-worthy contorti–
Boom. Boom. Boom.
...to escape the human's clutches. "We must show it to Elrond," he said, imparting as much solemnity into his statement as he could. Not that it helped. He sensed he still looked quite ridiculous to the other elves. In fact, he was beginning to recollect
Lydia gasped happily upon recognizing the word 'Elrond.' "Oh, Legolas," she gushed, reaching to embrace him. "You wish to marry me! Of course! You wish for Arda to marry us! Yes, my love! Yes! Marry me!" She flung herself to Legolas' feet in a haphazard attempt to lick his toes.
Of course, Lydia being from Alabama, her heartfelt acceptance was given in a particularly horrid variation of American English that made absolutely no sense to the elves. To their gentle ears, it sounded much more like a belligerent donkey's bray rather than human speech. They stuffed their fingers into their ears, trying to blot out the awful noise. The same thought dawned on each of the elves at once. It couldn't possibly be human: only an orc was capable of making such a horrible sound.
"Silence it!" said Legolas imperiously. The effect was rather ruined by Lydia's commanded Legolas, as imperiously as he could manage while trying to peel Lydia's roaming hands from his person. (Failing at her initial effort to tongue his feet, she had since moved on to bigger fish; namely, the hunky elvish flesh encased within his chest armor, which she was now valiantly attempting to pry apart with her bare hands.) "It shall be decided by Elrond what we do with this gutterish orc in disguise!" He motioned to Glorfindel, who smiled and held up a thick mithril staff.
Lydia's last thoughts, before she was struck forcefully in the cranium by the hard metal, were that Legolas looked even more handsome than usual when he scowled in such a playful manner.
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A/N: I ought to have this finished in about two more chapters. I would bunch it all up together as a one-shot, but I don't believe I'd get as many reviews that way, plus it would deprive me the pleasure of naming my chapters. So please, stay tuned for the next installment, in which Lydia and her decidedly unprepared immune system will discover the downside of sudden exposure to billions of foreign pathogens.