Satirical misadventures
Against my orders, the muses decided to write this, using me as the mechanical means. Blast them...yes, it was meant to be a one shot, but it doesn't look like it anymore!
~/*\~/*\~/*\~ Chapter two: And now that I'm here, let's do things a cave troll might find unethical to all the male characters I find attractive! (And be mean to Boromir in the process.) ~/*\~/*\~/*\~
Well, here we are everyone - Rivendell. There's Elrond; I'll just go talk to him, since I can naturally speak elvish perfectly, and he will take me under his wing like a long lost daughter and dote on me like nobody's business. Maybe he'll have some kind of unbelievable spell which will 'reveal' that I am indeed actually a beautiful faerie/angel/sorceress maid, in hiding from both Sauron and Saruman because of my amazing powers?
These multi-coloured eyes of mine are rather out of the ordinary for a hobbit-lass after all. And, all this long, flowing blonde hair (with black, blue, green, purple, pink, red, silver, gold, white, brown, orange, grey, and aubergine stripes), isn't very common either, at least, as far as I know...
"My Lord Elrond, how fare ye?" (Naturally, being elfin, Elrond must speak in this terrible interpretation of olde English.) Hmm, it's rather unnerving being this small, I have to say... And, well, since I've had to shrink my ridiculously over-sized sword using my newly discovered magical powers (of course, more powerful than Sauron and Saruman combined, but don't tell, shh!), I don't even have a long reach to prod this stately elf on the shoulder.
"Huh? Oh, hi, how's it going my sister?" the elf replies. This is rather confusing, but, then I remember - Elrond must have become rather cool and hip of late, since that huge water-sports centre got built below the waterfall at the bottom of the valley! All those foreign tourists - do you think the rest of the group might have gone there?
"It's going pretty wicked I've got to say my mate! Though, do you think you could get me outta this hobbit body and into something more comfortable?"
"Of course," wow! Elves have wands - hmm, he reminds me of someone.almost like an older version of Remus Lupin from the Harry Potter books. Less attractive, but still with a strangely compelling swish and flick.
ARGH! Flashing lights surrounding me right now - back away everyone, they may blind you! Eep!
The floor looks so much farther away than it did before...actually, my feet aren't touching it... Fancy that, I've got wings - big sparkly pretty wings that anyone could easily hack off, if they weren't as fine as gossamer, and as tough as Teflon bullets, heh! Oh, and my attire's changed somewhat [twirls]. What do you think? Maybe the pointless one piece of armour on my right forearm is a little much, but I think the violet floor length dress and corseted top should make it really easy to get around without being spotted by the enemy, don't you? And, well, it won't hurt when I meet the future fellowship, will it?
I wish I knew where that group was - some of the lads in it looked like they might have the potential to become pretty elf boys...oh well...
No matter, I shall leave Elrond, and go in search of some (conveniently half naked) future fellowship members. I wonder if anyone would be on the shooting range (which would of course exist in the house of Elrond, or else how would I show off my marvellous shooting skills?)
Aha! Here we are, the shooting range! And, wow...Legolas, shirtless, teaching the hobbits how to fire longbows. No matter that they're only half the height of the things, at least they're trying! I think I'll just butt in here, "Excuse me, may I have a go?" Right - pull the string back, keep it taught for a few seconds (even though, normally, someone my size and weight wouldn't even be able to pull the string back in the first place), and then let the arrow fly...
[Thunk.] "In the centre lady, that's rather-" Legolas turns to face me, and I can tell that his heart misses a beat. In fact, it misses so many beats upon seeing my radiant and exceptionally beautiful face/figure/multicoloured hair/nose and so on, that he has a heart attack on the spot! Marvellous! Now I can put into practice my medical skills - watch everyone, as I revive this pretty man with just one kiss.
"Wh-where am I?" Doesn't he look adorable when he's disoriented? Aww!
"It's all right, my darling elf - you're safe with me." He looks up at me, from where I cradle his head in my lap, and smiles happily, before closing his eyes and promptly falling asleep on me. I don't mind. My legs may go numb, and I may be ravaged by a few horny looking hobbits (not that I'd mind...) whilst I wait for him to wake, but it's worth it.
When he wakes up, I bet he'll ask me to marry him. Go on, twenty bucks that he will. [Passes round a hat].
*
He's coming round. "Oh, hello again, Dettol!" How did he know my name, I didn't even tell him! It must be some sort of psychic link between us - oh, how romantic! Go on, ask me to marry you. "Will you do me the honour of accept-"
"Legolas?" Looking up, we both see a confused looking Boromir looking down on the both of us. He blinks a couple of times, and then after a roving eye of approval over me, returns his eyes to the elf. "The council is about to start. Elrond said that you're to bring a fairy named Dettol with you." Finally, I was beginning to think I'd got the year wrong or something.
Boromir's gone now, so Legolas and I can probably use about five minutes of time to great advantage. Look at him - I mean - wow. How can I even be worthy?
Almost as though he senses my worry, Legolas heart skips a beat for me (only once this time, thank God!) He sits up, and pulls me into his arms, and places a deep, heart warming kiss on my lips. Feeling eyes on us, I blink open my own, and look to see more than one person standing in the shadows, looking enviously on. (Oh, how I will enjoy this. I'm pretty and everything! I can have squicky fun with all!)
*
Looking at the company of people already going with the ring, I almost died of dehydration due to the constant string of drool coming from my open mouth. Could Aragorn possibly wear any tighter leather trousers without seriously damaging himself? And, well...I'm sure that Legolas' tights are actually painted on. They must be.
"I'll go as well - I'm sure I could be of some help."
"Pah! You're just a woman. What use could you be, you weak creature! Go back to your sewing like a good girl!" Boromir spat vehemently at me, taking on a surprisingly effeminate stance, laying one hand on his right hip with practised ease. Taking offence to this sexism (and blatantly forgetting that women are indeed more fragile here, and the only reason for his concern is that women must bear many children, since many die young, so women must stay safe), I raise my sword (somehow again the right oversize for me.)
"To keep my honour, I must challenge you. You can decline, I don't want to hurt you," I say kindly. Scoffing, he raises his own sword half-heartedly. In one horizontal slash, I manage to disarm him, and with a little leap, I have pinned him to the floor. My hair is still perfect, my eyes flashing red in anger, and my chest heaving in an ever so attractive way, and all eyes are on me as I point my sword at his neck.
"Do you surrender?" I ask breathily into his ear, and he shudders pleasurably.
"I do," I get off of him, and pull him easily off of the floor. He grins, rubs the back of his head, and then apologises properly. "I'm sorry my dear Dettol, I meant nothing by it. I just wouldn't want to think that a beauty such as yourself could be hurt in this quest."
"Don't worry about me," I say, blushing and looking down at the floor. All eyes are still on me, and I flutter my wings to give them something else to look at. How else do you think I'm going to get some squickish fun in here anyway? It's either this or a hobbit orgy (oh!).
On second thoughts, I can probably get away with both - since this is *MY* self-insertion, and I can do what I want! It's a free country, and if you don't like this, why are you still reading? If you can't say anything nice in your review, don't say anything at all!
KOOLZ EVERY1, + WIL C U NEXT TIIIIIME!
~/*\~/*\~/*\~
Again, can I point out that this isn't serious. If this was really the kind of story I wrote, I'd shoot myself. And those generic answers to so called 'flamers' were blatantly knicked from somewhere, though I can't remember where from.
This may get further updates, it may not. Having sporadic bursts of inspiration for millions of fic ideas, some of which won't ever come into fruition. Anyway, will go, and actually ask the muses what the hell they drink. Because whatever it is, they should stop.
Wait, last note. 'Dettol' was an example of an 'elvish/fairy language name' that I've seen. Dettol, is of course, a type of bleach. [Snigger]
Soda [walking off, lamenting the day her muses moved in. The bastards.]
Against my orders, the muses decided to write this, using me as the mechanical means. Blast them...yes, it was meant to be a one shot, but it doesn't look like it anymore!
~/*\~/*\~/*\~ Chapter two: And now that I'm here, let's do things a cave troll might find unethical to all the male characters I find attractive! (And be mean to Boromir in the process.) ~/*\~/*\~/*\~
Well, here we are everyone - Rivendell. There's Elrond; I'll just go talk to him, since I can naturally speak elvish perfectly, and he will take me under his wing like a long lost daughter and dote on me like nobody's business. Maybe he'll have some kind of unbelievable spell which will 'reveal' that I am indeed actually a beautiful faerie/angel/sorceress maid, in hiding from both Sauron and Saruman because of my amazing powers?
These multi-coloured eyes of mine are rather out of the ordinary for a hobbit-lass after all. And, all this long, flowing blonde hair (with black, blue, green, purple, pink, red, silver, gold, white, brown, orange, grey, and aubergine stripes), isn't very common either, at least, as far as I know...
"My Lord Elrond, how fare ye?" (Naturally, being elfin, Elrond must speak in this terrible interpretation of olde English.) Hmm, it's rather unnerving being this small, I have to say... And, well, since I've had to shrink my ridiculously over-sized sword using my newly discovered magical powers (of course, more powerful than Sauron and Saruman combined, but don't tell, shh!), I don't even have a long reach to prod this stately elf on the shoulder.
"Huh? Oh, hi, how's it going my sister?" the elf replies. This is rather confusing, but, then I remember - Elrond must have become rather cool and hip of late, since that huge water-sports centre got built below the waterfall at the bottom of the valley! All those foreign tourists - do you think the rest of the group might have gone there?
"It's going pretty wicked I've got to say my mate! Though, do you think you could get me outta this hobbit body and into something more comfortable?"
"Of course," wow! Elves have wands - hmm, he reminds me of someone.almost like an older version of Remus Lupin from the Harry Potter books. Less attractive, but still with a strangely compelling swish and flick.
ARGH! Flashing lights surrounding me right now - back away everyone, they may blind you! Eep!
The floor looks so much farther away than it did before...actually, my feet aren't touching it... Fancy that, I've got wings - big sparkly pretty wings that anyone could easily hack off, if they weren't as fine as gossamer, and as tough as Teflon bullets, heh! Oh, and my attire's changed somewhat [twirls]. What do you think? Maybe the pointless one piece of armour on my right forearm is a little much, but I think the violet floor length dress and corseted top should make it really easy to get around without being spotted by the enemy, don't you? And, well, it won't hurt when I meet the future fellowship, will it?
I wish I knew where that group was - some of the lads in it looked like they might have the potential to become pretty elf boys...oh well...
No matter, I shall leave Elrond, and go in search of some (conveniently half naked) future fellowship members. I wonder if anyone would be on the shooting range (which would of course exist in the house of Elrond, or else how would I show off my marvellous shooting skills?)
Aha! Here we are, the shooting range! And, wow...Legolas, shirtless, teaching the hobbits how to fire longbows. No matter that they're only half the height of the things, at least they're trying! I think I'll just butt in here, "Excuse me, may I have a go?" Right - pull the string back, keep it taught for a few seconds (even though, normally, someone my size and weight wouldn't even be able to pull the string back in the first place), and then let the arrow fly...
[Thunk.] "In the centre lady, that's rather-" Legolas turns to face me, and I can tell that his heart misses a beat. In fact, it misses so many beats upon seeing my radiant and exceptionally beautiful face/figure/multicoloured hair/nose and so on, that he has a heart attack on the spot! Marvellous! Now I can put into practice my medical skills - watch everyone, as I revive this pretty man with just one kiss.
"Wh-where am I?" Doesn't he look adorable when he's disoriented? Aww!
"It's all right, my darling elf - you're safe with me." He looks up at me, from where I cradle his head in my lap, and smiles happily, before closing his eyes and promptly falling asleep on me. I don't mind. My legs may go numb, and I may be ravaged by a few horny looking hobbits (not that I'd mind...) whilst I wait for him to wake, but it's worth it.
When he wakes up, I bet he'll ask me to marry him. Go on, twenty bucks that he will. [Passes round a hat].
*
He's coming round. "Oh, hello again, Dettol!" How did he know my name, I didn't even tell him! It must be some sort of psychic link between us - oh, how romantic! Go on, ask me to marry you. "Will you do me the honour of accept-"
"Legolas?" Looking up, we both see a confused looking Boromir looking down on the both of us. He blinks a couple of times, and then after a roving eye of approval over me, returns his eyes to the elf. "The council is about to start. Elrond said that you're to bring a fairy named Dettol with you." Finally, I was beginning to think I'd got the year wrong or something.
Boromir's gone now, so Legolas and I can probably use about five minutes of time to great advantage. Look at him - I mean - wow. How can I even be worthy?
Almost as though he senses my worry, Legolas heart skips a beat for me (only once this time, thank God!) He sits up, and pulls me into his arms, and places a deep, heart warming kiss on my lips. Feeling eyes on us, I blink open my own, and look to see more than one person standing in the shadows, looking enviously on. (Oh, how I will enjoy this. I'm pretty and everything! I can have squicky fun with all!)
*
Looking at the company of people already going with the ring, I almost died of dehydration due to the constant string of drool coming from my open mouth. Could Aragorn possibly wear any tighter leather trousers without seriously damaging himself? And, well...I'm sure that Legolas' tights are actually painted on. They must be.
"I'll go as well - I'm sure I could be of some help."
"Pah! You're just a woman. What use could you be, you weak creature! Go back to your sewing like a good girl!" Boromir spat vehemently at me, taking on a surprisingly effeminate stance, laying one hand on his right hip with practised ease. Taking offence to this sexism (and blatantly forgetting that women are indeed more fragile here, and the only reason for his concern is that women must bear many children, since many die young, so women must stay safe), I raise my sword (somehow again the right oversize for me.)
"To keep my honour, I must challenge you. You can decline, I don't want to hurt you," I say kindly. Scoffing, he raises his own sword half-heartedly. In one horizontal slash, I manage to disarm him, and with a little leap, I have pinned him to the floor. My hair is still perfect, my eyes flashing red in anger, and my chest heaving in an ever so attractive way, and all eyes are on me as I point my sword at his neck.
"Do you surrender?" I ask breathily into his ear, and he shudders pleasurably.
"I do," I get off of him, and pull him easily off of the floor. He grins, rubs the back of his head, and then apologises properly. "I'm sorry my dear Dettol, I meant nothing by it. I just wouldn't want to think that a beauty such as yourself could be hurt in this quest."
"Don't worry about me," I say, blushing and looking down at the floor. All eyes are still on me, and I flutter my wings to give them something else to look at. How else do you think I'm going to get some squickish fun in here anyway? It's either this or a hobbit orgy (oh!).
On second thoughts, I can probably get away with both - since this is *MY* self-insertion, and I can do what I want! It's a free country, and if you don't like this, why are you still reading? If you can't say anything nice in your review, don't say anything at all!
KOOLZ EVERY1, + WIL C U NEXT TIIIIIME!
~/*\~/*\~/*\~
Again, can I point out that this isn't serious. If this was really the kind of story I wrote, I'd shoot myself. And those generic answers to so called 'flamers' were blatantly knicked from somewhere, though I can't remember where from.
This may get further updates, it may not. Having sporadic bursts of inspiration for millions of fic ideas, some of which won't ever come into fruition. Anyway, will go, and actually ask the muses what the hell they drink. Because whatever it is, they should stop.
Wait, last note. 'Dettol' was an example of an 'elvish/fairy language name' that I've seen. Dettol, is of course, a type of bleach. [Snigger]
Soda [walking off, lamenting the day her muses moved in. The bastards.]