The 35th Precinct

One thousand and thirty-four words today.

First there was this:



Now there's this:



Dead. And buried.

Title: Small Mercies 3/?

Author: laguera25

Fandom: LOTR(TTT movieverse)

Rating: FRM/R

Pairing: Haldir/OFC, with long stretches of gen

Spoilers: The LOTR trilogy

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, and events are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, the Tolkien estate, and New Line Cinema. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. For entertainment only.

Prologue Part I Part II


( Small Mercies, Part III )

I watched ROTK EE today. I could've said this about TTT as well, but damn, is Denethor an unrivaled douchelord. Spineless, selfish, paranoid, arrogant, and vicious to his younger son, presumably because he wasn't manly man man enough. I know his mind was poisoned and warped by a palantir, but there had to be some root of ugliness in him to begin with. How he turned out two fine sons like Faramir and Boromir, I don't know.

While I would happily bone Eomer, Legolas, or Haldir, Faramir is no slouch, and of all the men, I think he and I would have been most compatible in terms of personality. Quiet, bookish, interested in history, not especially enamored of dick-waving but willing to scrabble if need be. Legolas is so pretty, but the movie makes him look dumb as a box of hair.

On the other hand, he's an elf, so he'd be absolutely faithful if he ever decided wheeled loving was his thing. I think I could live with dumb if he treated me well and put out on a semi-regular basis.

And he might not be the hottest Rohirrim, but I love Gamling.

Speaking of dumb as a box of hair, I finally realized that it's Helm's Deep, not Helms. Oops. I'll have to fix that in the previous parts of Mercies before I post Part III.

Small Mercies Part II is finished. As expected, Haldir did not take it well, but not to worry, it's Galadriel(and Celeborn and Gandalf and Cirdan)to the rescue. These characters are so rich, and their backstories so detailed, that they're daunting to handle. Sometimes I miss the days of writing whatever angsty melodrama my muse desires, no matter how Sueish. I'm proud of the stories I write now, and I'd like to think I've grown and improved since my giddy Suefic days, but I'd be lying if I said the Suefics weren't more fun to write.

Anyway, it should be posted on Tuesday or Thursday. I would say Wednesday, but the weather promises to be calamitous, so in all likelihood, I'll be unplugged and riding out severe weather with nothing but a book and gritted teeth.

I watched the end of FOTR this afternoon on TNT. Twelve years and fifty viewings later, I still blub like a baby. Boromir! Merry and Pippin! Legolas' face when he realizes Boromir is dead! Saaaaaaaaaaaam! Sam and his dogged, eternal devotion just ruins me.

I hurt. A lot. Right now, I hate my vagina and uterus.

Another thousand words of Haldirfic today. I suspect that the language in the chapters dedicated to the characters of Middle-earth will be loftier than usual because I just can't see Haldir, his brothers, or any other denizens of ME talking like your average emo suburbanite schlub. I just can't. That said, I don't want them sounding like hamfisted, dinner-theatre Shakespearean actors, either.

One of the hardest aspects of this story in the very early going is finding the balance between a loving Elvish husband and a marchwarden of Lothlorien who has a duty to fulfill. I know Tolkien could have struck it within a handful of paragraphs that boiled down to, "I love you with all my heart, X, but duty, so suck it up," but I'm not Tolkien, and it wouldn't be much of an angsty love story if Haldir just traipsed merrily off to Helm's Deep with nary a pang of regret. He pulled that, and I'd wonder just why in the Hell his wife married him in the first place. I know Tolkien was an Englishman whose idea of devotion was very chaste and stiff upper lip, but if the elves are such gentle, pure beings, then there has to be tenderness somewhere. I don't expect them to flounce or shirk their duty or wibble like pubescent teenage girls, but damn, they can be aloof. For instance, Celebrian gets carted off my orcs, and it's her sons who kick ass and take names? Uh...'kay? If the marriage bonds are so profound, then why wasn't Elrond tearing it up on her behalf? He was an able warrior in his own right. Actually, I wish Galadriel had dusted off her sword and gone off to jerk a knot in some dumbass orc tails.

So, anytime Haldir expresses tenderness, I second and third-guess it because I'm not sure it's proper Elvish behavior. There simply isn't much to draw on concerning their lives, attitudes, and culture when they aren't wafting dreamily through the forest, spouting esoteric nonsense or fighting in world-changing wars.

So, the Borg installers were here upgrading our meters. Oddly, even though we unplugged everything in preparation for this momentous "transition", the power never went out. Either they're saving that particular bon bon of gross inconvenience for another day, or I've just found the explanation for the weird power outage of last week, when the power failed in the stove and main light for forty-five minutes, but everything else was steady as the sea.

So much for technicians knocking on doors, the unctuous little assfruits.

( Aldarion and Erendis--SPOILERS )

Oh, woe.

Oh, gag me with a plastic schlong.

Paging Mr. Tolkien. Excuse me, sir, but your wiener is showing.

Title: Those Who Linger

Author: laguera25

Fandom: Lord of the Rings

Rating: FRK+

Pairing: Haldir/OFC

SPOILERS: The Two Towers film

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, and events are property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. For entertainment only.

A/N: This story uses LOTR Movieverse as its canon; as such, bookverse sticklers, beware. Bookverse!Haldir survived the War of the Ring and journeyed to the Grey Havens; there is no record of him having a wife, but I think it's a reasonable assumption. What good is living forever if you never get laid? Anyway, if he did have a wife, we can be sure their Grey Havens journey was smoother than this. Blame Peter Jackson, my kindred angst whore. Written in 2004. For death_ofme. This ought to tide you over until I can shake the NY monkeys.


( Those Who Linger )