I know your face
So fleurdeleo called me yesterday afternoon and said, "Return of the King is still playing at one theatre in Times Square. You wanna go tonight?"
Of course I said yes.
So we went to McHale's for dinner, because there was no way I was coming back out if I went home, not with the crappy weather we had yesterday, and how tired I was, and we talked fic and wank and she listened to me ramble on about Remus and Sirius and their love that even death cannot conquer etc. and then we went to the theatre.
Which is in the Virgin Megastore. How did I not know that?
Anyway, aside from two guys who kept talking (one of whom, when he wasn't chatting, was snoring) and another guy who was snoring away, it was, as always a moving experience.
I cried, though not as much as the first two times, and in different spots. Mostly the battle scenes. The lighting of the beacons still gets me, and the hopeless ride of the Men of Gondor, and, of course, "Death! Death! Death!" and all the Theoden-Eowyn scenes.
Which leads to this:
for thepiratequeen: The Only Hope | LotR [purely movieverse] | Théoden. Saddle. Angry. | 466 words
The Only Hope
Théoden has not had many dealings with Elves, though he knows the old stories as well as any. When Elrond Half-Elven arrives at the encampment, Théoden wonders if, once again, as at Helm’s Deep, the Elves have come to honor their alliance with Men.
Instead, he listens in growing incredulity and not a little anger as Elrond tells him of the Sword That Was Broken, its reforging, and how Aragorn, who has brought hope to the Rohirrim, will be leaving them to ride into the Dimholt, to gather the cursed dead of the mountain to him.
Théoden has a war to fight and cannot count on half-remembered legends and stories used to scare children to yield an army to come to his, or Gondor’s, aid. But he is resigned to it; stranger things have come to pass, and in these dark days, they all grasp at faint hopes.
But it is when Elrond tells of his daughter, her failing health, and her long betrothal to Aragorn, that Théoden feels a white hot rush of anger. That Éowyn won’t have -- never had -- a chance to win the man who is worthy of her love, a man equal to her in honor and valor, makes his teeth clench and his fists ache to strike out.
But he nods as graciously as he can, and calls Aragorn to his tent. He is sure his anger shows, and he wishes he could speak, but these are things in which even a king cannot meddle, and he is a king, first and foremost.
He has failed Éowyn in that regard. Instead of being the father she needed, he has been her king, and in addition to being his beloved daughter, she was his staff when he could not stand on his own. She held him together, body and soul, and did her best to keep his kingdom intact when he could not, and he can never repay that. He would see her happy if it is in his power. He remembers the jewel around Aragorn’s neck, and knows it is not.
He watches Aragorn saddle his horse, hears the murmur of fear and anger running through his men. They will fight and they will die, and they will do so bravely, with honor enough to make him proud, but their hope rides away into the mountain, and none believe he will return, and they believe their chance of victory goes with him.
Theoden sees the traces of tears on Éowyn’s fair face, the light in her eyes dimmed, and he vows to see her smile again, her face lit with joy, one last time before he dies. It is the only hope he has now, and he clings to it fiercely, though he knows, in reality, it is fruitless.
end
***
I bet you all thought I'd forgotten, but I haven't.
And one more, for good measure. This one, I must admit, caused me a great deal of trepidation, but the idea has been pricking at me for weeks, so I finally just sucked it up and wrote it. I hope it's not completely awful.
for tenderamaltheia: What Friends Are For | Good Omens | Pepper, Pregnancy Test, Rage | 438 words.
What Friends Are For
Adam is used to Pepper’s moods, but she’s in a really vicious temper as she stalks through the grass that morning.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” he asks when he thinks it’s safe to speak, which is after she’s done tearing the leaves off every branch within her reach, and stripping the ground bare of what little grass remains in their hideout.
Pepper growls and Dog hides behind Adam. Adam doesn’t blame him.
“My mum’s sprogged up.”
Adam blinks.
“Isn’t she too old?”
“That’s what I thought, but I found the pregnancy test in the garbage, and then she and Dad sat me down for A Talk.”
Adam shudders, remembering The Talk his parents had with him recently about Girls and Other Things he would never tell Pepper he’s interested in, because she might kill him; things like the way her breasts -- which appeared out of nowhere a few weeks ago -- bounce when they ride their bikes, and how his stomach does a little flip when Sally Weathers smiles at him.
“They’re all excited about the new baby. They say it wasn’t planned, but aren’t the best things in life a surprise? Stupid rubbishy surprises. Nobody likes them.” She sounds disgusted and shoots a look at him, daring him to disagree. He doesn’t.
She throws herself to the ground beside him, and he forces himself not to stare at her breasts, or her hair, which flies all over and smells clean and like some kind of flowers. She keeps threatening to cut it all off and he keeps distracting her when the idea comes up. He likes her hair, imagines touching it sometimes, and when he does, he also imagines she won’t black his eye for it, like she did to Jonathan Grimes last week when he said she had nice tits.
He lies beside her, and they stare up at the white, fluffy clouds.
“If you want me to, I could probably--" he says, wrinkling his nose at the idea, but willing to do it for her if she wants.
She turns her head to face him, and instead of horror, he sees resignation. “No. No. I thought about it, but no.”
“Okay.”
Her hand is only centimeters from his on the scraggly grass; he reaches out and, holding his breath and thinking of an excuse that doesn’t involve wanting to touch her in case she snarls at him for it, slips his hand against hers. Her fingers curl around his hand, and he sighs in contentment.
“But you have to help change the nappies,” she says eventually.
He nods. That’s what friends are for.
end
Comments/suggestions/feedback always welcome, of course.
***
You guys are an imaginative lot. I love love love the fake memories meme. I'm tempted to do the fake stories one, but man, I don't know if I'm up for knowing how much I've disappointed you, or for taking on so many new ideas at one time...
Aw, hell.
As seen in celli's LJ:
Invent a story of mine and post it in the comments. It can be anything you want, so long as it's something I never wrote. You can summarize the plot, give fake feedback, whatever you want. Then, of course, post this to your journal and see what stories people invent on your behalf.
I'm very tempted to lay down some parameters here, but I won't.
In other news, work is busy, and if I make it through today without killing anyone, that bodes well for the rest of the year.
Of course I said yes.
So we went to McHale's for dinner, because there was no way I was coming back out if I went home, not with the crappy weather we had yesterday, and how tired I was, and we talked fic and wank and she listened to me ramble on about Remus and Sirius and their love that even death cannot conquer etc. and then we went to the theatre.
Which is in the Virgin Megastore. How did I not know that?
Anyway, aside from two guys who kept talking (one of whom, when he wasn't chatting, was snoring) and another guy who was snoring away, it was, as always a moving experience.
I cried, though not as much as the first two times, and in different spots. Mostly the battle scenes. The lighting of the beacons still gets me, and the hopeless ride of the Men of Gondor, and, of course, "Death! Death! Death!" and all the Theoden-Eowyn scenes.
Which leads to this:
for thepiratequeen: The Only Hope | LotR [purely movieverse] | Théoden. Saddle. Angry. | 466 words
The Only Hope
Théoden has not had many dealings with Elves, though he knows the old stories as well as any. When Elrond Half-Elven arrives at the encampment, Théoden wonders if, once again, as at Helm’s Deep, the Elves have come to honor their alliance with Men.
Instead, he listens in growing incredulity and not a little anger as Elrond tells him of the Sword That Was Broken, its reforging, and how Aragorn, who has brought hope to the Rohirrim, will be leaving them to ride into the Dimholt, to gather the cursed dead of the mountain to him.
Théoden has a war to fight and cannot count on half-remembered legends and stories used to scare children to yield an army to come to his, or Gondor’s, aid. But he is resigned to it; stranger things have come to pass, and in these dark days, they all grasp at faint hopes.
But it is when Elrond tells of his daughter, her failing health, and her long betrothal to Aragorn, that Théoden feels a white hot rush of anger. That Éowyn won’t have -- never had -- a chance to win the man who is worthy of her love, a man equal to her in honor and valor, makes his teeth clench and his fists ache to strike out.
But he nods as graciously as he can, and calls Aragorn to his tent. He is sure his anger shows, and he wishes he could speak, but these are things in which even a king cannot meddle, and he is a king, first and foremost.
He has failed Éowyn in that regard. Instead of being the father she needed, he has been her king, and in addition to being his beloved daughter, she was his staff when he could not stand on his own. She held him together, body and soul, and did her best to keep his kingdom intact when he could not, and he can never repay that. He would see her happy if it is in his power. He remembers the jewel around Aragorn’s neck, and knows it is not.
He watches Aragorn saddle his horse, hears the murmur of fear and anger running through his men. They will fight and they will die, and they will do so bravely, with honor enough to make him proud, but their hope rides away into the mountain, and none believe he will return, and they believe their chance of victory goes with him.
Theoden sees the traces of tears on Éowyn’s fair face, the light in her eyes dimmed, and he vows to see her smile again, her face lit with joy, one last time before he dies. It is the only hope he has now, and he clings to it fiercely, though he knows, in reality, it is fruitless.
end
***
I bet you all thought I'd forgotten, but I haven't.
And one more, for good measure. This one, I must admit, caused me a great deal of trepidation, but the idea has been pricking at me for weeks, so I finally just sucked it up and wrote it. I hope it's not completely awful.
for tenderamaltheia: What Friends Are For | Good Omens | Pepper, Pregnancy Test, Rage | 438 words.
What Friends Are For
Adam is used to Pepper’s moods, but she’s in a really vicious temper as she stalks through the grass that morning.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” he asks when he thinks it’s safe to speak, which is after she’s done tearing the leaves off every branch within her reach, and stripping the ground bare of what little grass remains in their hideout.
Pepper growls and Dog hides behind Adam. Adam doesn’t blame him.
“My mum’s sprogged up.”
Adam blinks.
“Isn’t she too old?”
“That’s what I thought, but I found the pregnancy test in the garbage, and then she and Dad sat me down for A Talk.”
Adam shudders, remembering The Talk his parents had with him recently about Girls and Other Things he would never tell Pepper he’s interested in, because she might kill him; things like the way her breasts -- which appeared out of nowhere a few weeks ago -- bounce when they ride their bikes, and how his stomach does a little flip when Sally Weathers smiles at him.
“They’re all excited about the new baby. They say it wasn’t planned, but aren’t the best things in life a surprise? Stupid rubbishy surprises. Nobody likes them.” She sounds disgusted and shoots a look at him, daring him to disagree. He doesn’t.
She throws herself to the ground beside him, and he forces himself not to stare at her breasts, or her hair, which flies all over and smells clean and like some kind of flowers. She keeps threatening to cut it all off and he keeps distracting her when the idea comes up. He likes her hair, imagines touching it sometimes, and when he does, he also imagines she won’t black his eye for it, like she did to Jonathan Grimes last week when he said she had nice tits.
He lies beside her, and they stare up at the white, fluffy clouds.
“If you want me to, I could probably--" he says, wrinkling his nose at the idea, but willing to do it for her if she wants.
She turns her head to face him, and instead of horror, he sees resignation. “No. No. I thought about it, but no.”
“Okay.”
Her hand is only centimeters from his on the scraggly grass; he reaches out and, holding his breath and thinking of an excuse that doesn’t involve wanting to touch her in case she snarls at him for it, slips his hand against hers. Her fingers curl around his hand, and he sighs in contentment.
“But you have to help change the nappies,” she says eventually.
He nods. That’s what friends are for.
end
Comments/suggestions/feedback always welcome, of course.
***
You guys are an imaginative lot. I love love love the fake memories meme. I'm tempted to do the fake stories one, but man, I don't know if I'm up for knowing how much I've disappointed you, or for taking on so many new ideas at one time...
Aw, hell.
As seen in celli's LJ:
Invent a story of mine and post it in the comments. It can be anything you want, so long as it's something I never wrote. You can summarize the plot, give fake feedback, whatever you want. Then, of course, post this to your journal and see what stories people invent on your behalf.
I'm very tempted to lay down some parameters here, but I won't.
In other news, work is busy, and if I make it through today without killing anyone, that bodes well for the rest of the year.