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Nov. 21st, 2005 08:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ilthit.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
lotr_sesaFor: bbollinger
Scenario, prompt: Pre-quest. Anything fucking insane is nice. As gay as
humanly possible, please. I like Bilbo, you can throw him in there if
you like. Something really kooky should happen, I don't know, crazy
cross-dressing, or Frodo buys a talking armadillo. The more S/F
cliches, the better. I don't care if it relates to the holidays or not.
Squicks: More or less the same as below (I'm filling this half out
second), but ... just about the only sexual taboo I won't touch is
scat. I've never even seen that in hobbitslash, but I can just imagine
someone trying to write it for me after I say I like weirdness. Also,
Frodo should never top. Unless for the purposes of comedy. Oh, and
girls. Like, no Rosie. She's totally boring. Oh, and don't bother
writing any sex. It can be sexual, but I'm rather indifferent to hobbit
porn and would rather the author spend time on the story.
Notes: Did my best to capture the mood you seemed to want, hope it will do.
Because There Has To Be Rose Petals
It was a bright spring Sunday morning in Bag End. "Sun!" thought Frodo. "That's almost like Sam." He missed Sam. He always missed Sam, sometimes even when Sam was there. He remembered with great regret that time in last August when he'd bucked up his courage and tried to kiss Sam, but Sam had turned, so Frodo had missed and kissed the door frame instead. He really hated missing.
He dressed in his lonely room in the large lonely smial and brewed himself a cup of tea. Eventually Sam came in. Frodo wondered again if he shouldn't have stayed in bed long past the ordinary hour just so Sam might have come in calling for him and found him tangled alluringly in the bedsheets. Well. Maybe he'd try that tomorrow.
He was only vaguely aware of how silly he was acting, but at least he was aware. It was just so dashed difficult to find a suitable solution to his dilemma.
It was market day, and fairly nice, and Frodo was running out of mushrooms, so he made his way down to Hobbiton. The stalls had been set up early in the morning, and already there was a bustle. All sorts of merchants had arrived, some from as far as the other farthings. Frodo said his hellos to the town folk and the strangers as well and went through the stalls, from turnips to the show shelf of amusingly shaped vegetables (he ended up buying a longish curved carrot with a very amusing, and he might admit, alluring shape, but felt slightly ill in the stomach at the sight of a rounded onion with a suggestive gash in the side) and on to the pottery and trinkets.
There was some very nice glittery jewelry Frodo longed to buy, but Goodie Whelper's eyes were boring in his back, and if he was seen buying jewelry it would start up the would-be-bride campaign all over again. Every now and then the mothers of Hobbiton paraded their daughters in various pretty dresses in front of Frodo, trying to nab the master of Bag End and his secret treasures. And by that they did not simply intend the legendary dragon gold supposedly hidden in the smial. Frodo had long since stopped going for swims in the river Water, but when he had he'd been spotted and, well, the rumours never died down. Frodo was both proud of and annoyed by them. It wasn't THAT big, he thought, and would say, if he had anyone to talk to about these things now that Bilbo was gone to bang, sorry, to see the elves.
Point was, if he was seen buying jewelry, the hags would think it was for a girl, and up their attempts at nabbing the Baggins. However, the fact was that the girls paraded before him interested him a lot less than their dresses did. If he had found a way of procuring a petticoat without the gossips finding out, well, he'd have something to wear with his jewels, wouldn't he?
He'd look so PRETTY, he just knew it. Maybe Sam would notice him then, too. Frodo sighed. It would be better if Sam liked him for who he was, though, in dresses or out.
In the end, he only ended up buying the mushrooms and a talking armadillo. He made his way back up, feeling not much cheered at all – he'd really wanted that pretty tiara, even if it was just glass – and let the armadillo out in the garden. He'd have to tell Sam about it. 'You're not going to eat the flowers, are you?' he asked it.
'Oh no,' said the armadillo, whose name was Dick. 'I would like a bit of carrot stew later on, though.'
'I'll have Sam fix you up some,' Frodo promised.
Inside, Bag End seemed as dejected and lonely as ever. Frodo sighed unhappily, hung his hat on the hatrack, took off his coat and loosened his suspenders. It was another night alone with a naughty book and Mr Palm. At least Bilbo had left behind his collection of Dwarven erotica. He deposited the mushrooms in the kitchen, too angsty even to eat (this was why he was so unhealthily skinny for a hobbit), grabbed a book and made his way to the bedroom, where he knew his soft tissues would be waiting.
He opened the door to a sight that made him gasp and grasp his chest. Sam was lying on his bed, stark naked and covered in rose petals. His face was bright red to match the petals. Frodo's gaze travelled downwards, through the enticing hair on his chest that trickled to a buzz on his belly and thickened again to... oh, my!
He looked back up to Sam's anxious eyes and realised he ought to say or do something or the poor lad would die of embarrassment. 'This must be your birthday!' Frodo exclaimed at last.
Sam let his breath out. 'Do you... like the present?'
Frodo squealed happily and jumped on the bed. The bedlegs squaked under the strain.
'I wasn't sure, only I found your copy of the Legend of Steel Rods and I thought...'
'I love my present,' said Frodo and tickled and kissed him. Soon after, the bedlegs resumed their squeaking.
Dick got hungry, but got his carrot stew eventually. He ended up a happy armadillo, much loved by the neighbourhood children. Unfortunately he was also a gossip, so Frodo eventually sold him for a passing salesman in exchange for exotic lingerie from Bree.
Scenario, prompt: Pre-quest. Anything fucking insane is nice. As gay as
humanly possible, please. I like Bilbo, you can throw him in there if
you like. Something really kooky should happen, I don't know, crazy
cross-dressing, or Frodo buys a talking armadillo. The more S/F
cliches, the better. I don't care if it relates to the holidays or not.
Squicks: More or less the same as below (I'm filling this half out
second), but ... just about the only sexual taboo I won't touch is
scat. I've never even seen that in hobbitslash, but I can just imagine
someone trying to write it for me after I say I like weirdness. Also,
Frodo should never top. Unless for the purposes of comedy. Oh, and
girls. Like, no Rosie. She's totally boring. Oh, and don't bother
writing any sex. It can be sexual, but I'm rather indifferent to hobbit
porn and would rather the author spend time on the story.
Notes: Did my best to capture the mood you seemed to want, hope it will do.
Because There Has To Be Rose Petals
It was a bright spring Sunday morning in Bag End. "Sun!" thought Frodo. "That's almost like Sam." He missed Sam. He always missed Sam, sometimes even when Sam was there. He remembered with great regret that time in last August when he'd bucked up his courage and tried to kiss Sam, but Sam had turned, so Frodo had missed and kissed the door frame instead. He really hated missing.
He dressed in his lonely room in the large lonely smial and brewed himself a cup of tea. Eventually Sam came in. Frodo wondered again if he shouldn't have stayed in bed long past the ordinary hour just so Sam might have come in calling for him and found him tangled alluringly in the bedsheets. Well. Maybe he'd try that tomorrow.
He was only vaguely aware of how silly he was acting, but at least he was aware. It was just so dashed difficult to find a suitable solution to his dilemma.
It was market day, and fairly nice, and Frodo was running out of mushrooms, so he made his way down to Hobbiton. The stalls had been set up early in the morning, and already there was a bustle. All sorts of merchants had arrived, some from as far as the other farthings. Frodo said his hellos to the town folk and the strangers as well and went through the stalls, from turnips to the show shelf of amusingly shaped vegetables (he ended up buying a longish curved carrot with a very amusing, and he might admit, alluring shape, but felt slightly ill in the stomach at the sight of a rounded onion with a suggestive gash in the side) and on to the pottery and trinkets.
There was some very nice glittery jewelry Frodo longed to buy, but Goodie Whelper's eyes were boring in his back, and if he was seen buying jewelry it would start up the would-be-bride campaign all over again. Every now and then the mothers of Hobbiton paraded their daughters in various pretty dresses in front of Frodo, trying to nab the master of Bag End and his secret treasures. And by that they did not simply intend the legendary dragon gold supposedly hidden in the smial. Frodo had long since stopped going for swims in the river Water, but when he had he'd been spotted and, well, the rumours never died down. Frodo was both proud of and annoyed by them. It wasn't THAT big, he thought, and would say, if he had anyone to talk to about these things now that Bilbo was gone to bang, sorry, to see the elves.
Point was, if he was seen buying jewelry, the hags would think it was for a girl, and up their attempts at nabbing the Baggins. However, the fact was that the girls paraded before him interested him a lot less than their dresses did. If he had found a way of procuring a petticoat without the gossips finding out, well, he'd have something to wear with his jewels, wouldn't he?
He'd look so PRETTY, he just knew it. Maybe Sam would notice him then, too. Frodo sighed. It would be better if Sam liked him for who he was, though, in dresses or out.
In the end, he only ended up buying the mushrooms and a talking armadillo. He made his way back up, feeling not much cheered at all – he'd really wanted that pretty tiara, even if it was just glass – and let the armadillo out in the garden. He'd have to tell Sam about it. 'You're not going to eat the flowers, are you?' he asked it.
'Oh no,' said the armadillo, whose name was Dick. 'I would like a bit of carrot stew later on, though.'
'I'll have Sam fix you up some,' Frodo promised.
Inside, Bag End seemed as dejected and lonely as ever. Frodo sighed unhappily, hung his hat on the hatrack, took off his coat and loosened his suspenders. It was another night alone with a naughty book and Mr Palm. At least Bilbo had left behind his collection of Dwarven erotica. He deposited the mushrooms in the kitchen, too angsty even to eat (this was why he was so unhealthily skinny for a hobbit), grabbed a book and made his way to the bedroom, where he knew his soft tissues would be waiting.
He opened the door to a sight that made him gasp and grasp his chest. Sam was lying on his bed, stark naked and covered in rose petals. His face was bright red to match the petals. Frodo's gaze travelled downwards, through the enticing hair on his chest that trickled to a buzz on his belly and thickened again to... oh, my!
He looked back up to Sam's anxious eyes and realised he ought to say or do something or the poor lad would die of embarrassment. 'This must be your birthday!' Frodo exclaimed at last.
Sam let his breath out. 'Do you... like the present?'
Frodo squealed happily and jumped on the bed. The bedlegs squaked under the strain.
'I wasn't sure, only I found your copy of the Legend of Steel Rods and I thought...'
'I love my present,' said Frodo and tickled and kissed him. Soon after, the bedlegs resumed their squeaking.
Dick got hungry, but got his carrot stew eventually. He ended up a happy armadillo, much loved by the neighbourhood children. Unfortunately he was also a gossip, so Frodo eventually sold him for a passing salesman in exchange for exotic lingerie from Bree.
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Date: 2005-12-25 03:08 am (UTC)Catherine
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Date: 2005-12-25 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-03 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-03 09:19 am (UTC)