Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Hobbit Heartache, Chapter 11: A Night that Shan't Be Remembered

While Jessica is super attracted to Frodo, she finds herself sometimes wishing he had a moustache. 

I think that part of the reason why Hobbit Heartache, the Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings erotic crossover parody, has resonated so much with the general public (Google Analytics tells me that "Hobbit Heartache" has been Googled not once, but MULTIPLE TIMES) is that it's something everyone can relate to. Everyone. I don't think I know more than 30 or so people who can't relate to the timeless love story of a Spring Break in Middle-earth. But through research, I have been able to identify the demographics in which Hobbit Heartache is the most popular with.

Moms love Hobbit Heartache. I think it's because it's the original Fifty Shades of Grey, only with more hobbits and hair, which makes it naughtier. Moms tell me that they enjoy Merry the best, because his erotic tendencies provide the best book club discussions. 

 . . ."Being blind did not always bother Merry. In fact, he could recall one particular rousing occasion in which he spent an entire evening blindfolded by the hairy hands of Huge Bracegirdle. He had been forced to crawl on his hands and knees for hours at a time, feeling his furry skin contract with goose flesh as it was tantalized by quail feathers, porcupine quills and a leather hat. It was some of the most thrilling thirteen hours of his life . . " Chapter 8, The Land of the Elves

(He's obviously still thinking about that leather hat.)

Party people obviously love this shit. It speaks to them. They just get that Spring Break-kind-of mentality, where you just want to bake in the sun all day long, drink brandywine until you puke, wake up naked wrapped in a giant spider web, throw on some burlap clothes and do it all over again the next day! Party People tend to identify the most with heavy drinker Samwise or the ambiguously promiscuous Bilbo.  They also want Jessica and Frodo to HOOK IT UP. 

(Is it true what they say about Bilbo and those forty Elves?)

The Elderly enjoy Hobbit Heartache because it is the classic tale of good versus evil. They hope that good will triumph over evil and that we will all learn several life lessons along the way. The Elderly enjoy the characters of sensible, one-piece wearing Elizabeth and also the dashing, Nazi-hating Georg von Trapp the best.


(Nazis don't exist in Sweet Valley, but if they did, Elizabeth would probably talk some sense into them.)

I'm just guessing on this one, but I don't see any reason why a prisoner would not enjoy this story. 

Groups in which Hobbit Heartache is not popular with:

Medical personnel sometimes become angry with Hobbit Heartache because it can be seen as promoting unhealthy life choices. A Cuban cigar is partially smoked by a high school student in one pivotal scene. Characters skinny dip freely without the slightest mention of sunblock application. A horse is roasted and consumed without a trained Dwarf Chef bothering to ensure that it was properly cooked. Honey is used as a sexual balm. Nurses and doctors still like the book, sure, but they wish that it might be a bit more responsible. Medical personnel appreciate Mr. Jaworski, the chaperone, the best. 

(But they all secretly have a thing for bad-boy Bruce.)

LOTR fans sometimes get a little angry when they purchase the book thinking it's a companion piece to  the LOTR novels, when in fact, I have never read or seen anything related to LOTR. They do not appreciate that Frodo is unaware that he is related to Bilbo and is pursuing a romantic relationship with him. They do not like that Samwise is harboring a hidden addiction to brandywine. And they do not like that the Sweet Valley High characters are now in Middle-earth. Diehard LOTR fans do not have a favorite character, because I have ruined them all. 

(You can't tell me they're not happy together.)

I think it might be something about the "turning her life's work and masterpiece into erotic fanfiction" and "defamation of character" that might have an effect on their enjoyment of Hobbit Heartache

(Can't win em all.)

But hey, this chapter goes out to all the PARTY PEOPLE OUT THERE! Come join the gang as they travel to Dwarven for a night of brandywine, roasted horse, and yes, perhaps some sexual-related interactions. Gimli awaits!

Gimli: Always DTF.

(Down to feast. That guy can feast like no other.)

And if you're so very confused about all of this and want to be in the know, well, what better way to spend your summer than inside reading erotic fanfiction chapters on the computer? Get caught up here or here (or just talk to me. I have like 20 copies in my room):

Chapter 1                         Chapter 6
Chapter 2                         Chapter 7
Chapter 3                         Chapter 8
Chapter 4                         Chapter 9
Chapter 5                         Chapter 10

Warning: Actual NSFW artwork below. (My first true NSFW tag! I should really stop crying wolf about that.)

I'm pretty sure Zak was thrilled to have some actual erotic content to work with. Erotic content and hobbit vomit. I think he handled it tastefully, no?

Chapter Eleven
A Night that Shan't Be Remembered

Frodo stood at the wooden gates of Dwarven peering inside at the din. Dwarven was inhabited by sixty or so stocky and misshapen dwarves, and by the looks of it, they were all present and dancing wildly in the town square. The sun had just barely set, yet the dwarves looked as if they had been rejoicing for many hours' time. Sweat dripped off of their faces and traveled the very short distance to the earth.

“Holy cow,” said Winston, staring with his mouth agape. “They look like they’re on acid.”

“ . . . Or cocaine,” added Bruce, his sheep manure-brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Acid? Do dwarves ingest corrosive agents?” questioned Georg. “It seems like it would lead them to a world of indigestion.”

“They appear as if they have an unlimited supply of brandywine,” whispered Samwise, clutching the gate bars. “How wondrous.”

So stood the weary travelers in silence for a few moments more, taking in the frenzied scene before them.

“Well, are we going to stand here and watch these freaks party, or are we going to join?” asked Bruce, ending the hypnotic moment.

“Yes, Bruce is quite right. Let us enter Dwarven and I shall find my old friend Gimli to see if we can beg hospitality for the evening,” proclaimed Bilbo, marching through the four foot high gates of security.

Frodo followed warily, overwhelmed by the madness. The jarring songs of kettledrums and copper whistles filled the air and a naked dwarf lady danced by and blew Bruce a kiss.

“Bilbo Baggins, you son of a whore! Have you come to feast?” a gruff voice suddenly rang out into the air.

There came Gimli, marching towards the group with a stein of brew. Frodo gaped at the sight of him, his red hair flying wildly about and framing his rough, pockmarked face. Barely four feet high, Gimli still commanded the attention of all around. His clothes were ragged and torn, as if he had just placed victor in a pankration match with a vengeful ferret. His bulky muscles bulged through the holes in his clothes, with veins popping out to say ‘hullo.’

Frodo glanced down at his own arms, as spindly and weak as thrice-boiled carrots. He sighed, a musky exhalation of potato-scented breath.

Gimli slapped Bilbo on his princely hindquarters in greeting, sloshing some of the liquid onto him. Frodo stared as Bilbo’s buxom behind jiggled from the hearty slap and felt a strange yet familiar stirring in his burlap trousers.

Has a bumblebee perhaps been caught in my underthings again? Frodo wondered, giving his busy slacks a pat. Though the slap had been mighty, Bilbo hardly seemed to mind. A wide smile crossed his floppy face.

“The last time you visited, you ate thirty horses alone! I do hope we can appease your appetites. I know you have many,” said Gimli, throwing a lewd wink to Bilbo. Frodo began to feel uneasy but did not understand why.

“Ah, Gimli, ‘tis a well pleasure to see you once again after so many a year. Why, the last time I saw you was during the Celebration of the Greased Boar and you were chained to those five acrobatic dwarves, and the lot of you were doused with fresh candle wax!” exclaimed Bilbo, a laugh bellowing deep from his tender belly.

“I remember nothing but have the groinal scars to prove it!” cried out Gimli, grabbing the front of his twine trousers. “And I’ll show anyone who says otherwise!”

Frodo’s stomach turned and he saw Elizabeth wrinkle her nose. Frodo did not trust this Gimli fellow. No, he did not trust him one bit.

“Rumors tell me that you’re traveling to destroy the Ring, you foolish dungbats! You must be planning on visiting the Land of the Lifeless soon, if that much is true. Ah, Bilbo, you’ve always been a brave varlet, haven’t ye? The finest whore-son I know!” Gimli exclaimed, taking a gulp from his brew.

Frodo noticed that the burly dwarf had begun to slur his words and had spilled most of his brew onto his bare, dirt-crusted feet.

How can this unsteady fellow be the leader of all the dwarves? he wondered. And how can Bilbo enjoy his company so? ‘Tis quite the mystery.

“But enough talk of your impending deaths! Join us for a night of revelry as we celebrate the Season of the Feral Cat. Pertonia is roasting the finest of horse meat over by the fire and there are many drinks to be had,” announced Gimli.

“No horse for me, thanks,” said Winston, his face taking on a definite greenish tinge.

“Your loss, my long-footed lad. But if you skip on the horse, I insist you indulge in our freshly brewed beer, made of baby gippling marrow.” He thrust his mug into Winston’s hand and whistled. A servant dwarf suddenly appeared with a tray of beer steins for all of them.

“Have you brandywine?” questioned Samwise, his eyes widening at the sight of the frothy mugs. A second servant appeared and instantly Sam’s hands were both full with his favored piquant elixir.

“None for me, Sir Gimli,” said Frodo, “for I wish to begin tomorrow’s hike with a clear mind and vigorous step.”

“Me too,” added Elizabeth, placing a gentle hand upon Frodo’s shoulder. “I’ve found that alcohol doesn’t agree with me much. One time I had a single drink at prom and drove drunk and accidentally killed Jessica’s boyfriend. I had to stand trial for manslaughter, but it all worked out in the end. Jessica was actually the one who spiked my drink—can you believe that?” she said with a laugh, her smile as soft as the distended belly of a burrowed mole.

“Brambleberry cider it is for the abstainers! Now, drink and enjoy, my new acquaintances. I shall find ye soon enough, but now, I have personal business to attend to,” proclaimed Gimli, scuttling off towards the nude dwarf lady, who was now joined by five more nude dwarves.

Frodo glanced around and noted that indeed many of the dwarves were nude, and some were fondling others. His eyes widened and he sipped his cider.

“Merry, care to join me for some roasted equine?” he turned and asked, but Merry was nowhere to be found. Frodo saw that his friends had already joined the party. Georg and Lila were walking arm-in-arm to Pertonia and the roasted horse, Elizabeth was trailing behind Gandalf as he glided to the trees and Bruce had followed Gimli to the nude dwarf ladies. Only Jessica remained by his side.

“Let’s dance!” cried Jessica, taking his hand and pulling him to the center of the town square.

And so they danced, and feasted, then danced thrice more. Though Frodo was accustomed to dancing many a jig in the Shire, Jessica performed dance steps he had never seen before. She shimmied her shoulders in coquettish rotations, she dipped her shapely hips and she twirled Frodo in dizzying circles. Not even once did she step onto his feet, which were covered with a fine coating of hair. Frodo felt both mesmerized and perplexed by her sensual movements.

Soon his skin dripped with pungent perspiration and his throat was parched. He motioned for Jessica to stop her wild dancing.

“I require a respite, dear Jessica, for your spirited gamboling has left me breathless!” cried Frodo.

“Well, it just so happens that dancing happens to be one of my many specialities. Here, you rest and I’ll get you a fresh glass of beer,” said Jessica, her face illuminated with silky sweat.

“Nay, ‘tis brambleberry cider for me,” corrected Frodo. Jessica nodded and darted off into the night.

Frodo wiped his brow and spotted Georg and Lila dancing. They were performing a dance with many complex turns and the occasional step-hop. As Frodo watched, they executed a turn and then stood frozen with their arms together, staring into each other’s eyes.

How magical, Frodo thought, his furry heart swelling. They seem to be falling in love.

The longing in Frodo’s own heart was still present, though it had lessened during their journey. Frodo wasn’t quite sure why, but he figured that perhaps being in the company of his most cherished companions, especially dear Bilbo, had helped.

“Dear, sweet, brave, handsome and resolute Bilbo,” Frodo whispered.

He swept his gaze all over the crowded square, trying to seek out a glimpse of Bilbo. He saw Gandalf meditating by the trees with Elizabeth gazing over him and he saw Samwise skipping ‘round the fire, a feral cat held high in each arm.

Is that Merry sitting on Winston’s lap? Frodo wondered in surprise. Before he could ponder further, Jessica pranced up to him, her hands full of mugs.

“Here, Frodo, I brought you a fresh glass of cider,” said Jessica, swapping his old mug for a new one.

“I thank you, Jessica,” replied Frodo, taking a sip. “Is this mulberry cider? It tastes different.”

“Just drink it,” she replied, a strange smile upon her face.

And so Frodo did. He swiftly drank the entire mug to soothe his parched throat. He felt his cheeks bloom a rosy red and a delightful feeling of warmth begin to spread through his bushy limbs. He smiled at Jessica, and it was a smile of wide-eyed wonder.

“Would you like some more, Frodo? I can go grab some,” she said sweetly.

“Oh, yes, I would! More mulberry cider. More! ‘Tis quite delicious,” he answered, rubbing his belly to indicate the beverage’s high quality.

Jessica smiled and nodded. “It sure is, isn’t it? Now, don’t you go anywhere while I’m gone. I want you to last all night long.”

Frodo did not understand what she meant but he nodded and began to chant a drinking cheer. When Jessica returned moments later, he was dancing a jig by himself. He grabbed the mug from her hands and took long gulps of it.

“Let us dance!” he cried, flinging the empty mug into the night sky. This time it was Frodo who grabbed Jessica and pulled her to the square. How marvelous he felt!

The sounds of wild laughter, whistles, satisfied moans and the crackling of the hearty bonfire filled the air. Frodo could not recall the last occasion he had experienced such splendid merrymaking. He skipped through the town square, throwing his squat arms into the air and spinning under the moon.

“I feel as if I’ve been bewitched! I’ve been cast under an Elven spell!” he hollered.

He spun and spun in circles, never wanting to stop. The town square turned into a blur, the bright colors melting into one dwarfish-proportioned rainbow of elation. He felt a sharp pain in his haunches and realized that he had fallen and was now splayed on the ground. Frodo found that quite amusing, and burst into high-pitched laughter. He laughed and laughed and laughed until tears ran down his face.

“Is he okay?” Frodo heard Elizabeth ask Jessica in the distance.

“He’s fine, Liz. He just got too much sun today,” replied Jessica, leading her sister away. “Hey, I thought I saw Gandalf go into one of those tents—maybe you should make sure he’s not feeling lonely.”

“You’re right, Jess. Gandalf really needs a friend tonight. I’ll be over there if you need me,” said Elizabeth. “And please be careful—I think everyone has been drinking pretty heavily tonight. Samwise has already thrown up nine times, Lila has gone to sleep and Bruce went into that naked lady’s tent. And I can’t find Merry and Winston at all! Just be careful,” she warned as she walked away.

“Merry! I must find Merry!” Frodo cried out from his spot on the ground. “Merry is displeased and never speaks to me anymore.” Suddenly he felt very sad.

“Don’t be silly, Frodo. Merry’s not mad at you,” said Jessica, kneeling down next to him. “How could anyone ever be mad at you?” she purred, leaning in close.

Frodo sighed and touched a hand to his forehead, for his head was beginning to ache. He felt as if he were swimming nude in a pool of wool, like the hobbits did once a year when Mabel sheared the infamous flock of Hobbiton sheep. The hobbits would shed their garments and take turns diving into the huge bale of wool. ‘Twas usually Frodo’s favorite day of the year, but he could barely recall the event now. The town music seemed so very loud and Frodo could not ponder for more than a moment.

“Where are my friends? Bilbo?” he murmured, trying to rise. Jessica gently pushed him back to the ground.

“Everyone is off enjoying the party and having fun,” replied Jessica. “Don’t you think it’s time we did the same?”

“Whatever do you mean, Jessica?” Frodo whispered, fighting the urge to shut his hair-covered eyelids.

“What I mean is that I think we should move our party to one of those tents. And then you and I can get to know each other better,” she said. “Like we were at a Sweet Valley University party. You know.”

“But I am so very tired,” Frodo said. “Please, I must sleep.”

“Don’t worry—we’re heading to a bed right now,” said Jessica. “Here, I’ll help you up.” She pulled Frodo to his feet, his dead weight as heavy as a cauldron filled with rabbit and twigbark stew. Together they staggered through the busy square, passing dancing and drunken dwarves.

Frodo felt a sudden tug on his arm, causing him to stumble.

“Stand up straight,” hissed Jessica like a chagrined garden snake. “Here come Lila and Georg. Man, Lila looks trashed. Her hair’s all messed up and she’s walking funny.”

“Good evening!” called out Georg, coming to a stop to converse. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, yes; yes, we are,” replied Jessica with haste. “Killer music. But I didn’t expect to see you, Lila. Liz said you went to bed already.”

“No. Yes. I mean no. I did sleep but now I am here at this party with Georg and other people. There are many people here but no bears; I made sure,” replied Lila stiffly. “You ask too many questions.”

“Fish! We must be near the ocean!” cried out Frodo suddenly whilst sniffing the air. His nostrils flared and his delicate nose hairs swelled with the unmistakable scent of gilled, cold-blooded, sea-faring vertebrates.

“Whatever is he referring to?” asked Georg in confusion. “Do you understand, Fraulein Lila?”

“He is drunk! He drank too much! It has made him crazy!” cried Lila, her brown eyes wide with alarm. “My father is rich and we have four swimming pools!”

“We know; we know, Lila. Everyone in Sweet Valley has a pool,” replied Jessica, with a tumultuous roll of her eyes. “You’re looking a little rough—maybe you should drink some water. Your skin is super dry and one of your eyes looks wonky.”

“Fresh salmon! Albacore! Sand dabs!” shrieked Frodo. His hirsute mouth was now watering for a piece of fresh fishery, certain it would help his ailing cranium.

“Sweet Valley is my home,” replied Lila, gripping Georg’s arm tighter.

“And Austria is mine, my dearest,” answered Georg, returning her embrace. “That is, until the Nazis drove me away.” He shot a withering look at Jessica.

“Now, come, Fraulein Lila; let me sing you a song of my homeland while we dance. Au revoir, auf wiedersehen!” he called over his shoulder.

“Bye, guys,” Jessica said. “Weirdos,” she muttered under her breath.

“Goodbye, sablefish!” Frodo bellowed with all of his might. He laughed at the sound of his voice, as loud and wild as a muskrat in heat. But his laughter soon made him feel dizzy and he began to moan.

“Come on; let’s go in here,” Jessica said, wasting not a single moment. She pulled Frodo into a darkened tent. The darkness felt cool and refreshing and the silence was a welcome relief from the sexual kettledrum circle.

“Lie down,” she commanded, her voice suddenly low.

Frodo fell onto the meager bed comprised of dried twigs. His eyes shut instantly, as if by magic, and sleep called to him for a few moments. When he opened his eyes next, Jessica was perched atop of him, staring down at his perspiring face.

“Where is your shirt, Jessica?” Frodo murmured, confused. “Did Gimli take it? Why are you sitting upon me? I have no strength to wrestle.”

“I want us to stop playing games! I want you to finally kiss me, Frodo. We’ve both been thinking about it for weeks now and I’m tired of waiting,” declared Jessica.

Frodo squinted his eyes and tried to keep her face in focus. She was so hazy and her words made no sense.

“Do not ply me with riddles; I beg of you,” he replied. He wished for her to leave him be so he could sleep in peace.

“Enough! No more power plays,” cried Jessica, anger filling her voice. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Frodo. You can’t tell me you’re not playing for keeps.” She grabbed his slack hands and placed them onto her bare chest.

Frodo shrieked, his hands feeling as if they’d been dipped into Hobbiton’s bubbling tar pit. He pulled his hands away as fast as his bilious body would allow. Though her soft bosom had fit perfectly into his petite hands, the feeling of her gelatinous mounds had sent immediate waves of nausea coursing through his body.

“What in the Fangorn are you doing? Stop it; stop it at once!” he cried. “I do not wish to touch you like that, Jessica.” The room spun and he moaned in pain.

“What?” Jessica whispered in confusion. “Is it true? Are you actually not in love with me?”

Frodo could see her face turning rubicund even in the darkness. Her eyes looked wide and lost, her head cocked in astonishment.

“I must regurgitate,” he announced, leaning to the side of the twig bed and freeing an arcing stream of vomit. Once completed, he immediately became comatose and sunk into a deep, impenetrable sleep.

As Frodo lay in weighted slumber, he did not see Jessica stand and don her shirt. He did not see her lithe body shaking with rage at his rejection. He did not see her stand above him, eyes narrowed and fists clenched.

And he did not hear her utter these words as she stormed out of the tent:

“You’re going to regret this, Frodo. No one makes a fool out of Jessica Wakefield.”

No, Frodo did not see or hear any of this, but dreamt frightening dreams which were filled with a nude Jessica dousing him with poison, while a drunken Bilbo applauded and danced with glee with Gimli.

Will Frodo survive the wrath of Jessica Wakefield? Will Jessica handle the first rejection of her life in a mature and non-life-ruining manner? Will Winston regret his hasty decision to skip Pertonia’s roasted horse? Will Bruce soon be the father of a brand new baby dwarf? And is Georg falling in love with Lila or Largoor BOTH?


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