"Confessions" by A.K.A (Pooki Ze Great)
Pippin's Reminiscent Of A Boy By The Rose Bush, and the Sister He Never Knew.
Illustrations: I currently have two illustrations for this, drawn by the very talented, very funny, and rather insane Emma, and you can find it at . Join. Why? Because you want to, as it is fun, and the people are insane there. But in a nice way. Not in that whole scary "Hello I am a hairy man named Phil, I live in my mother's basement and rape young children" way, more in a "Hee hee hee, gay incest hobbit porn, woot woot!" way. Yes.
Email: obsessive_creature@hotmail.com
Summary: "I have kept it since, vainly hoping that one day I would see him once again, because I know of all hobbits he would love me, and understand me. A silly, hopeless fancy, but one I cling onto nonethless." -Peregrin Took, January 7th 1419
Warning: No warnings for now! Kind of a bit of a wistful sadness to Pip in this chap but eh, nothing much.
Archiving: Ask first
Disclaimer: If I owned LotR, I probably wouldn't be obsessed with LotR fan fics, now would I?
Rating: Eh, PG-13, light reading folks.
Chapter: 11/?
Pairing: Main pairings: Merry/Pippin, Merry/Estella, Frodo/Sam (in later chaps, sorry), Frodo/"Rosie"
Feedback: Please yes, I save it all and print it off and then feel like slightly less of a loser.
Category: Romance/angst/tragedy
A/N: Thank you to the following people, who have given me reviews I saved because I'm a pathetic loser who needs constant reassurances. Roz (I'm possibly making a sequel to Raindrops. Possibly. The great goddess of porny goodness reviews me. *faints*) Emma ( I WILL tell hobbit chick to catch pneumonia in the rain and DIE!) Aruraya (who gives well written, constant reviews. That makes me happy) Lalaith-Weasley (Man you always review, you RAWK!) Shae (Love the review! Hooray for long reviews where you suck up to me! *eats the cookie*) Jelena (Thankies for the nice comments, *giggles and claps for the long review*) Anna (Dude, you made a "Pooki Rocks" dance, what more can I say?) Valerie Sue Sammy-Mackie Jaime (WE WILL MAKE AN ICE CREAM SHOP DAMMIT! WITH PIPPIN SUNDAES GALORE!!!!!!!) Sarah (write at school again! Now! NownownownownownowNOW!) Ada (You named me Pook-Ster-Munchkins, for that I am forever in your debt) Niphrandl (Man you are EVIL! You really dun like Estella do you?) Andy (*scratches her nose*) "little one" (*giggle* I put Merry in a believable dark light, go me!) "mother2012" "*~*Sarah*~*" Layla (*giggle* I'm in her collection) Dimond Took (has not reviewed since March 27th, and used to review a lot. () Danielle Baggins (I'm sorry I made your baby a whore) VercisIsolde (now now, if Estella was smart enough to divorce Mer, I'd run out of story to type!) "LOTR Sparkling Pippin" (Thankies for reading and reviewing even though you don't like slash much) Iorhael Paula Kyro (You write very strange review. For this I applaud you) Patronesse B. (Has not reviewed since Marcg 13th *tear* this saddens me) Pointy Eared Archer(Has not reviewed since March 13th, no more "good fic updated" dance? () Emy (hasn't reviewed since March 11th () Lady Idril (hasn't reviewed since Say, and was one of my fave reviewerd. *cries her eyes out*) LadyOfTheRings (not since Say *sob*) Marauder (not since Say () Brenda That's right, review me and you get your name put in my author's note, what a prize. Now review me, and then I'll feel like writing another chapter, okay? And plus, wouldn't it be GREAT if you gusy reviewed my other stories too? (Memories, Raindrops, Say. Womp Glomp the Butterbees Fly)
*********
"Dead leaves and the dirty ground when I know you're not around. Shiny tops and soda pops when I hear your lips make a sound. Thirty notes in the mailbox will tell you that I'm coming home. And I think I'm gonna stick around for a while so you're not alone. If you can hear a piano fall you can hear me coming down the hall. If I could just hear your voice I don't think I need to see at all. Soft hair and a velvet tongue I want to give you what you give to me. I didn't feel so bad till the sun went down. Then I come home, no one to wrap my arms around." -The White Stripes, 'Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground'
********
My arm throbs with the strain of making feeble attempts at describing my feelings, I've wasted 8 pages on it already. But now sunrise is but an hour away, and I am rushed to finish my writing for the night, so now I give a brief account of happenings during my last night sleeping in this musty, airless barn.
When I first came back from Merry's, collapsing on the rotten pile of hay and hardly registering its putrid stench, my mind was soaring, caressing the velvet clouds and entwining itself in their depths.
But when the full blackness of night encompassed me I realised I should have been preparing to leave.
There was no problem with how to transport my belongings I only had one outfit, and the rest of my things were in a trunk hidden underneath the filth of the barn,
I looked in the trunk, carefully sorting through my scarce belongings.
There was of course this journal, and two old ones, along with six quills and the ink I use to write with now.
Then an old blanket which I dare not use except for on the coldest of nights, fearing it would come apart if I used it anymore often. Threadbare and faded it was, with a pale, intricately embroidered pattern etched deep in the essence of the material. It had been one of two things my parents had left with me when they abandoned me.
Next was a pressed, wilted rose, the only thing ever given to me with pure intentions since I was born I believe. I had been walking through a small, barely inhabited area beside the Brandywine when I was naught but 4 years old when I ran into a hobbit lad a few years my senior, whose face I cannot fully recall no matter how hard or how often I try. Sitting, staring at a rose bush he was, and he had most likely been asked to clip a bouquet to be the centerpiece at some fancy family dinner by his mom, judging by the basket and shears beside him.
I do remember one thing about his face though. His right cheek was badly bruised, and his lip was slightly swollen and cut on the bottom right.
He looked at me with wounded, friendly eyes (and their color escapes my memory), and picked out the most lush, red rose in the bush and cut it, clipping off the thorns before handing it to me.
Suddenly I heard a harsh call and ran off home, turning back once to see a stern-looking elderly hobbit lass grabbing the boy by the ear and shrieking furiously at him.
The minute I got home I pressed it underneath my bed, and I have kept it since, vainly hoping that one day I would see him once again, because I know that of all hobbits he would love me, and understand me.
A silly, hopeless fancy, but one I cling onto nonethless.
Also, a faded portrait of me as a newborn and a hobbit lass of perhaps 15 holding me in her arms. It was a painting of me and my sister, Pearl; the other thing my mother had left with me. Unfortunately my parents left no message of what became of Pearl, so I assume she died an untimely death.
I would write the other things in my trunk, but alas, the sun rises and I must be off.
-PT, January 7th 1419
Pippin's Reminiscent Of A Boy By The Rose Bush, and the Sister He Never Knew.
Illustrations: I currently have two illustrations for this, drawn by the very talented, very funny, and rather insane Emma, and you can find it at . Join. Why? Because you want to, as it is fun, and the people are insane there. But in a nice way. Not in that whole scary "Hello I am a hairy man named Phil, I live in my mother's basement and rape young children" way, more in a "Hee hee hee, gay incest hobbit porn, woot woot!" way. Yes.
Email: obsessive_creature@hotmail.com
Summary: "I have kept it since, vainly hoping that one day I would see him once again, because I know of all hobbits he would love me, and understand me. A silly, hopeless fancy, but one I cling onto nonethless." -Peregrin Took, January 7th 1419
Warning: No warnings for now! Kind of a bit of a wistful sadness to Pip in this chap but eh, nothing much.
Archiving: Ask first
Disclaimer: If I owned LotR, I probably wouldn't be obsessed with LotR fan fics, now would I?
Rating: Eh, PG-13, light reading folks.
Chapter: 11/?
Pairing: Main pairings: Merry/Pippin, Merry/Estella, Frodo/Sam (in later chaps, sorry), Frodo/"Rosie"
Feedback: Please yes, I save it all and print it off and then feel like slightly less of a loser.
Category: Romance/angst/tragedy
A/N: Thank you to the following people, who have given me reviews I saved because I'm a pathetic loser who needs constant reassurances. Roz (I'm possibly making a sequel to Raindrops. Possibly. The great goddess of porny goodness reviews me. *faints*) Emma ( I WILL tell hobbit chick to catch pneumonia in the rain and DIE!) Aruraya (who gives well written, constant reviews. That makes me happy) Lalaith-Weasley (Man you always review, you RAWK!) Shae (Love the review! Hooray for long reviews where you suck up to me! *eats the cookie*) Jelena (Thankies for the nice comments, *giggles and claps for the long review*) Anna (Dude, you made a "Pooki Rocks" dance, what more can I say?) Valerie Sue Sammy-Mackie Jaime (WE WILL MAKE AN ICE CREAM SHOP DAMMIT! WITH PIPPIN SUNDAES GALORE!!!!!!!) Sarah (write at school again! Now! NownownownownownowNOW!) Ada (You named me Pook-Ster-Munchkins, for that I am forever in your debt) Niphrandl (Man you are EVIL! You really dun like Estella do you?) Andy (*scratches her nose*) "little one" (*giggle* I put Merry in a believable dark light, go me!) "mother2012" "*~*Sarah*~*" Layla (*giggle* I'm in her collection) Dimond Took (has not reviewed since March 27th, and used to review a lot. () Danielle Baggins (I'm sorry I made your baby a whore) VercisIsolde (now now, if Estella was smart enough to divorce Mer, I'd run out of story to type!) "LOTR Sparkling Pippin" (Thankies for reading and reviewing even though you don't like slash much) Iorhael Paula Kyro (You write very strange review. For this I applaud you) Patronesse B. (Has not reviewed since Marcg 13th *tear* this saddens me) Pointy Eared Archer(Has not reviewed since March 13th, no more "good fic updated" dance? () Emy (hasn't reviewed since March 11th () Lady Idril (hasn't reviewed since Say, and was one of my fave reviewerd. *cries her eyes out*) LadyOfTheRings (not since Say *sob*) Marauder (not since Say () Brenda That's right, review me and you get your name put in my author's note, what a prize. Now review me, and then I'll feel like writing another chapter, okay? And plus, wouldn't it be GREAT if you gusy reviewed my other stories too? (Memories, Raindrops, Say. Womp Glomp the Butterbees Fly)
*********
"Dead leaves and the dirty ground when I know you're not around. Shiny tops and soda pops when I hear your lips make a sound. Thirty notes in the mailbox will tell you that I'm coming home. And I think I'm gonna stick around for a while so you're not alone. If you can hear a piano fall you can hear me coming down the hall. If I could just hear your voice I don't think I need to see at all. Soft hair and a velvet tongue I want to give you what you give to me. I didn't feel so bad till the sun went down. Then I come home, no one to wrap my arms around." -The White Stripes, 'Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground'
********
My arm throbs with the strain of making feeble attempts at describing my feelings, I've wasted 8 pages on it already. But now sunrise is but an hour away, and I am rushed to finish my writing for the night, so now I give a brief account of happenings during my last night sleeping in this musty, airless barn.
When I first came back from Merry's, collapsing on the rotten pile of hay and hardly registering its putrid stench, my mind was soaring, caressing the velvet clouds and entwining itself in their depths.
But when the full blackness of night encompassed me I realised I should have been preparing to leave.
There was no problem with how to transport my belongings I only had one outfit, and the rest of my things were in a trunk hidden underneath the filth of the barn,
I looked in the trunk, carefully sorting through my scarce belongings.
There was of course this journal, and two old ones, along with six quills and the ink I use to write with now.
Then an old blanket which I dare not use except for on the coldest of nights, fearing it would come apart if I used it anymore often. Threadbare and faded it was, with a pale, intricately embroidered pattern etched deep in the essence of the material. It had been one of two things my parents had left with me when they abandoned me.
Next was a pressed, wilted rose, the only thing ever given to me with pure intentions since I was born I believe. I had been walking through a small, barely inhabited area beside the Brandywine when I was naught but 4 years old when I ran into a hobbit lad a few years my senior, whose face I cannot fully recall no matter how hard or how often I try. Sitting, staring at a rose bush he was, and he had most likely been asked to clip a bouquet to be the centerpiece at some fancy family dinner by his mom, judging by the basket and shears beside him.
I do remember one thing about his face though. His right cheek was badly bruised, and his lip was slightly swollen and cut on the bottom right.
He looked at me with wounded, friendly eyes (and their color escapes my memory), and picked out the most lush, red rose in the bush and cut it, clipping off the thorns before handing it to me.
Suddenly I heard a harsh call and ran off home, turning back once to see a stern-looking elderly hobbit lass grabbing the boy by the ear and shrieking furiously at him.
The minute I got home I pressed it underneath my bed, and I have kept it since, vainly hoping that one day I would see him once again, because I know that of all hobbits he would love me, and understand me.
A silly, hopeless fancy, but one I cling onto nonethless.
Also, a faded portrait of me as a newborn and a hobbit lass of perhaps 15 holding me in her arms. It was a painting of me and my sister, Pearl; the other thing my mother had left with me. Unfortunately my parents left no message of what became of Pearl, so I assume she died an untimely death.
I would write the other things in my trunk, but alas, the sun rises and I must be off.
-PT, January 7th 1419
