#but it's mostly just the dorks being dorks

[revelboo]

Gah, the swindle fic was so, so good!!! I feel so bad for saying it, but I was talkin’ about Swerve, the lil dork that runs the bar in Lost Light!!! I’m so sorry!!! 😭

This little bozo!!! :)

Yes, you were xD I was working on the next Scavengers when I saw it and my brain just went: Swindle. Ignore me, it’s cold and I’m struggling

Lose Control

IDW Swerve x Reader

• Placing a clean glass back where it goes, Swerve surveys his kingdom. Aside from Trailbreaker sprawled across the bar top making a low rumbling sound as he recharges, the bar is empty and quiet. It’s something he never thought he’d have, a space to call his own. Where he’s in charge and listened to. “Third last call, big guy,” he says, reaching out to nudge Trailbreaker with a servo. “You know you can’t keep sleeping in here.” Mostly because when he wakes up, he’ll start drinking again and he can’t open if Breaker drinks all the inventory. Again.

• “Seriously? Don’t make me drag you,” he groans, knowing it’s an empty threat. Trailbreaker is as big as two of him and then some. There’s no budging him short of going and asking Magnus for help. And listening to the complaints about his bar and Magnus’s love language- rule violations. No, he’d rather take his chances with one very over energized mech. Which means babysitting all night to protect the bar. Frag.

• After kicking Trailbreaker’s stool again, he wanders around the bar. Bored and tired. “I don’t care if you’re my best customer,” he mutters, dragging a table slightly away from a wall. And there’s a sharp cry and a tiny shape darting from the shadows. Somehow that manages to wake up Breaker. Everything seems to slow as he sees the small form running alongside the bottom of the bar, sees Breaker shift and slide out of his stool, a ped coming down. And he’s running, diving with his hands outstretched. Feels that soft body hit his palms as Breaker steps on him instead and comes down on him.

• Flung off balance, you roll end over end and go sliding. Realizing that the big monster had almost stepped on you without even noticing and the smaller one had pushed you out of the way to take the brunt of the impact himself. Your confused brain is screaming at you to run, but as your rescuer groans, you can’t. “What happened?” The bigger one complains as the red one hits him, flailing to get free.

• “You’re crushing me,” Swerve snarls, venting raggedly as he gets loose, head turning to find the human still there, eyes wide as you stare up at him. Tensed to bolt, but waiting instead. “Hey, tiny.” Wiggling his fingers at you only makes you back up a step, expression uncertain. “I wouldn’t run. I at least see you,” he tries, as Trailbreaker gets to his feet and staggers away, gawking. Of course he’d heard the rumors of Brainstorm’s screwup, but the machine was destroyed. Right? And you glance from him to Breaker and back, and take a tentative step forward. A human that shouldn’t be here, doesn’t belong. Too small to survive, and he gets being smaller than every other bot except maybe Tailgate. He’s short, but you can be stepped on. “Little things need to stick together.”

[passionwillow]

Dating Dominique Luca - Headcanons

Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. ☺️❤️

Warnings: mentions of smut!

- Oh this man is just- so fucking sweet and cute. He’s the personification of a golden retriever boyfriend.

- Luca had no plans of really settling down and finding someone until he met you. You understood how important his work was and supported him and he was like- oh. It’s possible.

- Every waking minute he isn’t on shift he’s attached to you. Like- actually hands all over you just talking and chatting excitedly about anything and everything and you can’t help but smile. Because he’s so fucking adorable.

- He loves having your legs over his lap as you guys sit on the couch, his hands motioning and tapping excitedly on your legs as he talks about the latest case at work, his blue eyes bright and excited because he really loves his job.

- He’s the most attentive listener as you talk about your work or literally anything. You could say you liked this new coffee flavor and he’s so tuned in and asking all these questions because he just cares.

- This man never seems to sleep. He’s always up early surfing or working out and he’ll have something ready for you to eat when he comes back because he loves taking care of you.

- He always wants to take you out to do something. Try a new food truck, a new shop that opened, or just go out and walk and talk. He isn’t one to shower you in presents, but he’d definitely make a little trinket for you or pick up something small and thoughtful that made him think of you.

- You showed up at HQ after you guys had been together for awhile, planning to surprise him with lunch and he was so giddy and excited to show you around. It was the first someone understood and cared about his work as a partner.

- The interest you showed in his work made him glow, and you won’t find anyone more interested and supportive of what you do than Luca. Whatever it is you wanna do, that man is your personal cheer section.

- The way you got along with the team, bantering and talking and making yourself at home took his breath away. You really were everything he could hope for.

- He isn’t a fantastic cook, and he can be messy sometimes, but he really tries hard to make it up to you and help with household chores. You ask him to wash some dishes or throw in the laundry, he’s right there helping.

- He’s the most intense, passionate love maker and you don’t think you’ll ever not be swept off your feet by it. He fills every kiss and touch with his love and adoration for you.

- And don’t you dare lift a finger and work yourself while you’re having sex (unless you want to, he’d never object). He’s there to serve you and make you feel good and that’s enough for him.

- This man fucking loves your curves. He could drool over your hips and thighs for hours. Like if you’d let him, he’d be between your legs kissing and biting at your thighs because he thinks they’re so delicious.

- If you’re ever upset about something, he wants nothing more than to sit and help you. If he hurt you in anyway, he’d be on his knees begging for forgiveness. This man couldn’t bear to ever hurt you.

- He feels guilty whenever he gets called in, especially if you guys had plans. But the reassuring kiss and smile he always gets from you helps.

- GOOFY SELFIES. He’s definitely sending selfies or pictures of the guys to you while he’s on shift. And you saves every single one you send back.

- He loves showering with you. Mostly to admire you, and he loves washing you, but also to be a goof and fuck around. Using the shampoo to mess with your hair, making shapes. He’s such a dork and it warms your heart.

- This man will have you crying laughing with his antics. Jokes, doing goofy shit with the team, he brings so much laughter into your life. He’s a ray of sunshine.

- He has his down moments though too, and you being there to help him through it or keep him company means the world.

- He knows he isn’t an easy person to be with, but you trying and putting in such effort because you love him never fails to baffle him. That he means that much to someone.

[howling-medic]

Impertinence

Summary: Five times Pippin call Aragorn Strider in places he shouldn't, and the one time he didn't. With an epilogue and bonus snippet because I couldn't leave it where it ended. This is entirely unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

A/N: Holy shit. This was kind of a beast to write. I also wrote it mostly while on shift, so I'm really hoping I caught all my mistakes, and it's mostly decent. I am not sure how happy with this I am, but I think it is as good as I am going to get it. If I keep agonizing over it, I'll never sleep today. So, up it goes. Also, I am too lazy to make this into multiple chapters right now. Maybe one day I will, but it is not this day. For now, there are headers at the start of each section

This whole thing came about because I mentioned to someone that I want Fourth Age content because I wanted to see Pippin being a little shit in court, and I was told emphatically that Pippin would clearly grow up and behave himself. I think that's insane. Pippin is a socially skilled class clown with a high level of intelligence. He also has zero regard for authority figures. So I wrote a whole fic about how much of a dork Pippin is and how Aragorn adores that dork - even if he a giant pain in his ass.

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, sadness, heartbreak, mentions of alcohol

WC: 7562 words (This was never intended to be this long, y'all.)

Making An Entrance

“Strider!” The shout cut through the den of the courtyard of the Citadel. King Elessar sighed fondly and turned to find Pippin jogging towards him in his road dirtied court attire. In the past two years Aragorn had learned one thing: every time the young hobbit came back to court, he would call the King by his old moniker in public at least once. Usually more. As with each time, everyone in the vicinity turned to search for the source of the disrespect to their monarch.

“Thrain Took,” Aragorn called in greeting. At the use of his title, Pippin’s ears went pink, and Aragorn laughed at the sight of the very moment the young hobbit realized his mistake. To the utter shock of any in the area who did know of Pippin or the story of the name Strider, including the Harad emissaries who had come to discuss a new trade agreement, Aragorn knelt to welcome his friend with a warm embrace. “How are you my dear friend? How was your journey?”

“Ach, I am as well as ever! The road was long, but certainly shorter than my first journey here.” Pippin was about to launch into a long winded tale of the trip and all those he and Merry saw along the way, as well as all the doings of The Shire. Aragorn could see it in the hobbit’s eyes. Just before he could open his mouth, Aragorn interjected, “And I cannot wait to hear all you wish to share. I am certain we have much to discuss politically and personally, but I do not wish to keep you from getting a bite and a bath, so go freshen yourself. Then come to my quarters for dinner.”

Pippin glanced over Aragorn’s shoulder and saw the assembled group of men waiting on his liege to return, and then he looked back to Aragorn. His lips pressed into a thin line. The group of Harad dignitaries looked utterly aghast at his apparent impudence. Aragorn shrugged nearly imperceptibly and rolled his eyes, at which Pippin’s face lit up anew. “As you wish, Strider.” Aragorn barked out a startled laugh and shook his head. 

“Fool of a Took,” he murmured and rose to return to the Harad behind him. “Gentlemen, where were we?”

“You accept such disrespect from a creature so small? Was that a child?” One of the men asked while his eyes followed the retreating form of Pippin.

“That,” Aragorn said in a voice still light with laughter while watching Pippin disappear inside the Citadel, “Was a hobbit of more renown and valor than you could imagine. His name is Peregrin Took. He is the Thrain of the Shire, and a Knight of the Citadel. He was also one of the nine of the Fellowship of the Ring. He, the others of that party, and the Thrain’s kin are the only people from whom I accept that name. So no, my lord, I suffer no disrespect, nor was that a child.” The laughter in Aragorn’s voice died, and he turned back to the group before him. “I would advise you to not disrespect hobbits in this court - particularly those who were a part of the Fellowship. They are much beloved by myself, my household, and this land.” The three assembled emissaries took a collective half step back. Looking at each of the three in turn, Aragorn found his humor and patience was spent. Silent judgment and covert murmurs about his patience with Pippin he could handle, but the incredulity in this man’s voice with no knowledge of what he spoke, of who he spoke, was not something Aragorn could abide. “I believe we are done with negotiations for today.” He broke off for the briefest of moments and pushed aside the temptation to put these three men, the truly impudent ones in this situation, in their place in favor of remaining diplomatic. “Let us resume tomorrow for I desire to inquire after Thrain Took’s companion, Meriadoc, and hear the news of a region of my land from which I receive very little.” 

“My lord,” they said in unison. 

Aragorn took his leave. As he turned, he caught their shared look of disbelief. “Strider?” he heard one ask. “Hobbits?” another asked. “Strange land and a strange people,” the final man declared. Aragorn chuckled. Once again, he was going to have to have a word with Pippin. No matter how much more he loathed the Harads’ words, Pippin had to watch around whom he spoke in such a manner. Even if Aragorn wished it was not so.

However, later that evening as Aragorn entered the sitting room of the Royal Apartments, the earnest look of joy Aragorn saw in Pippin’s eyes when he exclaimed the name - the one given to him by an innkeeper that Aragorn once loathed - stayed his tongue. With a sigh of relief, the High King of the Reunited Kingdom lifted the winged crown from his head and placed it upon the black velvet cushion on a side table that was as near to the door as possible without blocking it. Then he did away with the heavy blue velvet cloak adorned with the crest of the House of Telcontar selected by his attendants specifically for his meeting with the Harad dignitaries. “Strider indeed, my friend,” Aragorn said with a fond chuckle. “You truly will never let that name remain in the past, will you?”

“Why ever would I?” Pippin asked. His brows furrowed in earnest confusion. “It is the name I first knew you by, and someone has to keep you grounded and your head from flying away with those wings you wear.” 

Aragorn laughed. It started as a choked back sound of surprise and devolved into a truly uproarious, booming laugh. So few dared to speak to him in such a manner that it was refreshing to hear such cheek. “Verily, and I suppose one so close to the ground would be just the person to do so?”

“Precisely! I am glad you understand!” Pippin beamed up Aragorn with mirth and mischief dancing in his eyes that spelled nothing but trouble. The Ranger of the North could not find it within himself to fret over it. 

Of Hobbits and Their Food

“Strider! Do not be absurd!” Pippin cried with his hands thrown up in exasperation. Aragorn resisted the urge to let his head fall to the wooden table before him. The assembled council looked in utter disbelief at the impudent hobbit in their midst. The annual meeting discussing each region’s harvest dragged on well past lunch and was showing no signs of stopping - despite the originally listed eleven o'clock end time for the meeting. Several regions’ summers had been unusually dry, and The Shire’s harvest outperformed all others. As a solution, one of Aragorn’s advisors proposed requisitioning a small portion of its grains and preservable legumes to help offset the dearth from the other areas of Gondor. Pippin was displeased with the notion, to say the least, and turned that displeasure to Aragorn. The King sat with his fingers steepled on the table. It was logical, but many hobbits viewed ‘Big Folks’ with intense weariness. Declaring a portion of their harvest the property of the crown would only validate that weariness and breed resentment in a fledgling political relationship. The crown was meant to protect that vulnerable region, not pilfer from them. Yet, his other territories were in a precarious position with meager stores to last the winter.

Of all the times and days to use the old nickname, this was the least ideal. Years with poor harvests led to contentious, and frequently panicked, fall assemblies of regional Lords. This assembly included many from outlying communities who did frequently make it to court. Protesting a proposal was one thing. An outburst that - given their ignorance to the background of the familiar title - would appear to these Lords as impudence was another. Impudence they would perceive as tolerated by their King, which they would likely take to mean their King lacked control of his troops and court. Aragorn could feel every eye in the room trained on him, awaiting a response. Awaiting his rebuke to the comment. 

“Nothing has been decided Thrain Took,” Aragorn responded coldly. The emphasis he placed on Pippin’s title drew smirks from several Lords. Pippin did not flinch. 

The ever genial hobbits looked back at his friend with narrowed eyes. An unmeasured emotional outburst may have drawn the name from Pippin, but he showed no signs of being cowed that easily. “My apologies, Lord,” Pippin said bitterly. Aragorn suppressed a sigh of defeat and smile simultaneously.  

“State your case for reserving your resources. It is only right we hear your rebuttal after hearing the argument for requisitioning some of your bounty.” Aragorn’s tone took a more neutral tone. Arguments could remain behind closed doors - in places where the defiant nature of his friend would not raise eyebrows. Now was the time to draw an already overlong meeting to a close without further incident, so Aragorn could rein in his frustration for the time being. 

Pippin spoke eloquently of the need to keep The Shire’s resources within and not dispersing them, his tone turning to a dispassionate recitation of facts and history. He outlined the way they often support outlying communities like Bree and the general distrust nearly all the ‘shire folk felt’ of any situation where resources were taken in such a manner following Saruman’s abuse and subjugation. It was a persuasive case that Pippin would not have possessed the maturity to articulate five years ago when Aragorn met him in the Prancing Pony or four years ago when the hobbit first rode back to his home. The spirit and fierce protectiveness of his kin was the same, but the ability to debate over argue was a new development that Aragorn felt privileged to have witnessed. The inability to relinquish the old moniker of Strider in public seemed an enduring habit, however. 

Lunch was sent for as soon as the King left the meeting hall. Pippin sat before him with defiance radiating off him in waves. The look in his eyes was so similar to that which Aragorn saw in Rivendell when Elrond attempted to send Merry and Pippin back to the shire instead of with the Fellowship that it nearly made him laugh at the old memory. Almost. “Peregrin Took,” Aragorn started, “We have had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and I have told you before that I am not likely to ever truly change. I may be older, and I may have fancy titles, but I am still no more than a hobbit from the Shire.”

“Is that so? Are you not a knight of the citadel and a member of this court? The designated ambassador from your land and representative of your people?” Aragorn asked, voice stern and lacking any of the humor with which he typically spoke to his friend. Even in their most heated political debates and spirited debate over old history, neither were prone to harsh tones. 

“Aye, I may be, but I am still simple folk. Unschooled in court and prone to gaffs.” Pippin’s protest held no water, and he knew it. Five years of serving in the court as Thrain of the Shire left him well schooled in court affairs - even if he traded on his humble, rural appearance and accent frequently in court dealings.  

“You know it causes a stir throughout the whole of the court each time you do that?” Aragorn asked sharply. “It reflects on how I manage my advisors and troops. I know things change slowly in The Shire, if they change at all, but are you so incapable of change yourself? Can you do as your King and liege lord commands in this, if you won’t do it for your friend?”

Pippin visibly deflated as Aragorn spoke. His shoulders drooped and his eyes fell to the cluttered desk before him. “Aye, Strider. That I can do. So long as I can still call you as I ever think of you out of earshot of those who fuss about such odd things.” Aragorn softened then. As I ever think of you. The simple statement drew a lopsided smile to his face that was reminiscent of the first night he met Pippin in Bree, the one that played across his face each time the four hobbits impressed him with their boldness in the face of fear and peril and each time they showed their heart and wisdom along their long journey. “Do you still see old Strider in me? You did once promise to ground me in that version of myself, did you not?”

“That I did, and that I do. You may wear fancy clothes and bathe regularly now, so your old rascally look is gone, but that does not mean you are not the rascal I first met. How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“I dare say it will be many times yet in the years we spend together. I find less and less of the Ranger in myself each day I spend in these stone halls.” “Do you not sneak out anymore? Slip past your guards and flee to the woods?” Pippin asked.

“Not in many months. I have been tied to this desk long into the night, and when I am not I am with the little ones. It also seems that many people who have no right to an opinion on the matter feel rather strongly that I ought not to ever be anywhere with a guard.”

“Would it please my lord to escape this evening then?”

“Did we not just say that we need not use titles away from listening ears?” Aragorn inquired through a laugh.

“That we did, but I am still an ass and a Fool of a Took after these many years. I shall do as I please behind closed doors and do as you please beyond them,” Pippin answered simply and grinned.

“I suppose I can abide that,” Aragorn replied and fell silent for a moment. “I do believe an escape into the woods sounds like a wonderful idea - plus none can protest that I will be unprotected with a Knight of Gondor at my side.” 

“Excellent! Then let's settle the matter of the Shire’s crops, so we have no work to haggle over while we are beneath the stars…Strider.”

Feasts are for celebrating

It was the Midsummer’s Feast, and all the remaining members of The Fellowship, their spouses, Éomer, Lothíriel, Éowyn, and Faramir sat at the head table. A few notable dignitaries from Aglarond and Legolas’s kin in Ithilien had also been designated seats of honor with the tightly knit group of nobility. Eight years into the Fourth Age left the lands prosperous and healing. Areas that had long since not seen inhabitants were being rebuilt. Maps were being redrawn with each passing year because they lacked new settlements. That was a struggle all were thrilled to have. 

Eight years of retelling stories, however, meant they only still possessed roots in the truth. With each new recitation details were exaggerated anew. Drama was added. Some events were simply fabricated from nowhere. Some were far guiltier of these transgressions than others. Pippin was fairly notorious throughout the Reunited Realm for embellishments - especially when the wine and ale flowed freely as it did at feasts. As it was at this Midsummer’s Feast. “Strider! Strider!” Pippin called from halfway down the table. The guests of honor from abroad, who were seated next to him, looked gaped at the hobbit who had shared many fascinating tales that evening. “I was rather indisposed with dancing and singing, and you were the only one with Frood at the time in the Prancing Pony. Could you tell us the story of what you saw - or didn’t see, for that matter - in the tavern when he disappeared? These lovely gentlemen from Aglarond have not heard that story yet, seeing as we had not yet met Gimli!” 

Each person well acquainted with Pippin, and his propensity to forget proper etiquette, looked around the table and then to Aragorn. Every feast it happened eventually, no matter how many times Pippin was lectured, and each time his friends reacted the same. Aragorn was beginning to wonder if Pippin acted as he did simply to get a rise out of those around him. Someone has to keep you grounded and your head from flying away with those wings you wear echoed in Aragorn’s mind as he watched the familiar sight of the friends he called family react anew to Pippin’s antics. Faramir grumbled something incoherent into his glass of wine, for which Éowyn promptly kicked his shin. Éomer snorted out a rather undignified choked laugh. Lothíriel glared at him. Merry groaned into his hands to muffle the sound. Legolas pressed his lips into a thin line to hide a smile. Sam shook his head in dismay. Rosie giggled into her napkin. Gimli had no such compunctions and chuckled rather loudly. Diamond sighed and looked apologetically at Arwen. Arwen visibly fought back laughter. Aragorn, donning the Winged Crown and Star of Elendil, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and proceeded to give a full recount of the events in the Prancing Pony the first night he met the hobbits. That retelling quickly led to several more tales shared - and debated. Tales of travels and battles, and all the embarrassing mishaps and pranks along the way. The formality of the night quickly devolved, and strict court manners gradually faded from each of the friends. 

After a few more glasses of wine and ale, Pippin was far from the only one at the table who had their fun at the expense of the King sitting at the head of the table. Merry recounted the time Aragorn “mercilessly taunted me while I was ailing in the Houses of Healing! I had just stabbed the Witch King himself, if you’ll believe it, and here was my friend telling me I had lost gear that was sitting by the bed the whole time!” Gimli and Legolas shared many tales of their time as ‘The Three Hunters’. The one that earned Gimli the most laughter was the abject horror of being awoken well before dawn only for Aragorn to lay himself flat on the ground for “nearly a whole age of men” to declare many horses were nearby…only for Legolas to be able to see them on the horizon and correctly count them. Éomer was all too happy to chime in that Legolas had been only three riders off on his count, before adding his own note on how he nearly killed all three of them on sight. He then apologized to Merry and Pippin, for easily the hundredth time, for almost inadvertently killing them while killing the band of orcs who had captured them. 

By the end of the night, King Elessar doffed his ceremonial headwear and pulled out his pipe. Once he lit it, he tossed a bag of pipeweed to Pippin with a grin and a nod. The court gaped at the King who had turned into a Ranger before their eyes, though many who had seen this mood take their Lord before just chuckled. Aragorn looked around and grinned. They could gape and murmur, for this night was a celebration of all that had been hard won, and the uncouth and unendingly frustrating hobbit gesturing wildly while telling all there was to know of the Battle of Isengard and the Final March of the Ents won much of their bounty back for them. Tonight needed no lecture. 

Joyous News

Nearly silent feet padded down the hallway outside Aragorn’s office. Had Aragorn not spent several decades around hobbits, and a decade listening for that sound in his own palace, he never would have heard it. Pippin had been in Minas Tirith for only two days, and mischief was already afoot apparently. “Stri-” Pippin started and skidded to a halt, and his jaw snapped shut. “My Lord,” he began again and then addressed the Captain- General standing before Aragorn’s desk. “My sincerest apologies to you both,” he mumbled. Glee still danced in the hobbit’s eyes despite the faint hue of pink on his cheeks. “I will come back later. I did not mean to interrupt.” 

“Peregrin,” the officer said and gestured him into the office, “join us. There is clearly news to be shared. Do not let me keep you from it.”

“Sire, please. I mean no offense, but this is news I need to tell Str- King Elessar alone.” Pippin caught himself midway through the old nickname. When he did, he looked up at Aragorn rather abashedly - the pink dusting to his cheeks darkening. Rarely did Pippin truly feel shame for breaking proper court etiquette, but breaking rank in front of his superior military officers was one of few things for which he felt ashamed, however. His place within the army was more ceremonial than anything else at this point, but he drilled each time he came to court and practiced with any those he could at home. It was a matter of pride that he maintained his skills. The practice of going through his drills kept the memory of Boromir alive, and Pippin meant to honor his promise to Denethor to serve Gondor until his dying breath in repayment of his debt for Boromir’s death.

Aragorn sighed and rose from his seat. He was not escaping the back and forth of deference that was brewing between these two. Pippin had already derailed the meeting and taken the focus off the report of Southrond raiding parties harrying several outlying communities. “Captain-General, if you would please excuse us for the briefest of moments. Clearly something urgent of a personal nature has come up, but I will return shortly.” Aragorn’s voice was tight, but he motioned towards the side door that led to a private side room off the office. Pippin shuffled in behind Aragorn. The embarrassment at his multiple slips of the tongue were gone from Pippin’s face when Aragorn turned to face him. All that remained was a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “What on all of Arda is going on? And did no page or guard inform you I was in a meeting?” Aragorn asked.

“Well, as for pages and guards…no, but I did not really give them a chance to stop me either, for all my excitement.” “Then out with it, man!” Aragorn laughed, shaking his head with disbelief and amusement alike. His aggravation was quickly waning in the face of Pippin’s delight.

“I’m going to be a father! Diamond is pregnant!” Pippin exclaimed. 

The Captain-General standing on the other side of the thin wall with his urgent report no longer held even a fraction of his importance as he had moments before. Aragorn dropped to his knees to embrace Pippin. Aragorn’s lingering annoyance at the interruption and Pippin’s continued struggle to keep the name Strider behind closed doors was forgotten. “Well, that is a worthy reason to interrupt a meeting - and a reason to celebrate!”

“I would say so! Though, had I known you were otherwise engaged, I would have at least waited in the hall. It’s not as though the bairn is going anywhere just yet.”

“No, indeed, but I will gladly be interrupted for joyous news, my good hobbit.” Aragorn looked to the door and then back to Pippin. “I have to hear this last report, but go find Arwen and Diamond. I think we are all done working for the day. It is time to celebrate a new generation of Tooks.” As Pippin turned to leave, Aragorn added, “But Pippin, you have to let the staff stop you next time even if I welcome interruptions for good news - and please, after eight years, stop calling me Strider while we are working.”

“As you wish, Strider!” Pippin called halfway out the door. Aragorn groaned and shook his head, gesturing for the Captain-General to take the seat across from the desk.

“Do not ask, for I have neither the time nor the energy to explain,” Aragorn said in answer to the inquisitive look the man gave him.

Infrastructure of the Fourth Age

“It will never work, Strider,” Pippin interrupted in the middle of Aragorn’s explanation of his plan to dig new wells in the lower levels and outlying communities surrounding Minas Tirith as the city’s population outgrew the confines of its walls - and the limits of their water supply. Most of the assembled advisors, craftsmen, and lords present were well used to the behavior of the Thrain of the Shire. Several were not, and looked wide eyed between the King and his Knight. Aragorn looked at the ceiling as though he expected to find an answer to the riddle of Pippin’s behavior there. There was none. Strictly speaking, he was not even needed or invited to this meeting, but he had a habit of poking his head into court sessions that were not pertinent to his duties or position. 

“Thrain Took. Please. I welcome your thoughts and opinions, but I cannot abide your interruptions or use of familiar names during council meetings. We have discussed this at length,” Aragorn said sternly once he looked back at the hobbit and after a long sigh.

“My apologies, your majesty, but I do not beg your pardon. You cannot hold this old hobbit at fault. I simply forget myself in my advanced age,” Pippin said. The room stilled. Aragorn laughed despite himself. At one point, he hoped and expected Pippin to mellow as he aged, but the opposite proved to be the case. Each year the hobbit became bolder, but he was savvier about it. There were few times, however, where he sounded much like his younger self. 

“I have heard that excuse before from an old hobbit in Rivendell who blamed senility for gaffs. I did not believe him then, just as I do not believe you now,” Aragorn said and smirked.

“You may choose to believe me or not as you wish,” Pippin said with a shrug, “but that does not change the fact that I think this plan is entirely foolish and ill conceived - and I agreed to march on the Black Gates with you. And that was a plan with near certainty of death and small chance of success. This, I would wager, has no chance of success.” A few of the younger people in attendance gasped. Most of the older council members laughed under their breath. Pippin matched Aragorn’s smirk and did not flinch. This was the level of pointed discussion they reserved for Aragorn’s study and had over a bottle of wine. However, Aragorn had not shared this plan with Pippin - as it truly was not a plan that impacted the hobbit in any fashion, nor did it seem a plan that would interest him. Apparently, he should have.

“And do you have another suggestion then, Thrain Took?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Pippin declared in a smug tone with a grin to match. “We just had to manage the exact same issue in Hobbiton - granted we lack the many levels and such owing to most hobbits not even handling homes with second stories well, let alone a city of multiple levels with buildings of even more levels - but good ol’ Merry and some of Legolas’ elves came up with a brilliant way to reroute some of the water from the Brandywine to make new distributaries! I think we may need to do the same here.”

“And why would wells not work as they always have?” Aragorn challenged, but his words held no heat, nor did he ask unkindly. There was an elegance to the idea Pippin was proposing, and Aragorn was keen to hear it. Now came to the political jockeying needed to sell opposition to one of Pippin’s less tactical rebukes of a plan proposed by Aragorn. “How in the world do you think you are going to find new well sites that nobody in the history of this city has found? Are you going to go digging up roads all over the first and second level? No. You most certainly aren’t. Instead you can reroute some small distributaries off the Anduin to create a water source in the outlying communities and then work with Gimli and the other dwarves of Aglarond on a system for running that source up to the first and second levels. They have to have a system for it in their caves.”

“Master Thrain,” Aragorn said flatly.

“Yes, my lord?” Pippin asked.

“I am commissioning you back into my service for this project. You are now the lead on it. But, Peregrin, do not interrupt me like that or address me so in any of the meetings on it again.”

“I shall do as my lord bids me,” Pippin said. The smug grin on his face had never faded for a moment. The old members of the council rolled their eyes, and the young ones still gaped at him. Aragorn sighed and shook his head once again. 

Sounds You Miss

Years dragged on and Aragorn found the gift of his long life became a curse once again. His friends were aging before his eyes while he stayed ever young. Sam sailed after Rosie passed away. Éomer died in the autumn two years before. The men of Aragorn’s guard when he first took the throne were dead or fading before his eyes. Their sons served him now. This was not the first generation of men that had passed before his eyes, but this was the first he had spent the majority of in one place, the first he tied himself to closely. 

Aragorn sat upon his throne and attempted to focus on the day’s open court. Truly, he put a valiant effort towards it, but his mind refused to bend to his will. The citizens of Gondor brought their woes, struggles, and strife to him once a week - more often if he could manage it- and he always listened intently. He did his best to resolve each issue that came before him, and he was known for his attentiveness and benevolence amongst his subjects. Today he simply could not manage to keep his focus trained upon the proceedings. It was instead in the building nearly directly below him where Merry and Pippin had resided for some time now. Neither were well. The ravages of age spared none of the mortal beings of Middle Earth, no matter how desperately those who would outlive wished it to be otherwise. Their aged bodies looked like shadows of the young hobbits Aragorn had once known. Merry struggled to use his right arm no matter how Aragorn strove to heal it. Pippin fared far worse. His lungs failed him frequently, and his knees plagued him with pain. Despite it all, they still insisted on coming up to the citadel for nearly every meal, and their spirits were high as ever. Age and weariness could not diminish those, nor could it quiet their laughter. Withered as he was, Pippin continued to be as unruly as in his youth. Except for the past few days. Of late, He seemed distant - like he had one foot beyond this land. 

Heavy boots thundered down the hallway towards the throne room. Aragorn tensed. All eyes turned to face the source of the sound. Eldarion came to a skidding halt before his father. He faced King Elessar red in the face and panting. “Pippin?” Aragorn asked. His voice was already thick and choked with tears. His son need not answer. Lest peril had befallen his siblings or mother, there was nothing that would have made him run so. All the same, Eldarion nodded. Aragorn rose slowly from his seat and composed himself enough that he hoped his voice would not shake. “Court is adjourned for the day.” His voice held an air of finality which none dared defy. “Please see the Master of Ceremony on your way out, and he will take note of that which you came to address. When I am able, I will review all issues submitted. Now I must attend to a matter that I fear cannot wait.” With instructions given, Aragorn stepped down from the throne and moved as hastily as he could without looking entirely undignified through the crowd of subjects, but as soon as he was out of sight of the main hallways and corridors, he was running.

The air in Bair Nestad felt stifling. There was a tension that could have been sliced through by a sword. Every healer stepped aside wordlessly and bowed their heads as Aragorn made his way to Pippin’s room. Typically, he was greeted with warm smiles entering this space, and not infrequently he offered aid or advice. Not this day, however. The scene that greeted Aragorn on the other side of the door brought him up short. Merry - old and stiff as he was - was seated cross legged on the too big bed. Tears ran silently down his cheeks while he dabbed at Pippin’s forehead with a wet towel. The younger hobbit’s face was pale. Far paler than he had been even the night before. A cough had plagued for weeks, but he had continued to claim all was well. Now his lips had gone blue. Even the sound of heavy footsteps did not rouse Pippin. “The fever took him in the night. Didn’t tell a soul,” Merry said without prompting, “he can’t catch his breath anymore.”

At the sound of Merry’s voice, Pippin’s eyes opened slowly. His gaze was unfocused and distant until he saw Aragorn. His face broke into a weak smile, but before he could say a word a coughing fit that wracked his entire frail body overtook him. “Let me go fetch some herbs. We can treat the fever and soothe the cough,” Aragorn began, but Pippin shook his head with what little strength he could muster.

“There is nothing left to try,” he croaked. His voice was so faint that it could barely be heard even in the silent room. “Just come sit with me, my old friend.” Aragorn sighed. Every part of him yearned to fight the invisible foe that plagued Pippin. This was no battle that could be won with Andúril, nor yet by all the trainings of Elrond in the days of his youth. This battle was the same one that destroyed the Númenoreans and nearly decimated Gondor itself. It was one with no victory. The battle against time and age. 

“As you wish,” Aragorn answered reluctantly after several seconds.

Aragorn sat beside Pippin for hours. There was idle chatter here and there. Sometimes with Merry while Pippin slept. Every once and a while, he would wake, and the three friends would recount the old days, rather Merry and Aragorn retold Pippin’s stories to him with Pippin correcting them when they forgot the fabrications he added over the years. Eldarion and all those who had come to love the Thrain over the years came by to say their goodbyes. The King never left his Knight’s side. Eventually Pippin let him send for Athelas to ease the pain that came with each coughing fit. It comforted all who sat vigil, and the tension lessened in Pippin’s face while it brewed beside him. The room smelled of the woods of The Shire, and when Pippin first smelled it, he smiled and sighed. “Home…would that I could see it once more.”

“Maybe you can, Pip! We might be able to take one last grand adventure yet!” Merry tried to make the words sound hopeful, but they came out hollow.

“I think the only adventure that awaits me, old Merry, is whatever comes next. If you do make it back to The Shire, tell Faramir I love him for me. I’ll tell Sam and Frodo ‘hello’ for you, when I get wherever I am going - if they ever went there, that is.” Pippin’s words were weak. 

With each time he woke, his gaze became more distant. Both Merry and Aragorn clung tightly to his hands as though they could keep their friend with them for even a few extra moments if they just held on tight enough.

“Merry lad,” Pippin murmured at length. 

“Yeah, Pip?”

“I don’t know if I ever thanked Treebeard for making me the tallest hobbit on record. Could you do that for me, please?” Both Merry and Aragorn laughed through the tears rolling down their cheeks.

“I think I can manage that, but I think he knows you are grateful to him for it. Don’t worry about that just now.”

“I wish I could see him again. Him and Quickbeam. They are such odd fellows. And Bombadill. We never would have made it home without them.”

“We will make sure they all know they were on your mind,” Aragorn said gently and had to swallow down the lump forming in his throat.

“We never could have made it home without you either, and to think we almost didn’t trust you to go with us at all.”

“Well, don’t go counting me in that tally, Pip. I wasn’t there to not trust him, remember?” Pippin laughed. The sound came out more as a wheeze that caused him to start coughing once more. His lips were even more blue than when Aragorn first reached the Houses of Healing, and Pippin’s fingers were cold in his hand. “But I won’t fight your revisions - just this one time,” Merry added as an afterthought.

“Our King and protector from the day we met you,” Pippin said. A smile graced his features, and for just one last moment Aragorn could see the young hobbit saying that asked him about second breakfast, and then Pippin’s eyes fell closed for the final time. The name Strider seemed to hang in the air, but Aragorn never heard it again. 

Epilogue:

Pippin laid in state for a week. Tradition stated he be laid to rest in his uniform, but Merry insisted he wear his favorite coat and scarf, and so it was. At Aragorn’s insistence, Pippin’s livery lay folded at his feet to carry his honor with him wherever this last journey took him. Aragorn would not dream of laying Pippin to rest in his uniform. He was a hobbit of The Shire foremost and a soldier second, but he fought valiantly. He needed that honor to stay with him. His sword, in true warrior’s fashion, was placed upon his breast. It was an odd picture: the bright colors of a hobbit’s traditional dress paired with the barrow blade. It felt fitting for the hobbit who caused trouble everywhere he went. Aragorn could think of nothing that would bring Pippin more joy than to know he caused a ruckus in court even in his death.

Mourners lined up all the way down to the fifth level to bid farewell to Ernîl Pheriannath. Each day the queue would begin at sunrise, and each day they came to lay flowers at the base of the bed upon which he rested and say their final goodbyes. A mere few hours before Pippin’s funeral, Aragorn stood before him. Aragorn wore no royal finery - hadn’t since he returned to his chambers from Bair Nestad - instead he wore the same clothes he wore the very first night he met the hobbits in Brie. The coat had more patches and the shirt was more threadbare than that night, but it mattered not. They were more treasured to Aragorn than any ceremonial tunic and cloak. No other hand mended them, not even Arwen. Now more than ever before they felt sacred. A last anchor to the Ranger of the North Pippin vowed to which Pippin swore to serve as anchor. 

Each time Aragorn thought he could cry no more tears, more welled in his eyes. Now he wept openly. The sobs rang off the stone walls. It was not the first time in the past week he found himself in this position. The first night Merry found him there, and they cried together. When there were no tears left in either of them, they took a bottle of elven wine to the outer wall and drank and shared stories until the sun rose.

This night nobody came, and Aragorn was glad for it. Anger held his heart as much as grief. Blessed with long life, they said. It was no blessing to watch nearly all he held dear fade before his eyes. It was a curse greater than any he could fathom. There were only so many friends one man could lay to rest and watch sail away from him. Each time Aragorn stood before a crowd and spoke of the courageous deeds of those he fought beside and journeyed with it felt like his world shrunk that much more. Pippin left the world far smaller than his small stature accounted for and quieter than Aragorn could have ever predicted. At each turn he expected to hear “Strider!” called from down the hall followed by the sound of small bare feet slapping the stone. 

With a shaky step, Aragorn stepped up to Pippin. For just a moment, Aragorn saw the hobbit as he was during the War of the Ring: a young hobbit asleep in a bed roll needing to be roused for another day on the march. A simpler time - albeit infinitely more perilous. A time before Aragorn wore the weight of the winged crown. “Strider I shall ever remain, my dear hobbit, ere I draw my last breath. I shall not let the wings of my crown fly me away from my roots.”

Bonus:

Aragorn never experienced the Sea Longing of the elves, but he knew when it was time to lay himself down for his final rest. His body did not move as it once did, and he was weary. This world no longer held him like it once did. When the time came, he said his goodbyes and felt no regrets. Arwen asked one last time for him to say, but Middle Earth was no longer his home. Aragorn had given every piece of himself to it. To saving it. Rebuilding it. Nurturing it. Growing it. His time had come to an end. When Aragorn shut his eyes for the last time, rest took him quickly, and at last he was at peace. 

He tried to roll over and shield himself from the light to sleep a few more minutes, but then his mind caught up to what he had just done. Aragorn’s eyes snapped open, and he was forced to blink against the brightness until his eyes adjusted to light around him. It seemed to have no clear source. He was laying in an unfamiliar bed. The room was nondescript and unadorned with no windows. Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed, assessing the situation. An open door faced him with an even brighter hallway beyond it. With no other clear option, he slid on the boots beside him. The feel of the old leather brought a smile to his face. Then he grabbed the familiar green leather jacket laying on the end of the bed, and walked out into the hallway. 

One end of the hall was a dead end and the other was the source of all the light. It was a blindingly bright glow that obscured any terminus. Aragorn faced it and concluded that was the only way he was supposed to go. With a sigh, he set out. As he neared the light, it resolved into a large, open corridor with many hallways branching off of it. Aragorn looked from one direction to the other and froze. Just as he was about to choose a direction at random, the sound of small, bare, running feet came echoing down the hall on his left. Aragorn froze. He refused to feel hopeful. Refused to look. “Strider!” a familiar voice cried from his left. Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat. Fifty three years he had waited to hear Pippin say the name that had hung in the air since after he died. “Strider!” he called again, and Aragorn turned to see Pippin barreling towards him at a pace the hobbit had not been able to run for many years. He looked just as he had that first night in Bree down to his jacket and scarf. 

“Pippin,” Aragorn sobbed and fell to his knees just in time to catch Pippin in his arms. “My dear, dear hobbit. How I have missed hearing you call that name.”

“Did you manage to stay firmly on the ground, or did those wings you wore fly you away? I hoped I reminded you who you are enough times before I left you, but I have fretted a few times that I didn’t quite do enough.”

Aragorn shuffled back from Pippin enough to take a good look at him and shook his head in disbelief. “You did plenty enough to remind me who I am, but I hope I never have to go without hearing you call my name - whichever you want at any time and in any place - ever again.”

“Well, you are in luck, Strider. As it turns out, we hobbits go the same place men do, and everyone is waiting for you.”

A/N: So I made myself cry like 17 times writing the last parts of this thing. I apologize for the pain, but I hope you enjoyed!

///////////////////////////Tagging those who liked my original post//////////////////

@wisheduponastar

@stayindraw

@randalekobolt

@emmbethsstuff

@salivary-gland

@softboiledwonderland

@denerturee

@thetempleofthemasaigoddess

@xkingevelynx

@mysterious-dark-blue-ocean

@hastyhobbit

@elenna-elrondiel

@gentlegentian

@crazymissbaggins

@thelittletobsterthatcould

@scholarlyhobbit

@unwordy

[elkian]

big same

After all, Inspekta is so sweet, and cute, and friendly, and helpful! You trust your good pal Inspekta, don't you, Godpoke? Look at how silly and whimsical he is! Check out those cartoony speech patterns! He's just a harmless fella who needs a trustworthy deputy. It's a big job, but he trusts you to do it!

Doesn't feel good to be special? For a god to tell you that you're special?

I was, and I mean this sincerely, utterly fooled. I took in the front and read it as his real face for so long. Only once he started talking about wanting to be special and being unappreciated did the red flags start to catch my eye.

(I think even if I were allistic I'd still be Oblivious Dork Inc., but yeah.)

Inspketa being so cute is really an amazing ploy - all the Bizzys are, but he's the cutestest. And it's weaponized, but it took me almost the whole game to realize that.

Inspekta being the cutest is a red flag (dunno if it's intended, but Mina is sort of a parallel - extremely cute, and grips people so hard she destroys them). NO other god, or even character, is as cute as him. No one has those super duper sparkly eyes, no one does so many cutesy poses. And if you go back and replay or review after the reveal, you can spot the timing of cute faces and poses lining up with some extremely sus behavior and lines. It's incredible character writing and acting.

In the artbook, it's mentioned that he's visually inspired in part by Charlotte from Madoka Magica - a disarmingly cute character who bites the gunslinger's head off before anyone realizes the danger. Charlotte expanding to her full form and attacking is when the show gets serious. Inspekta doing so is the same.

Anyways, great game. I highly recommend replaying or reviewing yourself - it's incredible to see how the foreshadowing is folded in so seemlessly, enough for alert players to catch but still subtle until it hits you square in the face.

EDIT: Meant to mention, we see Inspekta's human form at the end and it's very interesting how the two bodies differ. The similarity is clear, but Hector is normal-guy cute. Inspekta is cartoony cute, the absolute cutest. You can read some self-esteem issues into his form, especially contrasted with King's godmode (though as mentioned she was already heavily deified so she was already most of the way there).

Hector is a normal-looking fellow. He's of average height insofar as we can tell in the style - a little taller than a standard Bizzyboy. His hair is a bit frizzy, his face is a bit fuzzy, and his body is a bit chubby.

Inspekta is a tall, thin figure who gets taller as time goes on. He doesn't have coke-bottle lenses; he has big ol' sparkly eyes. His hair is a smooth, wavy mass. The man is his own gijinka - his idealized anime self portrait. His cuteness isn't incidental - it's not clear how much a god's body changes over time, if at all, so it's not unreasonable to assume he mostly looked like this on Ascension.

(And someone else said it better than me but the fact that his coat is full of hands? There's nothing in there (during the finale) except hands? He's empty and grasping, huge yet hollow. He doesn't even have arms, just hands. Bauhauzzo is the same, but he's far less active, his hands coming to balance and rest at the sides of his broad body. Inspekta's hands disappear in The God Complex unless he's actively scrolling - like he doesn't want you to see them.

His tail seems natural in human form, yet taped on in godmode. His flexibility is unnatural and used to unsettling effect as he literally bends over backwards to convince you.

Inspekta's form is artificial from the word go, and it honestly is pretty tragic.)

A note on Great God Grove's core story (as in, MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW) and me, specifically:

An important reminder I got from playing Great God Grove is that I am susceptible to propaganda.

It's been argued that everyone is to some extent, but I don't know nearly enough about the subject to comment.

It's interesting watching LPs where the chat goes 'huh that's sus' about parts I blithely blitzed through. I've mentioned before that I had incorrect assertions of Bauhauzzo's personality; watching these LPs, I realize it's because almost all of the information I went in with came from a suspect source. The God Awards is a masterpiece of misinformation that completely went over my head the first time. I was going 'haha LimboLane is doing puppet videos again' and chuckling over how the BizzyBoys crammed Inspekta into Miss M's place, and was so accepting of the whimsy that I missed some red flags.

I thought the post-Milldread fight was odd - especially when Inspekta claimed he couldn't stop them because they wouldn't listen to him. The Bizzys are so excitable that it is plausible they might not listen... but he's supposed to be the God of Leadership.

The sword statues are weird and there's definitely an oversaturation of Inspekta merch in Hobbyhoo, but I genuinely didn't get a real clue until BuzzHuzz. And watching other people play, I'm catching all kinds of foreshadowing - Inspekta claiming to have intercepted Click Clack's letter, while Click Clack says Inspekta delivered it! The fact that Inspekta didn't receive a cruel 'King' letter of his own! And so much more! The game is absolutely rife with foreshadowing, but between the whimsy that's key to both LimboLane games I've played, the goofiness of the BizzyBoys, and how harmless and cute they seem for a while - that weaponized incompetence - that it took me, if not by surprise, then at least a really damn long time to truly catch on.

Something definitely feels weird by the time you reach Hobbyhoo, but I was on the fence - and it took me longer to be sure whether it was Inspekta or Capochin who'd initiated the whole thing.

This is far from the first time I've missed a hidden message or direction of a story until a major plot twist or outright revisiting it years later. It doesn't surprise me at all. But it is a good reminder. The Bizzyboys and Inspekta work as the villains they are because they are so adorable, and tiny, and harmless, and clueless! They're just lil guys! How can you be so mean! And that is a genuine risk in the real world, where truly nasty movements are shrouded behind absurdity and Disney-cuteness. Rick Brick referencing "family values" was as unsubtle as his namesake to the face.

[giggly-squiggily]

Snow Day (Sk8 The Infinity)

Hey hey y’all! I hope you guys are having a great winter! Since it’s the snow season (and I rarely get snow where I am, boo) I figured I make some good ol’ Sk8 fluff! (With the tiiiiiniest dash of angst) Hope you like it!

Summary: During a cabin trip with the squad, it starts to snow. Reki and Langa decide to have fun in it.

CW: Mentions of grief

Cloud 9 (Taglist)

@myreygn, @dirtpie39, @duckymcdoorknob​ (tagged you because I know you like Sk8 jlkerjakejr)

“A cabin trip?” Langa asked when Reki placed the pamphlet down before him.

“For winter break! Plus it’s team bonding!” Reki grinned, tapping the photo. “Joe’s paying for it, and the whole gangs gonna be there! Isn’t that great?”

“Wait-how’d you convince Joe to do that?” Langa asked, raising a brow when Reki looked away. “Reki?”

“I may have convinced him…in exchange we help out at his restaurant.” He dared a peek at Langa, bowing at his deadpan expression. “I’m sorry! It was the only way! We just have to help out for a week- and we get to keep the tips!” He looked up, smiling sheepishly. “Plus he’ll give us food.”

“Done.” Langa nodded, his ultimate weakness prodded at.

“That’s my guy!” Reki laughed, celebrating. “That’s next week though. This week, we’re staying at a cabin with the gang!”

~~~

“Langa- Langa Langa Langa!” Hands were shaking him, pulling him free from the clasp of his dream. When he turned to look, Reki was over him, smiling wide. “Langa!”

“GAH!” The blue haired skater yelped, sitting up too fast. Heads collided and shouts of pain escaped their lips as they held their faces, groaning in unison. “R-Reki, what’s going on?” Langa groaned, somewhat dizzy from the pain.

“Gee, my head feels great. Thanks for asking.” Reki rolled his eyes before shooting up, sprinting to the window. “Look!”

The curtains were drawn. Langa nearly forgot how to breathe.

“It’s snowing! Snowing!” Reki cheered, turning back to his friend with childlike glee. “I can’t believe it- we’ve got snow!” He took in Langa’s expression, deflating with guilt at the grief within. “Sorry, this is probably a lot-”

“No it’s…it’s wonderful.” Langa shook his head, putting on a gentle smile as he turned to Reki. “Come on, let’s go play in it.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Reki was already sprinting for the door, his giddiness returning. “Race you out there!”

Langa shook his head as he turned back to the window, the weight in his chest tightening his throat.

“Hey dad…guess you came to visit today, huh?”

~~~

“Oh my god it’s COLD!” Reki squawked upon running out the door, laughing hysterically as he spun amongst the flakes. “It’s so pretty! Come on, guys!”

“Reki, get back in here right now- you’re not wearing your gloves!” Cherry fussed from the door, in hand a red scarf and mittens.

“Oh let him have his fun, Kaoru.” Joe grinned as he cooked breakfast, the smell of Miso soup and rice filling their rental cabin and making Langa’s mouth water. “Besides, he’ll be back in soon enough.”

“Along with a cold. I don’t plan on watching over him if he gets sick. Speaking of, where’s your shirt?” Cherry turned an annoyed look to the other, narrowing his eyes at the bare chested man. “Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m too hot for winter. The season can’t handle all of this.” He flexed, earning a scoff from the other. “Come stand by me- I’ll keep you warm.”

“Mom and dad are flirting again.” Miya groaned around his game, bundled up like a cocoon in his blankets. Shadow snickered around a cup of coffee  as he watched the younger boy play.

“I’ll take them out to him.” Langa spoke up before hell could break loose, gathering up the winter items. “I’ll make sure he’s wearing them.”

“Thank you Langa.” The older man looked at him curiously, probably just noticing the redness around Langa’s eyes. Langa went to wave it off when Joe suddenly swore, jumping away from the stove and swatting at his chest.

“Damn oil! It’s hot!” He yelped, still patting his skin.

“What happened to being too hot to handle, you thirsty gorilla?” Cherry turned his attention back to Joe, giving the younger man a chance to escape. This would probably come back up later.

He’d deal with it then.

~~~

“Reki? Where are you?” Langa called out, searching the open field. He swore he saw the redhead earlier. “I have your gloves-”

A snowball flew across the wind, smacking Langa in the back.

“Gotcha!” Reki cackled from a nearby tree, another snowball in hand. With a flick of his wrist, he sent another snowball flying, smacking Langa in the chest this time. “You dare approach the snowball champion, Langa?”

“Snowball champion by ass! I’m the real champion here!” Langa grinned as he bent down, gathering up a snowball of his own. “Let me remind you who’s really the champ-”

A third snowball- this time right in the face.

“BOOM!” Reki guffawed.

“Oh that is IT!” Langa cried back, throwing his snowball with perfect accuracy. Reki’s laughter was cut off with a yelp, making the other giggle. “Come at me!”

“You're on!” Snowballs flew from one side to the other, their laughter mixing with cries of shock and glee as they pelted each other repeatedly. At some point the snowballs from Reki’s side stopped, making Langa blink.

“Reki? Where are you-” Langa called, only to let out an embarrassingly high pitched squeal.

“Sneak attack, achieved!” Reki hooted, nearly doubled over with laughter as Langa attempted to shake out the snow shoved down his back. “Cool dance moves, Langa! Teach me them sometime?”

“Oh you wanna learn? Come here, I’ll teach you!” Langa grabbed more snow, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he turned to the wide eyed redhead. Reki yelped and bolted, running for the safety of a tree.

Only to slip and face plant the snow.

“Ah! Langa! Langa I’m sorr-EEEEEH!” Reki arched with a squeal of his own as Langa sat on his back, shoving snow up his coat. “Laahhahahahahngahahhahha, it thiihhihihickles!”

“It does? Wait, you’re ticklish here?” Langa grinned, abandoning his snow for tickles. The gloves limited his fingers, but the effect was the same. “I think you’re the first person I know who’s back is ticklish!”

“Shuhuhuhuhut uhuhuhuhuhp gehahahahhahhahaha!” Reki flailed and squirmed in the snow, his feet kicking the ground behind them. “Iihihihihim cohoohohohold sthahahahahap!”

“Oh, are you cold? So am I.” Langa jeered as he reached up, pressing his snowy hands into Reki’s armpits. “You’re pretty warm here- mind if I come in?”

If his back was bad, his armpits were way worse. Reki howled in laughter, pressing his arms down tightly as his squirming increased, bucking Langa off and sending him tumbling into the snow. 

“Oh thahahhat does it! Take thiihihis!” Reki twisted and pounced, shoving his own hands up Langa’s coat and scribbling along his belly. “You feel pretty warm here- and my hands are cold! Warm them up for me!”

“Reehehehehehehehkiihihihihi!” The blue haired teen arched with a squeal, finding himself in a similar predicament. “Wahahahhait ihihihihim shahahhahhaharry!”

“Hi sorry, I’m Reki!” The redhead snickered, earning a handful of snow thrown in his face. “Ah! Oh, you’re gonna get it now!”

“Rehehehehheki noohohooOOOHOHOHOHOHO!” Langa all but howled as the other blew a massive raspberry into his stomach.

~~~

“Heh..hehe…I win.” Reki declared after some time, side by side with Langa against the mushed up snow. His hands were now gloved, the red scarf tied nicely around his neck.

“No way…I within.” Langa argued back, a smile on his lips as stared up at the sky. The sun was finally starting to rise up, indicating midmorning. It made everything glitter like jewels around them.

“Ehehe…truce.” Reki declared, letting a comfortable silence call over them. Then he turned to Langa, eyes soft. “Hey…can I possibly ruin the mood for a sec?”

“Is it about this morning?” Langa returned his gaze.

“Yeah…how are you? You looked so…” He waved a hand to find the words, the unspoken truth between them. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Langa nodded, turning back to the sky. “I’ve told you this, but my dad loved snow. He and I were big on snowboarding, but we did all sorts of things. Build a snowman, have snowball fights. My mom would make these massive mugs of hot chocolate for us when we came in. Dad would always try to kiss her, but she’d say his beard was cold.” He laughed at the memory, eyes misting. Reki reached out and squeezed his hand tightly. “I miss him so much…”

“He sounds like a great guy.” Reki nodded, wanting to reach out and wipe away the tears rolling down Langa’s cheeks. “He’d be so proud of you, you know? He’d think your skateboarding would be amazing.”

“You think so?” Langa asked, lips pulling into a wobbly smile.

“I know so.” Reki nodded, giving in and finally reaching out, brushing his cheek. Langa closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath before reaching up, squeezing the hand against his face.

“This is the first winter where I can think about him without it hurting, you know? Before- I’d only feel sad when it snowed. I didn’t want to get out of bed.” Langa opened his eyes, a fondness in them that made Reki’s chest squeeze. “Thank you. If it weren’t for you- I don’t think I’d be able to enjoy winter like I did before.”

“Come now- don’t tell me things like that.” Reki blinked rapidly, fighting off his own tears as his cheeks warmed. “You’re gonna get me all soft and shit.”

Langa laughed, the sound thick with emotion. Reki put the sound and that smile deep within his chest, locking it away within his heart forever.

~~~

“Everyone- I have an idea.” Reki announced later that day, furrowly warmed up after being more or less forced to drink Miso soup by Cherry. Granted, it was grand soup, so he wasn’t complaining. “Let’s build a snowman!”

“Haven’t you been in the cold enough today?” Miya asked, though he was already shoving off his blankets, perking up at the idea.

“Come on- we don’t know how long we’ve got this snow! Besides, that’s probably one of the most important parts of winter!” Reki nodded. “Let’s make a memory!”

“I’m in. Bet I can make a better snowman than you, precious.” Joe grinned towards Cherry. “Hope the snow isn’t too harsh on those delicate hands of yours.”

“These ‘delicate hands’ are perfect for strangling dumb brutes, sweetie.” Cherry replied with a dangerous smile. “They should have no problem making a snowman.”

“Bring it on! I’m gonna make the baddest snowman you’ve ever seen!” Shadow burst in, full makeup and everything. Reki nearly choked at how serious Shadow took things. “The rest of you aren’t ready for what I can do!”

“Well, what do you say, Langa? Are you in?” Reki asked, turning to the other. Langa, who hadn’t spoken up yet, looked surprised. Then he smiled, a warm genuine one.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

~~~

That night, six snowmen of various styles and techniques guarded the cabin. One was big and lumpy, slapped together with their sticks held up in a “rock on” position. One was small and neat, the spheres measured and carved to absolute perfection. One was more or less a half-snowman; originally meant to be bigger but was forgotten about after his creator got snowballed. Another was also massive, standing tall behind the perfect snowman with its branches in a flex-like position.

Between them all, two snowmen with scarves- one blue and one red, sat side by side. Their little branches were twined together like they were high fiving, though to some it looked like they were holding hands.

Langa smiled around his mug of cocoa, warmed by a burning fire as Shadow and Reki duked it out in Uno, losing again and again to Joe to a point where they were convinced he was cheating. Miya was sound asleep, leaning into Cherry’s own sleeping form on the comfortable couch just behind the group.

‘Hey dad.’ He thought to himself, smiling out the window. ‘This turned out to be a great snow day. Thanks for visiting.’

Thanks for reading!

[sysig]

Can you please draw Edgar and Johnny stargazing or something like that

Day 8 - Stargazing

[kumakuma-circus]

persona 4 is the best game ever made i am so fucking obsessed with it. have some more dumb drawings.

[malkaleh]

Actually thinking about how how much Elrond means to me as a biracial woman and also how much I love that he identifies with the line of Luthien - aka mixed heritage and how sometimes I’m so sad about the ‘oh he’s so exotic and eldritch’ takes because it feels like (maybe unfairly) it’s a ‘oh look at the freaky biracial’ thing a lot of the time (not always but).

(Half inspired by an @verecunda post)

(Also @chaos-of-the-abyss post)

[lala-blahblah]

So maybe I'm the problem after all

[something-about-sunflowers]

Alright! Poll's over! I'm gonna be annoying about the responses now!

First thing's first: Thank you to the 247 of you that understood the assignment! Those of you that picked 'straight' will need to take remedial courses to save yourself from a failing grade.

Now I'm gonna talk tags (and the one reply):

Category 1 (Understood the assignment and went for extra credit):

Not only are yall SO correct, you were also funny about it! 10 extra points to you all!

Category 2 (There's only 10 answer options guys. . .):

This was as nuanced as I could get with the amount of options I had while still being inclusive of other sexuality options. I'm not gonna do a whole bracket for this; It was just supposed to be a funny little vague at the piratepolls person who turned out to be an asshole trying to stir the pot.

(I don't care what their intentions were or might have been. It got picked up and passed around by The Usual Suspects, the answer choices they gave were biased and had LESS nuance, and with a DRAMATIC lead on the option that's a significant point of contention in the fandom they made a 'joke' about the winning option being canon despite it only being an interpretation and a poor one at that. I'm not fighting anyone on the 'Izzy is homophobic' interpretation anymore. You're wrong. Argue with the wall.)

I thought emotional repression was implied in all of the 'sexually repressed' options, if I'm being honest. The reason I made a distinction in the 'and proud' group is because I think he can be proud of his sexuality but still be emotionally repressed but I also think there's emotional repression inherent in sexual repression.

The 'just kind of a dick' option isn't meant to imply that he's not being a dick when he's emotionally/sexually repressed, either, just that those aren't necessarily the reason for him being a dick.

Category 3 (Failed the assignment):

(There's more I disagree with from this response but this bit is the part I have an actual problem with.)

Define 'toxic masculinity'. Now do it in a way that doesn't include behaviors and attitudes that nearly everyone in the show has had at some point.

Show me David, or ANY of the cast/crew talking about toxic masculinity and calling attention to Izzy, specifically. Or to the concept of piracy which Izzy (and Ed and Fang and Ivan and Spanish Jackie and the crew of the Revenge, until Stede comes along) adheres to.

I'm not gonna argue here. I'm tired. I've got some pretty gnarly brain fog going on. I just don't want to. I just want you to think about what kind of show this would be if the main character is trying to escape to a world where Izzy's ideals (and worse, he doesn't act nearly as bad towards the crew as it's implied Benjamin Hornigold did) are the norm, but those ideals are, allegedly, inherently bad and toxic. What a show where the main love interest (and potential main character of the second season) wanted out of that life, because he was BORED of it, would imply about those supposed ideals.

The great thing about this show is that none of the characters are JUST narrative devices. They're CHARACTERS. They have an interior to them that informs their choices. We can argue til the sun comes up about why, specifically, Izzy hates Stede, but there's no way to make the reason be 'because Stede is gay' that doesn't diminish who STEDE is as a character, let alone Izzy as a queer man himself (he's queer, argue with the wall).

[searsage]

Al-an froze, slowly pulling back from her neck to scrutinize Robin with a curious tilt to his head "..Are you attempting to groom me Robin..?"

"Ha..No, we human's sometimes do that to show affection, in.. well heated situations" she could not believe she had the brain cells left to actually formulate an accurate response to his inquiry but quickly found herself rewarded for her efforts.

"I see.." Al-an trilled thoughtfully, it was the only warning she received before his biolights settled from their rapid flutter into a pleased bright teal green as he leaned forward to peck her sweetly on the cheek, despite haveing no mouth Robin recognized the innocence of the gesture and for a moment her brain flatlined

[teatitty]

Oh I finally got to the actual corpse care in my ygo fic today [only took me 6K to do so augh] so HOPEFULLY I will have this fucking thing finished this month but I make no promises we all know what my schedule is like [nonexistent]

[mejomonster]

Now that I have given Sherlock Holmes Chapter One more time to unfold. I really love the writing. Like just cannot get over it tbh. I want to wrap myself in it. I'm having euphoria after the pains of (what moffat did once upon a time) and my villaineve girlies (and the ending after so much solid stuff beforehand).

It feels 1 like i real Sherlock Holmes story (as in written well, flawed growing characters, respectful to source material AND respectful to us the audience) while also feeling fresh (its a prequel so a lot of freedom to show a new young sherlock with flaws turning into someone more recognizable as he heals and grows, cases i dont know the answer of, and a pretty damn grounded childhood trauma emotional pains fucking relatable heart thread through a wilder more dramatic murder cases arc). The only game i can think ti compare it to is the Ryu Ga Gotoku games, specifically Judgement if you took just the detective gameplay. Like? While I think Judgements gameplay is a bit funner, I think Sherlock Holmes Chapter One has more in depth side cases so if you're a mystery lover it balances out (now Judgement's main case appears more in depth a bit, but its a huge fucking game so its to be expected). What I think they both do Right, is make u feel like ur the detective

In SHCO case the moral dillema of how well or sucky u solve a case and the consequences and the fact u CAN be wrong and arrest an innocent party make the stakes feel very high, the fact most suspects are guilty of Some cruel stuff but not always the murder means ur also debating morally what u think is gonna be the best thing to do out of multiple imperfect options even if u feel sure you know who the killer is... i am truly IMPRESSED with how well SHCO handles morally grey suspects and the choices u make about the outcomes, i havent seen it in many games and its made me question myself in Even Less games. The opening tutorial case is a basic example of whats to come: if u dont collect all evidence, u may not be totally sure who killed the victim, and can justify accusing either suspect. Then once u accuse them, u have to justify to Yourself if u are going to advocate they be punished severely or given some leniency. The rest of the cases play with this but go deeper.

Also like Judgement (and all yakuza games), it just does a very good job of building a realistic world (as much as budget allows anyway). Judgement is in Tokyo, so theres OLD people! Kids! Americans! Koreans! Countryside people! Rich, poor, middle class etc. Criminals, police, civilians, politicians, celebrities! illegal immigrants. There's east asian people, white people, black people, south asian people, there's people with mixed heritage, there's people that speak or don't speak various languages. Basically Judgement feels more like how you'd actually expect interacting in a city to feel, compared to a significant chunk of games (especially if u go older) where there is just no thought put into immigration or class or the myriad of real complexities of life for the variety of people that exist in the real world. There's some game simplifications like repeated npc lines, and then side quests and main stories flesh out various characters more (and SHCO uses case notes and info to flesh out in the way RGG game side story cutscenes and mini game plots do). Those are budget and time constraints. But like. SHCO has this grounded sort of game feel where you run across a city that feels like a realistic city of various people, and the social issues affecting people in it, where the characters in cases are a more fleshed out reflection of the people in the city, and where the social situations impacting everyone play out in more detailed ways as part of the case stories. Like fuck, I'm in the case with the painting now and. Its both got a lot to say about 1880s british empire and effects on a myriad of fucking people (and systematic abuses and damaging power structures), and as with much of history its got a lot to say about now. From the way power and social position influences ability to abuse and lack of remorse, immigration, international trade, colonization, racism, patriarchy, the extreme differences in personal background in how everyone involved acts and reacts and considers whats going on. Or the elephant case, where sherlock both in some ways reflects the society he exists in (sexism wise) and is also growing from that (self aware that the daughter is a person with as much decision power or more than him, unlike her own father's view of her, respecting Paul's situation while navigating a society where they both know the norm in comparison, recognizing that he's driven by his own desire to understand his Mom as a person when for so long he's had her on a pedestal and convinced himself of lies to himself about meek/strong Mothers and how it clouded his actual understanding of Violet as a person possibly struggling mentally in many similar ways to how he is). Like the elephant case is so simple in a lot of ways... but how many storiea have i seen where women just wouldnt have been written as equal, or as fleshed out characters, where Violet wouldnt be considered this in depth? Not just set in this time period but any time period tbh (it wasnt until the last maybe 10 years that movies and shows, sometimes, got a lot better with this to the point i could find it easier to avoid media that wrote women like lamps). I remember reading Fingersmith by Sarah Waters and how THRILLED i was to see realistic women in that time setting for a story (phenomenal novel btw). So like, starting SHCO i didnt know how fair the story would be to all inhabitants in it, and so far its wonderfully gone for a realistic grounded approach with characters that feel thoughtful in a world that is fleshed out and feels solid.

[kingdomoftyto]

FRICK. OF COURSE THERE'S A HUGE CLIFFHANGER. WHAT WAS I EVEN EXPECTING

Guh. okay. so... Book 3 has some... unfortunate choices if you squint too hard at it--my disappointment at the RainWings really being as lazy and careless as they'd been rumored to be is immeasurable--but from a character standpoint this installment was fantastic, and the plot has taken a TURN with this secret magic wormhole thing the NightWings have going on. Seriously what the heck. And here I thought I had at least a little bit of a read on what the NightWings were really like behind all the posturing and propaganda, but I have absolutely no idea why they would be helping Blister with the war, or living in a volcano, or... eating rotten carrion??? What?????

Next book is gonna be WILD

[louderfade]

[rainingincale]

@maingoes created a tag game, here is the description:

"Topic is covers of books that definitely changed your brain on some sort of minuscule but permanent level or that you think your childhood experience would’ve have been different without (longest title of a tag game ever I know) my only 2 rules are u should have read the book before age 10 and you cannot include the HP series"

Here are my books:

I shall tag @j-purplesunsets-rainydays @jesperfaheygf @cancara @mostlykind @captainjanegay @holdingontozouis and anyone else who sees this and wants to do this! Also pls do not do if you do not wanna ❤️❤️❤️