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staycalmandhugaclone · 21 days ago

Text

Reprocussions

Part (1) of the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Did the first series of cuts to my taglist - you don't reblog or comment, I don't tag - that's how Tumblr works, my dearies.

Warnings: Emotions. That's a warning in itself. Dread, arguing, guilt, regret, feeling overwhelmed. Also a touch of profanity. Also racism style prejudice. Oh, and some Hunter thirst.

WC: 3,874

Mando’a translation

ori’buyce, kih’kovid – all helmet, no head: someone with and overdeveloped sense of authority

Kamino was, at its core, a failed science experiment; what few inhabitants still clinging to life above tumultuous, unforgiving waves doing so purely from a futile denial of the impending ruination already evident in the violence of the oceans that overtook nearly the entirety of the planet’s stormy surface eons prior. That destruction was predestined; a simple consequence of climate, but what befell those inhabitants in the centuries that followed could be blamed on no one but themselves; driven to the edge of extinction not from natural catastrophe but from some ill-conceived need to eliminate traits arbitrarily deemed undesirable, altering the very code of their existence first through selective breeding, and then through artificial splicing until natural reproduction was not only deemed obsolete in their strive toward perfection, but became biologically impossible.

Perfection is the great myth of social naivety, offering aspirations veiled beneath the façade of a motivation that, in truth, results only in the inevitable collapse of will as goals prove eternally beyond reach. This toxic mentality, however, persists far longer than the spark of brilliance crushed beneath its unreachable expectations, but that illusion of perfection is infectious, destined to poison any subjected to its ideals not only with feelings of crippling inadequacy but also in granting false justification for prejudice against those labeled lesser through simple consequence of genetic expression.

I hated how that mentality had seeped into not only so many of the clones they’d created, but into myself as well, tainted by those beliefs not through direct correlation, but from a nearly equally unjust bias toward the clones themselves. Had I never met Hunter and his brothers, I’m not sure I would ever have truly noticed, but, after living with them and witnessing firsthand the cruelty their squad was subjected to because of it, each reg I saw instantly filled me with a distrust that brought with it a bang of guilt. It wasn’t every reg. I knew that. But it was enough to leave me torn between that guilt and the nagging reminder of just how damaging granting them the benefit of the doubt could be.

It was because of that bias that I refused to leave the medbay of the Vigilance for even a moment; not while Hunter was still bedbound and Crosshair needed to make frequent visits to continue monitoring the progress of his eyes. Admittedly, the term ‘bedbound’ was rather fiercely contested… particularly by Hunter, himself.

“No! You’re on med-leave for at least another week!” I was shouting again. “I don’t care if those orders came from the damn Grand Chancellor, himself!” I’d been doing that a lot lately, whether in response to Hunter’s increasingly frustrated demands to be released or toward the ship’s staff insisting that I let them relieve me for a while. “It’s barely been four kriffing days since you were in hemorrhagic cardiac arrest!” It wasn’t healthy. “You’ve barely even started physical therapy!” I knew it wasn’t healthy.

“Because you won’t let me out of this kriffing bed!” He snarled back.

“Two weeks is the minimum recovery time for an injury like-”

“For a nat-born! Not a clone!” He interrupted. I still couldn’t look at him without seeing how pale his skin had been when I’d found him.

“You died!” The emptiness in those captivating eyes. “I barely managed to bring you back! Any other medic would have given up long before I did!” The terror I felt any time he was out of my sight, that fear that I might miss something critical; I knew it wasn't healthy… but I couldn’t risk seeing him like that again…

“Then get your head out of your shebs before we get do get stuck with some ‘other medic’!” He snapped, and my entire body froze with a sudden chill, muscles locked as the air stilled in my lungs. “You give them reason to think you can’t be objective with us, then there won’t be a damn thing I can say to keep some ori’buyce, kih’kovid from pulling you.” It wasn’t a threat. Despite how his voice dropped into that frightful growl, I knew it wasn’t a threat. He was begging me.

My teeth ground together, nostrils flared with barely controlled, shallow breaths. I said nothing as I turned and left. No words would come to me, nor did I have any confidence in my ability to force them past taut lips even if they did. I told myself it was rage that left my ears ringing, that sent a nauseating tingle dancing beneath my skin and prickling my fingertips, but I knew it was nothing so kind as that, nor so simple.

I thought of that night hidden away with Tech in the cockpit, how he’d teased me for admitting that I had nothing beyond him and his brothers; what that would leave me with if I was ripped away from them. Sick… Maker, I was going to be sick…

Clones did heal faster than nat-borns… but something about forcing them back into a war zone after so little time to recover… It wasn't fair… In so many aspects of life, clones were treated and viewed as lesser; granted fewer rights, spared little consideration for basic needs or comforts, awarded no thought toward self-autonomy… Forcing myself to adhere to those unjust standards ground against the very core of my being… but Hunter was right… If I pushed too far, if I was called out and removed, they'd be subjected to those same rules with far less compassion.

Despite the size of the Star Destroyer, it seemed impossible to find a breath of solitude, constantly dodging patrols or maintenance crew or janitorial workers; so, I walked. I’d barely glanced at the mission brief before lashing out, balking at the departure date looming in a mere three days, but it seemed a shockingly straightforward reconnaissance objective: confirm the presence of a droid factory that had supposedly just begun construction, and, if the reports were correct, plant enough explosives to level it before the thing could become a threat. Simple…

It wasn’t hunger that drew me toward the mess hall. I knew they’d be there, most of them, at least, and, though I wasn’t ready to actually speak with them, emotions still too raw to even feign some appearance of calm, I needed to see them. Tech’s arm no longer needed the support and protection of the sling, a fact he took advantage of before I’d properly cleared him, and he’d assured me that he’d tended both Echo’s shoulder and Wrecker’s knee while my attention was focused on Hunter and Crosshair, a kindness that only deepened my own growing sense of inadequacy even as I’d forced myself to offer my gratitude.

In the sea of nearly identical faces, my men screamed their defiance both through stature and in the striking contrast of their darkened armor amidst the white and gold of the 212th. It was because of that contrast that I was surprised to note an additional figure beside them; beside Wrecker. He dwarfed the man, an illusion that was only further accentuate by Crosshair and Tech's towering frames seated just across from them. Still, I found myself tensing, shoulders drawing back as my teeth ground, lips just hinting at a scowl, but I froze before taking that first step toward them. Smiling… Wrecker was smiling.

While I couldn't see their expressions from where I stood, Crosshair had his chin nestled atop his palm, elbow lazily hiked up on the table, an air of impatience screaming from how his head hung down toward a shoulder, more resigned than annoyed, and Tech appeared to actually be just as engaged with the reg as Wrecker. That guilt returned in force. They were talking; laughing… and I’d been so ready to assume the worst…

I studied them for a moment longer, gaze lingering on the gleeful face of the reg as I absently noted the faint scar bisecting one of his eyebrows. This wasn’t me… This neurotic mess, jumping to respond with violence before even granting a chance to speak… That man was no different than the troopers Emmy gave her life trying to help… His broad grin only twisted that bitter taste of shame and regret deeper into my chest, tightening some unseeable noose. It felt like something was about to snap, muscles locked so taut they threatened to shake.

Air fleeing me in a sharp huff, I turned on my heel and all but fled, boots clicking loudly against the harsh metal below in rushed strides just shy of running. Cody once warned me of how traumatic events could alter the dynamic of a group. I wondered, suddenly, why he knew that. It felt odd to think that the Kaminoans might have chosen to include such concepts in whatever glimpses of psychology they might have included in their training programs, but his words had held none of the hesitation of one speaking only through thin fragments of forced studies, the details of which had long since been forgotten. I wouldn’t doubt that his General was surely well versed in such things, but the Commander’s words held a weight far greater than what might be found through secondhand allusion. Had he seen the consequences of some similar horror? Watched the fallout helpless to stop it? What would he say to this? How might he judge the depth of my connection – my dependency – to these men? How quickly might he replace me?

I knew Hunter was right. There was a balance between what care I was allowed to give and the merciless demands of the GAR, and if I faltered too far in either direction, I’d lose them…

Hunter’s eyes snapped up as I reentered the room, body tensing where he stood just a few careful steps from his bed, and I watched that initial panic of being caught flare into a defensive glare, but I didn’t allow myself to sink back into what fears had fueled my earlier outbursts rebuking his every attempt to push himself; I didn’t allow myself the freedom of even acknowledging that fear, that whisper of doubt that I was still missing something; I couldn’t.

“I’m ordering a stress test.” I stated before he could bark out whatever argument clearly churned behind taut lips. Instantly, that tension fled him, powerful shoulders sinking beneath a hesitation that only further emphasized how apparently unreasonable he’d believed me to be, and I had to let my gaze fall to the now empty bed beside him to keep that realization from breaking me.

“If the scars hold and you don’t start bleeding out again, I’ll clear you for duty.” I didn’t look at him as I said it, and the silence that followed was anything but kind. I had to keep myself from fidgeting, jaw ground.

“… Doc…” The quiet sympathy in his voice only pulled me nearer to the edge of breaking. Wrenching a quick, deep breath into my lungs, I snatched my datapad and rapidly typed in the order before I could talk myself out of it.

“You deserve better than this…” I barely whispered it, rage and despair twisting through the words. He called my name, and my throat seized against the ball of tears straining to escape.

“I'll get you some clothes.” I said stiffly and, before he could respond, before he could further justify the cruel reasoning behind his rushed return to the battlefield or offer some softly murmured reassurance that I couldn't risk letting myself believe, I turned away, steps once again tapping loudly on the hard floors. Three days… we had only three days before being forced to fight again... It was wrong…

I’d brought him a comfortable shirt along with his shorts for the stress test. He elected not to wear it. Whether that choice stemmed from a hope to flaunt how quickly his wounds were healing or something far less innocent, I wouldn't let myself think too deeply on it - straining to keep my gaze on the datapad in my hand instead than the wealth of power illustrated by his every stride.

Hunter’s hair was tied up in a messy bun rather than loosely held back by that faded bandana, revealing elegant lines of muscle sweeping from his thick neck down to broad shoulders honed to frightful perfection from years of ruthless fighting, from racing across battlefields with heavy weaponry held at the ready, from driving fist and blade alike through enemies made of flesh and metal and every combination in between. He’d gained nearly ten kilograms in the time I’d been with them, and that boon had only added to the lethal effigy of raw power before me; added to the very real danger he represented. That power scared me, once… but that was a long time ago.

“Pain level? Say anything less than three and I’ll throw a damn weight vest on you.” I threatened, speaking as though I wasn’t fighting to keep my gaze from following every drop of sweat as they slid down the valleys carved between abs accentuated by dark, coarse hair that narrowed in such a cruel invitation between the V is his hips before vanishing beneath the waistline of his shorts.

“Three.” I could hear his smirk, jaw tensing against the way my lips threatened to pull into a grin of my own even as I pointedly rolled my eyes at him.

“Any difficulty breathing? Stiffness or pressure or-”

“Pretty sure one of those fancy scanners would have started yelling at me if my lung was collapsing again.” He drawled, turning toward me with a knowing look. He’d been running for nearly an hour, and the man was barely winded… Still, I couldn’t silence that fear… that certainty that there was something…

“Alright…” I finally murmured, hand reluctantly reaching out to flutter over the controls. His attention didn’t waver as he gradually slowed to a stop, chest swelling with barely quickened breaths. There was a sense of defeat sown deeply through that single word that forbade me from meeting his eyes for a long moment, studying the readout of his vitals one last time before making myself look at him. “If anything feels off – if the pain gets worse or you feel short of breath, I swear to the Force, Hunter, you need to tell me.” It was supposed to be an order, but the desperation drowning me left it anything but, and the softness in the way he sighed my name robbed me of even a sliver of denial that he hadn’t noticed as he slowly crossed the room.

“I will.” He could have mocked me; could have dismissed my fears with overly confident boasts and promises, but he didn’t, and that granted a far greater comfort that he could possibly know… Still…

“I don’t like this…” I barely whispered it, finally letting the weight of that terrible dread tug at the corners of my lips, shoulders sinking with a helplessness neither of us had any hope of fixing.

“I know.” He murmured. For just a moment, his shoulder tensed, arm just beginning to move before he forced it still, and I mourned the loss of that touch he hadn't allowed himself to give, the warmth of his hand stolen from me for fear of wandering eyes and over-eager rumors.

My gaze fell, lingering for just a moment on that hand, on the ridges of veins and spiderwebs of scars, on the memory of the dizzying contrast between the roughness of calluses stretching across palm and fingertips alike, and how gentle I knew his touch to be.

“Someone stays with you.” That, at least, carried some hint of authority as I drew a shaky breath before looking back up at him. “I don't care what happens, someone stays with you at all times.” The patches of bare skin where the electrodes had gone refused to let me forget how still he’d been between those horrid moments when his body had seized beneath the flood of electricity meant to restart his heart. The bruising had already begun fading from his chest, but I’d never be able to forget how stark the outline of my palms had looked, how dark the mottled purples and red were in those hours after bringing him back…

He let out a quiet huff at my order, head tilting down slightly to better hold my gaze.

“Yes, ma’am.” My lips pursed slightly at that teasing lilt, and I had to fight back the threat of heat spreading up my neck at the low rumble of his voice.

Drawing a deep breath, I finally turned away from him, attention falling back to my datapad to clear him before I could find some excuse not to.

“And you’re wearing a chest brace.” I added, cheeks burning at the quiet chuckle it drew from him.

“Alright.” He hummed through that little smirk that sent my heart racing, brow hitching slightly. “Anything else?” My jaw jut forward against the smile toying with the edge of my own lips.

“Give me a sec, and I’ll think of something.” I shot back, arms crossing my chest with a heatless glare, but he only responded with another soft laugh.

The following day passed in a blur; endless paperwork to finish, a shocking amount of supplies to restock, as well as overseeing what precious few hours of physical therapy I could force each of them through before we were scheduled to leave. Nearly each of them, at least. Wrecker's knee had some lingering stiffness, but that faded with minor warmups. Tech's arm was still notably weak, but he assured me he'd already tested for nerve damage, and I had no reason to doubt him, resigned to merely monitor it over the coming weeks. Crosshair had spent much of the time aboard the massive flagship in their gun range, and he had no qualms with proving just how thoroughly his eyes had healed. But Echo… Echo had vanished under the guise of “requisitioning" materials to finish building his new legs, an occasional message our only reassurance that he was still onboard.

I shouldn't have been surprised to note the missing supplies during my final check of the Marauder's medbay, but the little pang of disappointment was there regardless. The night cycle had nearly begun, and the thought of sinking in-between warm sheets and warmer arms taunted me as I reluctantly noted the missing bacta and bandages, and started wearily back to the hanger's storage room, empty box cocked against my hip.

Night had little meaning in space. It was a label meant only to grant some illusion of familiarity; a place-keeper for the sake of simplicity despite the fact that “night" had a thousand different meanings on a thousand different planets. What days or weeks spent in the in-between of hyperspace were usually used to gradually adjust perception to match the cycle of one’s destination.

The Vigilance, however, had no destination. If she neared a planet, it was for the sake of a brutal onslaught void of any consideration toward night and day. Men died in the darkness just as easily as in the light. So the Vigilance rotated between an imagined night and day solely because such a thing was expected, but, in truth, it made no difference beyond a simple shift change to those sentenced to remain in that liminal existence. Solders still marched through halls on patrol amidst maintenance crews and cleaner bots and all manner of workers striving to keep the vessel ready to fight at a moment's notice, and they spared me little consideration as I wove between them, just another cog churning within the Republic’s war.

“It was a trick question.” My attention snapped up, surprised to find a clone standing a few meters away just within the door of the supply room, a tentative smile on his youthful face. I nearly glanced behind me, but there was no mistaking who he was speaking to.

“I… didn’t ask a question.” I replied hesitantly, mind struggling to make sense of the odd interaction as I studied the man before me. His left brow was split from some barely visible scar, and his nose was ever so slightly askew, but his eyes were free of that haunted distance that had become far too common among the more war-hardened soldiers.

“Droid poppers.” He said as though that might explain everything. A moment later, I finally realized that it did, eyes widening, and his lips pulled into a broad grin, shoulders shaking with the faintest hint of laughter. My mouth opened, but I was too surprised to fathom a response.

“Jester.” He offered stealing a few slow steps closer., and I couldn’t quite hide the wince, but he only laughed harder.

“Feel like I might owe you an apology for that.” I offered with a sympathetic chuckle.

“Well, I did have a couple more… exciting names I would have preferred, but…” he shrugged, “I kind of earned it.” The ease of his aloofness was a stark balm to the heaviness of the past several days, and I readily welcomed that lightness with a smile of my own.

“I don’t think that was a trick question.” I belatedly retorted, instantly earning an animated eyeroll.

“But it was definitely meant to make me look like a damn fool.” I couldn’t help but snicker, nose scrunching with a knowing smirk.

“Just be glad I sent you to Wrecker instead of Tech.” He let out a heavy huff at my response.

“Tech was there.” He stated flatly, and I let out an unapologetic snort. “I think he’s going to try to make my entire batch repeat basic chemistry…”

“But now you know how to make an incendiary grenade from spare parts.” I teased. His shoulders dropped, brows furrowing above a fond glare.

“Yeah. Several ways, in fact.” He drawled, earning another bout of laughter from me.

“He’s… really nice.” Jester’s voice fell into a near whispered, expression softening with a touch of remorse.

“Yeah,” I murmured quietly, “He really is… They all are.” I added, but the skeptical look he shot me drew a knowing chuckle even as I tried to suppress it. “They are.” I pressed. “Just… need to earn it, first.” His gaze fell at that, jaw shifting stiffly as that remorse grew.

“I tried to apologize… He wouldn’t even let me finish.”

“Words… don’t really matter much to him.” I explained gently. “You reached out… And since Crosshair was there and you don’t have any black eyes, I’m assuming you did it respectfully.” He let out a quiet huff.

“Thanks.” He whispered after a brief moment of silence. I didn’t have to wait long before he continued. “I needed some sense knocked into me… would have preferred you do it in a less embarrassing way, but…” His eyes rose back to meet mine. “Thanks.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it.” I replied, words quiet before drawing a deep breath and glancing back at the still empty crate. “You got out of it last time, but, since you’re here, how about you help me pack for our next mission?” That beaming smile instantly returned to his lips as he eagerly started toward me.

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year ago

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imagine crocheting a tail warmer/sleeve for Dan Heng for when it gets colder on the Express + a matching hat with horn holes in it

(i am so insane about IL, been a player since day 1 and when leaks of him came out, i started skipping everyone and got him and his lightcone.)

The ending to this was rough bc idk what to put lol

(I cried when he came home as I’m someone who tries to not put money into gacha games and try and get the characters I want by earning the gems however I can. I thought I wasn’t going to get him but thank god I did.)

It was almost impossible not to notice the change in Dan Heng the moment the express grew a little colder, he wore more layers then usual and would stand in close proximity to anything that produced heat.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with you once and would let out small noises of discomfort when you did so much as shuffle an inch away from him, even going so far as to use his tail to latch onto your waist as to keep you in place, only to soon let go of you once he had realised what he had done out of embarrassment that he had done something impulsive.

It wasn’t hard to deduce that Dan Heng was more susceptible to the cold due to his Vidyadhara traits. You had heard tales of old that said that the vidyadhara people hated cold climates, and it was safe to say that the legend was proven true when you heard him tell March that since his horns were just as sensitive as his tail, and that the cold made him feel as though he was experiencing an never ending brain freeze.

Driven by a want to help him, you spent most of the day and some of the night crocheting him a tail warmer and a hat that you work to keep his horns protected from the biting cold. It took you a couple of tries and a series of pricking your fingers with the needle to get right, but in the end it was made worth it when you set off from your room and journeyed to Dan Heng’s, feelings of both worry and excitement for his reaction bubbling inside of you as you knocked on the door.

‘What’s this?’ Dan Heng asked shortly after opening the door, his eyes immediately clocking the knitted warmers in your hands, his interest peaking.

‘They’re warmers.’ You replied as though it were obvious, that and you loved to get a reaction out Dan Heng by stating the obvious.

‘I’m aware, I’m asking why you’ve brought them to me.’ Dan Heng said, sometimes you could be worse the march but he liked you enough to endure sure.

‘I overheard that you’ve become more susceptible to colder temperatures, so I decided to make a warmer for your tail and a little hat to keep your horns warm and comfortable during these times until we can better understand how to manage it.’ You explained and held out the warmers for him to take as he wordlessly plucked them from your hands to admire the handiwork.

They were soft indeed and would provide good use for his tail and horns, however he wasn’t use to having someone do something for him without an exchange of sorts, but Dan Heng couldn’t help the small smile on his lips as he let out a little chuckle. ‘These are perfect, thank you, I shall put them to good use.’

You beamed brightly, happy that your hard work hadn’t gone to waste. ‘Really?! You like them? I thought that I might’ve made the tail warmer too small or the hat a little too big to properly fit against your horns and-‘

‘They’re fine.’ Dan Heng interrupted, hand on your bicep, still smiling. ‘I can’t thank you enough for going out of your way to make something for me.’

You shrugged, trying to act like his words of appreciation didn’t sent butterflies to your stomach. ‘I just didn’t want you to suffer from the cold, it’d be wrong of me to ignore your struggles,’ you trailed off before continuing, ‘you’ll let me know if it’s too small won’t you? If they are I can make another pair or-‘

‘I shall alert you if that is the case.’ Dan heng reassured you and it wasn’t until later that you did catch a glimpse of him in his warmers, and needless to say they fitted him just right.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #hsr imagine #honkai star rail #Honkai star rail imagine #Honkai star rail imagines #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #hsr dan heng x reader #Dan heng imagines #Dan heng imagine #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic

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coconutbramblesprite · 19 days ago

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Wheel of time season 3 x08 spoilers and thought discussion as a book reader. (Positive and discussion of the other understandable discourse)

Firstly what an episode! So much squeezed into 71 minutes! What a beautiful way to show the channeling in this finale- and the scene at the end is so poignant and fascinating with the rain on Alcair Dal. The blackened Saidiin taking over Rand's weaves is gorgeous.

I especially love the lanfear interference in this episode, finally seeing the jealous, vengeful creature under the skin is such a fascinating thing- the black channelling is gorgeously inky and eldritch like. And her acceptance of having to Kill Rand now he is no longer useful, like a switch flipped was chilling. Though I'd be interested to see how they spin her neck injury, she couldn't heal it alone it seems, and did manage to escape (to what looks like tanchico) so we have a few options here.

Either she manages to heal the wound in some fashion, or heals it with the help of another forsaken, maybe Rahvin?

Or, Perhaps another forsaken steps in to finish the job (likely Moghedien in the show as we see what she did to Sammael and got a clip of her looking up as though she had seen something hefty fall) and we see her reborn as Cydane in a later season. It would be a fascinating dynamic.

-----

As for the other events;

I deeply understand how frustrating it is for Siuan to go out this way in the show. people see this as an unnecessary death and view it as a bash on queer POC characters in general. (Which is most commonly seen in fantasy media compared to white queer characters) It is understandable to see it in that fashion In today's political climate- it was unexpectedly bloody and abrupt and likely not what anyone was expecting (even me) and this post isn't meant to come across as invalidating that. The death does have an edge of tastelessness in its brutality and I agree it could have been shown differently- It's clear it's designed to be a shocking Shot to raise the stakes and there is something to be said about the use of Black character death as "motivation" for others in western media in general.

That being said, in the context of the story there is something good in the fact that there isn't going to be a Humiliation/servant arc for Siuan, which is mostly how her post-stilling was in the books. It was a long, drawn out humiliation (in my opinion) and gradually the storyline for her did decline, even if she was incredibly resilient and fighting for the light until the start of the last battle. And even then, she is still killed. The books are still tragedies at heart and it's a notable and consistent plot point that not a lot of these characters will survive it.

Not to mention the actual logistics of running physical time schedules of Sophie Okonedo herself in filming and reshooting scenes when needed to play a side character in a series with many many other characters and very little time.

They could go a number of ways with Salidar, in my opinion they will likely use Leane Sedai as the stand-in for Siuan in teaching Egwene.

HOWEVER, as Rafe has said in a recent Q+A, there is a possibility we will see Siuan again in the show if it is renewed, they have established on screen the use of Balefire and it's time returning properties, (and they seem to be following as it is in the books) it would take only one death to return her in the grand scheme of things. Even if she would be returned post stilling.

#wheel of time #wot on prime #moiraine damodred #moiraine sedai #the wheel of time #wot memes #wot

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maferf107 · 4 months ago

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The Dragon's Prince ending rant

I need to put this somewhere, spoilers ahead. Excuse any spelling errors

The dragon prince's ending was TERRIBLE it got me thinking that the series took a nosedive in writting after season 3.

Like this last seasons were full of incoherent plot points, nonsense lore, forgetable lore and moments, characters going in circles, character arcs that reversed, went nowhere or were reapeating over and over again, mental gymnastics to get the characters to do shit.

Like what was Ezran's character arc at the end? I thought they were going to do something interesting with his change of characters and the fact he built weapons that could KILL DRAGONS, HIM. With how much emphasis it had I thought it would be important, but no, that just never gets resolved. The Nova blade stuff was ridiculous

What do you mean we spent so much time trying to keep Aaravos in prison only for him to get out so easily? The candy-fake pearl stuff was stupid and contrived, the way he WAS DEFEATED was stupid. We spent so much time saying he HAS to be imprisoned only for him to get killed and he will come back? awful

The last was fight terrible and anti-climatic and killed all character's arc, except for Aaravos and Claudia I guess

THAT ENDING REVEAL WAS THE WORST THING I'VE SEEN AND NEGATED THE ENTIRE SHOW LIKE WTF

I'm still mad that Zym was never a full character. He is THE dragon Prince, you know, who the series is named after?

Callum's arc got thrown in the garbage by taking off the emotional importance of his sacrifice by achieving nothing with it and taking away the consequences. It felt like the writters just pulled some bullshit out of their ass to avoid having him face consequences.

Also for a final season you would have expected them to put SOME budget into the animation. Like the animation was never the series' forte but like, I SAW THOSE PNG'S AT THE END.

Another side note is that the violence was kinda nuts for a series marked for 6+ kids. It personally didn't bother me, but it makes me question how or why they managed to greenlight it. We all saw Karim get crushed by Aaravos, even that surprised me.

The ending got me thinking how past season 3 it felt like the main characters were just going in circles, not only literally (in the plot) but philosophically (in character arc and groath), decisions meant nothing, there were no consequences or nothing gained because the writer's would just pull somehting out of their ass to move the plot foward. Seasons 1 to 3 were rather good and compacted so what the hell happened.

The only things that I found enjoyable, logical and worthwhile past season 3 were: The whole sun-fire elves plotline with Jania, Amaya and Karim; Viren's charcater arc (even though him dying three times felt a bit repetitive, I still liked his arc); Soren, Claudia, Terry and Aaravos. Basically the sun-fire elves and everything regarding Viren, his family and Aaravos. To me, they were the ones that felt like their arcs were complete, logical, fun, and had continuity and consequences. They were the ones were their actions made sense and the writting didn't go back and their arcs, like they did with Ezran and Callum

Anyways thats all my rant for now. I am mainly just... disapointted

#the dragon prince #tdp season 7 #tdp s7 spoilers #tdp rant #the dragon prince the mystery of aaravos #rant #i needed to get this off my chest

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trulybetty · 4 months ago

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no flights tonight | part two.

pairing: modern day au!pero x f!reader word count: 3,054 warnings: nothing major, we're still in G territory, no translations, advance apologies for any of my poor spanish summary: with flights delayed due to the snow, and a wedding to attend, you find yourself stranded at the airport and with the last person you want to run into, your ex. ao3: linked

x. series masterlist

Part Two.

The roads were terrible.

You wouldn't admit it, but you were glad Pero had taken the responsibility of driving. You had enough anxiety as a passenger, watching as the car skidded, only for Pero to correct it with an ease that suggested he hadn’t grown up in the warm climates of Spain. However, even with the limited light, you could make out the whites of his knuckles where they gripped the steering wheel.

The car was silent. Five minutes in the two of you had ended up bickering over the radio before you’d declared that you’d rather have silence than listen to Pero’s choice. You weren’t sure how you’d forgotten who you were dealing with, but Pero had called your bluff—both of you as stubborn as the other as you both festered in the drawn-out silence.

Outside the snow seemed to be coming down thicker, making your stomach churn even more when Pero righted the car from fishtailing again.

“We’re going to have to find somewhere to—” Pero’s voice cut off as the wind howled and another gust of snow flung itself against the windshield. His knuckles flexed on the steering wheel and you could practically feel the frustration radiating off of him.

Which did nothing to stop the spike of anxiety that shot through you and you bit your lip to stop it from showing on your face. “To what?” you finally managed.

“Pull over,” he finished, a rare tremor of hesitation in his voice, “We can’t keep pushing through this.”

You squinted at the endless stretch of snow that lay ahead of you. Streetlights, if there were any, were lost to the storm, and the car’s headlights struggled to illuminate more than a few feet in front of the car. Every time you exhaled, you realized you’d been holding your breath.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, your stomach felt like it was tangled in knots. “Okay.”

For a moment, you thought he was going to snap back at you with a snide comment—something about actually agreeing with him—but he stayed quiet, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the road ahead. The wipers scraped across the windshield, doing nothing more than smearing the whiteout from one side to the other.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” he muttered, voice taunt as he shifted down a gear and. the car notably slowed.

You didn’t respond, you were too busy trying to steady your breathing as you white-knuckled the grab handle above as another gust of wind hit the car. It was only moments later when what looked like a neon sign flickered ahead, you squinted as you leaned forward in your seat trying to make out what it said.

“Is that what I think it is?” you asked, voice quiet, unsure if you believed it yourself.

Pero sucked in a breath, “We're going to have to take our chances. Whatever it is, it’s probably going to be the best we're going to get tonight.”

You didn't argue, you were too cold, too tired and just grateful at the idea of being off the road.

“This is why people hate the holidays,” Pero grumbled, battling with the steering wheel.

He turned into the motel parking lot, one that was already worryingly full, and wrestled the car into an open spot that was half-covered in a snowdrift. The tires crunched over the icy lot as the car came to a reluctant stop. Pero let out a sharp breath through his nose, his grip finally loosening on the wheel. For a second neither of you moved or said a thing. The only sound was the quiet hum of the engine almost lost on the howl of the wind outside.

“Well,” he said, breaking the tension as he switched off the headlights followed by the wipers, “this looks … cozy,” he said, peering through the window at the very obviously dated motel.

“You’ve got to admit, it’s kinda pretty though, with the snow,” you remarked, trying to shoot some positivity into the situation.

Pero snorted in response, though there was a tinge of amusement in his eyes, “That’s because you’re looking at it from inside a heated car.” he replied, pointing at the thermostat that was turned all the way up as well as the red light indicating your seat warmer was switched on. He also looked over and saw you were still holding on to the grab handle with a fierce grip. “You can let go now,” he remarked dryly as he turned off the engine, “we made it here in one piece.”

He grabbed his coat from the backseat and shoved open his door against the wind. Snow immediately swirled in, biting at your face and making you shiver. You watched as he climbed out of the car, shutting the door quickly behind him, and you braced yourself before there was a dull thump on the roof of the car. Pero signalling for you to get a move on. You rolled your eyes, muttering something under your breath about his lack of patience, but you grabbed your purse and braced yourself for the cold.

Inside, the motel lobby was small and cluttered, the air smelled of stale coffee and damp carpet. You looked over at the display of touristy brochures and maps and could clearly see a thin blanket of dust indicating it had been a long time since anyone had any interest in exploring anything in the area.

Pero had shouldered his way in first, his broad shoulders almost blocking his view as he spoke to the clerk.

"Do you have any rooms available?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

The clerk pushed up from his chair looking apologetic, you braced yourself as the look on their face mirrored that of the rental agency clerk who had told you there were no cars left. There was no way you could be out on that road and it was too cold to sleep in the car.

An ask to stay in the lobby was on your tongue when he finished their review of the internal system and to your surprise, he gave you both a smile.

"You're in luck—we've got one room left, single bed."

You froze. Pero's head tilted ever so slightly, the only sign he was processing the information—a blink and you'd miss it moment if he wasn't someone you’d known so intimately. His sigh, long and slow, pulled you from your thoughts as he handed over his credit card without even consulting you.

"Seriously?" you hissed, stepping in closer while the clerk was running his card. "You didn't even ask me."

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his expression all but flat. "What? Do you think I like this? If you want to sleep in the car, go ahead. Está ahí afuera, bien frío. I’ll take the bed.”

"I meant I could have paid," you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile though, "¿Y qué? Would that make you feel better? Fine. Pay me back later."

The room was small, and for all intents and purposes, a textbook motel room. Mismatched furniture and a bed that took up most of the space. Pero dropped both of your bags by the door and eyed the room critically.

"Cozy," he muttered, the sarcasm dripping.

"You're taking the couch."

He raised an eyebrow at you, "Obvio," he replied, already pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the armrest of the very obviously lumpy sofa and you bit back a wince but not wanting to take back your words, "Not my first time sleeping somewhere uncomfortable," he continued.

As you inspected the bed, you heard the sound of the heater spluttering followed by a groan. Turning around Pero was crouched by the wall unit. His calloused fingers working quickly, adjusting the settings before giving the thing a firm smack when it seemed to refuse to cooperate, "Piece of mierda. Work, carajo!"

You narrowed your eyes at him, unimpressed, "Has this bossing people around thing ever actually worked for you?" You asked, your tone a little sharper than you intended.

He didn't look up, but you caught the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, "Well, this thing listens better than you ever did."

You glared at him and your retort was lost on the roar of the heater coming to life, sending a wave of warmth through the room.

"There," he said, standing and brushing his hands off on his jeans. "If we don't kill one another first, at least we won't freeze to death. You're welcome."

Pero had mentioned something about getting the bags and then something about food. Despite his guaranteed hunger at any given hour, you were surprised that he hadn't brought up the topic of food earlier.

His return to the room was with the gust of cold air that whipped through the room and around your ankles and the punctuated curses in Spanish as he forced the door closed and locked as the wind tried to push its way through. You did your best to ignore the muttering under his breath as you rifled through your suitcase for something to sleep in. You were about to pull out your sleepwear when a Twix landed on top of the clothes. You looked at the chocolate bar and then up at Pero.

“I know they’re your favourite,” he mumbled around a mouthful of candy, “unless that’s another thing that’s changed.”

You bit back a remark about him knowing about change all too well, the rumble of your stomach betraying you before you could summon any kind of snark. Instead, you grabbed the Twix and unwrapped it, “Thanks,” you said quietly, not looking at him as you took a bite.

Pero grunted in response, tossing his half-eaten candy wrapper onto the small table in the corner. The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t exactly hostile either. Glancing at your watch and seeing the late hour you decided to change for the night.

As you rummaged through your suitcase, you suddenly stopped when you reached the items you had packed as sleepwear for the trip. You never anticipated that anyone else would be seeing them, you certainly hadn’t expected Pero’s company. You swiftly grabbed the clothes and hugged them to your chest, hoping that your actions had gone unnoticed by him.

“You still have that?”

His voice was low, almost thoughtful, and when you turned to look at him, he wasn’t eating anymore, his vending machine stash put aside. His gaze was fixed on the fabric in your arms—the threadbare old shirt you’d stolen from him back when things were good. Back when sharing a bed wasn’t an issue and grabbing his shirt from the floor after one of those lazy Sunday mornings was second nature.

“Yes,” you clutched the purple shirt to your chest, you hadn’t even realized you’d packed it. Muscle memory, perhaps. Now it felt bolder than the neon sign outside, screaming unfinished business in capital letters.

He shrugged, “Just surprised,” he finally replied, “that you’d keep it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your face neutral as you smoothed the folded purple shirt hugged against your chest, “It’s comfortable,” you said, a little too defensively. “Anyway, it’s not like you wanted it back.”

However, the truth was a little more complicated than that. The shirt—his shirt—had somehow survived every closet purge since the spring. You couldn’t really explain why—or at least admit it to yourself—but every time your hand hovered over it, ready to toss it into a donation bag, you found an excuse. Too soft to get rid of. Good for lounging. Nothing else quite fit the same way. Lies, all of them.

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with that silent scrutinizing gaze he was too good at. His brown eyes had that familiar intensity, the kind that used to make you feel like he could see through any pretence you tried to put up. It was infuriating then. It was infuriating now.

“Comfortable, huh?” he finally said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in something between a smirk and an almost smile. “Right,” he dragged out.

You scowled at him before turning your back and yanking out your pyjama bottoms with perhaps more force than necessary. You could feel his gaze lingering on you even as you stomped into the bathroom to change, slamming the door a little harder than intended.

The wind pounded against the thin window, snow already building up on the ledge outside as the two of you settled into your respective sides of the room. Returning from the bathroom, changing into your sleepwear and completing one or two steps from your nighttime routine, you tried to ignore Pero sprawled awkwardly on the too-small couch, his long legs hanging over the edge.

Slipping under the covers, you tried to ignore the way his broad frame looked so out of place, focusing instead on scrolling through your phone.

But the Wi-Fi was terrible, and the silence just continued to stretch.

"You good over there?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"Qué?"

"The couch, is it okay?"

He shrugged as he continued reading, "I've slept on worse. At least it's not a tent in the middle of the desert—though I'd take the heat right now." He paused, "And you don't snore. Much."

Silence befell the room again.

Finally, sitting up, you sighed. "This is ridiculous, you know that right?"

Holding his book above him, he flipped a page lazily without looking over at you, "What is?"

"This. Us. Acting like two strangers forced to share a room."

You could see his jaw tighten and he didn't respond right away. Instead, he shifted on the couch, adjusting the pillow behind his head. "We are two strangers now. Aren't we? Isn't it what you wanted, no?"

His words hit harder than you expected, a blow to your gut, and for a moment you didn't know what to say. The only sound was Pero flipping another page of his book as if dismissing the conversation.

"Goodnight," you finally muttered, turning off your lamp, and rolling over.

"Buenas noches cariño," he replied, so quietly, that you weren't entirely sure you'd imagined it.

You didn’t know what time it was when you woke, but you were startled awake by the sound of muttered curses, low and sharp, cutting through the stillness of the room and over the howl of the wind outside.

“¡Coño! Maldita cosa…”

You pushed yourself up on your elbow, turning on your side squinting into the dark. Pero was still on the couch, but twisting his long frame in a futile attempt to get comfortable. One arm dangled over the side, his legs bent at awkward angles. Even the pillow under his head looked like it'd given up entirely. He shifted again, the springs creaking beneath him as he let out an exasperated huff.

"What is going on?" you mumbled, your voice rough with sleep.

"Go back to sleep," he snapped, though his words lacked any real bite. He shifted again, his movements stilled by a dull thump of his limbs hitting something solid, "…Chingado… puta cama pequeña…"

You felt the growing chill in the air, "The heater's out, isn't it?" you asked.

"Sí. Died a good death. Like a hero," he muttered, as he sat up rubbing a hand over his face, "It's fine. Just go back to sleep."

But it wasn't fine. The room already had dropped in temperature again since you’d been woken, and watching him fight with that miserable excuse for a couch was almost painful. You sighed, sitting up fully and pulling the blankets next to you, back.

"Just get in the bed, Pero."

His head snapped toward you, in the dark you could feel the intensity of his stare, caught between confusion and disbelief, "Sorry?"

"You heard me," you waved a hand to the empty space beside you, "there's enough room for both of us. We're adults, me yes, you questionable," you heard him growl, "we can sleep in the same bed without it being a big deal, no?"

He stated at you like you'd just suggested something far more outlandish, "I'm not taking your bed."

"It's not my bed. It's a bed, Pero." you countered, your patience starting to fray, "and I'm not going to lie here listening to you curse at the couch all night."

"I'm fine—"

"You're not fine," you interrupted, throwing the blanket back further and sliding to the edge of the bed, the room was freezing now. "You're too big for that thing, and you're going to freeze if you're going to bet on that heater suddenly coming to life any time soon."

Pero didn't respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as though weighing his options. Finally, he muttered something in Spanish—too quiet and too fast for you to catch—and stood, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine," he grumbled, his tone irritated, though you noticed the way he hesitated at the edge of the bed. "But if you kick me, I'm going back to the couch."

"You kick me, and I'm kicking you back," you said, laying back down and pulling the blanket over yourself.

He eased onto the mattress cautiously, as though it might collapse beneath his weight. He shifted onto his side, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible, his back to you. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, but it was warmer almost instantly, his body heat a welcome relief against the icy air.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of the wind howling against the window. You could feel the tension radiating off him, even with the space he left between you.

"Better?" you asked, your voice softer now.

He didn't answer for a long moment, and when he finally did, his voice was quieter than you expected. “Yes, better.”

You rolled onto your side, your eyes drifting shut as the warmth and the familiar sound of Pero's breathing lulling you back to sleep.

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedrostoriesgift24 and #pedrostories

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martellspear · 1 year ago

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— power went out and I ran out of things to think this afternoon;

— this is a anti targaryen restoration post, be warned :)

One of the most surprising things in the entire ASOIAF books is simply HOW did that family manage to be around for over 300 years. I’ve never seen so many individuals being so dense – of course, we have exceptions – but ?? Perhaps that’s what you get for the inbreed, the stupidity gene remains and grows strong and turns into a parasite that eats brains.

Let’s start with the C trio; A united the Seven Kingdoms because he thought unity was the right path to defeat the Long Night, which is great, but then he did NOTHING to actually prepare for it ?? The Wall was built by the Starks. In F&B we see that, Targ after Targ, the prophecy has little impact on how they conduct things; I’d love to say something like: fine, let’s blame it on time and wars (which, they caused) but ?? your ancestors' most important words about saving the place you, and your descendants will, live just do not carry enough crucial significance for them to be carefully passed down to the next generation?

Then, we have R. I will admit that when I first read the books I liked him - and although I still find him an interesting character, I cannot let go of the idea of how obtuse he is (it’s deeper than that in his case but I’m annoyed) -. Since I’m venting, let me just say that it completely baffles me how some still view RL as a love story; that man was OBSESSED with the prophecy, he drastically changed his lifestyle for it, but he’d abandon everything for love? And then… proceed to – likely – hide from his lOvE that her loved ones are dead (his dad killed them) while keeping said person in a place that, regarding both climate and social aspects, is detrimental for her. Furthermore, to defy and insult three powerful Houses because he fell in love with someone he saw a few times?

Yes, love can make people take routes they wouldn’t normally take, but the cost was too high for it not to be “means to an end”.

Coming back to my original thoughts: I believe that Targs are unfit to rule – if you want evidence, you can literally just open F&B, any page will do – and the couple good monarchs that family produced doesn’t make up for all the damage they caused since they sat foot in Westeros. They feel entitled to a land that doesn’t belong to them and are saviors because the Gods said they are ??

It's a funny concept when you contrast it with how the series ended: Cersei on the Throne, Arya defeating the Night King and the two last Targs with awful endings (that’s martelldoo): one dead and the other exiled.

Anyway, I just wanted to vent because the thought of a Targ restoration pissed me off this afternoon – it validates every horrendous thing that happened to those considered “casualties” and puts these people in that obnoxious concept we see in succession: no real person involved. But since “we” have the power to save the world, it was worth it and everything it valid, RIGHT?–

#anti targaryen restoration #anti targ restoration #anti targaryen #anti rhaegar targaryen #anti rhaegar #you have no idea how much free time I have in my hands until february #asoiaf

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void-occupation · 9 months ago

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hello its me- haunting your dashboard and askbox once more haha-

i saw this somewhere else but I don't remember where; what would hell's version of winter be like? I remembered your headcanon about alastor getting cold easily and I would just like to share my vision.

so hell has an extreme climate- we know that- so winter is basically Antarctica. not alastor-friendly AT ALL, it only ever happens once in a blue moon in hell so he's never really had to deal with this before. the whump possibilities are endless lmao. all-around suffering for the deer man.

do with this what you will! no pressure ofc, this is more like a concept you could make your own story or au with so i'm not sure if it counts as an ask- but do whatever you wanna, and if you did ever do a fic, (if that be a series or a one-shot) I would love to make a comic or cover as a Collab! :D

PLEASE never apologize for haunting my dash/asks, this blog is very ghost-friendly!!!!! All ghosts are allowed to haunt as they please!!

As for your beautiful vision: I love it. I will help it grow and will nourish it until it becomes a beautiful whump monster right here on my little laptop. Not sure WHEN I will make it happen, but I WILL make it happen. For now though, I will simply add to this headcanon (expect whatever I add to probably end up in the fic lol)

Winter in Hell is quite the phenomena - only occurring around once every century or so. It doesn't stick to a set schedule though (Lucifer still shudders when he remembers that time that they had five winters within the span of a single decade.) They are also completely by surprise: the most notice Hell has ever had for a winter is that the temperature dropped five degrees in one day. The next morning, sinners couldn't even open their doors the snow was piled so high. And of course, it wouldn't be Hell if the winters were the normal length, no. Winters in Hell can be anything from six months to the record of three motherfucking years. The last winter took place in the late 1910s - about a decade or so before Alastor died.

As mentioned in my previous headcanon, Alastor is a Louisiana boy. And Louisiana did not receive a SINGLE FUCKING INCH of snowfall the entire time Alastor was alive (trust me I CHECKED, that shit is WILD). That means a few things. 1.) Alastor has never seen snow in his now 120ish years of existing. 2.) Alastor has never felt anything below 50°F his entire existence. 3.) Alastor is painfully thin, which means his body has no way to preserve heat. And 4.) Alastor does not appear to have any clothing besides his three-piece suit that he wears all the time in Hell's usual blazing temperatures with seemingly no issue. Of course, this means that his suit would do nothing for him in Actual Cold Weather since he's so used to it.

With all of this knowledge, the only conclusion I can draw is that once winter actually hits, Alastor is royally FUCKED. Especially considering that a winter in Hell is compiled of all of the worst things about winter. The cold air is dry, and the wind is sharp and biting - in the way that leaves your face stinging and your hands and lips splitting. Somehow simultaneously, the snow can change between huge flakes and straight-up sleet, which if you've ever been in sleet, you know it sucks major ass.

If someone doesn't give Alastor a heated blanket He Will Die. Alastor makes the mistake of going outside exactly twice (because let's face it, I love him but this man is too prideful to accept that the weather will kill him after only one attempt - he's Just A Bit Dumb). Both times he has to be rescued by someone at the hotel after he almost fucking freezes to death like An Idiot, and he manages to also get hypothermia both times because he refuses to do anything in halves. After he also almost freezes to death in his room (which is how they find out there's a draft), he's not even allowed in there, and they move him to a guest room right next to Charlie and Vaggie's room that Lucifer added a fireplace to. He alternates between the kitchen (the oven is very warm and Food), his room (the fireplace is very warm and the bed is cozy), and the couch in the lobby (the fireplace is very warm and the couch is cozy and also Alastor is antisocially social).

He is cold. He is miserable. He is perpetually shaking like an old chihuahua. Some of the residents thought it was funny at first, but that quickly stopped after the first Almost Death. They have to watch him because Alastor becomes very despondent, and if he stops shivering, he needs to be warmed up again. Alastor is more exhausted during the winter then he has ever been in his entire existence due to all the energy his body is burning trying to stay warm. He's sleeping more than ever, but he looks absolutely terrible - eyebags so dark they look like a goth guy's eyeshadow, hair a mess, and an overall very strained look about him. He also eats a lot less, so he begins losing weight which is the exact opposite of helpful in this situation. It gets to the point where Husk is willingly braving the elements to get to the butcher shop Alastor likes just to get sinner meat so he will hopefully get something in him.

This winter is the first time any of them have ever seen him willingly snuggle up to someone, and it's fucking LUCIFER because this little bastard puts out the most heat because for some reason that it part of being a seraphim. Lucifer for his part just kinda lets it slide because Alastor would probably die if he didn't and that would make Charlie sad. Ok, and he kinda reminds Lucifer of when Charlie was little and would snuggle up to him, but that's no one's business but his own. If he's a little softer with Alastor afterwards, and less easily provoked by the sinner, that is also no one's business but his own.

hooo, I really let this one get away from me lol. Hope you enjoy this, and please feel free to haunt me as much as you want!! And when I eventually get this pushed out, it would be absolutely fantastic if you decided to make a comic/cover. I absolutely love your art

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #answered asks #asks/requests are open #winter in hell is fucking BRUTAL and I will not accept criticism on this #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon

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bereft-of-frogs · 2 months ago

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ok finished Dust now (after a couple breaks for book club books), I still have the short stories to read but:

1 - yeah 100% people were lying on Reddit. I do not believe that was a guessable apocalypse from the information we had in the tv series. I saw some very specific "theories" that I just don't believe were based on show-only information, y'all were lying.

2 - continuing to look forward to the adaptation. I think the thing about the plot is that Howey's version felt like a cascade and the tv showrunners did a better job making events feel like a culmination. Things sort of just happen one after another in the books, in ways that didn't always make complete sense or felt very pessimistic about humanity. I also think the show generally did a better job fleshing out characters other than Jules, where the books didn't really manage the ensemble very well. I honestly don't even know if some characters survived. Other things were glossed over. So I'm definitely interested in how the more fleshed out versions of Walker, Shirly, Knox, Paul, etc deal with the rough events of the book.

3 - I'm not sure what they're going to change, outside of what's already been changed, but I do have one major prediction: I bet they merge Helen and Charlotte into one character. As much as I actually did like the way Helen ended up in the books, it was an interesting choice, I don't think they'd have made such a big deal about her introduction in the show if that's the direction they're taking it. I bet you at least $5 that Helen takes over Charlotte's role. Especially considering they've already made Helen a more active character.

I also wouldn't be surprised if there are other fairly major plot changes given 1) the post-COVID and post-2016 political/cultural climate. It's definitely interesting seeing dystopias written before and then adapted after all that. We've already seen that they've leaned more on COVID (the checks going into the bar in the flashback) and I highly doubt they'll be able to structure the political elements in the same way with like...everything right now. (*world's heaviest sigh*) 2) It seems like they've introduced Juliette and Solo to the 'Safeguard' protocol already for a reason. Seems maybe like they're gearing up for more of what happened to the other silos (40? I'm bad with numbers) that were able to cut themselves off completely.

4 - this series is so prime for a Village-style AU lol, remember that post that's like 'what if in every dystopia the rest of the world is just like, fine, and the US/Australia (in the case of Mad Max)/whoever just went nuts for a while'. I kind of half-expected that to be the case. Like this would just turn out to be a weird preserved bubble while the rest of the world just bopped along. And they finally emerge to find out everyone else is fucking fine and just decided to let the assholes with Thanos-level logic wall themselves up for a couple hundred years.

anyway, so this is how my Silo/The Expanse crossover can still be canon adjacent--

#i jest #but it would be funny #interested to see about maybe other potential survivors in the short stories?#silo #silo spoilers #the expanse #look i just think juliette and naomi should meet

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thedrowdruid · 4 months ago

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So since I'm posting her a lot on here, I thought I'd make a little post talking about Nephiah. Who knows, maybe there's some other Tumblrite who's as obsessed with her as I am!

As you may have gleaned from her art, Nephiah is a drow druid tav from Menzoberranzan. She's from House Qil'oussiryn, ranked 15th in the city (don't ask about the math to get that number, it took forever), or around the peak of upper middle class. I've always imagined Menzo as having a strong ruling merchant nobility, so her family are very influential gemstone merchants, some of the wealthiest in the city, or Neph a very highborn noble.

She's the youngest (and favorite) of nine siblings direct in line for the Matron throne. Thus, she wasn't set to inherit the House, and was generally pretty flippant, spoiled and noncompetitive by drow standards. Why bother trying when your eldest twin sisters are stronger than you and going to take over anyway?

She was enrolled in Arach-Tinilith like Any Good Female Drow, but her heart was never really in it. She's meh on religion and not big on school. As such, her magic... never truly came from Lolth. There's an impressive overlap between the between the drow priestess standard spell block and the druid spell list; Nephiah managed by knowing the shared spells perfectly and skipping the ones she just couldn't seem to learn. However, Lolth wasn't really looking forward to having a non-priest in, you know, her clergy. Since nobody else had noticed Neph's affinity for ecology by this point, she yoinked away all her magic at basically her graduation exam/ceremony.

(please note "affinity for ecology" =/= "likes the outdoors". Neph likes fine clothes and an extremely controlled underground climate. She almost fainted when she realized the sun exists and also ruins your skin and clothes. She hates rain and snow. She's the worst druid to ever druid.) Neph's self-worth spiraled downward hard and through a very very long series of events (namely being forced by her family to be a Seductress Femme Fatale Lesbian Assassin of sorts with yandere-level attachment issues and losing her best friend.) she ended up trying to Surface. Unfortunately for her, she got captured by a bunch of Absolutist drow and then all the Nautiloid stuff happened.

However, give a drow 200 years of bad coping mechanism experience, and they'll be great at hiding it! Neph is incredibly arrogant and haughty, used to always getting her way. You either obey or get out the way. She won't just execute you if you tick her off, so she's actually nice by Menzo standards, but she will make your life living hell.

I forgot to change her stats in my rush to start the game, so she wound up with an 8 int, which manifested as sheer unwillingness to listen to anyone or anything or critically think ever (particularly about her own religion). It's not super obvious at first, as she's very refined and eloquent from being Highborn. However, she has her himbo moments still! You think she knew what grass or dogs or the sun was beyond an Eldritch Surface Horror Beyond her Comprehension? No. And good luck trying to get her to understand wordplay not in Undercommon or Elvish because she did not pay attention in Common lessons. Despite having high wis/insight and being able to read people like books, she's so oblivious to social customs, too.

Another fun thing about Neph is she is the most raging misandrist you ever meet. Incredibly dismissive, fully expects all 'males' to basically bend the knee to her every whim. It was so bad that Gale didn't even try to flirt with her. Her and Astarion share ideas on autonomy and just generally being Horrible but Neph also didn't see him beyond his usefulness as a locksmith. Wyll was well-mannered and fascinating in how Good Alignment he is, but all she wanted from him was lessons on Baldurian culture and a connection in their politics. Because if a man has to be in political power, he ought to have a woman telling him how to do it, smh. She's like the female inverse of an alpha male podcaster, it's awful.

This all meant whether I finished a questline did not depend on the reward or nature of the quest itself, but whether a woman was involved. If it's a man asking for help? He better pay up handsomely. But don't you worry miss of COURSE she'll save you from a burning building.

To wrap this little ramble up, was it any surprise she ended up absolutely infatuated with Shadowheart? Absolutely not. They had a LOT of work to do to get their relationship functional to say the least.

So, hooray! You know a little more about Neph now, the horrible little drow she is. I've hyperfixated on her for almost a year straight now (this is just the surface of the lore) and I hope she'll continue to bring a little joy to any others who follow this blog <3

I've attached some photos of her in-game model as a bonus! Ft the White Hair and Trauma squad

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 tav #tav #baldurs gate tav #nephiah qil'oussiryn #nephiah #neffeyla #neffeyla qil'oussiryn

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diabloo-666 · 1 year ago

Note

Do you hate the way Soul Eater's anime ended? I personally didn't mind the ending that much

No, I don't hate it either! ^^

I've got the whole serie on my bookshelf, watched the whole anime, I actually kind of like that the endings for each are different!

The anime one can be seen as a "good ending", knowing how little casualties they were, Asura was gone for good as well. The manga's, I like to call it a "neutral" one, there's a huge threat still looming over the protags' heads, the reason why it is that way is logical (everybody fear something. It's only normal and human), there were lots more interesting events that happened as well.

And to write a bit more, there is, personally, one way that the manga was "better": How it handled Asura.

In the anime, it was indeed a threat lingering everywhere, the culminating point, like in the manga, but sensibly less than it. The final battle really crystallised that well.

Asura is a freaking. God. A god went mad by his irrational fear of absolutely everything. The dude is everyphobia incarnated and so much that it draws power from it and actually distort the world around by his mere existence, thus why Lord Shinigami had to seal him in the first place.

With such power.... I kind of find it quite anti-climatic that the Main Gang somehow managed to stop him for good with a power of friendship infused punch... (what they did in the anime). The manga manages to illustrate (haha, because it's drawn, get it?) better how powerful he is, how tiring and stretching the battle was. They managed to "defeat" him, not even totally, because they went on his side, they played his "game" for power. They used Black Blood and especially the help of Crona. Without them, the plan wouldn't have succeeded. And all of this was WITHIN Asura himself. Meaning that, outside, the guy's practically invisible. Actually, he is, since he is sealed again. Not killed, sealed. The amount of death on Shibusen's side is also not negligible after that. The final is more satisfying overall.

They got an understanding ground with the Witches, something that wasn't possible before due to the Hunt, so a Demonic Weapon can become a Death Scythe, Kid is more mature, Maka and Soul's realtionship got stronger, Black☆Star... well, it's Black☆Star, what else do you expect, but he did grew, all of them grew alongside their partners...

To conclude...

As stated in the start, no. I do not hate the gecko ending of the anime, I like it. I'm with you here! But I do have a strong preference for the manga one, some of the reasons why are stated above.

#soul eater #ask #rambling #sorry half not sorry #anime #manga #text #hope i answered your question!#i don't know it if shows but i tried to not spoil much...#i still kinda did tho but hey #i wouldn't be clear if i didn't

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8makes1newworld · 1 year ago

Text

Fashionably Untitled

Unedited randomness that I'd like to turn into a series but we shall see what happens. Be safe and keep warm everybody.

You stand at your post outside of the full serve gas station that was presently the best that you could do for a job. The morning chill washing over your form, the bitter coffee doing little to warm your insides.

Was this really the best you could do?

The question oft repeated itself in your mind, though in this town it really was the case. The shit economy was leaving it's mark in your community as it had been through different parts of the world as well.

You shivered as you tossed your empty cup into recycling. The first customer of the day was driving in. Someone who you were obviously not looking forward to seeing.

“Hi~ Top it off, and be quick about it!” The popular girl from school, none other but Katie Lipsom.

You couldn't wait to get her out of your hair this morning. Ignoring her, you took out the gas pump and began to fill her Corvette.

“So how does it feel to work for a company that actively destroys the environment?” Katie draped herself out of the window in an annoying matter.

“I don't know… how does it feel to not be driving electric so you wouldn't have to support the people that are destroying the climate?” You replied without giving her a look, hoping that she would shut up.

Instead she merely giggled and twirled her blonde locks. “I could have, but I left it at home! I wanted to say hi before going to class today!”

Ah, brilliant. She purposely just wanted to gloat and flaunt her standing in society while you were struggling to get by and freezing your ass off with a job that you hated.

Satisfied with the thorn she'd managed to stick into your side, Katie drove away louder than necessary. Causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.

“A bad day already…” You groan and pace outside the service station, contemplating stepping inside for some warmth but deciding against it. Preferring the cold for now over more unwanted company from talkative and bored employees.

You failed to notice the black SUV with dark tinted windows across the street. The occupants observing you while you walk.

Eventually it drove up to the station and parked at one of the pumps. You looked it over and waited for the occupant to give you instructions. Feeling a sense of intimidation as you watched.

From the driver's side emerged what appeared to you like a CEO, a tall male with a commanding aura. You cough awkwardly, wondering since when did the likes of CEOs come to a town like this.

“Uh… what can I do for your… vehicle?” You freeze, feeling extremely out of place all of a sudden.

“We're not here for anything. But captain wants you to have this. Call and ask for either Jongho, who is myself. Or Hongjoong. Have a nice day.” The man who introduced himself as Jongho gave you a business card and then got back into the vehicle.

You gazed into the tinted glass with befuddlement clear on your face, barely able to make out the two silhouettes inside before the SUV drove away.

Still just as puzzled as before you read the card ‘KQ talent agency'

Skeptically you pocketed the card, proceeding to go about your work day.

Later on as you lied down to sleep you mulled over the card, lying down by your lamp as you scrutinized the piece of paper as if it would tell you of the agency's legitimacy.

You gave up and lied back with a sigh, quietly deciding that you would give them a try. But aware that if they asked for money out of the gate that it would be a scam.

As you fell asleep you wondered what it would be like to be successful, to be popular like Katie. Or to be even more popular than her.

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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sunspray-peak · 2 years ago

Text

Ch. 59: Easy

SATURDAY - WINTER 13

As much as Achilles loathed the snow, it had proven to have somehow gifted him a rather peaceful and productive series of days. Though perhaps it was less the snow, and more… Alex. Nothing else—no one else, really—he’d encountered in Stardew had quite managed to calm the rollercoaster of this past year as well as Alex had.

Was he thinking about him? Likely not—the kiss he’d left behind had been, objectively, clearly more jest than anything else. Regardless, Achilles hadn’t allowed idle speculation to distract him from the duties at hand. Holed up in the temperate climate of his well-heated home, he had neglected to shovel his 2 acres of land, opting instead to sit at his desk with a cat in his lap and a pen in his hand. It wasn’t a novel he was writing, however—no, his brain still refused to respond in that regard—but letters. Letters to family, letters to old friends, letters to himself.

But the blinding, glowing sun cutting through his windows early Saturday morning had managed to melt with its golden cheer even his hatred for the cold. And so, shortly after 6am, Achilles threw on a robe and made himself a cup of tea before tottering his stiff joints to the front door. A breath of fresh air couldn’t hurt. Perhaps he’d do some bird watching on the porch or… something.

But it seemed that someone else had had similar ideas.

“What the fuck—god dammit—” This was really getting out of hand—really ought to get a lid for your mugs at this rate, or a thermos… Achilles wiped his sodden sleeve across his porch swing’s wooden plank of an armrest. It did not help, and now his hand was scraped as well as scalded. “Really, Alex we ought to put a bell on you, with this little habit of yours, just loitering around on my porch—you can knock, you know.”

“Oh—geez, I’m sorry, not my fault you’re so jumpy, I’m sorry—I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake—”

“I’m always awake. It’s a real problem.” Achilles clicked his tongue and nodded for Alex to take a seat on the swing before noticing the six inches of snow piled on the cushion. “Come inside. I suppose I’ll have to make myself another cup now, would you like one?”

“Oh. No, I can’t stay long. First day on the new job, wanna get there early… I just wanted to… stop by. Say hi.”

“Oh yes! Mr. Manager.” Achilles glanced to the east where the bus stop lay beyond the borders of Strawberry Farms. Even shielding his eyes, he still had to squint to make out Alex’s halting footsteps breaking up the otherwise untouched snow. “Damn. You trudged through all that just to say hi?”

“Well, in my defense, I expected you to’ve shoveled the path.”

“Yikes. Me? Big mistake—”

“—yeah, I see that now—”

“—I assumed it’d be, I don’t know, a government responsibility. How long does it take snow to melt?”

“Why would the government be shoveling the snow on your farm, Ash?”

“I don’t know, listen, I hail from desert country—”

“Ohhhh, I see, did the government shovel sand out of your driveway in Monstera? Because you might just be getting that mixed up with being rich.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right…” Achilles chucked a halfheartedly constructed snowball that Alex easily dodged. “Now what do you want? Everything okay? What brings you lurking like a gremlin on my porch this early in the morning?”

“No, everything’s fine, I was just… hoping to catch you.”

“Well. You caught me.” Achilles glanced down at his still-wet sleeve. It was too cold for this, and he likely needed a bandage.

Alex bit his lip before reaching into his coat—Yoba, really, it was quite unfair how one could make such a simple, innocent little hand motion look so seductive. He withdrew a pale green envelope and offered it forward. “I, um. I wrote you a letter—”

“Did you steal that from Lewis? I swear he has the same stationary—”

“—I just figured I’d hand deliver it since, you know, you never open your dang mail, you punk.”

“A thing like that! You know, that’s probably the most considerate thing a person has ever done for me this whole year.” With a squirrelly little smile, Achilles slipped his pointer finger smoothly under the envelop flap before catching sight of Alex staring rather alarmingly wide-eyed, as if petrified, at the letter between his hands. “Or… shall I open it later?”

“Oh—um—no, that’s all right, you can go ahead. Actually, no—yes. Later. Actually, you know what, I’ll just read it to you.”

Bemused but chuckling lightly, Achilles offered the envelope back. But Alex only shook his head.

“Man, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m sorry. I’ll just tell you what it says.”

“So… no one’s opening the letter…?”

Alex shook his head again, ran a hand through his hair—a few strands broke loose from whatever gel or product he must’ve used to style it this morning. Being manager demanded a fresh new look, it seemed, but Achilles bit back his smile—didn’t seem appropriate, given that Alex seemed close to hyperventilating on his front porch.

Instead, Achilles pocketed the letter, which seemed to be the main source of Alex’s unusually pale visage, and asked, “Are you… okay…? You sure you don’t… want some… tea?”

And just like that, it was as if a light switch had been flicked. Alex smiled and, cocking his head slightly, chirped, “Would you like to get dinner tonight?

“What?” Achilles took half a second to register the dissonance regarding the degree of joy that had accompanied this rather banal question. He’d been expecting something much more dramatic—Lewis’ last will and testament, perhaps… “Dinner? …Sure. Is any place going to be open, though? With all the snow? Still seems quite deep.”

“Yeah, the government does actually shovel public property, if you must know—”

“All right—”

“I checked with Gus on the way here, the Stardrop’s open. If that works. For you.”

“What time?”

Alex blinked several times before asking, “6:30?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah?”

“…yeah…”

Alex beamed. “Wow! Really? Great! Really great! Um. I’ll see you then!”

Achilles nodded slowly, his wet sleeve forgotten as his brain worked to stymie the confusion currently sweeping his brain as Alex bounded off the porch and nearly half-skipped off the farm. It was quite a few minutes before he retreated back indoors, where he promptly curled himself onto his couch beneath the portrait of two root vegetables and continued to think.

Alex, on the other hand, was halfway through his very first day as Orange Grove Fitness’ new manager before realizing that both the conversation he had spent all night constructing and the letter he had spent all morning writing had been completely devoid of quite a number of choice key words. And right at the end of his lunch break! Head buried atop his new desk, a ham and cheese sandwich scrunched in his fist as his (Achilles’) watch struck 2…

“Oh, you stupid idiot, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. Date. How in the heckity heck did you miss the word—”

*****

This was a date.

Surely, Alex had been asking him out on a date.

Now he hadn’t said the word date. But the man wouldn’t have chewed straight through his lip or hiked two miles through half-shoveled snow to hand deliver a hand written note just to ask Achilles to a simple dinner. Right? They’d had dinner a million times, there was definitely something different to this one. Right?

Stay calm, bitch!

The clues were clear—Achilles had written them down in his notebook to better organize his thoughts, and even if he set aside his own feelings, the whole situation was still quite objectively suspect. An ordinary request such as this would not have required such extra-ordinary efforts if the aforementioned ordinary request was, in actuality, an ordinary request. RIGHT?

But it just seemed so… sudden. Surely a near-platonic peck on the nose couldn’t have triggered something to this extent? He had hoped the letter would be more explicit, but it unfortunately hadn’t revealed much either.

Hi Achilles! Hope you enjoyed your first ever snow day. Or snow week, really. How many crosswords did you get done? I bet you made the most of it, but if you didn’t, that’s cool, too.

I know this mihgt seem really sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot these past couple of days, and I would love if you met me in the saloon tonight for dinner. 6:30pm if that works.

Hope to see you then! :-)

Best,

Alex.

He’d have given the man a call to clarify if it hadn’t been his first day on the new job.

Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex…

Achilles was calm. He was always calm, right? He’d just… act normal. Follow Alex’s lead. Yes. This was going to be fine.

But he made sure to clean his room. Just in case.

*****

Alex—well the whole town, really—always claimed he overdressed, so even if this wasn’t a date, the embroidered bomber jacket Achilles had adorned wouldn’t have raised any alarm bells.

It would be best not to get his hopes up, though. Just in case. But as Achilles trudged through the half-shoveled snow to the saloon, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

Emily welcomed him the moment he stepped foot in the saloon, her eyes glittering as she took his arm. Haley, he saw, was coincidentally paying the Stardrop a rare visit today, having claimed a booth to herself despite the crowds and its accompanying damp, musty scent. She pursed her lips when he made eye contact, gave a wily little wiggle of her shoulders—really, quite remarkable how up in his business that button nose of hers could reach. He responded with a venomous grin and a raised middle finger. Incredibly impolite, of course, but he was only returning what she’d given him many a season ago.

Achilles followed Emily down the back hall to where the private rooms lay (So… definitely a date, right?), where they stopped at the very last door.

“Right along in here… oh, and would you look at that, I forgot to bring the menus. You go on in, I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, all right, Emily…”

As she dashed away, arms held aloft like a ballerina, he took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.

Immediately, Alex, who had been seated at a small table in quite a small private room, jumped to his feet, tripping over the wooden chair as he half-stumbled for the door. “Hey!”

Oh fuck.

Outside of the Flower Festival back in the Spring, Achilles had rarely seen Alex out of activewear and athleisure. The sight of those arms now, tight in the sleeves of a forest green cardigan, would’ve alone been enough to send even Leah’s heart racing, surely. But the lightly patterned, sage button down—well. A man after his own heart.

Alex’s hair was combed back, tidier than he’d ever seen it (though a part of Achilles did miss the casual, semi-messy curls of it all), and as he shut the door behind him, he noticed something more akin to vanilla and cinnamon had replaced Alex’s usual citrus scent.

But Achilles quickly found his breath and shook himself out of his reverie, taking a step forward just as Alex finished picking up the chair he’d sent keeling to the floor.

“Hi—”

“This-was-supposed-to-be-a-date-but-if-you-don’t-want-it-to-be-one-I-completely-understand-I-didn’t-mean-to-ambush-you-I’m-just-really-stupid-just-tell-me-whatever-it-is-you-want.”

But Achilles could only blink, lost in Alex’s rather anxious, wild-eyed stare, eyes greener than ever in the rosy overhead lighting.

Did you hear that right? It is a date—you were right, good for you. Wait. He definitely said date, right? He said it was a date. Confirm? Confirm— “Pardon?”

“Also these are for you. I mean, if you want them.”

Alex half-shoved a cellophaned bouquet into Achilles’ hands. Half a dozen white roses and goldenrod wrapped in a emerald green ribbon. Not Pierre’s work, or even Jojamart’s. No, someone must’ve paid a visit to a Zuzu City florist.

Date?

Yes! Date!

Man, you gotta say something, bitch.

“Oh. Thank you. These are… beautiful. Thanks. Yes. A date. I… assumed.”

Assumed? Assumed? My god, what an arrogant prick you are. Get it together. What’s the matter with you?

He accepted the flowers from Alex, and in a sudden flash of inspiration, let his fingers linger on Alex’s for perhaps one or two seconds longer than necessary as the bouquet was passed between them. The effect was instantaneous—at this apparent affirmation of Achilles’, Alex’s visibly brightened, bounding back to the dinner table and pulling out Achilles’ chair for him.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, scooting the chair forward as Alex hurried to the other end of the table. “I didn’t think people did that anymore. You do this for all the girls or just me?”

“Don’t feel too special, I do that for everyone.”

“Damn. At least tell me I’m prettier than all the other girls you’ve dated.”

“You know I don’t like lying, Ash, don’t make me do it.” Alex grinned, handing him a menu that Emily evidently had not forgotten to leave behind.

“Zero for two. Well, it was worth a try.” God, shut up. He must’ve been more nervous than he realized. Babbling like this. Stupid jokes. Chill out, man. Why are you nervous? You’re never nervous! No reason to be nervous. He asked you out… you have all the power here. Yoba, shut the fuck up! Stop thinking like that! What’s wrong with you? Asshole!

Achilles’ poker face was near to breaking as his self-disgust began to overwhelm his nerves, but he was luckily rescued by Emily, who had returned with a knock at the door. “No violin today, Al?” She shimmied in with her question, ignoring Alex’s groan, and raised her notepad, ready to take their orders.

“I haven’t had Gus play the violin for me in 10 years, Emily, when is that joke ever going to die—”

“Ask him about the violin,” she said, bumping Achilles’ shoulder with her hip. “And the Handbook.”

“Emily—”

“Now just a warning for ya, it’s a bit busy tonight. Seems like lots of folks eager to get out after the storm, but Gus’ll get your order out shortly. Now what can I get for y’all?”

A steak for Alex, linguine with mushroom cream for Achilles—with her usual spritely bow, Emily scampered from the room, leaving Alex still red from whatever merciless ribbing she had dealt him.

“So,” Achilles began, lifting his glass of water. Perhaps a cold drink would wash away his lingering anxieties, though Emily’s return had broken most of the tension for him. “The violin…”

With the defeated air of getting something over with, Alex took a similar swig from his water before launching into a hurried, one-breath explanation. “My grandpa gave me a dating handbook when I turned 13, and yes, I will admit I followed it pretty religiously up through college, so Haley really got to see the worst of it all, and she and Emily have never gotten over it, but hey, in my defense there’s some stuff in there that’s really not half bad, I swear.”

“Like giving your date flowers? And pulling out their chair?”

Alex grimaced.

“Well shit, Al, I’m feeling less and less special by the second.”

Here, Alex seemed to visibly deflate, sinking deeper into the back of his chair until Achilles, rather alarmed by the somewhat uncharacteristic lack of confidence—maybe he’s nervous, too, bitch—rapped his fingers sharply against the table. “I’m just joking, Al. Sorry, I’m being an ass, it’s very… charming.”

That seemed to be enough to pull Alex back to his usual self, and Achilles quickly plowed ahead, making sure to keep his tone light. “But the violin Emily mentioned?”

“Ah. Yes.” Alex rubbed his nose, preparing his next words carefully as if gearing up for the worst. “Well, if you must know… according to the handbook, I’m supposed to start first dates with a little sort of violin serenade from Gus.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I really wish I was.”

“And you actually… did that.”

“Oh, just a few times. I don’t know man, my only source of dating advice when I moved here was my really old and old fashioned grandpa.”

“Fair enough. I’ll allow it.”

Alex chuckled, and once again took a quick sip from his drink just as Achilles raised his own. A lull in the conversation—but not an uncomfortable one, Achilles thought, as he took the opportunity to casually savor the view from over the rim of his glass. He hadn’t ever really allowed himself to do it before. It had always felt rather intrusive, salacious even, to stare for longer than a beat or so—but surely now, of all times, it was… okay. Right?

Clearly Alex had put in quite a bit of effort tonight, really, it felt wrong not to appreciate it all… anyway, it was hard to ignore those eyes sparkling from across the table, pink lips slightly parted as Alex readied himself to take probably his twentieth sip of water. Achilles could think of just a few other things he’d rather see those lips do, but he dug his thumb into his palm and refocused himself back to the present. You perv, he thought, his own lips twisting to the side as he attempted to hold back a wry grin. Get your mind out of the gutter.

It was Alex who broke the silence, with a tentative observation of his own. “You, um… you look really nice.” His fingers were locked tightly together as they rested atop the table, and through the floorboards, Achilles could feel the faint vibration of what must have been Alex bouncing his foot. “You don’t usually wear black.”

“I do in the Winter, you’ll see. It tricks me into thinking I’m less cold than I am.”

“Ha.”

“You look good, too.” Achilles threw a nod in Alex’s general direction. “Probably should’ve opened with that, I was thinking it when I came in, but I suppose the words didn’t get a chance to make it out of my mouth.”

“Oh!” A blush crept into the man’s cheeks as he glanced towards the floor. “Thank you. I- I wasn’t sure, personally, I told Haley I thought the sweater was too small, you know, but she, uh, she told me to shut up—”

“Always, such a lovely, lovely girl.” Achilles’ eyes followed the well-defined slope of Alex’s bicep. “But she’s right. Don’t worry. It’s perfect.”

“Well, I can’t really raise my arms…”

“Listen, I don’t know if you know this, but I actually come from a long line of really famous fashion designers, and by long line, I mean just my mother—”

“Man, you don’t know a dang thing about fashion—”

“Fuck, 0/3—I thought this was supposed to be a date, why are you being so mean to me?”

“I’m not—well because—because you’re so calm, why are you always so calm, it’s pissing me off.” With a barking laugh, Alex chucked his napkin across the table as Achilles, rather bewildered by Alex’s uncharacteristically off-base observation, flung his hands instinctively in front of his face.

“It’s incredibly kind of you to ignore the five mental breakdowns you’ve witnessed me have, is doing that part of your grandpa’s handbook, too?” But as Achilles slid the cloth back across the table, he became more serious, and he continued in a somewhat softer tone. “There’s no reason to be nervous, Al, it’s just me. Just think of all the times I’ve humiliated myself in front of you, eh?”

That elicited a small smile, at the very least. But while Achilles’ anxiety had since settled for the most part, it seemed Alex would need more than a weak joke.

“Speaking of nerves though, how was the first day on the new job, Mr. Manager?”

Achilles gave himself a private pat on the back as Alex jumped at the redirection, the apprehension in his eyes rapidly melting as he eagerly shared his new schedule.

What a pro you are! Still got it…

The conversation carried them all through Emily’s return with their appetizers and dishes—and it was only after she left (with a rather unnecessary promise of “leaving them undisturbed”), that Alex’s hands, so animated during his recounting, returned to tightly gripping the glass of his water.

Achilles waited—as Alex would ruefully say—calmly. It was clear he had something to say.

And indeed, Alex cleared his throat with the tiniest cough and, after a quick glance at the door to confirm they were indeed alone, pulled his chair an inch forward.

“Um. Right. Achilles. So. I thought I’d get a private room so we could… talk. I mean, not that we wouldn’t be able to talk if we didn’t have a private room, but it’s loud out there, and it’s what my grandpa’s handbook always said I should do anyway—I don’t know why I just admitted that, I’m sorry. Um, anyway, all that to say—you know, actually, I wrote myself some notes, sorry, give me a second…”

He fumbled with something in the pocket of his chinos as Achilles smothered another smile.

“This really makes me look like a nerd doesn’t it, but I just wanted to make sure I was… clear. About things. And didn’t forget anything, you know, especially after how stupid I was this morning. So if you could, um, maybe listen for a bit?”

Achilles gave a smooth, little nod that managed not to betray the twitch that had returned to his limbs. “For sure. The floor’s all yours.”

Alex grimaced and, taking a deep breath, unfolded a rather wrinkled piece of notebook paper and began to read aloud in a rather toneless, slow and slightly stuttered recitation.

“When we first met, I was instantly drawn to you. And it wasn’t just because I was your number one fan.” He glanced up. “Ha.” Eyes dropped abruptly back down to the page as he continued.

“I think a part of me knew we were destined to be great friends. And I was really happy when we actually did become friends. I had never had a friend like you. You were so smart and cool and you made me feel like I could actually do things with my life. I really liked spending time with you.

“And then during the blizzard, I…” The paper between Alex’s hands began to crinkle as his grip tightened ever so slightly, but he continued to stare, laser focused, on the scribbled words. “Well I started thinking that maybe I liked you as… more than a friend. It was confusing. I kept telling myself, ‘You can’t have these feelings for another guy.’ I mean, I’d never had feeling like this for anyone.

“But I thought about it a lot. Went back and forth a lot trying to decide, I was going crazy, really. And, well. I think I really like you. Like that. And that’s why I wanted to ask you out on a date to—what? Oh. I think I spelled ‘tonight’ wrong. Agh, stupid. Okay, anyway. And that’s why I wanted to ask you out on a date tonight.”

With a bit of a sniff, Alex folded the paper back into quarters and gave Achilles a rather awkward, teeth-baring attempt at a smile. It was the most unflattering he had ever looked, in Achilles’ opinion, and somehow that made it all the better. Alex patted his folded notes and ended with a little nod. “Well. That’s it.”

During the blizzard…

So this had been a much more recent realization than Achilles had originally believed.

Thank Yoba you didn’t make a move earlier.

Had it really just been the kiss on the Mullner’s front porch? It had barely been a kiss—couldn’t have been less romantic if he’d tried. Was that really all it had taken to ignite this? He’d taken barely three days to think this through. Though, then again, he supposed Alex had always been the more impulsive one between them… Not everyone spends a whole week anguishing over pros and cons lists, you dumb bitch.

“What was the turning point?” Achilles asked as Alex shoved the scrap of paper back into his pocket. “I’m just curious. These past few days, what made you ultimately decide that you… wanted this?”

“Oh. During the storm.” Alex shoved the scrap of paper back into his pocket. “I don’t know, I guess I just realized… I don’t know. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it would’ve been to have been snowbound with you.”

*****

After it became clear to Alex that Achilles was not going to escape out the back door of the saloon after hearing Alex’s prepared remarks, his usual optimistic countenance quickly returned. By the time the two dug into their dinners, they had managed to roll back into their usual groove, chatting and laughing with familiar ease all through dessert until Emily returned with the check.

“Oh, I’ve got it—”

“Like hell you do—”

“I was the one who asked you out, I should pay—”

“Emily, give me the check or I’m never coming here again—”

“That’s an empty threat if I’ve ever heard one, the only thing you cook yourself is a boiled egg.”

Emily seemed to agree. She hip checked Achilles’s outstretched hand and, with a rather hyena-like cackle, seized Alex’s card before dodging Achilles once again on her way out.

“You know, the Handbook says it’s proper for the man to always pay,” Alex said, snootily tossing his napkin onto his plate with a raised pinkie. “Now I don’t know what that means for us, exactly, but at least let me have this one, will you?”

Achilles rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he craned his neck in search of nothing. “The napkin’s actually supposed to go on the left when you’re finished with your meal, but never mind that. Where’s Gus? Can someone get Gus? I want a violin serenade pronto.”

*****

Haley had disappeared by the time the two emerged from the private room, but Achilles, who had eyes for only one person, didn’t notice her absence. Neither did he notice the thick clumps of snow now falling under the glow of the moon, even as Alex held open for him the Stardrop’s front door and said, “Want to take a walk? It’s not too late, I don’t think.”

“Sure,” Achilles said with a soft smile. The bouquet Alex had gifted him was in one hand, and he tightened his scarf with the other as he stepped out into the cold. “Just a walk, though? Not a run?”

“Oh, you want to run?”

Without waiting for a response, Alex tore down the cobblestone path to the south.

“Fuck—Al, you’re going to slip and break your neck—fucking athletes, I knew I’d sworn them off for a reason—“

But the wind covered his calls and his muttered curses, and he had no choice but to hurtle after Alex, laughing even as he skidded past a bewildered Lewis. He hadn’t jogged in a fat minute—not that he likely would’ve caught up to Alex anyway at his peak back in the Fall—but even despite the cold, he gave a merry chase, sprinting across the bridge until his foot found the soft, squishy crunch of slushy sand. There was snow on the beach. Of course there was—we just had a blizzard, you dolt.

But even so, the strange sight came a surprise. He stopped to take in the cool glow of the snow, a white sheet stretching all the way down to the waves up ahead. It wasn’t deep, but the dampness still managed to seep through his boots.

Luckily, the rest of him was all warmed up now, thanks to their mile race through Pelican Town. Whether that had actually been Alex’s intention, nervous energy, or the man just couldn’t help but exercise whenever given the opportunity, he wasn’t quite sure. Regardless, with a bit of a wheeze, he sidled up next to where Alex (who was infuriatingly not out of breath) stood waiting by Elliott’s cabin. The light was on, casting both arrivers in its mellow beam, but if the writer had noticed their arrival, he took care not to disturb them.

“Can I, um… can I hold your hand?”

“Hmm?” Achilles, who was still slightly bent at the waist catching his breath, glanced rather pitifully up at the green-clad figure above.

“I just… I just figured it’d make the whole thing feel a little bit more like a date,” Alex, slightly red, said with the barest hint of a shrug. “I don’t know, sorry, is that weird? We don’t have to. It’s just that… it’s just kinda felt like we’ve been… hanging out.”

“We are hanging out,” Achilles said, slowly straightening himself up. “I mean, if we break it down, that’s basically what a date is, right?”

“I guess…”

Achilles had never exactly loved the concept of holding hands—he sweat too easily and it threw off his stride—but off of Alex’s blink-and-you-missed-it frown, he weaved his arm through Alex’s and led him towards the boardwalk.

Remember what Elliott said…

Physical touch was never Achilles’ forte. It’s not that he disliked it. Quite the contrary (well, as long as it was in private). It was simply that non-sexual touch didn’t come as naturally to him as it did for others. Often more of an afterthought than something top of mind. But, as Elliott had reminded him, Alex, who greeted his friends with a hug nearly as often as he did a wave, would likely find more validation in something beyond the mere time they were spending together.

“Would you like to sit down?” Alex kicked a clump of snow off the wooden planks and into the water before laying down his coat and chuckling. “Shoot, I really feel like I’m 13. Yoba, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sorry, I promise, I’ve been on a lot of dates before—”

“Wow, we’ve got a veritable Casanova out here, everyone—”

“All right, that didn’t come out right, you know what I meant. Although I don’t really know what you meant just now—”

“You’re a big baller.”

“Okay, okay, no, I just… look, I just don’t know what to do. With you.”

“A thing like that. You know how to make a boy feel special. What does the Handbook recommend?”

Alex began to tick off his fingers as he huddled slightly closer to Achilles on the boardwalk. “Well we’ve had the dinner. I got you flowers. Pulled out your chair. Paid. Asked if we could hold hands. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but later I’m going to offer to walk you home if you must know.”

“That’s adorable—you’re adorable—has anyone on your numerous dates before ever told you that?”

“Man, I could beat you up.”

“Why are you always threatening to beat me up?”

“Wasn’t it you who once said that every child deserves to get bullied just a little bit or something?”

“Are you calling me a child?”

“Man, I’m just making up for lost time, you don’t seem like someone who got shoved into a locker enough as a kid.”

Despite the confidence in Alex’s quip, Achilles could feel the tension in the tightened muscles of his arm. The small space Alex had left between them had felt purposeful—tentative. Even now, Achilles watched as his hands fluttered from place to place, as if eager for something to hold, but too afraid to commit.

Realizing it would be up to him to reassure a flustered Alex out of his hesitation, Achilles closed the gap, tightening the grip around his bicep and tucking his head onto his shoulder. The whole thing was admittedly rather stiff in its deliberateness, but as he better settled into the crook of Alex’s neck—felt Alex, who seemed to recognized the permission Achilles had silently granted, now reach eagerly for his hand—and inhaled the rich, velvety scent of vanilla, he believed there wasn’t a spot in the world he’d rather be.

Minutes passed, and they listened to the waves crash against the shore.

“Do you think Elliott’ll stay in the valley? If his book gets published?”

“Hmm.” Achilles stirred—shit, had he nearly fallen asleep? Can’t fall asleep in your own damn bed, but everything’s always fine and dandy and soothing out here on this damp ass wood. What’s this boardwalk got on you?

Though maybe it wasn’t the boardwalk’s doing.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I’d like to think so. I hope he buys himself a better house at any rate… or at least a second chair…”

“Have you been writing?”

“Mmm. Not in the way you’re asking. Does it count if it’s in my head?”

“I don’t see why not. But hey, I don’t make the rules.”

Achilles sighed and lay slowly down, his back against the boardwalk as he gazed up at the stars. Alex followed, though he chose to lie on his side, one arm beneath his head, the other resting atop Achilles’ chest as his hand continued to grip Achilles’.

“I’ve got an idea. Well, it’s the same idea I had before, if you remember those pages you snooped a look at when you were cleaning my house… I’ve got it pretty much outlined in my head and everything, it’s just… well you know. I want it to mean something. I want it to matter, I want to finally write something… more than all those kid books I wrote when I was younger, those were so simple, so… stupid. I just don’t know why it’s so fucking hard.”

The stars twinkled above them, and Alex thumbed his hand. The soft touch, combined with the steady rhythm of the small movement, slowly sweetened the bitter hollow that seemed to have taken up semi-permanent residence in his chest.

“Sometimes I think we’ve built up this idea that we have to always be, like, fighting for the things that we want. That if something isn’t hard then it must be wrong or, like… I don’t know. Not important.” Alex was tracing letters onto the back of Achilles’ hand now. “But I don’t know, maybe it’s the lazy bum part of me but sometimes—and I promise, I do mean sometimes, not all the time… but sometimes I do think things are easy because they’re the right thing to do.”

Achilles turned his head. In the dark, Alex’s eyes were black, but under the glow of the moon, he could count the snowflakes on every lash.

*****

“Well. Here it comes, drum roll please, everyone: can I walk you home?” Alex gave Achilles a hand as they rose from the boardwalk and didn’t let go as they exited the beach.

“Only if you give me a copy of this Handbook later.”

“I actually wonder if I do have a copy somewhere still… I don’t know, I’ve pretty much got it memorized at this point.”

“Because you’ve gone on so many dates.”

“Yeah, exactly. I was a real Casa—Cassiopeia? What did you say before?”

“Casanova? Wait, did you say Cassiopeia—fairly niche mythological reference—”

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises. Anyway, whatever, I was hot stuff before you got to know me, you know.”

“Man, shut the fuck up, you were hot stuff even while I knew you, remember Abigail’s birthday party…”

The two laughed as they made their way back to Strawberry Farms, taking the slightly longer route through Cindersap Forest, despite the cold and the late hour.

Alex walked him to the porch. The motion sensor lights Achilles had installed nearly a year ago had flickered on the moment they passed the shipping bin, and so they stood awash in the weak fluorescence of a buzzing overhead lamp.

He was lingering—definitely lingering, biting his lip in typical Alex-fashion, his eyes dancing everywhere except Achilles’ face. And after a beat, Achilles—ever impatient—said, “All right, are you going to ask me if you can kiss me now?”

Alex jumped—actually jumped. “Oh.” Between rapid blinks, he managed to stutter, “Do you want me to ask you?”

“I—it was a joke.”

“Do you want me to?”

“It was a joke. You know, with the Handbook. I assumed you were just gearing up for Step 5 or whatever step we’ve reached…”

“Oh. No, I’m not supposed to kiss anyone until the third date. Obviously. Anything sooner is impolite and im… dang, what was the other word… immoral? Is that a word? Yes. Immoral. Obviously.”

“What?” Achilles stepped back, throwing a hand to his forehead in mock shock. “Fuck, so this whole time, my whole life—I’ve just been a slut? Shit, I always knew it—”

Alex laughed, but, to Achilles’ surprise, took a small, shy step forward. “Do you want me to ask you?”

Taking a page from Alex’s book, Achilles found himself biting his own lip as he met Alex’s inscrutable gaze. “I—Yes.”

A pause. And then, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

In one step, Alex closed the remaining foot between them. His hands gripped the back of Achilles’ neck, and with a boldness he had been so hesitant to demonstrate earlier this evening, Alex cupped his face and kissed him.

He tasted like vanilla and he tasted like gold and as Achilles let himself drown in the molten glow of his touch, he found he felt… happy.

But the kiss didn’t last long—barely a second, really, for Alex’s lips had almost instantly parted upon impact in that wide-toothed grin of his, his tongue peeking out per usual—and the two of them quickly dissolved into laughter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex whispered, still half-laughing as he leaned his forehead into Achilles’. “That was… really bad. I swear I’m better than that—”

“Yeah, all that practice being hot stuff and all—”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I was born so dang se—”

“Stay the night.” But through the sleeves of a slightly-damp coat, he felt Alex stiffen, and so Achilles hurried to add, “We don’t have to do anything. I don’t expect anything. We can just talk. I just… I don’t want you to leave just yet.”

Immediately, Alex slackened as a small but earnest smile returned to his face.

“Ok.”

*****

Achilles put on some late night tea as Alex took a seat in the kitchen, Voltaire already snuggled in his lap.

Over the course of the blizzard, Achilles had finally moved the typewriter from where it had been sitting, like a monument to all his shortcomings, untouched upon the table. Not that he’d gotten around to taking it out of the box—it was now sitting underneath his desk, still packaged—but, hey, small steps.

Sitting in the center of the kitchen table now were a dozen white roses and goldenrod blooms in Achilles’ favorite (well, only remaining) vase.

“I can boil you an egg, too, if you’d like,” Achilles said, lips twitching as he slid over a cup of chamomile tea and a tray of strawberry scones he’d purchased from Pierre’s that afternoon.

“Ya know what, that sounds great, but I’m actually good. But thanks.”

It was easy—so easy to just sit here, together. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. It had always been easy with Alex.

They sat across the table from each other. Perhaps if Achilles had remembered Elliott’s advice, had been a little bit more thoughtful of a person, he would’ve moved closer—held Alex’s hand again, maybe bump his knee with his own. But in the moment, he was too drunk on his own happiness to give Alex’s prospective wants the consideration they likely should’ve deserved.

The scones and tea had long disappeared, but the two were eager to use any excuse to prolong the end of the evening—from walking through the schedule for Elliott’s book reading tomorrow to dissecting the latest season of The Bachelor (which neither of them actually watched, yet both were somehow still in the know), it wasn’t until the clock struck midnight that Achilles, in begrudging acknowledgment that any further delays would throw off his finely tuned sleeping schedule, slapped the table and stood.

“Well. I’ve got some extra toothbrushes and some clothes you can borrow, if that works for you. Ready to call it a night?”

*****

What is wrong with you.

It was Alex who was in the shower right now, but it was Achilles’ good mood that seemed to be dripping down the drain.

God, why can’t you just enjoy things, you bastard.

Surely he deserved to be happy, even if just a little bit, right? Yes, surely being happy was allowed. Then why was it now feeling like some sort of… betrayal?

Fuck, who is there even to betray, bitch? Get yourself together. No one wants to date a grump.

He needed to be better. Alex deserved better. Alex, who was like light and like stars. Alex, who was turning out to be everything and more than what he ever had hoped to imagine. He could be better, if this stupid ass mood of his would just go away.

Where did you even come from? Get out and mind your own damn business and let me be happy for once.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the water shutting off—neither did he hear Alex call his name as he stood sourly against the wall of his bedroom, half-dressed, still trying to duke it out with his own brain.

“Achilles? What are you thinking about?”

“Hmm?” He snapped his head towards the voice.

“You’re thinking about something.” Alex had emerged from the bathroom wearing a set of sweatpants and an old t shirt Achilles had found at the back of a drawer. “I can see it on your face, what is it?”

“Mmm.” Achilles massaged the bridge of his nose and set a glass of water down by the nightstand before opening the top drawer to retrieve something small. “Nothing I haven’t already thought pretty much to death.”

Alex cocked his head, a knowing look on his face as he padded around the bed to take a seat behind the desk. “Want to think about it to death with me?”

“I— No.”

“You sure?”

Achilles uncrossed his arm only to cross them again. “I mean, we’re on a date…”

“Sure, but we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Fuck.

Always with the patience of a saint. He didn’t deserve him—hell, was there anyone on this planet who deserved him? And strangely, with this thought, as quickly as his mood had come did it fade. Maybe it was true that nobody deserved Alex, but for some unbelievable reason Alex wanted him, and he trusted Alex’s judgement, so hey, who was Achilles to deprive him of that?

“It’s fine. Really. Like I told you before, it comes and goes…. Here.” Achilles held out his hand, dropping the item he’d retrieved from his nightstand into Alex’s open palm. “This is yours. Held onto it for awhile there, didn’t I. Sorry about that.”

“Oh! Yes, thank you!” Alex rested his arm across his leg to better clasp the thin leather watch around his wrist. “Wow, I totally forgot—I guess you should probably take yours back, too, here—”

But before he could remove the smart watch, Achilles bent to snatch Alex’s wrist, holding his arm up tightly between them. The sharp movement triggered a rather equally sharp intake of breath from the watch-wearer, but Achilles pretended not to notice, biting back his smirk as he glanced at the steps recorded on the watch face—a higher number than he was used to seeing, that was for sure, even with all his jogs.

“Mmm. Actually. You want to keep it? You’re probably getting more use out of it than I did.”

“Oh no, that’s all right—”

“I’m not sure if this one’s waterproof, though… have you tried swimming with it?”

“Oh. Maybe? I don’t really remember taking it off. Sorry, was that bad?”

“Eh.” Achilles, his fingers still splayed taught around Alex’s wrist, unclasped the watch and chucked it behind him where it fell about a foot short of the nightstand.

“Good aim.”

“I’ll get you a newer one.”

“Achilles, no, stop, man, you don’t have to do that—”

“Shh, no, no, just let me buy you things, what else am I good for?”

But he said the words with a lazy smile, and after running his hand through his hair, bent to retrieve the smart watch from the floor.

When he turned back from the nightstand, he noticed Alex watching him with a curious, wide-eyed innocence quite at odds with the subject of his stare. Mirroring the characteristic tilt of Alex’s own head, Achilles, his lips twitching as he held in a laugh, slowly knelt until he finally caught Alex’s eye.

The man immediately flushed scarlet, shutting his slightly parted mouth with a snap as he turned quickly away from Achilles’ unclothed chest. “Ah—sorry.”

“For what? Making me feel good about myself?” Achilles chuckled, straightening back to full height. “Although you’ve watched me swim a million times, you should know there’s nothing nearly as impressive to look at as what you see in the mirror every damn day—”

“Stop that.” Alex aimed a light kick before jumping up from the chair and joining him by the nightstand. “I think you’re perfect, you know.”

“Aw, Alexander, aren’t you just the swe—”

“Just physically, of course. There’s still some work to do up here.” He tapped Achilles’ forehead.

“All right, bitch—”

But he silenced Achilles with a hand to his chest—except that wasn’t quite it, was it?

Fuck.

He could feel his body heat—or maybe it was his own body that was suddenly beginning to blaze. From anticipation? From impatience? For Alex’s actual hand was hovering just barely a centimeter above his skin.

Dammit, just touch me, Alex.

But before he could speak, Alex, his voice wavering slightly, murmured, “Can I?”

Always so damn polite.

“Yes.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected, but it definitely wasn’t for Alex to reach first for his hand, tracing each of Achilles’ fingers, the lines of his palm, slowly, as if savoring each divot and crease. It was, if he was honest, a little strange, but he said nothing, only breathed, ragged and rough, as Alex’s own fingers traveled up to his wrist, up his forearm, to his bicep where they lightly circled the band tattooed on his skin.

Achilles closed his eyes. Relished the callused touch upon his collarbone that burned even with the lightest brush. Gentle. Everything so gentle.

One hand slipped to his lower back, and Alex’s touch on his bare skin sent a quiver through his body—he felt Alex pull him closer, felt him rest his forehead against his own. His breath was warm, but smelled faintly of peppermint.

Alex’s thumb parted his lips with a tenderness Achilles had never before allowed himself.

“Can I try again?” The whisper tickled his ear and a velvet thrill itched his heart. “I promise it’ll be better this time.”

Achilles nodded.

And yet, despite it being his own ask, Alex’s hesitance seemed to have returned. A delicate, trembling sigh seemed to be serving as the entr’acte before this second at, and so it was Achilles this time who closed the gap.

Perhaps he should’ve been gentle, perhaps he should’ve been polite, but he wanted it and he had wanted it and Alex was here, asking for it—

Utterly helpless, a moth to Alex’s flame. Yet it was Achilles who pulled him in with the hunger of a dying fire and kissed him as if he were oxygen, like he was fuel. Electricity sparked through every vein as his hands raked through still-damp hair, along his neck, his shoulders, muscles taut and tight and touching him back—it was rash and reckless, and surely it was right—

But something nagging at the back of his mind managed to pierce through his desperate desire, and, not without difficulty, Achilles pulled himself away. To give himself a second to better regain control of himself, to give Alex a second to better decide—

Are you sure you want this, too?

He slowed his breathing, let his hands drop from Alex’s hips. Prepared for the worst.

Was I too fast? Too rough? Too much?

For the first time, he found himself unable to meet Alex’s emerald gaze—that precise shade of green had, at some point, become synonymous for safety, so why was he suddenly so afraid?

He could feel Alex watching him, though his own eyes he kept glued to the ground. Achilles had never felt so scrutinized. So small.

Then, a hand on his neck. A finger resting below his ear, a thumb along his jaw. And Achilles was brought back to Spirit’s Eve. The first time Alex had kissed him. Had all been a character for Alex back then, a costume. How far had they come…

Alex slowly lifted his chin and asked in a voice, soft and tentative, “Is… is that what you like?”

“I—what? Yes, wh—Alex, what do you like—”

But Alex cut him off—seized him, kissed him, frenetic and greedy and deep and hard, and Achilles was set aglow. He pushed Alex towards the bed. Shoved him—not unkindly—down atop the duvet, straddled him and lifted his face up to better meet his own. His hands tugged at Alex’s shirt—god, just get that off—he wanted to feel him, more of him, all of him, he was burning, and wanting, and he very nearly got his wish—shirt halfway off, one hand clinging to the bare hollow of his back—until he was shoved unceremoniously off Alex’s lap and onto the floor.

“What the fuck—”

“Shit—sorry—I’m sorry, I—fuck—”

Achilles—ricocheting between irked and concerned—stumbled to his feet, cheeks red, and managed to spit out only one word whilst retrieving the pieces of his pride. “What?”

He took a pause before following Alex’s avoidant gaze down to his lap, where Alex’s hands lay stiffly between his legs.

“Oh.” Achilles wiped some imaginary dust off his hands as he pushed aside any lingering embarrassment. “Don’t apologize. You know, I, in fact, actually have a penis, too. I get it, it happens.” Wow! Great job not being awkward! Fucking idiot. But upon seeing Alex’s continued discomfort, he added in a less lighthearted tone, “I meant what I said earlier, Al, we don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Can—actually, can we talk?”

“Of course. That’s why I invited you over, right? To talk. It was you who seduced me, you wench. Here.” He pinched his nose—can’t you sound normal just once in your life—and tossed Alex an extra pillow after pulling back the sheets. “We can… put that between us if you’d like, just… give me a second…”

Achilles usually slept in just a pair of boxers, but after this most recent turn of events, he thought it best to head to the closet for a t shirt. His instincts were validated upon his return—Alex had indeed set the pillow in the middle of the bed, and was now clutching it like a life line.

He paused, one hand on the corner of the covers. “I— I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I can actually sleep on the couch if you’d like. I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

“No. No, no, no, that’s not it at all, no, it’s, um. It’s something else. I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. It’s… well, it’s me. I’m the problem.”

“Now don’t say that…” Achilles slipped slowly beneath the duvet, taking care not to accidentally touch as he gave both Alex and the pillow quite a wide berth. He lay on his back, as he usually did, hands folded across his chest. “Talk to me, Al. Floor is yours.”

He had left his bedside lamp on—it was a rather dim glow, usually reserved for late night reading or the crossword if he was having particularly bad sleep troubles, but he could still make out Alex’s furrowed brow from atop the pillow between them.

“I… um…” A small sigh. Achilles watched Alex rub his face before turning to face the ceiling, one hand still kneading his forehead. “I, um, well… I don’t think—no. I, um…”

“Do you want me to turn the light off? Will that help?”

“No, it’s fine. Leave it on, I… I want to see you.”

“Man, you’re not even looking at me.”

Alex clicked his tongue and continued to stare at the ceiling, but Achilles caught the corners of his mouth turn up just the slightest bit. “Okay, okay, you got me there…”

“Mmhm.”

“It’s just that… Well. I just…”

This was a mistake. He doesn’t like you like that. He doesn’t want you.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Oh.

Achilles waited for further explanation, but Alex seemed somewhat disinclined to say more, (though in the subsequent silence, Achilles could hear the slight scrape of what was likely aggressive teeth gnashing). After waiting a respectable two minutes for an elaboration, Achilles took it upon himself to lightly prod. “Is it because… you’re… bisexual—”

“I don’t think I’m bi.”

“Oh.” Oh. Achilles had masked his surprise quickly, but even so, perhaps it was a good thing Alex wasn’t looking at him. No need to make the guy even more self conscious. “Well. Allow me to be the first person to say there’s nothing wrong with being gay either, if that’s what it is—”

“That’s not it, I don’t— well. No, I wanted to—You see, what happened was—I- I don’t… I…”

Alex’s eyes were now full on closed, his hand rather zealously rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve had sex before. To be clear. Like a lot of sex. Oh god, why’d I say it like that.”

“Ah.” Achilles couldn’t help but wince. “It… it would’ve been all right if you hadn’t… to be clear.”

“I mean, not with a guy.”

He responded smoothly. “Sure. I assumed.”

Another sigh, though this one had the hint of a growl as Alex’s exasperation continued to balloon. “Shit. Shoot. This is—well this is obviously not going how I wanted it to— I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying, I just. I’m nervous. About what you’re going to say, and think, and… I just…”

Fuck, Achilles just wanted to hold him—but the situation was nebulous, and so he instead held his own hands, still resting across his chest, tighter, and kept his voice even. “It’s just me, Al. Like you said earlier, we’re still friends. You can tell me whatever, I’m not going to judge.”

“But you might.”

“I won’t.”

“But you might.”

“Alexander—”

“I just—Well. I’ve never been in love before.”

Finally, Alex turned to face Achilles. He lay on his side, his arms still fiercely wrapped around the pillow, and his face remained troubled—brows knitted, his lower lip drawn between his teeth.

“I was, um, 12, 13 when I moved here. Showed up to middle school smack dab in the middle of term. I was the new kid with a dying mom. Made me interesting, I think. Everyone wanted to be my friend. You know how it is…

“What caught me off guard though, was how many girls wanted to be my friend. Or, I guess, more than my friend, but it was middle school so I mean, how real could a relationship actually be, right…”

It wasn’t hard to imagine a 12 year old Alex—chubbier cheeks, probably, but the same freckles, the same large green eyes and sunny disposition—combine that with a tragic backstory and New Kid Novelty, and it was easy to see why the girls at Meridian Middle School had flocked to him.

“It was… weird. I didn’t like it. I didn’t understand what they wanted from me… or why.

“And I pretty quickly realized, well, everyone was either girl crazy or boy crazy or both. Not just girls. My guy friends, too. Man, that’s all folks spent lunch yapping on about, who had a crush on who and whatever. I just didn’t get it—man, I just wanted to talk about grid ball. I don’t know, it was like that part of puberty just… never hit me, I guess…

“But after awhile, I think I just kind of assumed that everyone felt the way I did, but you just…weren’t supposed to talk about it.

“Like I somehow logic-ed it out in my head that your girlfriend was just your best friend who happened to be a girl. And going on dates and stuff, that was just part of having a girlfriend. Like how when you’re a kid you have play dates, when you have a girlfriend you have, well, just… dates. I mean didn’t you say earlier, a date’s basically just hanging out, right? Especially in middle school. It’s just all part of like this script you were supposed to follow—and I mean, it couldn’t have helped that I literally had a dating handbook from my grandpa that was giving me step by step directions, telling me specific things to do.

“Well anyway… I kept feeling this way, even into high school. People stopped being so boy crazy and girl crazy and whatever then, and I stopped feeling so paranoid, stopped overthinking it.

“And then I dated Haley for two years. Everyone kept telling me to ask her out, so I figured I would. If everyone was saying we’d be perfect together, they must be right, right? She was my first serious relationship.

“And dating her actually made me feel—well, better. Validated? Is validated the right word? I liked hanging out with her, she was already my best friend, but, I don’t know, she never seemed that into me in any sort of fancy romantic way, she never really wanted to make out or hook up or anything all that often, and I thought, okay so maybe all that stuff really is all just an act, just stuff for movies, maybe I was right all along.

“Of course, that all came crashing down after she told me she was gay. She kept going on about ‘attraction’ and how it wasn’t a me problem, that she didn’t feel that way about any guys at all, that it was girls she liked, and I remember just nodding along because, honestly, I was just confused.

“I mean, what even is attraction? I’d never thought about that much, not until she was going on and on about it. But when she was describing it, I realized that there was… something else that I was supposed to be feeling. Something I was missing. But it’s hard, you know, like how do you know what it is you’re missing if you’ve never been able to feel it in the first place?

“You know, side note, funnily enough, after she came out, I actually had a second there where I wondered if maybe I was gay, too. Haley had never had a crush on a guy, I’d never felt that way about a girl—whatever “that way” was supposed to be feel. But I thought about it for a bit and ended up deciding I’d never felt that way about a guy either. And I’d been around a whole lotta guys. Sports camp, swim team… nothing.

“So I figured, well, I went back to square one. Maybe this is just how everyone feels. Maybe I just hadn’t met the right girl, maybe I should just give it some time. Maybe I needed to loosen up. So I just kept going through the motions. Doing what I thought everyone my age was doing.

“I was just so caught up with trying to find or feel or whatever, trying to prove that I was normal. So even though I had a bunch of solid excuses to not care about it all—swimming. Making the Artemics team. My grandparents getting sick—I think a part of me was…. I don’t know. Desperate. To find that feeling that I’d been missing, find that person. So I just kept… you know. Going out on dates. And… other stuff. Just nonstop.”

Alex seemed to be approaching the crux of his story now. He sucked in a deep breath between his teeth before turning away again while his hands abandoned the pillow to rest atop his own chest, fingers softly tapping between his rib cage.

“I thought sex was like… you know. Just something you were supposed to do. Like… shaking someone’s hand when you meet them for the first time or… saying thank you when someone opens the door for you. Like it’s just expected you do it. Hold a girl’s hand. Kiss her. Have… sex with her. I didn’t realize people actually wanted… like really wanted to… do these things. Beyond it making the other person happy. Like, I didn’t realize people actually had the… urge to do it. If that makes any sense.

“Like I remember in college, one of my friends, his girlfriend kept cheating on him and I just couldn’t understand why, you know? Like why was it so hard for her not to cheat? Like, what could you possibly be feeling that made you do that, like, what was the reason, why would you sabotage something so easily in your control? And for my friend—why was it so hard, just break up with her already. Like, why stay with someone who… isn’t treating you good?”

There was a small pause, but rather than dwell on darker memories, Alex continued steadily on.

“I know there’s probably more to it, but I guess I just didn’t understand that kind of love. That feeling of… being in love with someone. I had never felt it before. That is…”

Achilles felt Alex stir under the covers, felt him shift his weight as he turned onto his side, peaked his head back above the pillow like a turtle to look at him, a small smile now on his face.“That is, until last week. With you.

“You’re the first person, Ash. And I don’t know why, I don’t know why it’s you—don’t get me wrong, I’m… I’m glad it is.” He laughed, and to Achilles’ surprise, he reached across the pillow for his hand.

“And I see why now it took me so long to even realize there was something wrong with me, that I was missing something, because how could anyone have ever really described to me what this feels like? Attraction. Even now, feeling it now, it’s just… wow. It’s like friends. Like best friend, I don’t know. But… different. And I like it.”

Alex’s tiny sigh of satisfaction sent Achilles heart beating faster, but the rate at which Alex’s remaining hand was tapping against his chest began to quicken as well, and his tone grew more serious.

“But if I’m honest, I… Well. I still feel like a part of me is missing something. In regards to, well… well, just… sex. Like… wanting to have sex.

“I don’t understand why, because I really really like you, I do, and I… well I really liked kissing you. And stuff. And I… well… well normally I spend the time trying not to think about how gross the whole concept of making out with someone kind of is, but for the first time in my life ever, I… I want to do it. Like want to do it. Again. I mean of course, only if you, I don’t know… ever want to do it with me again… Shit. I sound 12, don’t I? Yoba, listen to me, we’ve had one date, you might never want to see me again.”

A rather sheepish smile—Alex ran his free hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it, I don’t get why it feels different, you’d think it’d be the same thing, wanting to be close to someone, wanting to kiss someone, wanting to have sex with them, I don’t know. Wow, I don’t think I’ve said sex as many times in my life as I have just now. What a weird word. Ok, sorry, anyway, I don’t know why I feel one but not the other now. I don’t get it, there’s just… something wrong with me, I don’t know.

“I know this probably doesn’t make much sense, because I’ve hooked up with lots of people before that that I didn’t feel anything for, but I just… because I like you, and because I… do want to be with you, I want to… I don’t know, I want to… want it with you. Like, I want it to feel better, more, I don’t know, purposeful, than all the other times.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that having sex was, like, traumatic or anything in the past—no one forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do—I mean, I never wanted to do it, but only in the sense that I never had, like, the urge to do it. I wanted to want it, but every time I did it, it just felt like… I don’t know. A chore. Yeah. It felt like a chore, and honestly, according to a lot of the girls I dated, I was pretty dang bad at it —for reasons that, you know, now make a lot more sense—until I learned how to, you know— actually, we don’t have to get into that—um, well—anyway, back to what I was saying—

“And, I don’t know, I’d stopped hooking up with people by the time I left school. Given up, I guess, just figured there was something wrong with me. And just thinking about sex in general now makes me kind of…anxious. And I don’t want it to feel like that with you, I don’t want to… bring that in there, if that makes sense. I want this to feel… different.

“Shit, wow, I guess all of this to say… super long story just to ask I guess… to just… I guess what I’m asking is if we can… can we take it slow? Is that stupid to ask? Is that, like, super lame? At 25 years old? Or I guess 28 in your case… geez…”

It took a second before Achilles, still digesting everything Alex had shared, realized he’d been asked a question. It was those green eyes—blinking wide-eyed rather expectantly—that jolted him back to the present, and with a small jump, he rushed to respond with something more akin to a squeal, “Not at all!” But worried that his hasty and high-pitched response (ugh) suggested a sentiment something more to the contrary, Achilles hurried to grip Alex’s hand tighter and said more firmly, “We’ll go as slow as you want. Slow as you need.”

The reassurance seemingly failed to land, as Alex turned slightly away. “I… I know sex is… important to a lot of people, and it’s stupid to ask you to wait, it’s not like there’s a good reason—”

“—Al, any reason is a good reason—”

“—and I don’t want you to wait if you don’t want to, I mean like, if you’re someone who likes sex and, well, wants it…” Alex trailed off, but watched Achilles intently as the latter reached slowly over the pillow to brush aside some of the hair that had fallen into his face.

“I mean, I won’t lie, Al. Like, I like having sex.” Achilles snorted, moving his hand down, tracing the line of Alex’s jaw. So smooth… the man shaved religiously, a holdover habit now unlikely to be broken anytime soon with his return to the competitive swimming world. “But I like you more. I think.”

Alex laughed, placing his hand now over Achilles’ to cup his own face.

“No, but in all seriousness, it’s fine. Thank you for telling me this.”

“But are you really sure? You’re fine with waiting? I… I don’t know how long it’ll be. I wish I could give you a timeline, I mean I wish I could say for sure it’ll actually even happen, to be honest, I don’t even know, but then I again I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love, but I see now these are different, and I don’t want to overpromise something that may not ever actually—”

“Al, seriously. It’s fine. I’ll wait forever as long as I’m waiting with you.”

This time, Alex’s smile reached his eyes, igniting that glimmer of mischief. He gave Achilles’ hand a firm, final smack before turning onto his back once again. “Well… forever’s an awfully long time, I think at a certain point I’d just… well, you know.” He made a circle with his left thumb and pointer finger and began to slowly move his right index finger towards it before Achilles whacked his shoulder.

“Boy, I swear to Yoba—”

But Alex cut him off with a surprise kiss on the cheek. There was a careless sweetness to it, and despite the comparative innocence of the gesture, Achilles immediately bloomed pink—but as Alex returned to lying down, letting himself collapse atop the pillow, there was one final furrow still striking his brow.

“I just… are you… disappointed? Achilles?”

“What?”

“I know, I know, you said it’s fine, but I just… I just want to… I don’t know. Are you disappointed? In me? You’ll tell the truth, won’t you?”

Achilles understood. The need to hear a specific set of words—the hunger for honesty alongside the anxious ache for approval. He kept it simple. “I’m not disappointed in you. And you could never disappoint me.”

It was remarkable, the speed at which those words transformed him; like night and day, Alex was now beaming like a sunrise. With a jaunty little wriggle, he pulled the covers up to his chin. “Okay. I’ll stop being sad now. I’ve ruined your sleep schedule enough and you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Elliott’s got a big day tomorrow, I’ve got like, a medium day.” But even so, Achilles leaned over the nightstand to flick off the lamp.

“Medium shmedium… good night, Ash.”

The pillow still rested between them, but Achilles didn’t mind. He knew Alex was there, and he knew now for sure Alex wanted him.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent replaying the evening in his head—perhaps Alex had already fallen asleep, it was, admittedly quite a lot to digest—but nevertheless, at some point Achilles found himself suddenly speaking into the darkness.

“It’s a thing, you know. Asexuality. Aromanticism. There’s a spectrum for both, but it’s all… valid. It’s all… real, for lack of a better word, what you’ve felt and not felt in the past. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

#llnks #stardew alex #stardew fanfic #aspec fanfic #sdv fanfic #alex stardew #sdv alex #sdv oc #asexuality #ace positivity #sorry this was later than usual I am at urgent care lmfao

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