#climatic :( i still like the series for what it did and what they managed to put out there though:) ty f&c crew

[guildling]

i appreciate him very much

[evertomorrowart]

Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

[gay-dorito-dust]

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.

[trulybetty]

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.

[maferf107]

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

[martellspear]

— 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?–

[void-occupation]

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

[thedrowdruid]

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

[diabloo-666]

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.

[8makes1newworld]

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.

[sunspray-peak]

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.” 

[sixminutestoriesblog]

blue men of Minch

The world is full of secret beings tradition has packed into almost every hidden corner and shadow. Wherever man has gone, we've brought our mirror realms and watchers in the dark with us. With scientific advances and steel and smog replacing the green grottoes and deep silences of the woods though, they've faded, slipping away from our consciousness as we filled it with TV sitcoms and internet cats. There's no room in our age of the fears of climate change for capricious elemental beings or for sea monsters over the roar of our whale hunting boats. Our grandmother's grandmother's folklore is far from us.

Most days.

On June 28, 2023, sitting on the sand at Eoropie Beach on the Isle of Lewis, a mother watching her family play in the water felt what she called a premonition.

"I was at the beach with my family and they were jumping in and out of the water – I've never felt uneasy and am in the water a lot, but I kept telling them to get out." [Story by Talker News • Yesterday 12:12 PM]

Everyone knows the capriciousness of the sea and, as the US's own Gulf Coast has recently proved, currents can snatch a person away without any warning. A mother of three children has a right to feel unsettled. It was what she did next that makes this a story.

She took pictures of the waves washing up on the shore.

"I felt uneasy about them being in there. I was taking loads of pictures but it wasn’t until I got home and looked through them that one picture stood out."

The picture in question was this one.

I - honestly see nothing. Or rather, what amazes me about the picture is how empty the beach is. I can't remember the last time I managed to find a beach that wasn't awash with people and it looks to me as if she had this stretch of beach entirely to herself, a mystery all of its own. For some reason though, she looked closer.

Stephanie Cranston thinks she might have caught a blue man of Minch on film.

“The way the sea is in that picture, you can see what looks like a figure coming out of the water.

My hair stood on end, it was pretty creepy – I've never seen anything like it before.

I don’t really believe in any stuff like that but I caught that in the picture and thought this is absolutely crazy.

The Hebrides has got myths about the blue men of the Munch – looking back at the picture it’s quite creepy.

I think if it is what I think it is, it’s the only one that’s ever been caught on camera.”

Let's roll this back a bit for those of us who aren't native enough to the area to know what's going on.

The blue men of Minch are basically storm kelpies. They haunt the waters of the area, looking to drag sailors and sometimes even their ships down to a watery grave in the darkness below the waves. When the weather is clear and the water is calm, the blue men sleep, sometimes drifting up to float on the surface, more often retreating to their underwater caves. When the weather is stormy however they rise to the surface and ride the cresting, wild waves, reveling in the chaos and looking for humans to drown. Woe then to any sailor who finds himself still caught out in the waters away from the safety of the shore. All hope isn't lost however. Sometimes, a clever and quick tongue can get you out of your approaching doom. Legend has it that, like the Mari Lwyd of Wales, the leader of the blue men will challenge a ship's captain to a poetry slam. Two lines a piece and if the captain can not only keep up but get in the last word of the poem, the blue men will let him and his ship go free. If he loses however, they will take their long arms and shake his ship to pieces, dragging anyone onboard to their deaths.

One of the odd things about the blue men is that they stick to a very small section of the coast. The Minch is a strait of water that separates the mainland of Scotland from a series of islands known as the Outer Hebrides or the Western Isles. It's only about 70 miles or 110km in length and can narrow down to as little as 14 miles or 23km across in some places. In the wideness of the world's oceans, that's not much. It's also believed to be the site of the biggest meteorite to ever hit the British Isles. The blue men are said to live here, and only here. Beyond those narrow shores, they're practically unknown.

The blue men are described as - well - blue. Sometimes its their caps that are described as blue and they themselves are grey faced. They skim either just on the surface or just under it when they swim, sometimes rising up as high as their waist in the water as they move like a dolphin, diving like dolphins too. They're human in appearance and size and even though they're described as kelpie I haven't found any references to them changing size or shape, never appearing as anything but regular sized human men in the water. There's no mention of women.

Clever poetry could appease them and like most ocean spirits, they could be bribed into bringing good fishing and weather. A candle lit on the shore at Halloween honored them and ale could be poured out into the wavebreak in the hopes that they would leave seaweed on the shore the village could use for fertilizer. Like most ocean spirits though they were the personification of the sea itself and just as capricious in mood and action.

The origin of the blue men might come from several points back in the island's history. There is speculation that the 'swimming above the water up to their waist' might have started with blue painted or tattooed Picts in low boats speeding along the strait, half hidden by the waves. Another explanation might be the North African slaves the Vikings brought with them when they wintered nearby, with both blue clothed Moors and the 'blue men of the desert' Tuareg people being suggested. Whatever the base of the legend was, it blended well with the idea of dangerous sea spirits along the coast and created the very unique blue men of Minch.

[banzaiblaster]

Beacon Pines Thoughts

Cause I just finished the game after playing 95% of it today

First and foremost: I did really enjoy and would recommend the game. It's an incredibly visually stunning and creative furry visual novel, where the branching paths and multiple endings that are part of visual novel gameplay are interwoven into the story itself. I think how it's done is comparable to the Zero Escape series? Where you have to to back to earlier points on the timeline using information gathered from bad endings in order to get the good/true ending. It even has a fishing minigame, as all games should (silly)

That said, I managed to 100% the game (all endings, all achievements) in just about 6 hours, with minimal help from guides. I got the game during the summer sale, but the game's standard price of $20 feels a tad steep for only 6 hours of content personally. I would definitely recommend getting the game if it interests you, but probably wait for a sale as well.

A few story nitpicks under the cut, as they involve spoilers

My biggest nitpick is that the ending itself didn't feel all that satisfying. Sharper is a baby now. Ok, certainly fascinating implications to chew on, but it doesn't really get reacted to besides Heiress saying she'll take care of him and everything. Then things just kind of end. The epilogue helps a little, and it feels satisfying enough, but I still wish the ending itself had been more climatic I suppose.

The second small issue I have is with the character of Natt. His presence is never explained; he just... knows things. Since he's only seen down one path, and is never brought up or relevant anywhere else as far as I recall, he winds up just feeling out of place. I honestly forgot he existed when I finished until I saw another post being like 'hey so what was the deal with Natt?' I think his role probably could've been either written out or replaced with another character.

I dont think any other part of the story lacks, and honestly I was really impressed with how cleanly everything came together overall. I personally wish the Valentine family was explored a little more, just because I would've loved to see more of Sharper and Heiress mainly, but that's just my own preferences. Fantastic game, will probably play again in a few years when I dont really remember how it went anymore

[werewolf-kat]

(Pokemon Presents spoilers)

Oh heck, didn't care for any of the other stuff but that final announcement was a total surprise. All the Unowns made me think something Johto-related was coming up. But it's Kalos and bringing back mega evos! (Which I actually do miss after they've been gone for ages now...)

The way the logo animation first showed "Z" alone actually brought back some of that old feeling of speculating Pokemon games and the "Crystal/Emerald/Platinum" entry for having trio versions again. (Though nowadays the novelty of that has died out for me)

I fondly remember people wishing for a Pokemon Z so we could see more love and lore for Zygarde. Gotta say, I am still a Zygarde fan myself.

But then the logo also showed an A afterward!

"ZA" being backwards "AZ" brings interesting story/lore possibilities to mind. I liked Legends Arceus way more than the main series Switch games so far. And with Kalos, X/Y did feel like weak games (to me) that had some lost story potential back in the 3DS days. I'd love to see what they do with that for a Legends game! Maybe stuff they couldn't fit into X/Y at the time?

Still nervous about release dates, though. I uh, heavily dislike TPCI's regulations and deadlines to force big Pokemon games every year or two (and primarily putting that on one dev company). Screw them. I want the franchise to have soul and love again. Legends Arceus really felt like that to me despite it feeling like it released too early too. Let the dev teams breathe, man.

(I have some criticisms toward how Gamefreak manages employees themselves too, though... )

Other than that, Idk if they're gonna attempt to jump onto some X/Y remake to pair with Legends ZA like they did to D/P... -sweats- For better or for worse, B/W would get skipped. With how the climate is right now for Pokemon, I lean on it being for the best. Gen 5 was peak for me. Even then, I don't think any of the original games should "deserve" a remake quite yet unless the development is handed to a different company and given a more reasonable deadline to not release one of the most unfinished games in Pokemon so far.

Felt so bad for a friend of mine who loves Gen 4 and Sinnoh a ton. Man, I'm sorry that happened to you guys in the Sinnoh apprecation/love camp. That was a disaster to witness. At least Legends Arceus was great? (We can pretend the DP remakes didn't happen and all we did need was PLA for a refreshing revisit to a Pokemon region...)

[grimmmviewing]

S1E13: “Three Coins in a Fuchsbau”—C+ (Watched 3/12/24)

“Damn, I know this place. Bought my second engagement ring from this guy.” – Hank (just in case we ever forgot he’s been married multiple times)

While the title of this episode has some heist-y, Coen-brothers-film-like energy, most of what we get here is much more lore/series plot related. It’s not that this stuff isn’t also interesting—or that there aren’t some fun standalone moments in the mix—but just that this is a less whimsical or charming episode than the title suggests and that feels serious in ways that even previous episodes with darker subject matter didn’t.

I haven’t really talked performances too much in these reviews, but Titus Welliver as Farley Kolt does a great job handling some of the more critical elements of this episode’s plot. He has a lot of information that he needs to convey with gravitas—about the seductive ancient coins at the heart of the story and about Nick’s background, which is closely tied to the pursuit of the coins. Welliver manages to make it all feel important and believable while coming across as someone with a lot of confidence and secrets. He really sells this character who’s meant to dance on a knife’s edge between trustworthy and untrustworthy. Among the other details, we learn a smidge more about the power Grimms wield (resistance to the coins), which is nice, given that so far it’s been kind of a question mark, apart from seeing Wesen as they are and maybe some nebulous sense of extra strength.

Using the coins to explain historical events like the disasters that befell Roman emperors is a fun, ultimately harmless bit of fantastical worldbuilding, but the reveal that Adolf Hitler was A) in possession of the coins and B) a Wesen creates… complications. It’s a lot harder to accept this bit of history being dressed up with Grimm fantasy than the stuff about Rome, in part because it just feels closer/more modern and also because it offers what amounts to an excuse for Hitler’s actions: He was under the influence of the coins, which makes him not entirely responsible.

Making Hitler a literal monster further undermines the reality—that he was a man (a human), aided and abetted by still other men, who did horrible things. “Evil” is perpetrated by humans, and the way in which Hitler has already been as good as mythologized as some sort of unique case is part of why more contemporary instances of authoritarian or genocidal behavior aren’t taken seriously, I think (I’ve heard other people say in the past). We’ve been conditioned to see that sort of evil as something titanic and aberrant to the point that it could only ever be recognizable as what it is, but it starts somewhere, sown from perfectly unremarkable human actions, and by the time it’s in full flower, that’s when the problem has gone on too long.

I think 2012 was a different time, though, when white nationalism and conspiracies were still seen as fringe elements of American culture—the former being powerless and the latter maybe just fun(ny) and not to be taken seriously. Over time, of course, the climate has changed. White nationalism is on the rise, and both it and conspiratorial thinking feel more mainstream and dangerous than they have in my lifetime. I never thought I’d see anti-vax sentiment be such a widely-held conviction, for example, but here we are! Obviously, Grimm is, at most, being kind of problematic here. I don’t want to oversell it as some sort of affront in and of itself. It’s just a lot harder to indulge in the “what ifs” these days. When I first started this project, I was actually shocked at the reminder of how long Grimm had run. It was only six years, but between 2011 and 2017, it feels like so much changed about the American political and cultural landscape. It started during the Obama years and ended under Trump, what feels like a titanic shift in what constituted our “normal.”

Leaving aside any real-world discomfort, though, I still think the full Hitler reveal on the old film at the end of the episode feels like too much. It’s meant to be this ominous image—perhaps a look at where Renard could have ended up if they didn’t get the coins away from him, or even just a generally chilling thing. Instead, it feels a bit too goofy. Leaving it as a brief mention from Kolt probably would have worked better. I think the far more emotionally impactful moments come before this: Nick with the dying Soledad Marquesa (more on that below), Nick seeing just how rattled and desperate Renard is when he finds out he’s lost the coins, and Nick confronting Kolt one last time to take the coins back into a Grimm’s protection. This sequence of character- and coin-related moments was perfectly strong enough to end the episode on.

Back to Marquesa: Nick grabs the mortally wounded man—this individual he’s only just learned was responsible for the deaths of his parents—and demands more information, but Marquesa doesn’t even seem to be aware of who Nick is or what he’s suggesting about the way their lives have intersected before. Instead, he just pleads with Nick to let him hold the coins one last time as he dies. It’s emotionally impactful for how it denies Nick information about his past and for how it shows the power the coins hold. (It’s also narratively convenient for delaying further reveals for the time being.)

Marie coming back into story via Kolt, this heavy focus on Nick’s parents—“Three Coins in a Fuchsbau” doesn’t feel like a continuation of the previous episode like I thought it might (given that Nick and Juliette seem fine here), but it is a very direct continuation of the earliest episodes of the season. What does feel like an extension of “Last Grimm Standing” is Renard’s story, where his mysterious leadership status plays into the allure of the coins. I kind of love that he is so affected by them given that he’s been characterized so far as this secretive, powerful, calm mastermind sort of figure. His dream of power after he takes the coins home is very striking and a very BIG visual for the show—He advances through his darkened apartment as we hear the roars of a crowd, and when he looks out onto the city streets below we see them completely filled with people waving flags, all loyal to him. The scale is surprising.

The medical examiner Dr. Harper also gets a surprising little plot of her own too. She’s the first one on the team to be attracted to the coins after finding them in the old shop owner’s stomach, and her somewhat more subtly “off” behavior is foreshadowing for the more extreme stuff from Hank and Renard. She also gets targeted and interrogated by Marquesa, giving her a more active role than usual. It’s always nice to see the other character do their own thing away from Nick.

[sapphire-weapon]

I think what a lot of people don't understand about OG vs remake, is that they're completely different tones/atmospheres. A lot of people don't seem to get that older OG games are tongue and cheek horror. They were supposed to pack in laughs and use cheesy, overdone tropes for fun. When 5 and 6 happened, that aspect was removed. The same characters and their relation to each other still existed, but in a climate where it just didn't work. Important relationships like Chris and Leon, Ada and Leon, even Sherry and Leon began to heavily depend on hinted off screen scenarios, which made for lazy story telling and choices/arcs that make no sense.

That's the major part that remakes are trying to fix. Resident Evil is no longer a comedy horror. There's a new audience and we're getting darker, realistic themes with rewritten relationships, so that the story can hopefully continue and end in a way that makes sense.

OGs mistake was switching tone with no warning, but expecting the same tropes to work. It was stupid decision that placed quick profit and marketing over quality, hence why 5 and 6 are not held in positive regard.

i... don't know how much i agree with this take.

OG RE4 is really the only game in the series that you could say was a "comedy horror." everything else was either unintentionally funny (because of bad voice acting or something) or it was just simply made by shinji mikami, who has a very distinct brand of dark humor that seeps into his games whether he intends it to or not.

like i don't know how much you can honestly say that RE0, REmake, RE2, or RE3 were intended comedies. they had moments of levity in them, but that wasn't the focus.

resident evil created the survival horror genre, and the man who created resident evil described the genre as "that feeling you get when an enemy is bearing down on you and you only have one bullet left and you manage to pull off a headshot."

that's what he was going for in these games. that feeling plus the camp of romero movies and kaiju films. the camp is intentional. the comedy is not (usually).

what actually changed was a difference in design philosophy. mikami's goal has always been to make a good game first and then slap a story around it. that's why OG RE4's story was slapped together in three weeks and why it was the one thing mikami asked be changed/improved for the remake.

the remakes can have their cake and eat it, too, because the baseline work for the majority of the combat systems and the stories is already done for them. they can focus on improving both without sacrificing either, like how mikami sacrificed story quality in favor of higher gameplay quality.

mikami's design philosophy helped jettison RE into the juggernaut status that it has, but it's the design philosophy of the remakes that will keep it there. modern audiences care more about story than vidya audiences from 1996-2005 did. most people back then skipped the cutscenes for any game they were playing. but now it's not enough to just have a "serviceable" story. a game now has to have at the very least a decent story.

and for RE to be as huge as it is, it's expected to have better than a decent story. it needs to, in order to survive. so the remake crew is being tasked with elevating a series with just a barely serviceable storyline into a series with a relatively good storyline that has coherent character development and distinct arcs.

capcom fucked up with RE6 not because of a genre shift. they fucked up because they tried to throw every popular vidya trend at the time into one game without understanding what made those features popular in the first place.