#everyone is just written so well and so in character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nostalgebraist · 2 days ago

Text

Thanks for this thoughtful review!

(BTW, for others – this is probably obvious but there are spoilers below the readmore, don't click unless you've read the book)

I'm going to use this as an opportunity to talk about one specific thing that bugs me about some reader reactions to my stuff. Therefore, most of what I say below will be negative (about your review), but I want to emphasize first that that's not a reflection of what I thought of it overall.

----

What I'm here now to talk about is this kind of thing:

There are parts of all his books, where I really think that the explanation for why they are the way they are is that they are "bad on purpose", and all the bullshit [note: in context "bullshit" seems to be meant as a neutral term for non-realist elements -nost] is a way of turning these shortcomings into strengths. The self-effacing voice which whispers that the characters aren't sufficiently well-drawn, are too cartoonish—well, what if that was the point? What if there was a reason for that, in the story?

And like... okay, there is sort of a sense in which this is true, sometimes, kinda. There is a grain of truth to this; it is getting at something real.

But it pains me to say that, because I don't want to encourage this kind of reading. Interpretations like this are occasionally correct but IMO they're much more common than they should be. IMO the right intuition is that this is a galaxy-brained, contrarian sort of take, a last resort you land on when you've ruled out everything else.

And not just with my work, with everything – I'm simply more aware of the problem when it comes to my work, because I wrote it and I'm aware of why I actually did things the way I did.

I've said this before, but watching the way that people react to my own fiction has been an eye-opening experience, one that has taught me things about reader (and viewer, etc.) reactions in general. Specifically, what I've learned was:

People's tastes are way more diverse than I had realized (before I started writing and sharing fiction). And they are diverse in a very fine-grained way; even if two readers have the same preferences about 90% of stuff, or 95%, they'll still diverge on some things. While it's not literally true that "every reader is a unique snowflake with a preference set that no one else shares," that is a very good first approximation of how things are.

Readers (including me!) have been trained by a lifetime of reading book/movie/etc. reviews to frame their preferences/reactions in a pseudo-objective "this is just how it is" way, like their own tastes have some special viewpoint-independent priority, a quality of "reality" or "accuracy" lacking in everyone else's tastes (which are all different, cf. 1). And this is not just a stylistic quirk of the way people write about fiction, it actually (IMO) feeds back into the underlying opinions behind the written commentary. It degrades people's ability to understand what it is they're looking at and their ability to make accurate inferences about the process of its creation.

----

Here's a sort of cartoonish schematic of the type of experience that led me to draw these conclusions. (And I suspect this is not just a thing that happens to me, I imagine it happens with any sort of work that "contains a lot of different types of stuff" the way mine does.)

Writer makes something that has X and Y and Z in it. Writer thinks X/Y/Z are "great tastes that taste great together." Writer is very pleased with the result.

Reader 1 has similar tastes to writer, says something brief about how they loved the book and it's a new favorite for them.

Reader 2 loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to X and not messed things up by doing so much Z.

Reader 3 is the reverse of their predecessor: they hate X, are OK with Y, love Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to Z and not messed things up by doing so much X.

Reader 4 loves X and Z – but they hate Y. They write a lengthy… you can fill in the rest. Imagine a whole bunch of these guys (readers 5, 6, etc).

Reader 17 has the same tastes as Reader 2: loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. But their lengthy review takes a different, in some sense "more charitable" angle, speculating that the inclusion of Z was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet X.

Reader 18 has the same tastes as Reader 3: hates X, is OK with Y, loves Z. But, they explain, X was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet Z.

Writer reads all these reviews and feels strange, dizzy. The "nicer" reviews like 17 and 18 are actually more uncomfortable to read than the "meaner" ones like 2 and 3.

"I don't know how to convince you guys," Writer thinks, "but I... I just liked all of it? I thought it was good? That was why I wrote it? (Why else would I have written it?)"

----

Or, as I wrote in that previously linked post from 2021, w/r/t TNC specifically (and making a slightly different but closely related point):

Some people say X was the worst part of TNC, some people say X was the best part. The story was a celebration of Y; the story was about how Y is laughably futile. It’s a letdown that we were never told more about Z; the reason TNC is good is that it leaves stuff like Z to the imagination. It was obvious we were meant to believe P; it is obvious we were meant to believe not-P; the ambiguity about whether P is tiresome literary masturbation; at least the story didn’t jump the shark by spelling out whether P! The reason people like TNC is, of course, that it has A, although nostalgebraist insisted on putting B in there too because he hasn’t fully perfected his formula yet / he somehow thinks B is good even though it isn’t / he thinks it’s funny how bad B is (but the joke tires). …and then someone else has same take, but with A and B flipped.

This exact sort of thing is of course happening again before our eyes with reactions to TAoHS.

I've encountered multiple readers who disliked most of the story but felt the ending (sort of) "redeemed it," and I've also encountered multiple readers who liked the story up until the ending but disliked the ending (or at least thought it was worse than the rest) – to say nothing of the many readers who liked (or disliked) the whole thing all the way through.

And this ending-related stuff is just one particularly obvious facet of a broader diversity in the overall reader response.

By now I know not to be surprised by this stuff, and even to find it kind of fun to watch... but I have to admit, it is still a dizzying and uncomfortable experience.

----

Now, as I said, it is sometimes true that things really are "bad on purpose."

But I think the interpreter's default hypothesis – which should be maintained by default unless convincing evidence against it can be brought forth – should be:

The writer thinks that the thing they wrote is good. They think the ideas are good and they think they executed them well. And they think this more-or-less homogeneously for everything in the work – there are no "bad but unfortunately necessary" parts from the writer's POV.

(At least, this should be the default with works that aren't making the writer much/any money. Obviously things are different with lucrative commercial fiction; there are plenty of well-paid hacks who know they're hacks and do it for the money, etc.)

Why should this be the default? Multiple reasons.

First: it takes a lot of effort to produce any sort of creative work. The writer thought that effort was worthwhile, for some reason – why?

The most straightforward explanation (and a very common one IMO) is that the writer simply believed in the thing that they were making. They believed the effort was worthwhile because it would yield a good product.

Second: as a writer you have an immense amount of freedom. It's difficult to overstate the extent of it. You are playing God, you decide the way that literally everything will be.

Obviously there are some constraints, cases where one part of a story will imply the existence of another or whatever.

But it's very rare that you actually get forced into "doing a thing you know you are bad at, badly." After all: why do that? No one's forcing you! Just do something else! You're God, you control everything!

(Note that this applies also to the very act of writing anything. No one is forcing you to write at all. If you can't come up with good ideas, nothing prevents you from just not writing your bad ones.)

Third: at least in my experience, "playing God" in this way requires a certain state of mind, a certain boldness and self-assurance, which is incompatible with thinking "yeah this is gonna suck but I have to do it" – but is very compatible with thinking "I am making something excellent and every part of it is excellent, hell yes."

Fourth: because of the previously noted diversity of reader preferences, it should not be surprising to any given reader that they find some parts of the work much better than others, even if the writer thought it was all excellent.

This outcome is predictable from the X/Y/Z stuff I talked about above. No clever interpretive work is required to explain it; it arrives pre-explained; it's simply what happens by default.

And finally: because, as I noted above, I think all of us are infected with "reviewer brainworms" and we need to be mindful of this fact.

(Just to be clear, I am not accusing OP of being more infected with said brainworms than anyone else; I'm still on my soapbox, giving a generic rant about a general issue, with OP as merely a jumping-off point.)

We've grown accustomed to the casual conflation between our own tastes and some (usually hazily imagined and under-theorized) sort of "objective, ideal artistic standards."

Outside of a few edge-case eccentrics who can be ignored for my present purposes, we do not do this because we've become intellectually convinced that

(a) such objective standards make sense and really "exist" or at least really matter and

(b) they just so happen to match our own preferences.

Rather, we've fallen into this habit because it's what the pros do: there's a standard style that professional critics and reviewers write in these days, and that style implies these stances. And if one writes (and thinks, in one's inner monologue) in this style, one can easily fall over backwards into uncritically believing (a) and (b) for no better reason than "I seem to already be talking as though I believe these things, hence it would be simple and convenient if I really did believe them."

But – even if we bracket the philosophical questions of whether (a) is in fact true, and (if it is) whose tastes in particular ought to be elevated in the way (b) presumes – even if we table all that for another day, still we ought to keep in mind how weird and audacious a move this is, this simultaneous assertion-without-explanation of the (a)+(b) pair.

We've gotten used to it by exposure, because "the pros" have normalized it. But in actual fact it is a pretty wild thing to just go and assume, given the X/Y/Z/etc. diversity of actual opinion!

If (b) is true for you (general "you" not OP), then it can't be true for me, because we're both unique snowflakes to a first approximation; indeed if (b) is true for you then (to a first approx.) it is only true for you. No one else's tastes have this magical relation to reality, just yours.

Holding the belief (b) about a given reviewer is conceivable-but-wild if we're only considering them in isolation. But once we bring a 2nd reviewer (with non-identical tastes) into the picture, who also believes (b), it's literally impossible to maintain that both of these people are fully right.

And then of course in real life there are not 2 but many, many readers out there, all of them unique snowflakes. And, while it is socially normal in our social context for each one of them to write like they're the chosen one blessed with that special (b)-magic, if you read enough such writing and actually think about what you're reading, it can't help but feel like a sort of game, like playing make-believe. As with most games, it can be very entertaining (for all parties involved), but we shouldn't confuse its amusing conceits for properties of the real world.

In the real world, the writer has their tastes, and you have yours. These tastes are probably not identical. The writer may be aware of the diversity of readerly tastes, and may thus be aware that tastes like yours are out there, but they have no special reason to consider you in particular, elevating you above all the other readers who are non-identical with them (and with you). The writer is dimly and abstractly aware of you, at best, as just another one of the people who will come along later, dislike some of their choices, assume that these choices were wrong in some "objective" way the writer knew about at the time, and then speculate as to why the writer would do something they know is wrong. For every choice, and every way of making every choice, one can imagine a reviewer who responds to it in this way, and quite often these reviewers actually materialize once the work is available for consumption. If you try to reason about these guys in advance, as a writer, it'll stop you in your tracks (if nothing else because there are 2+ of them whose takes are mutually incompatible). You've gotta have some other standard of value to rely on.

So, as a reviewer, if you ask "why would someone ever make a choice I don't like?" and try to pick at this question, you are quite likely heading toward a dead end. The writer wasn't thinking about you (or people like you). They were applying their own, distinct standard of value.

Better to ask: "suppose there was a person who actually liked all of this. What would they be like? How would they be similar to me / different from me? And what, if anything, can I conclude from that?"

The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen

My fourth novel, The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen, is now available in full.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

#sorry if this post is less articulate/coherent than usual - i think i'm coming down with something #the words aren't coming out as readily as usual #the apocalypse of herschel schoen #long post

370 notes · View notes

shiny-jr · 3 days ago

Note

Recently I read the Ignihyde chapter of Damnation, and I wanted to start by saying I really enjoyed the read! I'm already a big fan of your writing, and the chapter had multiples points where I was worried for the MC (though a lot of the time I just wanted them to stand up for themself, lol). I think the way Idia was written was really interesting, and it's fun seeing the cockier(?) side of him, if that makes sense. I was wondering while reading though, what was the thought process behind making MC one of the imps? I don't mean this in a bad way, I think it was a perfect way to explore a different personality for the MC, but I wondered why you decided on Panic instead of Meg? If it were me, I would probably end up defaulting to replacing Meg- 1) Because I prefer characters like her and 2) Because the imps probably wouldn't even cross my mind. I'd like to hear your thoughts and reasons behind this decision! Take care!

I've very glad you enjoyed the read! As for why this Imp!MC is the way they are well, that's just cause I wanted them like that. Let's be honest and consider the situation, how many people would stand up for themselves in their position? Certainly not everyone. Some, yes, but not all. It's likely that some of the other MCs of the series would have stood up for themselves, but Imp!MC isn't like that. Hopefully it wasn't annoying?

As for Idia... Hot take, y'all. I'm about to say it. I'm tired of nervous stuttering Idia. I said it. The dude has so much potential, so much attitude and hidden arrogance that we usually don't see, but it's certainly there, and I wanted to explore that. And, well, considering the fact that his role in Damnation is literal a god, it provided the perfect opportunity.

Now, back to MC. Why make them an imp? Well, because it's fun. How generic is the idea of placing them in Meg's role? It's quite a common one, and I believe I've done it before in another quiz that's so old and probably really bad that I refuse to actually look at it again, but I digress.

The purpose of the MCs is that they are not good people. Meg, while starting out as a villain, does eventually switch sides. So besides the idea of the MC being Meg is kinda basic, I just didn't want the MC to be on the "good" side. I love Meg as a character, but yeah, I just wasn't for the idea of implementing the MC into her role.

#shiny speaks #damnation twst au

39 notes · View notes

ruegarding · 21 hours ago

Text

for context, @rosabell14 is referring to tags on this post.

ok we're going off-road w this one

generally speaking, i like the concept of "some things aren't meant to be controlled," which annabeth says to percy after he controls the poison. this is said and then immediately forgotten abt, however, this could be another angle of change, a reoccurring theme in hoo, as well as a continued theme from pjo.

obviously, from pjo, the change is addressed w the myths, the theme of yielding, and w the conclusion of the story:

hoo continues this concept of change w the percy-jason switch, the greek-roman conflict, the idea of what an identity is and how to change it, etc. there's a lot of individual character work w this idea, but there's less of a mythological concept attached to it. gaea is a static and flatly written antagonist, octavian becomes incredibly flat as a character and his development into this sort of fanatical antagonist that is never explored, there's a lot of teeth-gritting abt how the gods are gods and they never change and everyone just has to accept it, the myths aren't challenged in the same way they were in pjo, etc. there's a few major exceptions, i'll get to that.

this is a glaring issue i have w hoo. it wouldn't be as bad as a standalone, but hoo makes the entirety of the previous series meaningless. in tlo, percy asks for kids to get claimed and be trained so when (or if) they have to go on dangerous quests/fight monsters/etc they're both older and more experienced. this is the conclusion to the war and how the status quo is changed (disability accommodations expanded to reach more ppl and work more effectively).

hoo, however, does not do this. camp jupiter infamously has a child army while the adults are retired, all of the new characters are younger than percy (who is still 16), and only two of them have spent a long period of time training, although hazel's isn't formal/in a camp (and piper doesn't even learn how to fight until book four ffs). this sort of immediately bastardizes pjo in a way that is never acknowledge by the series and makes it, and anything after it, a failure as a continuation of pjo.

and that's where this theme could've come in. when bob is remembering who he is, him and percy have this back-and-forth abt identity. percy relates to bob bc he, too, just had his memory erased and that vulnerability exploited (annabeth's perspective in this conversation is very different bc she doesn't have this same experience nor does she understand percy's feelings abt it. a good way to build tension using different povs, but, once again, doesn't get fully utilized). in the conclusion that conversation, there's an interesting moment:

this is that idea again, "some things aren't meant to be controlled," like fate, like identity. titans are meant to "be the same...forever." and here percy is, not only as the catalyst for change by throwing bob into the river lethe, but also by encouraging him to commit to this change once bob should know better. this was percy's role in the previous series, as well, where he constantly challenges the perspective of other characters to be more quote human unquote.

afterwards, annabeth has a similar moment w damasen:

i also think these are very funny to have side-by-side, just as character analysis, bc percy is very much both insecure and empathetic like u can choose ur future, it's up to u, etc, whereas annabeth is like i am right, listen to me.

anyway, both of these moments repeat the idea from pjo/tlo: immortals can't change. but they are changing. and they will change. the rules of the world are malleable (i also think hazel's monologue abt seeing the minotaur as a victim would be another aspect of this to explore). what abt traditions? what abt camp jupiter's child army? how should these change? going back to the og thought, tho, what shouldn't change? what are the "some things" that aren't meant to be controlled? how do you balance traditions and reform (great opportunity to use octavian btw!)? why can't a god be human, act human? why are the ancient rules important? that's an important discussion to have if we're growing this universe.

i don't particularly like that hoo immediately reverts back w the premise of the story, like i was talking abt earlier, nor do i think these characters were introduced or used well in canon, but using these characters, these moments, these conversations, rick could've salvaged this mess by embracing change isn't a static thing. he doesn't, tho, so it's all lost potential.

separately, something i've always liked abt the akhlys fight is that percy wins the literal, physical fight against her, but loses the metaphorical fight. he gets to walk away, but he walks away miserable. and this is bc the gods aren't ppl, they're physical representations of concepts. and percy has this thought abt tartarus and gaea while in tartarus, and i believe it's brought up in boo, but it's barely relevant. it's something i wish was explored more.

now onto specific characters. i talk abt my general idea here, ie this moment in tartarus is forcing percy and annabeth to confront their worst-case scenarios.

for annabeth, i've repeatedly gone on record to say i hate the way annabeth is written in hoo, here is an example, ie her fatal flaw does not come thru in her character (i also think she and percy switched characterizations from pjo to hoo, but...). separate issue is that annabeth's character revolves around percy a lot. so there are two issues i would focus on, largely bc she's not written well and doesn't have established unique conflicts. like,

this is a big revelation at the end of hoh, that she has to "step back" and she can't "protect everyone she love[s]." except it doesn't make any sense. tlo ended w annabeth telling percy to give luke her knife which luke uses to kill himself. not to mention, thalia's sacrifice on hbh. ALSO. percy accepting the prophecy and "taking the brunt of the danger"! and finally. annabeth has been at camp for 7-8 years. 1) she should have relationships w these ppl and 2) she should care that some of the ogs died in the previous war (which would also require rick to figure out who died lol). but the point is, this isn't a new conflict for annabeth!

the thought she had in moa abt having to accept she's not always the best person for the job:

this is not built up nor is it delivered on, but would be interesting, given that she demanded to be on the quest and if there was an actual power struggle instead of writing her as the de facto leader. this would be a better conflict than accepting that "she couldn't protect everyone she loved" when she has historically not been able to protect everyone she loved.

anyway, back on topic.

first, this moment exists to challenge her perception of percy, which is important to challenge bc she quite frankly has an unhealthy attachment to him. other ppl have said this better than i, so here's a post abt codependency and p*rcabeth and here's another one i rbed a while ago.

tldr; rick treats annabeth's abandonment issues/possessiveness/codependency as like. cute, peak romance. and he's been doing this since pjo, right, like annabeth's abandonment issues and possessiveness didn't matter when it was thalia joining the hunters,—bc there's no romance trope here w thalia—but gods forbid percy speak to rachel.

and this doesn't change in hoo. in fact, it's worse. like,

i'm going to [statement redacted] rick for this. what part of this is cute??? i'm killing it with fire.

so anyway, i want to treat annabeth's possessiveness/etc as an actual, consistent, character flaw, that she can grow out of, even. maybe even connect it to her hubris or her rsd. explore her feelings abt luke now that we have her pov to do it in. the fallout from this moment w akhlys is a great way to begin delving into that bc it's a shocking moment for her.

second, and going back to the theme of change, annabeth is different from percy in the sense that she has a different relationship to the gods than him (which i'm comparing bc i think rick (and fandom) has a hard time giving these two consistent and separate personalities/beliefs post pjo). the two times she has rebelled against the gods directly were bc of percy's influence (again, this is percy's role in pjo), 1) in the zoo truck, a scene that only takes place bc percy challenged her view of the poseidon-athena rivalry and their place in it, and 2) w hera where the first words out of annabeth's mouth are literally "percy is right."

i find this interesting especially bc her fatal flaw is hubris, which is common in mythology and frequently ends up fatal bc ppl challenge the gods. so, annabeth using the gods and these stories to keep her hubris in check makes complete sense.

and it seems like this is the same approach she's using w percy:

percy is directly challenging a god for power, and more than that, he's challenging a domain he's not supposed to have control of at all.

very interesting! does not get explored. such is common for hoo.

for percy, this scene is part of a long-running conversation of his powers (which is a huge part of his disability coding!!!!!). and it doesn't go anywhere.

percy has established anger issues and implied emotional dysregulation. this has been a thing since the beginning, literally chapter one of tlt! punishing percy for this when he's clearly not getting the support he needs is. a choice. also there's the issue that hoo kinda. erases this aspect of percy's character until the confrontation w akhlys, which is a separate but related issue.

there really should've been more buildup to this outburst (eg: in son percy punches a shelf in the library and immediately feels guilty bc he scares frank and hazel. percy is in an incredibly stressful situation; this should've happened more), but that would mean rick would treat it and the disability conversation seriously (which falls flat after son) and do less teeth-gritting abt the whole gods thing.

so, to go back on my "using the different povs to build tension was wildly underutilized" train, a featured part of almost everyone's pov is that percy is very kind, and gentle, and forgiving. i discuss a moment w frank being impressed w percy's selflessness here and he also says that he would follow percy anywhere, jason says percy is "a nice guy" after like 2 days, nico has his whole thing, hazel says "percy was a child of poseidon’s better nature," going on to describe him as gentle, etc.

and all of this praise goes nowhere and kinda just becomes percy is so awesome...and then turns into everything is percy's fault in boo...it's bad writing.

but it's an interesting opportunity to play w perspective. percy in pjo is dehumanized in that he is both villainized and idolized, and obviously hoo is continuing the trend w idolization. rick sets up a great plotline w this in moa:

and this doesn't go anywhere bc apparently percy's problem is that he needs to learn to step back. which. part of this is bc rick recycled plotlines from percy and gave them to other characters, which means that percy cannot be in character anymore without making themlook bad (the recycled plotlines i'm talking abt are the idolization, imposter syndrome, wanting to step back but constantly pushed into the spotlight, being seen as different/elevated status bc of ur parentage, struggling to connect to who your parent is, even the dehumanization as a weapon is straight out of percy's writing in pjo). this is a big problem w hoo in general ie characters becoming ooc by necessity (see: bad writing). the other part to blame is that rick is literally trying to redo tlo what w the whole "you are not the hero." it's all the same from pjo except written worse. it's a running theme of hoo (and a bonus). bad writing all the way down!

ANYWAY. so pjo ends w percy at an elevated status bc he 1) survived an unsurvivable prophecy, 2) was offered godhood, and 3) turned down godhood to improve the lives of the demigods while all the demigods watched. and he has the curse of achilles but. we all know how that went. the point is, all of this puts percy on a pedestal. i like to think it's the biggest reason hera kidnapped percy: if he said no, if he refused, she would've lost the support of almost all the demigods at chb (also the metaphor for the audience lol). i think making percy go on the quest, or at least to new rome, is the only good bit of world building rick did between books.

the problem is, rick is kinda all over the place w how percy is perceived and misses both the point of percy's character (callback to what i said abt his disability) and the world building of the previous series (what happened to power-scaling, narrative consequence, etc fr). that's what creates the flip-flopping "percy is perfect" and "everything is percy's fault," and neither are particularly good reads.

going back to annabeth, i don't think she's an exception in idolizing percy. she has no reason to see percy's vindictive side bc he works hard to hide it. even w crusty, annabeth is preoccupied. annabeth is smart, she's not omniscient. instead, there's the famous "percy is too nice" from som. i also like to think this is why she keeps trying to talk to percy abt luke as if luke is a good person who didn't try to kill percy. she doesn't understand that percy would hate luke for betraying him bc why would he? percy is a good person.

(for the record, i think the exceptions are: 1) grover, who chooses not to bring it up w the exception of his nemesis comment in tlt, 2) rachel, who made a painting where percy's "expression in the picture was fierce—disturbing, even—so it was hard to tell if I was the good guy or the bad guy" and simply said that's how he looked, and 3) arguably nico—considering percy has attacked him before—but i do think "very [dangerous]. to his enemies." does a good job of capturing that, it just doesn't go anywhere).

so, to condense all of this, ppl are idolizing percy in terms of both strength and morals and percy feels stifled by this knowing that he is not as strong or good as ppl think (and also by the fault that he was demonized prior and has corresponding low self-esteem bc of that lol). keep this in mind, i'm changing the topic.

in botl, percy's torture scene is used primarily to set up how powerful he is. he can cause an eruption that necessitates the evacuation of thousands of ppl and wake the biggest threat in greek mythos, but he would never know that if he wasn't back into a corner. bc that's not who he is. he shies away from power and titles. he wins his fights w strategy and very rarely relies on his powers to overpower his opponents.

just to clarify, i categorize percy's powers in two sorts of ways: involuntary and voluntary. involuntary is like speaking to sea creatures, healing in water, things that don't require a lot of energy/effort/focus. he's not scared of this. he's wary of the voluntary, powerful explosions, the things that set him apart from his peers. that's what i'm referring to in this section.

so, percy has to come to terms w the fact that he 1) blew up a mountain, 2) survived blowing up a mountain, and 3) woke typhon. and what does he say immediately after that?

he immediately deflects! he wasn't in control, it wasn't him that's powerful, it was an accident, and besides, he can't do it again bc he almost died. and what's even more interesting is the only time he uses his powers after this (in botl) is when grover asks him to stop the fire in the woods.

so, what lesson did percy actually take from mt saint helens? that he's dangerous. very interesting to use this teaching moment and have the protagonist come to the quote wrong unquote conclusion.

in hoh, we don't have a purpose for the torture scene. there's no significance to confronting how powerful percy is. percy is not addressing his self-sacrificing tendencies nor his propensity for bottling his emotions up. there's no questioning of p*rcabeth's relationship. there's no questioning of the gods. it's a cool scene w no narrative purpose.

so, take two. what is percy supposed to be learning from akhlys? how do we relate this to percy taking the wrong lesson from mt st helens?

at the end of botl, nico comes up w the river styx plan and percy takes almost a full year to agree to it. how much further ahead in the war would they have been if percy had accepted the curse sooner? how many fights could percy have won faster if he used his powers? if he trained his powers? if he trusted his powers?

there's a really interesting comparison w phorcys and akhyls where percy doesn't attempt to fight phorcys bc he assumes he won't be able to overpower him,

but w akhyls he tries anyway,

bc he's backed against a corner. and he succeeds.

percy is a character who very much embodies duality. i've talked abt this before wrt his loyalty being both his greatest strength and greatest weakness and how it clashes w his desire for freedom, but it's true for almost every trait. he's honest and manipulative. he's ruthless and merciful. he's kind and violent. he's looked up to and looked down upon. he's the saint and the scapegoat. etc etc. and percy responds to this by frequently trying to deny his quote worse unquote traits until they eventually bubble up and explode out of him. this is part of why juno calls him a loose-canon (which btw, i love. everyone has been treating him as a loose canon and no one on this side has the balls to say it until then, seven books in).

all this to say, *ethan voice* it's abt balance! this moment should've been abt percy confronting his unfair treatment! the idolization from his peers! the demonization of his flaws/disability!

thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

#if u think hoo p*rcabeth is the pinnacle of romance do us both a favor and don't read this post <3 #anyway #they call me the rambler #this is an excuse to talk abt many things i have thought abt but didn't want to make individual posts for #so this is only mostly on topic and it may or may not make sense #good luck 👍#percy #annabeth #hoo crit #answered #take a shot every time i say “anyway” in this post lmfao

49 notes · View notes

griefabyss69 · 2 days ago

Text

Paths and Angles

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'NEW' wc: 517 | rated: T | cw: None

When Eddie's stuck inside for a week, he gets bored, and when he gets bored, he gets creative. It's too bad he creates with his dick and his heart, not with his intentions. Maybe the 100th fresh start will turn out differently?

Eddie sets up a fresh canvas, but it doesn't really matter, so he opens up a new sketchbook—or grabs a sheet of lined paper—no, he tries a xeroxed copy of an empty character sheet.

Paint, ink, graphite, charcoal, coffee, an accidental glob of spit, it all fits together, becoming a repetition of a single fucking subject.

Steve's body—or his thoughts, or his feelings, or Eddie's feelings, about Steve. Even the gnome he rolls stats for ends up with high charisma, good hair, and a bat to bludgeon shit with.

Eddie's got to be going through a winter of his creative spirit, if winter was a lust fueled week where he was basically held prisoner inside his room so he could "rest", because he tore his stitches again.

Rest!

In these circumstances! Every melody he picks out on the ol' Dragon Slayer is borrowed straight from Steve's mouth!

There is a solid twenty minutes where Eddie thinks he's finally got something—new material, not the trampled path he's been beating down—except during the twenty-first minute he realizes he's strumming the familiar cadence of Steve's footsteps, and he wants to beat himself down.

Right in the face. With the acoustic.

It's cruel to leave him like this. Rest doesn't involve a chafed dick and permanent dents in his lip from biting it so much.

He rubs paint off of the side of his finger—blue, because Steve's all browns and tans and caramels, Eddie had thought he was safe with blue—while he stares into the distance.

"Maybe sculpting," he mutters, trying to remember where he put the package of air dry clay he bought like three years ago. Art supplies, man. You buy them and forget about them.

He doesn't find the clay, but he sneaks out while Wayne's at work and finds a nice healthy stick to try to whittle into like, a wooden knife or something.

It goes well at first. He's sitting outside on the deck, listening to the buzz of everyone's porch lanterns, the buzz of the shitty streetlights, the buzz of the teeny tiny wildlife in Forest Hill's most least brown grass. He's enjoying the air, the slight violence of his creative activity, and the surety that he can't just stumble his way into whittling like, Steve's eyes.

Except there's only so many things shaped like a long stick on a person and what he has does not resemble an arm or a leg. He stares at the uncarved base of the stick—rounded, wider than the rest—and realizes they look like balls.

Sure, he hasn't seen Steve's dick and only knows he's circumcised from rumors, but what was supposed to be the handle of a sick dagger doesn't look ornate, but human phallus instead.

At least it's small, so when he feels weird about hucking it somewhere for someone's dog to find and prance around with between its teeth, he can easily hide it in his room and pretend it's literally just… a carved wooden penis.

Yeah, he'd have something like that, and he couldn't possibly have modeled it after Steve.

There.

Finally.

A new subject.

#griefabyss69 writing #steddiemicroficjanuary #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

36 notes · View notes

lorddeathofmurdermountain · 2 days ago

Text

I totally agree but since I'm familiar with the inverse situation, let me play devil's advocate for a moment.

Someone complains they feel uncomfortable reading yaoi. That sucks. I wish they didn't feel uncomfortable. Maybe they should stop reading it?

The result of me suggesting that is either they stop reading it and everything is fine, or they begin to try and convince me the author should stop writing it and delete / recall what they've written. I'm only gonna get mad at one of these and you can probably guess it isn't the part where they listen to my advice.

Now, again, I understand. Really, I do. There was this really abhorrent rape fic involving Anya from Spy x Family and some rabid dogs. Real nasty. It was also on FF.net so I had a good reason to report it; it's against terms. In this case, my moral obligation coincided with the system set in place. Had it been posted elsewhere, this probably wouldn't have worked. But even then, no matter how much I disliked it, there are legitimate reasons as to why it SHOULDN'T be taken down.

Really, the only thing you can do is regulate the content you see. Anything else, like censoring others or starting witch hunts is kinda... Well, bad. Freedom of expression and all that. Not like it's exactly hurting anyone, and it sets a precedent for censorship of more tasteful media (depending on your definition).

All this to say; I understand being upset, but there's only really so many things you can or should do. You don't have to read it, you're free to report it if it's against terms and while I understand that it'll never really leave your memory if it was bad enough, attacking someone for the way they express themselves in regards to characters that removed from reality really isn't the answer.

The best you can do is learn to live with the knowledge of what you just read. Maybe seek help if you need it. Confide in your friends or loved ones, talk to someone about it, get it off your chest. And then leave it behind you, in the dirt, where it belongs. It doesn't deserve to keep hurting you.

Look, they're probably mentioning that this upsets them so openly for a specific reason and rarely is it to seek comfort - it's more of a call to witch hunt and that isn't really okay. You don't really reveal something that hurts you so deeply for no reason - and the reason tends to be easy to digest. I can tell if it's to help others or to try and get it behind you or if it's to spark outrage bc you're so u-u-u-uncomfortable and it's just evil and disgusting that they made you feel like that, so they should pay for it and you expect everyone to do your bidding.

Look read and write whatever you want.

But the moment you start getting mad and preachy at gay/bi men saying that yaoi makes them uncomfortable then I hate you with an undying passion.

That and defending shit with R*pe like it's art or thriller, or anything other than fucked up porn soley because it's with two dudes. I stg I wanted to kill everyone when K*lling Stalking happened.

#again i have a dog in this fight on both sides #im just taking the side that isnt represented in the original post #well. isnt FAIRLY represented.

85 notes · View notes

melonlord98 · 2 days ago

Text

Love That Waits: Chapter 1 - Rhea

Summary:

"He had the type of smile that seemed to increase the light in a room when it reached his eyes. Brown eyes. Deep brown eyes that seemed to become molten when he spoke fondly of something. Though she rarely saw him speak much at all since she met him. She was surprised at her own attentiveness in that moment. When the fuck had she started to notice Jey Uso?"

A character study of the romantic relationship between Rhea Ripley and Jey Uso, through their eyes and the eyes of the people who love them. Starting from Smackdown 2023 to the present day. Somewhat kayfabe compliant, but also putting my own little spin on the most interesting love story in the WWE Universe!

These chapters are all written in third person, so if that bothers you, I'm sorry 😢. The first two chapters will be exploring Rhea and Jey's emotional states as individuals, but from the third chapter onward, each chapter will be split between both of them equally. With bonus chapters from the perspectives of Damian Priest, Jimmy Uso, Sami Zayn, and many others as they watch the relationship between Jey and Rhea blossom.

I will warn everyone in advance. This story is the textbook definition of slow burn and it will also not be including explicit smut. If anything sexual happens between the characters, it'll be more of a "fade to black" type vibe.

I wanted to write this fic to explore how Rhea and Jey truly fell in love with each other as they navigate through their own individual traumas. And since this story begins around 2023, I will admit that Rhea and Jey are not in the best place emotionally early on. So, be warned, "Fluff" is tagged, but it's not coming for a while 🤣.

My hope is to have a new chapter uploaded every week on Wednesday. This is my first fic and I hope you all enjoy! Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

Btw, all the chapters will be posted on AO3 as well if you prefer to view it there 😊!

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

April 18, 2023

The shrill chirp of her alarm was what woke her. She leaned back, her arm sliding away from the slim contour of Dom’s waist as she fumbled to grasp the device. Cursing as it nearly fell off the nightstand. Rhea grunted as she pulled her other arm free from under her lover’s head, narrowly managing to catch her phone as it forcefully separated from the charging chord. She flinched back at the brightness of the screen and stamped the alarm off before tossing it onto the armchair just beside the nightstand. Sitting up dully, her shoulders sagged at the weight of what she now acknowledged was a rapidly growing hangover. Her head ached and she hissed as a sharp thread of pain shot from between her eyebrows and spread to the base of her skull.

“Fucking, Damian.” She groaned, falling heavily back onto the pillows, with her forearm falling over her eyes. Somehow a room shielded by blackout curtains was still too bright. They had gone out the night before with the Bloodline to celebrate the beginning of their alliance. She wasn’t usually the most overzealous drinker. She typically left those duties to Damian and Dominik, but something about that night had just felt right and so she had indulged them. Fuck was that a mistake.

A throb, just barely there, began to pulse at the right corner of her forehead and she cursed again. She’d swear off drinking if it weren’t so damn numbing. The thought was interrupted, however, by the sharp snort from the man laying next to her. She laughed low in her throat, wincing as action went straight to her aching forehead. Dom was a rather enthusiastic sleeper with a likely undiagnosed case of sleep apnea. Any other person would have been rudely awakened throughout the night by the sheer volume of his snores, but Rhea, who lived in a constant state of bottomless fatigue, often slept with a deepness just on the cusp of death. A match made in heaven (or hell, perhaps some would say).

Turning onto her side, she reached out to stroke delicately at the hair cascading over his ear. She was amused at the state of him. His body was turned away from her, but his neck was tipped back rather awkwardly and his mouth seemed to follow, hanging out to the side as he continued to snore. Her eyes scanned him lazily, stopping occasionally to scrutinize the dark spots on his purple silk pajama top from the steady steam of saliva that dribbled off his lip. A man who sleeps as immaturely as he lives awake. Rhea shook her head fondly at the thought. Her fingers continuing to stroke her fingers absentmindedly through his hair as she fell face first into the usual cogitations.

Her mind drifted to the previous year, the thought of her new beginning. How she and Damian had betrayed Edge and welcomed Finn. There was always something about it that never sat right with her. They had done everything right. She believed that. Edge had never deserved their patronage and so they outgrew him. Yet, it still haunted her. Even as she, surrounded by her two closest friends, had looked down at her old mentor and laughed in his face, that look in his eyes had remained imprinted in her mind. Betrayal. One in what had become a disturbing pattern. Her mind flitted to Raquel, her first loss. Her partner that had chosen everyone else over her. And Liv, a dead weight she had needed to shed the way a snake sheds its old skin; reborn in new, more vibrant color. Friendships she had sacrificed to become better. She was in the right. Edge had reassured her in the beginning. Damian too. She had needed to be selfish. She deserved to be! She was right—

Dom suddenly shifted in his sleep and Rhea jerked her hand back in alarm. His body rolled back toward her, realigning with his head and he smacked his lips before settling back into his usual snores. Not yet awake. Rhea stared at him and she could feel that familiar coldness in her chest. She cowered away from it. Throwing her legs off the side of the bed and nearly falling over herself as she made her way into the bathroom.

The pulsing forehead spread back into her hairline and she sucked air sharply through her nose as she felt bile rising in her throat. She fought against it, knocking her knuckles against the carved marble of the bathroom sink. The bathroom went pitch black as the door slid shut behind her. She couldn’t see anything and yet she felt stripped naked. Her skin hot, yet damp from sweat. As if she had been laying on hot coals. It was always like this when she thought of them. The memory of her many lost friendships like a disease that clung to the darkest parts of her. Parts she had layered over with molten rock and steel. She had made herself a blade, to protect against the reminders of her own past heartbreaks. However, it was moments like these where she felt like a snake eating its own tail.

Edge had told her that to be warm and embrace comfort was weakness. You could never get too comfortable. He did. So she and Damian had showed him the fruits of his labor as they usurped him. Rocking back onto her heels, she flailed for the switch and nearly fell when the white light of the mirror hit her square in the face. Her eyes burned with it, but the pain of the headache had dulled. An old pain replaced with a new one. A cycle she knew well. She could sleep, but she never rested.

She was able to blink as her eyes slowly adjusted and she finally caught sight of herself in the mirror. As she looked on, she realized that the dampness she had felt on her cheeks had not been sweat but were tears. The wet onslaught had flowed past her chin, soaking the collar of her t-shirt with a pale layer of foundation she had forgotten to remove the night before in her drunken state. Rhea sighed before turning her eyes down and flipped on the sink. She watched curiously as the water pooled in the cup of her hands before shoving it across her face. Repeating the process a couple more times before placing her hands on the counter and leaning fully over the sink. The harsh gush of the faucet a welcome buffer to the never-ending whirring that went on in her head.

For a while, she just stood and breathed. The yelling chorus of voices in her head eventually came down to a more gentle stage whisper. This allowed her to move her attention to something much more important than her many past lives. She needed coffee! With two harsh pats to her cheeks, Rhea straightened her back and shed her clothes.

The chill of the hotel hallway could be felt even through the thick cotton of her hoodie as she made her way down to the lobby. This hotel was not as nice as the other ones they stayed at in the much larger cities. This hotel chain’s buildings were always old, but now haphazardly disguised with a new coat of a rather jarring orange and baby blue paint combo whose ugliness Damian often bitched about during his hangover-fueled breakfast rants. He was a surprisingly chipper alcoholic on the morning after a long night of indulgence. Grumpy, but eloquent. Rhea would typically call him in the mornings and they would eat breakfast as a duo, since Finn and Dominik was particularly unpleasant if not allowed to rise of their own accord. This morning, however, she didn’t feel that she had the patience to deal with what Rhea knew would be a good-natured parental lecture about how she “actively suppressed her negative feelings”. Followed closely by an accusation of taking it out on her boyfriend who was no where near as strong as she was. Damian could do it later, once Rhea had been filled with a minimum of three cups of heavily sweetened coffee.

She stopped in her tracks just as she turned the corner into the lobby at the sight of a familiar face (or back rather). Jey Uso’s silhouette was hard to miss and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t snuck a handful of curious peaks backstage. He had his back to her, his arms hung bare through the cropped sleeves of his shirt and she could see the slight curve at the bottom of his spine that peaked out from the slit in the equally cropped bottom of his t-shirt. Her eyes moved back to the tattooed contours of his arms, the intricate line work shifting and bending with every minute flex. Art in motion. Rhea was always one to appreciate the artistry of a good tattoo. She and Jey had chatted enthusiastically at the club the night before about their many tattoos, though much of the conversation now only existed in jumbled scraps throughout her memory. His face had been so bright then. He had the type of smile that seemed to increase the light in a room when it reached his eyes. Brown eyes. Deep brown eyes that seemed to become molten when he spoke fondly of something. Though she rarely saw him speak much at all since she met him. She was surprised at her own attentiveness in that moment. When the fuck had she started to notice Jey Uso?

Rhea thought back to all the months before. All the confrontations, but nothing really stood out until yesterday. She’d known of him, but she didn’t know him. Even now, in the infancy of this new alliance. Last night was the first time she’d actually spoken to him outside of provoking him to Super Kick her in the ring. She looked at him wholly now. The coffee long forgotten as she pondered him. Apparently, this was a morning of way too much thought. But she’d worry about that later. Something about him drew her in. Made her want to know more as she continued to watch him prepare his breakfast. Now, leaning lazily against the counter as he waited for a paper cup to fill with orange juice. Rhea pondered Jey Uso’s appearance. His hair, his skin, his tattoos, his build. Once again, she had to admit that he was nice to look at.

However, that was never what truly interested her about him. There was a heat to him. Something buried so deep, yet burned so bright that you could narrowly manage to avoid getting scorched by it. A longing for something that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to figure out without asking him herself; something she’d never even dream of doing.

Rhea was brought out of her contemplation by the stiff jerk of Jey’s hand as he thrust it into his pocket. She looked on as he glanced around warily before pulling a small pill orange bottle out of his pocket. He hastily popped the white cap and levied the a couple tabs into his palm before tossing his head back and quickly downing the contents of his cup to chase it. Prescriptions from the looks of it. Considering who he fell under, she wouldn’t be too surprised if it was anxiety medication.

Jey bowed his head as he swallowed, the muscles of his back tensing under the thin black layer of his t-shirt. But it was his hand that truly caught her eye. The one not gripping the pill bottle lay open. She could see the patchwork of callouses that decorated the weathered skin there. But to her surprise, his hand was shaking rather violently. From the tips of his fingers to the curve of his shoulder. His whole body taught and coiled like a snake, poised to strike at the first sign of a threat. As her eyes made their way about him, she came to the unnerving realization that his feet were no longer facing away from her and when her head snapped up she was met eye to eye with him. The swiftness with which Jey moved had been what startled her initially, but her focus quickly pivoted to his eyes. No, what hid behind them. Or rather what didn’t. There was nothing there. A calculated emptiness. They both remained anchored in place. She wasn’t afraid to move nor was she afraid of him, but something was keeping her there. Something was keeping him there. Looked in at the eyes, but neither spoke. What was there to say anyway? Any individual with a single modicum of intelligence would tell you that it would be ill-advised to speak to someone who looked you the way that Jey was now. Like an animal. If he had gun it would be drawn. The empty heat she had been pondering before was now looking right at her and she couldn’t look away–

“Hey, Rhea!” Rhea was embarrassed to think about the rather indignant noise she made at the sound of Damian’s voice that called from down the hallway. She whipped around. Her face set into a glower that deepened as she noticed the crooked-toothed smile Damian flashed back at her.

“Yo, take it easy. Did I scare you?” he teased, nudging her suggestively with his elbow as he came to stand next to her. She turned her head dramatically, her face pinched into a pout as she shoved him back.

“Fuck off, Priest.” Her voice dripping with an exasperated fondness that she only ever offered to him. He shrugged before pulling his loosely tied robe closer around him and crossing his arms over his chest. His face the picture of amused curiosity as he said, “I called out a couple times and you didn’t answer. So, I got creative.”

Rhea blew air at her bangs, snorting a laugh as she said, “By creative, you mean loud, right?” He shrugged again, then he glanced behind her. Seemingly looking for something that he couldn’t find. She followed his gaze over her shoulder and almost audibly sighed in relief when she noticed Jey was no longer standing there glaring at her.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” she questioned with feigned innocence. Damian did seem to clock it in his hungover state, but he just shook his head. “Nothing. You just seemed lost in something.” he said matter-of-factly.

“Nah, just staring off into space waiting for our usual appointed breakfast date.” Damian scoffed, but made no objection to her explanation, moving past her toward the breakfast spread where Jey had once stood. She could still almost envision the perfect silhouette of Jey as he had been just moments before. A ghostly visage with some kind of death reflected in his eyes. An emptiness she now realized felt so familiar, because it was one she shared within herself. A loss of something. Of someone. A loss of innocence that only your greatest love can cause. A loss she’d felt twice but had been remedied by the new family she had now. Maybe Jey could use a new family too. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought and Damian fixed her with a concerned look but made no moves to address it. She resumed her pondering. Jey was too loyal to be fooled out of leaving his family. An absurd thought on her part. Impossible at worst. Yet another thing she’d add to the long list she chose to worry about at a later time.

Or she was full of shit, because even as she made her plate and get several cups of coffee in her system (maybe there was a way to just inject it into her veins first thing in the morning instead. She’d have to do research on it.), her mind wandered back to Jey Uso. More alarmingly, Roman Reigns. A man she had yet to lay eyes on in-person yet loomed large over the union of the two factions. The deal had been made by him. Paul Heyman had just been the typical obedient messenger. When she considered it, Roman was largely responsible for the man that Rhea had narrowly avoided a confrontation with just minutes before. He had beaten Jey down so completely that he was left with only his instincts to guide him. A weapon Roman had sharpened to act as an extension of himself. Jey was no longer an individual, but a cog in the great machine that Roman Reigns had built his now vast empire out of.

Roman was a familiar shadow to her. Like her own mentor, who haunted her even now. Roman Reigns did not seem like the type who took kindly to betrayal. Those who grew brave enough to stand before him was put down expeditiously. It’s why the Judgment Day had agreed to the alliance. Why try and fight a god, just to lose everything, when he’s willing to make you kings? Their faction was still young and while they didn’t have much to lose, fear was enough. Perhaps Edge would be ashamed of them now. The man who thought he was bulletproof. The one who taught them to fear nothing, but he showed his weakness then. He made them too strong, too strong to need him and they took full advantage. They had felled the king who believed himself to be the same god that Roman was.

Still, maybe Roman’s time would be coming soon too. The tension radiated off all the members of the Bloodline in waves. Sami Zayn had opened a door inside a house that every believed to be forged shut with steel. A door no one had thought to check for. And answer to a question that she was sure none of the Bloodline had ever dared to ask.

But that was none of her business. What choices the Bloodline members chose to make didn’t matter to her. So long as they stayed out of her way.

#jey uso #rhea ripley #sami zayn #jimmy uso #naomi #damian priest #dominik mysterio #roman reigns #liv morgan #jhea fanfiction #jhea #wwe #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #finn balor #raquel rodriguez #jd mcdonagh #solo sikoa

31 notes · View notes

moonstrider9904 · 3 days ago

Text

Never eat a furry beet and other valuable life lessons

Chapter 4 of Le Coeur

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Next chapter (coming soon!) | Previous chapter

Chapter summary: When Nea invites Steb over to her apartment for the first time, a quiet movie night results in both Nea and Blu getting tipsy.

Tags/warnings: Steb x Original Female Character, other OCs are in the fic as well. Canon divergence, flirting, pining, crushes, teasing, fluff, alcohol consumption and mild drunkenness.

Word count: 7.2k

Music: how many times, le coeur

A/N: Happy new year 2025, everyone! Sorry for taking longer with this chapter. I would have written this quicker, but I got a gigantic cold and only had so much brain space. Anyways, thank you to everyone who reads this and to the lovely people who comment. You all give me so much life 💖

To be the pastry chef of the Coffeewick meant being up considerably earlier than most of the people in Piltover. Blu was so used to it that she would often be awake that early even if it was a day off, and while most would whine about an early schedule, Blu cherished the opportunity to see the sky getting brighter with the sunrise. Her fuzzy, mouse-like ears would twitch in the direction of bird song, and her feet would carry her around in little dances in front of the oven while the pastries baked, oftentimes without her even realizing her acts. She could tell what time it was by the amount of people walking outside the coffee shop and the sounds that came from the street as well as from the Coffeewick's second story; Blu was all too familiar with the sound of water running through the pipes within the walls letting her know that Nea was already awake.

On that particular day, the water began running through the pipes about an hour sooner than it usually did, and the moment it began sounding, Blu stood completely still and stared at the spot in the wall where the pipes hid behind with her brows furrowed together like her own knitting needles. Had Nea mentioned she'd be up earlier? If so, for what? Blu could recall every detail from her century-and-a-bit-more of life, but she didn't recall Nea mentioning anything about getting up exactly one hour before she usually did on that day. Blu shrugged it off and continued her own activities, figuring she'd eventually find out the reason behind Nea's sudden change in habit.

But the next thing that caught Blu's attention was that, despite Nea having gotten up a whole hour before, she didn't head downstairs to begin prepping the Coffeewick earlier. It would seem that Nea's spare hour would be dedicated to her place, and Blu could pick up sounds of steps and shuffling from upstairs in the meantime, but it was hard to guess what Nea was doing without getting too creative or too dull. She could have been doing anything from getting a head start on cleaning to rearranging the apartment to house a dragon egg—one wouldn't know until they saw Nea's place.

There was some idle time in which her pastries would only sit in the oven and bake, and Blu decided to head up the stairs and figure out what was going on with Nea. She gave three gentle knocks on the door before opening it and letting herself in, and at first glance, Nea's apartment was unchanged. Squinting her eyes in mild suspicion, Blu stood under the doorframe and looked around, finding telltale signs of Nea's antics from furniture surfaces without a spot of dust on them to the faint scent of cinnamon-apple that filled the apartment. Finally, Nea emerged from her bedroom looking fully ready to head down to work, and she smiled brightly at Blu when she noticed the Yordle standing there.

"I'm just about to head down," Nea said.

"I heard you were up earlier," Blu stated.

"Yeah," Nea confirmed nonchalantly.

"So, what gives?" Blu put her Yordle paws on her hips. "You never clean before work, and even when you do clean, you never leave the place looking so..." Blu looked around the apartment again as she searched for the correct words. "Effortlessly perfect."

"Thanks," Nea smiled. "I was going for that."

Blu raised a brow. "But why?"

Nea's look of relaxed confidence turned into that of a puppy who'd just made a mess on the carpet and knew he was in for a spanking. "Okay, I have a confession to make."

"Oh, yay," Blu deadpanned.

"I couldn't exactly leave this cleaning for after work because, well..." Nea began as her cheeks started getting pink. "I'm gonna need the time after work to touch up my makeup, do my hair, change clothes, lay out snacks..."

Blu tilted her head. "Impromptu movie night?"

"Yes," Nea said. "But... not with you."

"Oh, just say who you invited," Blu blurted.

"Steb."

Blu's eyes widened in shock and a hint of protest. "Um... what?"

"I invited him over," Nea said. "He's coming here tonight and we're just gonna hang out."

A series of emotions ran past Blu's eyes from curiosity to distaste.

"Um... how did that happen?" Blu walked herself over to stand in front of Nea.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that despite the bird incident, your party wasn't a failure," Nea began.

"None of my parties are failures," Blu intervened. "Go on."

"And judging by the fact that he felt he needed to bring someone to a large gathering, I figured maybe something more lowkey would help Steb feel more at ease," Nea explained. "So a simple night to hang out and talk seemed alright. I was waiting for him to know when he'd be off duty so that he could hang out without any pressure, and, well, tonight's the night."

"The night for what?" Blu pressed.

"For us to finally be alone together for a bit," Nea replied calmly. "Get to know each other."

"Unchaperoned?" Blu questioned.

"Oh, unclutch your pearls," Nea snickered. "You sound like a first generation councilman."

"Look, he seems nice and I get you like him but don't you think it's a little soon for you two to...?" Blu asked, and her eyes suddenly widened in shock before she ran herself to Nea's bedroom. Nea followed after her and saw Blu was searching the top of her made bed and her bedside tables as if she were looking for clues in a crime scene.

"What are you doing now?" Nea leaned on the doorframe and crossed her arms.

"Trying to find rose petals, aphrodisiac scented candles, anything that might suggest-" Blu paused to shudder. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Okay, just stop," Nea reached for Blu on her bed and set her down on the ground, kneeling in front of the little Yordle. "I'm not planning on getting into bed with him tonight. So you can stop worrying about that. All I want is to spend some time with him. But if it makes you feel better, you're invited. I'm sure he won't have any problem with you being there, and neither will I."

"Really?" Blu frowned, but Nea could pick up on the softness hidden behind her furious mask.

"Really," Nea replied. "If he's gonna come here more often, he'll have to get used to you either way."

"Get through me first is more like it," Blu muttered.

Nea leaned in and hugged Blu tight, just enough not to squeeze the air out of the Yordle. "Thank you for looking out for me."

Blu finally softened and leaned her head on Nea's shoulder. "Can I pick the movie?"

"Only if you don't hog the potato chips," Nea replied softly.

"Deal," Blu gently pulled away from the hug. "Now, I have to get back to check the oven."

"I'll be right down," Nea replied. "And don't you worry about a thing. I'm the one who should be nervous for tonight."

Blu giggled. "Wait 'til I tell Donnie and Lily about this."

Nea chuckled. "Knock yourself out."

Feeling mildly less distaste for what the night had in store for her, Blu retreated downstairs one more time and checked on her pastries. Not long after that, Nea went downstairs to open the Coffeewick, and from that moment on, it was business as usual. Blu kept a close eye on Nea, finding that even with the plans she had for the night, Nea was fairly focused on the job. She wasn't giggling like a schoolgirl or constantly blushing, she wasn't confused or off in a daze. She was simply Nea, the trustworthy, professional barista acing every order in the queue and brewing every cup with the same intent and passion.

For a moment, Blu felt as if her best friend wasn't being taken away.

Still, the day went by quickly, and it was time to close in what felt like a blink of an eye. Surely, the hours had zoomed by as quickly as Nea had wanted them to, and with the Coffeewick closed up, Nea was ready to head back upstairs to her apartment. She changed into one of her nicest sweaters, a fitted black one that was more like a wool blouse that greatly enhanced her silhouette and had a wide outstanding neckline that nearly reached her shoulders and showed off her collarbones. She styled her short hair into curls rather than the usual waves, and she touched up her eye makeup and lipstick. She didn't add any blush to her cheeks. It was enough simply to think about Steb for her to feel the apples of her cheeks turning pink, and if she dwelled on the thought of her welcoming him into her home and sitting next to him on the couch, she'd be flustered enough to be on the verge of swooning.

Finally, Nea sprayed herself with her favorite perfume. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and feared for a moment she may have dolled herself up a little too much for a simple night watching movies on the couch, but she brushed off the thought. As simple as the encounter would be, it was worth cleaning up nice. Steb was worth it. And with a little smile at her reflection, Nea wandered from her room to the kitchen and set out all the snacks that they would need on the coffee table in front of the couch, making sure not to neglect the bowl of chips specifically meant for Blu. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, indicating that the time for the date to begin was near—was it really a date? Nea still wasn't very sure what to call it. Either way, Steb would be there soon, and Blu would probably be at Nea's doorstep in mere seconds.

When the sky outside was almost dark, Nea heard the doorbell ringing from downstairs. Coming to a brief halt, Nea looked around her apartment to make sure one last time that everything was in top shape, and in her stillness, she could feel her heart beginning to race. Finally, she let herself out the door and down the stairs, approaching the Coffeewick door. Nea couldn't help the wide grin that appeared on her lips when she opened the door for Steb, and when he smiled back at her, she let out a little giggle.

"I'm so glad you made it," Nea said as she invited him in.

"Thanks," Steb said, making the one-syllable word sound elegant in his thick accent. "I just still think it's lucky both of our days off lined up for tomorrow."

"That just means we can enjoy movie night even more," Nea said, her tone shy and hopeful as her eyes appeared to shine at Steb.

In return, Steb gave her a chivalrous smile. "I'd like that."

As Nea closed and locked the door again behind them, the two shared a gentle look in silence. It let Nea observe what he chose to wear that night, dark trousers and a gray wool sweater with a white collared shirt underneath. She could feel the words glaring behind her lips, aching to come out, but it still felt too soon to utter how handsome he looked. For that night, she'd continue keeping that fact to herself.

"You look..." Steb began, contradicting Nea's inner decisions. "You look nice."

Nea's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she smiled at him in return. "You think so?"

"Yes," Steb smiled shyly, wondering how much further it would be appropriate to take the compliment. "Curls suit you."

"It's one of my favorite styles," Nea gave her head a wiggle, and the curls crowning her head followed. "You, um... you look nice too."

Steb opted to remain silent this time, but the gentle look in his eyes spoke of gratitude and undeniable affection. The tender nature of the moment made it feel like they had lingered on each other's gazes for an age, and Nea began to feel like perhaps it was time to move things to the apartment. She gestured to Steb to begin moving deeper into the Coffeewick, and she led the way past the darkened coffee shop to the staircase until they made it to the second floor and were just outside Nea's door.

"This is it," Nea said, reaching for the doorknob.

"It felt... strange, seeing the Coffeewick empty and from the inside," Steb observed.

"Oh, I know what you mean," Nea said. "I feel it too. But the Coffeewick deserves her rest too."

"Of course," Steb agreed as Nea opened the door, and when he was granted a clear sight of the place where she lived, he found himself unable to focus on anything other than the Yordle who stood on the coffee table with her back turned on them as she reached into the bowl of chips.

"Hands up, chip thief," Nea joked.

Blu turned around on the coffee table and shoved one last handful of chips into her mouth, after which she hopped from the table to the sofa and plopped down on it. "I picked the movie."

"Good," Nea stepped inside and let Steb in as well. "I told Blu she could join us, I hope that's okay."

"Of course," Steb smiled at her. "It's nice to see you again."

Blu seemed to hesitate for a moment, a sight so rare for someone as sharp-tongued as her, but she gave Steb a cheeky little smile.

"Of course it is," Blu said. "I'm a delight."

Nea playfully rolled her eyes and started making her way toward the kitchen, but first, she gave a quick glance at Steb. "Make yourself at home. Do you want something to drink?"

"Sure, I'll come with you," he said as he began to follow.

"'Kay," Nea smiled. "Blu, do you wanna put the movie in?"

"Yep," Blu hopped from the couch and went towards the television.

Meanwhile, Nea made her way swiftly towards her kitchen, knowing the steps all too well, but Steb inevitably lingered in his pace, observing as many details as he could. He found himself comforted by the earthy colors of the walls and the forest greens of the blankets and cushions on the living room. He found the warmth of the apartment enjoyable, and even with the snacks that had already been laid out, the place quite obviously smelled of coffee, though the scent was delicately mixed with the aroma of flowers, mainly lavender and rose. He stopped and looked, though not for too long, at the different potted plants around the apartment, each one well taken care of, and overall the cozy aura of the place was enticing, inviting him to spend his days and nights there.

Of course, the company he'd find in that apartment was very inviting as well, and when his thoughts circled back to Nea, Steb observed her as she took out a bottle of stout ale from the fridge.

"Blu, do you want a beer?" Nea called.

"You know which one I like!" Blu replied from the living room.

"What about you?" Nea asked Steb.

"I wouldn't mind one," he replied somewhat shyly, feeling out of place for a moment between these two lifelong friends.

"Light or dark?" Nea asked.

"Light, please," Steb said.

"Okay," Nea said as she took out one more bottle of dark beer and one of light.

"You and Blu drink stouts?" Steb's voice carried obvious surprise in it.

"We like our beer like we like our coffee," Nea said. "My liver's used to it by now, but don't be surprised if Blu begins asking some very forward questions halfway through the second bottle."

"Yes, fear me," Blu mumbled from the living room.

Nea giggled and acknowledged Steb again. "Would you like a glass?"

"Bottle's fine," Steb replied.

With little more, Steb and Nea made their way back to the living room, drinks in hand. As Blu finished setting up the film, Nea handed her the bottle of stout, which Blu took with a little grin.

"Why, thank you," Blu looked adoringly at the bottle. "Come to mama, my sweet, bitter little baby."

Nea chuckled when Blu began drinking from the bottle, and even Steb couldn't help but laugh softly at the sight of the little Yordle gulping down beer from the bottle angled nearly vertically as she held it in her little paws. Then, Nea and Steb sat side to side on the sofa, facing the television, and once more their gazes met, prompting a shy little smile from one another. On the screen, the film was just starting, followed by Blu pit-pattering her way around the coffee table with her beer in hand. She set it down on the coffee table and hopped on the couch, shamelessly sitting herself between Steb and Nea, and when she was fully seated, Blu made grabby hands at her beer on the table.

Steb and Nea shared another look, this one full of mischief and amusement at the Yordle's antics. Steb reached for the beer before Nea and handed it to Blu, who looked at him with a certain degree of approval.

"Hm," Blu said as she took the bottle. "Good move, officer. Pass the chips."

"Blu, say please," Nea reminded.

"I'll say thanks for the chips," Blu added.

"Here you go," Steb said as he gave her the big bowl of salty snacks.

"Thanks," Blu said and snuggled into Nea's frame.

"So, what movie did you pick?" Nea asked her.

"Only a timeless classic," Blu replied as a delicate piano melody began playing on the screen.

"Oh my," Nea giggled. "You actually picked Arrogance and Prejudgment?"

"Yes," Blu snickered. "You remember the tradition, right?"

"When it gets to the potato scene, we both quote the phrase in unison," Nea recited.

"And then we drink," Blu snuggled deeper into Nea. "I like movie night."

With a little giggle, Nea looked at Steb again. "Are you comfy?"

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

Nea blinked with a little grin. "Let me know if you need anything."

He gave her a quiet smile in return, and though they would have loved more conversation, both Steb and Nea felt that if they talked during the movie, Blu would have their heads. The movie played its course, and as it was with every rewatch, Nea enjoyed every bit of it the way she always did. The only difference was that Steb was present; knowing looks and lingering gazes were exchanged, and even with Blu sitting between them, Nea and Steb could feel how close they were to one another. It added a sweet variety of tension to the hours as they passed by, and even in the absence of words, it was what Nea had wanted—time spent near him, and the fortune of gazing upon him simply by looking at her side.

The movie eventually came to its end, and each one in that living room had roughly two drinks down. Even with the quantity being the same, the three were all at a different level of inspiration, with Steb being fully in his five senses, Nea with a faint sensation of lightheadedness she wasn't sure came from the ale or the extended proximity to Steb, and finally, being the worst of all, Blu quietly giggling to herself as multiple thoughts crossed her mind.

"We should watch that again," Blu slurred as she tumbled off the couch, falling with a light thud on the carpet. The sight prompted a laugh from Nea, one that brought to light just how tipsy she was.

"Oh my gosh, are you hurt?" Nea asked as Blu stood up and began a wobbly stride towards the kitchen.

"Yes," Blu mumbled. "On the inside. It needs alcohol."

Nea snickered.

"Are you sure you can handle another drink, Blu?" Steb asked when he noticed the Yordle reaching into the fridge for another three bottles.

"What, you wanna give me advice?" Blu challenged as she closed the fridge and made her way back to the sofa. She gave Nea one of the bottles and kept the other two for herself, giggling as she climbed on the coffee table and took a seat. "Fun game. Gimme advice, fishy boy, I dare you."

Steb turned towards Nea, his aquamarine eyes full of concern. In her lightheadedness, Nea suddenly wished he wasn't looking at her like that, but then again, any expression he could adopt would have the same effect on her. She wasn't fully sure she'd be able to resist him, and against her will, she grinned widely at Steb, and a dreamy sigh left her as she unconsciously stirred on the sofa and shifted her weight towards him.

"She's fine," Nea said. "She'll mumble nonsense and then pass out, but we're at home, so there's nothing to worry about."

"If you're certain," Steb told her, not at all oblivious to the change in Nea's aura.

Slowly, Nea nodded and smiled at him. "I am. But thanks for worrying. Now, please, humor her."

Steb chuckled, and he figured he'd enjoy himself as well. By logical deduction, he'd determined that the third bottle of ale was meant for him, and he reached across the coffee table in an attempt to take it only to earn himself a fluffy slap on his hand coming from Blu's hand. When he met eyes with the Yordle, she was frowning, looking about as ruthless and menacing as a marshmallow.

"Valuable piece of advice number one," Blu slurred, pausing to hiccup. "Never take a bottle from a Yordle."

"I thought—" Steb began.

"Never," Blu reiterated.

"Behave," Nea reminded her friend.

"Valuable piece of advice number two!" Blu enunciated as she attempted to stand up on the coffee table, only to quickly find out she was too woozy to properly keep balance and sat down again. "Never—hic!—ever eat a beet if it's furry."

Steb laughed softly and tilted his head. "Why?"

Blu directed an unamused look at him. "What do you mean, why? It's a beet! It's not supposed to have fur." Blu looked at Nea. "Can you believe this guy?"

Nea quietly chuckled and looked over at Steb with a little spark in her eyes. As Steb looked at her too, he felt a sensation in his chest, perhaps that of his heart swelling at the sight of her curled up on the couch hugging one of the cushions and looking up at him in adoration. He couldn't help but smile softly at her, and he found himself controlling the urge to reach out and take her in his arms—not only would it be wrong in her current state, but he didn't need Blu lunging toward him in an attempt to end him, funny as that would be.

"Valuable piece of advice number four!" Blu said as she tried to hop from the coffee table to the armchair.

"You skipped a number, genius," Nea said as she reached out and helped Blu get on the chair.

"Valuable piece of advice number five," Blu continued, unbothered, as she found a comfy seated position on the arm chair, holding her beer not unlike a child would hold their sippy cup. The Yordle looked over at Steb and, for a moment, an unavoidable seriousness peered through the tipsy cloudiness of her overall aura. "Don't you dare break this woman's heart."

In the few seconds it took for Blu's words to sink in, Nea felt herself sobering up as well. An alarming embarrassment threatened to creep up on her, and just before she could slip into overdrive and erupt in attempt after attempt to convince Steb that Blu didn't know what she was saying, the Vastaya let out a deep, soft laugh and he too straightened his posture, looking deep into Blu without a hint of hesitation.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Steb assured.

With his words, the plethora of worries that had invaded Nea vanished. Her features softened and her chest sank with the soft exhale that left her as she turned around to face him, and for a moment, she didn't know whether to thank him or to confess her feelings to him. But even in her lightheadedness, she knew that worrying or speculating, much less hiding from him, wasn't an option anymore, and with that realization, a smile curved her full lips. Steb's gaze then landed on her, smiling softly at her as well—if she had looked beautiful before, the current sight of her had Steb feeling as if he'd swallowed a box of fireworks, about to burst in the many things she made him feel.

"Then my work here—hic!—is done," Blu said and brought the beer bottle up to her snout, downing its entire content before setting it aside. With one more hiccup, she curled up on the armchair facing away from them and mumbled a few things no one else was able to make out, and in seconds, she fell asleep.

Giggling softly at the sight of her furry friend sleeping like a baby—as if she hadn't just chugged a whole beer—Nea turned around on the couch and faced Steb again. As she looked at him, she could feel her entire guard being let down, and she smiled dreamily at the man in front of her. Everything around her seemed blurry, but no less enchanting, and Nea felt her heart skip a beat when Steb shifted closer to her on the couch. His eyes held a blend of concern and affection in them, and the first thing he did was reach for the bottle in her hands when it tilted in a perilous angle that would let all the liquid drain from it, a fact that had been irrelevant to Nea before he reached to grab it. He took it from her and set it on the coffee table only to look at her again, managing a soft smile.

“Are you okay?” Steb asked.

Nea smiled and hummed in approval, feeling her body angling itself closer to Steb as his deep, rich voice allured her not unlike the song of a siren.

“Yeah,” Nea replied. She looked at him and her hopeful grin widened and a shimmer adorned her gaze. “Did you really mean that?”

Steb chuckled and found no harm in answering. “Every word.”

With another soft hum, Nea found herself ever closer to Steb. Her hand hovered over to his forearm and delicately brushed down toward her hand, lingering on the sensation of the wool beneath her fingers. The bottles of beer finally caught onto her, dimming her senses, and she was barely able to register the flash of recognition in Steb’s eyes when she leaned even closer to him and perked her lips up, intent on sealing the space between them and indulging in the perfect first kiss she’d been yearning for. But instead of feeling his lips on hers, Nea suddenly felt a force applied against her shoulders followed by the sound of Steb’s voice hazily filling her ears.

“No, darling,” Steb said as he gently kept her at bay.

“What?” Nea whimpered. “Steb…”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he stated.

“No…” Nea’s whole face dropped into disappointment, well near breaking Steb’s heart, but a kiss in those conditions was out of the question for him. Delicately, Steb took Nea in his grip and helped her up to standing, and his own resistance built tension up in him as he looked at Nea, so beautiful yet so far off in a distant world.

“Oh, dear,” Steb said so quietly, just barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’d rather you remember this when you’re sober or not.”

“You don’t want to kiss me,” Nea mumbled.

Steb felt the words she spoke burning through his skin. “I do. Believe me, I do…”

From the couch to her bedroom, the only thought Steb could register was how much he’d only wanted to kiss her since he met her, how it ached to long for her embrace, her dark brown eyes gazing into him, waking up beside her in gentle sunlight… It hurt to even think that any part of Nea might suspect he wanted anything other than that, but now wasn’t the time to prove her wrong. When they arrived at her room, Steb sat Nea down on the bed and he kneeled in front of her.

“Hey,” Steb said. “I’m gonna get you a glass of water, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Nea nodded softly, but she didn’t say anything else. Steb got up to head to the kitchen, but he stopped in his tracks when he felt Nea grabbing his hand.

“Wait,” she said, with a brief hint of desperation in her voice.

“Yes?” Steb’s whole frame softened when he looked at her again.

“Don’t go,” Nea pleaded.

“I’m just going to the kitchen,” Steb reassured her. “I’ll be right here with you until you can fall asleep, okay?”

Nea gave a soft nod and let her hand drop, letting go of Steb. Through the buzz, she could recognize the tenderness of Steb’s gaze as he looked upon her, and with a few quiet steps, he was out of her room. As he made his way through the cozy little apartment, he didn’t forget to check on Blu as she slept on the couch—she was still positioned on her side and her breathing was deep and steady, giving no reason for concern. Steb then finished his way into the kitchen and, though he didn’t love the idea of rummaging through Nea’s cupboards, he found a cup and filled it with water to take it back to her room.

When he arrived, Steb was greeted by the sight of Nea sleeping already, curled up on her side in a fetal position facing the bedside table. Of all the ways Steb had pondered on the slightest possibility of seeing her sleeping soundly near him, he didn’t think it would involve her being drunk. In fact, he would have hoped it wouldn’t be the case had he ever stopped to consider that course of events. But things were as they were, and all in all, Nea did look adorable. With a soft smile, Steb set the glass of water down on the bedside table and turned off the lamp, and he reached for the blankets on the opposite side of the bed, folding them over to cover Nea so she’d be warm. He then left the room and opted to leave the door open, making it easier for him to hear if she needed him throughout the night.

When Nea had fallen asleep, she had no recollection of what time it was, and no such conscience until the first moment she felt sunlight gleaming on her eyelids the following morning. She didn’t even remember at what point during the night she’d gotten up to drink the now empty glass of water that rested on her nightstand, but as soon as she’d remembered who’d left it there for her, all the embarrassment returned. With a grimace, Nea pulled her blanket over her face and pressed her palm to her forehead in an effort to soothe the cringe and the piercing headache, and the realization that she couldn’t do anything to undo the way she drunkenly came onto Steb plunged a void right in the middle of her chest. She hoped to avoid facing anything and anyone that day—thank goodness it was the Coffeewick’s day off—like a troll retreating to a cave for as long as the sun lit the sky.

Nea got up from her bed and decided not to open the curtains just yet. As she made her way to the door, she wondered a lot of things, mainly how she would ever make it up to Steb. Now in the living room of her apartment, Nea squinted and used one of her hands to shield her eyes from the natural light that peered in through the windows, and her feet carried her over to the armchair where Blu was still sleeping as soundly as ever. Nea remembered seeing Blu curled up on one side, but in that moment, she was splattered face down with a blanket covering only half of her body, and Nea couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the sight. Blu looked as if the three bottles of beer she’d had the night before were actually full of hard liqueur.

When Nea laughed, she quieted down instantly when she heard a deep, sleepy moan coming from the ground, and she quickly faced the direction of the sound to find Steb sleeping on the carpet, his head and lower back supported by the cushions from the couch. One of his forearms covered his eyes, shielding him from the light, and he was almost entirely scrunched—Nea feared he’d been cold all night. She then looked at the coffee table and realized it was spotless. The empty bottles had been rounded up and placed next to the trash chute, the bowls of chips had been emptied and cleaned, and whatever droplets of beer or crumbs had been lying around the furniture weren’t there.

Nea looked at Steb’s sleeping figure and it dawned on her. She realized the motivation behind all his actions, particularly—and perhaps, especially—his decision to not kiss her the night before when she wanted to. Though part of her would have wished he would have left to avoid further embarrassment, now she was happy he’d stuck around if only to thank him for tidying up when he didn’t have to. She smiled at the sight of him and controlled the urge to plant a gentle kiss of gratitude on his forehead, and instead, she turned towards Blu.

With the lightest touch, Nea lifted the blanket off of Blu and draped it over Steb, hoping to give him some sort of comfort in what clearly was not an ideal sleeping position, and then she picked Blu up from the couch and headed for the door. In little time, Nea was in Blu’s apartment setting the Yordle down on her bed for her to keep sleeping to her heart’s content, and Nea then returned to her own apartment, taking her time with each step she took. Perhaps she’d brew a pot of coffee—whether it was for the hangover or to cure a night of poor sleep, coffee was never an inadequate form of gratitude. She reached for the doorknob of her place and twisted it, pulling the door open with her gaze trailed on the living room where Steb was sleeping, and when the scene was revealed to her, she found he wasn’t there anymore.

“Good morning,” Steb’s deep, rich voice emerged from her bedroom.

She found him standing under her doorframe and smiled at him, closing the door behind her.

“I heard the door and thought Blu had gone on her own,” Steb said. “I thought I’d check in on you, but then saw you were gone.”

“Yeah, I took her,” Nea said, giggling at the memory of how she found Blu on the couch. “There’s no way Blu’s gonna move on her own.”

Steb laughed softly and walked over to Nea. “And… how are you?”

When she saw how tenderly he looked at her, Nea nearly broke into a flustered amalgamation of embarrassment and thanks. Judging by the way Steb’s eyes softened at her, she knew all the emotions must have manifested in her gaze, and Nea chose to lead with the one thing that was eating her inside, prompting her to cover her eyes with her hands.

“I am so sorry about last night,” Nea whimpered.

“Hey, come on,” Steb comforted. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I put you in a difficult position, and I shouldn’t have…” Nea uncovered her eyes and looked at him again. “It wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m sorry for letting myself go like that.”

“You had a couple beers in your own home,” Steb reassured. “Don’t apologize for that.”

“I tried to kiss you!” Nea blurted.

Steb chuckled softly, his ears giving a faint wiggle. “I’m… honestly flattered by that.”

“Don’t tease me,” Nea looked away from him.

“I’m not,” Steb reached, albeit without thinking, for her hand and squeezed it gently. The gesture instantly brought her eyes to look at him again, and though he considered for a moment swatting her hand away in regret, he kept it there and his ocean eyes softened as he continued to look deep into her.

“I mean…” Nea began. “It’s not like you don’t know how I feel…”

Her words abandoned her mid sentence, but she didn’t need them. Steb knew what she was trying to say, and the only thing that would pain him was for her confession to be clouded by remorse. He’d turn that around if he could, and in his eyes, he still had the chance. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled at her, gesturing with his eyes toward the kitchen.

“You need to eat,” Steb said. “And hydrate.”

Still holding her hand, Steb led her toward the kitchen and stood in front of her fridge. “Mind if I make us some breakfast?”

Nea smiled at Steb with mild disbelief and she gave a soft nod. With her approval, Steb opened the fridge and looked around before taking out eggs, ham, and cheese.

“Here,” Nea went to the pantry and took out oil for the pan Steb was already putting on the stove, as well as a spatula and a whisk.

“Let me,” Steb smiled at her. “I wanna spoil you a bit.”

Nea felt herself blushing furiously. “Steb, you really don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he emphasized. “Scrambled?”

“What?” Nea asked.

“Are scrambled eggs okay?”

She chuckled and let him take the lead. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

With that confirmation, Steb ignited the stove top and got to cooking, and in no time, the kitchen smelled amazing. Nea paused for a few moments to watch him move around the kitchen, until she moved on her own and prepped the coffee maker to brew a whole pot.

“So, you also brew coffee on your days off?” Steb asked her, still focusing on the eggs frying on the pan.

“Of course I do!” Nea beamed, walking up to him when she was able to leave the coffee maker to its own devices. “Coffee’s something I love.”

Steb could feel her proximity, and when he noticed the way she was looking at him, he turned off the stove so he could focus fully on her, his eyes beckoning her to speak up in the gentlest manner. Nea smiled softly at him, and her own gaze continued to hold an apologetic tone to it.

“Thank you,” she said, looking around the apartment for a couple seconds before looking at him again. “You didn’t have to clean up, by the way. But… thank you. For everything.”

Steb smiled at her and angled his body to face her. As he looked at Nea, he could see her anticipation growing when her eyes sparkled up at him again and her chest began to heave in soft pants.

“Steb?” She pronounced his name so endearingly, full of hope.

“Yes?”

“I…” Nea blushed. “I can think straight now.”

Steb gave a soft chuckle. “I’m sure you can.”

Nea’s smile widened. “So… Can I kiss you?”

The frills around Steb’s eyes flared in subtle waves as his own smile widened at her, and with a delicate grip, Steb rested his hands cupping Nea’s neck, his thumbs gently brushing the bases of her jaw. The adoration in his aquamarine gaze faded into something quieter, but no less adoring, slowly leaning down closer to her.

“Can I?” Steb asked her quietly.

Nea giggled. “Yes.”

No more barriers were placed, and beaming with joy, Steb leaned down to close the space between them. The initial contact of their lips was warm and unprecedentedly soft, both moving in tandem like waves dancing on a shore. Steb smiled into the kiss when he felt Nea’s chest rising with a deep inhale infused with soft surprise and a tender shyness that faded when she let her hands brush up his shoulders, resting on his broad frame. In turn, Steb took one of his hands to the back of Nea’s head, pressing her closer to him as he kissed with more strength, prompting her to wrap her arms around him. She also began to kiss with greater strength, letting everything—the yearning, the uncertainty, the many beats skipped by her heart whenever she thought of him—rest in that much anticipated kiss. Now that she was with him, she knew she wouldn’t want to let go; she was ready to give herself to him just as she could feel the same from him.

When the time was right, the kiss relented, but neither of them were quick to pull away. With little space between their lips, Nea looked up at Steb, who smiled lovingly at her blushing figure, a sight so endearing it prompted another flare of the frills on his eyes, tickling Nea’s cheekbones and drawing a soft giggle from her. She made no attempt to resist the desire to kiss him again and, wrapping her arms around his back, she kissed him with equal strength and he embraced her waist, gently spinning her away from the stove and swaying her gently to the sides until he pulled away with a final peck to her forehead.

“Sit down,” Steb whispered. “You need to eat.”

Nea felt her cheeks starting to ache from grinning so widely and, enamored by his selflessness, she resolved to let him finish what he started. But instead of sitting down, Nea wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back, hearing his soft laughter rumbling deep in his torso.

“I’m not letting you go now,” Nea whispered, not necessarily intending for him to hear her.

Still, Steb eventually turned around with two plates ready to be served, leaning down to gently kiss Nea’s lips again before leading her to the table.

“I should hope not,” he whispered and took the plates down to the table. “Should I pour the coffee?”

His words slid Nea out of her trance, suddenly rendering her able to stand in the real world where, next to Steb, everything looked far more beautiful.

“No, that’s my job,” Nea smiled.

Like he’d done many times already, Steb watched as Nea expertly poured the cups of coffee, finally for the two of them to sit down and enjoy together. As she made her way back to the table, he took the cups from her hands and set them down, pulling her close one more time to kiss her, and what he’d initially meant to be a quick kiss before breakfast evolved into Nea leading Steb to the couch where they continued, shy yet loving, without any need for fire or rush, merely adoring one another for as long as they’d wanted to since that first encounter, and long enough for the coffee to go cold and the sun to continue its way across the sky.

Thanks so much for reading! Please reblog to help me get out there!

Next chapter -> (coming soon!)

#steb nation #steb x oc #arcane steb #steb arcane #steb #moonstrider writes #le coeur fanfic #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fluff #arcane #arcane steb x oc #arcane oc #arcane series #arcane league of legends #arcane lol

30 notes · View notes

thepunkmuppet · 19 hours ago

Text

approaching The Confession Scene and what the fuck. this is genuinely tragic like I’ve always seen it as a meme, a joke, an iconic moment in fandom history, whatever, I’m a tumblr user, but now that I’m actually here it’s just fucking SAD

season 15 as a whole is NOT bad. it’s really not. but there’s zero destiel. they rarely speak at all unless it’s plot-related, one (1) episode pairs them together, frankly season seven was ten times more focused on their friendship and that’s INSANE because cas is only in like five fucking episodes of that one. they have a mini arc midway through the season which is very gorgeous and well-done, but it then goes absolutely nowhere and nothing at all is done to make it textually romantic.

by which I mean: no episodes have dean or cas reacting personally to sam and eileen’s relationship, or any other romantic relationship they come across. we’re never shown anything even remotely romantic even in an unrequited sense (no post-realisation awkwardness, no lingering shots of cas pining from afar, etc etc). it reads like a normal season of the show, which, yeah, I think those two are pretty fucking gay regardless, but they’re always textually written as a friendship, with no explicit cues to clue the audience in that there are canon romantic feelings. and that doesn’t change here, at all.

so I guess what I’m saying is the confession scene is purely just a moment of fan service. as stunning as the speech itself is, and as well as it fits cas’s character, the writers throughout the season didn’t actually give a fuck to make destiel ROMANTIC even in a one-sided way. film is a language and as much as misha does in his acting, even from castiel’s perspective they’re still framed as a friendship within the show itself RIGHT up until he says the words I love you. they weren’t interested in actually depicting a (even one-sided) queer love story, just wanted to give fans their “okay here it is we did it guys!” moment at the end, so that way they didn’t have to actually show an explicitly romantic gay love story, they could just say some words, kill cas off and boom it’s canon! here you go people we’ve been leading on, mocking and low-key gaslighting for eleven years!

idk man it’s just so disappointing. I knew it was and I know everyone has been talking about it for years now but my GOD it’s so bad 😭 I can’t even tell you how bizzare it is to have seen destiel confession meme on here and in various fandom video essays EVERY DAY FOR FOUR PLUS YEARS and now here I am, watching it go down in real time with full context, having watched over 300 episodes of this show, invested, obsessed, and REALLY FUCKING UPSET AAAAHHH

EDIT: forgot to mention this originally. the actual concept of cas’s moment of perfect happiness killing him, while kind of stolen from buffy, is AMAZING. and the literal perfect opportunity to have a building textual confirmation of his feelings throughout the season, where he realises what that moment will be, and it ends in the tragic confession of his love. like that’s insane that’s perfect. but no it just comes out of nowhere so oh fucking well whatever I guess! they’re canon so we should all be happy! I hate this stupid bumhole show AUGH no one talk to me ever :(

#angry typed all of this instead of doing my actual film homework #but yeah man just what the fuck #in all fairness I have not yet watched 15x17 or 18 because I’m TERRIFIED #so maybe all of a sudden we get a bunch of cas pining shots and gay shit but from what I’ve heard I REALLY DON’T THINK SO 😭😭😭😭#uuuggghhh I hate them I hate them I hate them (I love them more than I love myself and I’m so fucking sad that this is their legacy)#destiel #destiel confession #superhell #destielgate #spn #supernatural #spn meta #dean winchester #castiel

30 notes · View notes

bitletsanddrabbles · 3 days ago

Text

Island of the Procrastinating Brain

I swear, my brain is actively trying to drive me insane.

Back in 2022 it came up with a plot for @alex51324 's "Island of the Gays" where the Duke of Crowborough comes to the Island because, well, by this point the man's less of a human being than he is a walking bundle of neurosis. I got through a couple of scenes before my brain got tired and stalled out, but I still have a good frame work. Every once in awhile, I come back and poke at it and get out a few more sentences. Maybe even a paragraph or two.

Yeah, have I mentioned I'm not a fast writer?

And Phillip does NOT want to deal with his issues and Thomas does NOT want to deal with Phillip, which, okay, FAIR, but that's kinda the point of the whole thing. But in the meantime my brain still wants to write Phillip on the Island, so what's it done?

Come up with a sequel, naturally!

And it really, really wants to write this sequel despite the fact I can't do it properly until I've written the first piece, which neither my brain or my characters seems interested in, because they are all PUNKS, but my brain will NOT stop thinking about this hypothetical sequel which, at this point, will never be written.

So I'm just going to write out the summary for the thing here, in case anyone's curious and wants a laugh, because I can and maybe it'll galvanize the lump of grey cells in my skull to be productive. Maybe. Not holding my breath.

Things you need to know before going into this:

Random.org has decided that Thomas is married to Peter Fitzroy for this one, which is kinda important for Thomas's characterization.

Phillip only kinda counts as human at this point, but he's actively trying to fix that. The results are mixed.

It was inspired by a couple of polls I ran when I was trying to figure out where I was taking the first piece (hey! I have the last scene written!) and the suggestions that Phillip might like working in some sort of architectural field (believe that was from @o-rchidae) and that he wind up married with an older working class bloke who would not take his shit.

Right then. Let's go.

Okay, so, this takes place a couple of years after the Walking Disaster of Crowborough arrived. At one point he was tapped to help with building or repairs or some such and he realized he liked it, so he's taken to studying books on building and architecture and has joined up with the local work crew. The problem is, he's basically teaching himself out of books and then applying it to real life, so he keeps getting ideas about "Say, why don't we do this thing THIS way?" and while it'll seem like a reasonable idea, there is, in fact, a very good reason NOT to do it that way, but because a) he's a Duke and b) a bunch of people hate him, on general principle if nothing else, everyone just goes "Oh, okay, sure" and the do it that way and…it fails. And the people who hate him laugh and it's obvious that EVERYONE knew it was a bad idea and he gets frustrated, but he wont' say it, because a) Duke and b) boys don't cry.

And this goes on for awhile.

After a bit, though, a new guy shows up who has lots of experience building things. It was kinda his job before he got here. He is educated in the ways of Building Things and knows what's up. He's also at least ten years Phillip's senior and has limited patience for upper class twits, so when he joins the crew and is informed there's this know-it-all-Duke who's always demanding they do things his way (by which we mean 'making suggestions that everyone just goes along with'), even though it's stupid and wastes time and resources, this guy goes "Pff, not on MY watch!"

And sure enough, the next time Phillip makes one of his suggestions, instead of "Yeah, sure, okay" he gets "We're not doing that." Why? "'Cause it's a stupid idea that won't work." WHY? "Because (insert full explanation of why the thing wouldn't work)." And Phillip stops asking and the rest of the crew cheers and laughs at how the old guy sure showed him and they anticipate an end to the questions.

THIS TOTALLY BACKFIRES.

Instead Phillip, who had actually been kinda slowing down on the suggestions over time, is making ALL of the suggestions, ALL of the times, and arguing every last aspect of the suggestion with Old Timer before giving up. The crew can't put up a fence without an argument. Old Timer starts calling Phillip 'Phil'. Rather than tell him to stop, Phillip just starts calling Old Timer by a similar nickname, which Old Timer ignores, because not giving in to his own trick, oh no. There's talk of starting a police department in case they murder each other.

After this has gone on for awhile there is a Big Dramatic Plot Twist and the Old Timer goes out into the woods for something and…doesn't come back in a timely manner. He stays gone long enough for people to get worried and mount a search. To everyone's shock, Phillip wants to come. He's quite insistent on the point. They finally agree to put him in Thomas's party because he and Thomas "get along now" (read: Thomas has spent enough time with Peter talking him down that he can tolerate Phillip's presence under the right circumstances as long as he doesn't say anything). The parties go out and before long, Thomas and Phillip's party has the good luck to find Old Timer. He's accidentally been injured badly enough he can't walk and crawling through the woods is not easy going. The manner of this accident wasn't a super obvious bad idea, but that could maybe have been avoided with a bit more thought, perhaps, with luck. Most of the party just nods and goes "Yeah, sounds about right, could have happened to anyone."

…Phillip flips straight out and starts screaming at Old Timer for being an idiot who could have got himself killed. And then storms off a ways into the woods, back toward the village, leaving everyone else wondering a) the best way to get the injured man back home and b) what the heck just happened with the prissy little Duke. Thomas gets deputized to go find out what Phillip's problem is. There is protesting involved, but he finally gives in because he'd like to be home by dinner, thank you very much.

Phillip has, by this point, stopped to have a smoke, which both gives Thomas an opportunity to catch up and, thankfully, a scent to find him by. Thomas asks him why on earth he's so upset that Old Timer is hurt since the two of them hate each other and everyone figured Phillip would LOVE it if the other man died…

And that's when he finds out that everyone's had that relationship all backwards. Phillip doesn't hate the Old Timer, oh no! He loves being called 'Phil'. He absolutely adores the fact that when he asks "Why don't we do this?", rather than just go "Yeah, okay" and waste time and resources doing something HE KNOWS WON'T WORK, the Old Timer says 'no' and, over the course of the argument, actually EXPLAINS why not, which means Phillip ACTUALLY LEARNS THINGS. The more he argues, the better he becomes at building things and he doesn't have to try and decipher what some book is telling him or guess what the book might be leaving out and he LOVES IT and if the Old Timer had died, how would he learn things then? When Thomas points out that he'd learn just as much - maybe more - if he just asked the Old Timer to teach him things rather than argue, Phillip low key panics because what if he figures out Phillip WANTS to learn and stops talking to him or refuses because he doesn't like him at all?

By this point Thomas is a) trying to remember if he was ever THIS paranoid, and praying he wasn't and b) wondering what on earth to do with a Duke who is clearly in love with a crusty old working class codger, but hasn't figured it out yet.

He decides to tell Rouse and make it HIS mess to deal with.

Phillip and the Old Timer eventually get married and get a cottage of their own and Phillip about dies happy at the idea of a home that he actually owns instead of something that he's the custodian of for the next generation who will be the custodians for the generation after that and so on.

#downton abbey #thomas barrow #downton abbey fanfiction #fanfiction #island of the gays #duke of crowborough

28 notes · View notes