#sunspray peak

[sunspray-peak]

Learning to Listen to a New Kind of Sound: Masterpost!

Link to Fic on Ao3 Link to Updates Calendar Link to Chapters/Table of Contents on Tumblr An aspec, coming of age, Stardew Valley romance. 

FIC SUMMARY:

Years after inheriting his grandpa’s old farm in Stardew Valley, Achilles Oleander Robinson (pronounced “Ah-sheel” -- his mother is French. Supposedly.), has decided it’s finally time to ditch his six figure job in the city and pay the old backwater county of Zuzu a visit.

Whether the sudden visit to Strawberry Farms is motivated by an aching desperation to escape the corporate world or a determination to capture a life he’s long believed to be lost to him, however, remains to be seen. Not that it really matters, though. He’s not planning to stay long enough to figure it out. Clean up the old place, put it on the market, then get on out of there, badabing badaboom. As long as he doesn’t ask himself “What’s Next?” he’s golden.

But the community proves more alluring than he anticipated, the potential some of the members promise more persuasive, and Achilles can’t help but wonder what it is he truly ever wanted. And all the while forest spirits run amok and trouble brews deep within the mountains of Sunspray Peak, reawakening voices he had long learned to bury deep.

I’ll be making this joke before anyone else can- I was in too deep designing before I realized the extent of my foolish mistakes Dx Dx Dx. 

[lhck999]

"If I kiss it will it make you feel better?"

...

"Maybe."

Based off of @sunspray-peak 's Stardew Valley Fanfiction, Learning to Listen to a New Kind of Sound!!

[lhck999]

I can't express how much amazement I feel when I encounter a really good OC. It's like. You did this, on your own, with your own imagination, and brought it to life?? How???

Looking at you, @sunspray-peak !

Everyone talks about the joys of someone else being super invested in your OCs and while this undoubtedly feels absolutely awesome, I think there's also something to be said about the joy of being invested in someone else's OCs too. There's just vibes you get out of some people's casts of characters that you can't get anywhere else with their own unique flavor from that person, and they're just sitting there in relative obscurity spawned completely out of someone's mind with no media involvement or anything. Special kind of feeling

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 20: The Luau

THURSDAY - SUMMER 11

“Oh, fucking hell.” 

Achilles never checked his mail. It was a bad habit of his that had developed during his time at BRLO (he had to see enough advertisements at work, thank you very much) and that he had since never bothered to break. Coupons and flyers and grocery store catalogues—he needed none of it. As for letters—well who wrote letters these days, anyway? If someone really needed him badly enough, they’d call. 

That being said, a small package from his cousin had been overdue for delivery, and thinking that perhaps it had been placed in his mailbox rather than on his doorstep, he had finally opened the damn thing, digging around countless, dusty circulars and newsletters to try to locate Camille’s swoopy handwriting. Alas, there was nothing to be found. Dammit.

With a grunt, he squatted to pick up the scattered contents of the mailbox from the grass to later dump into the recycling bin when a pale green envelope of thick, heavy paper caught his eye. 

A wedding invitation? He ran through all his old friends—he didn’t think any of them even knew he had moved. A secret admirer? Fat chance. Intrigued, he ripped it open to read:  

Dear Ashee Ache Achilles, 

Tomorrow, Summer 11, we’re all gathering at the beach for the annual Pelican Town Luau. 

The highlight of the event is the communal potluck. Make sure you bring something good to contribute! The governor himself is attending the event, so make sure you’re on your best behavior. Come to the beach sometime between 9AM and 2PM. 

-Mayor Lewis

Ah shit. Talk about disappointments. This one was twofold—one, the letter was from Mayor Lewis, gross. And two, what in the world was he going to bring to a potluck that started in an hour?

“Fucking hell,” Achilles muttered again, stomping back inside his farmhouse to his fridge, despite knowing full well that when he opened it, he’d bear witness to about six eggs, an old leek, a hunk of cheese, and some raspberries Maru had shown him grew naturally on some of the Valley’s native vines. 

Maybe he could grab something from Pierre’s… 

But when he arrived at the general store, there was no one to be found behind the woefully locked door. “Closed for Festival” said the neatly lettered sign. Damn. He had hoped Abigail would’ve at least been present to save him from embarrassment. He supposed the saloon would be similarly closed for the holiday… 

He could show up empty handed. Oh, but it’d be rude to arrive without a contribution—he’d already messed up once with the Mullners during the Egg Festival dinner, when he’d left the bottle of wine behind. Absolutely humiliating, the height of poor taste and bad manners…

Perhaps he wouldn’t show up at all. Hide in his farmhouse and pretend to be sick… or perhaps he’d leave town, for knowing Lewis, sickness wouldn’t stop the mayor from rapping on his door and accusing him of declaring “war on the pillars of the community” or what not…

Oh, but he had been looking forward to the festival. Good food, decent people, and, most importantly, something to do… 

Just then, Achilles heard the boisterous laughs of none other than Abigail herself skipping down the northward path with Sebastian and Sam naturally in tow. 

“Hello hello!” she called upon seeing him. “Excited for the luau, Achilles?” 

“Ah…” 

“Whatcha bringing to the pot luck?” Sam asked. Between the three of them, they carried two large dishes covered in tin foil. 

“Forgot, huh?” It was Sebastian, naturally, who was the first to pick up on Achilles’ empty hands. “No problem. We’ll just say you helped us with these.” 

“Easy as pie!” Abigail added. 

But Achilles shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Doesn’t seem quite right to take credit for something I didn’t actually do.” 

“Shit, no one will know,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “But up to you.” 

Achilles turned to Abigail. “Say, you wouldn’t be able to let me pop into the general store and grab a few things…” 

“Ooooo…” Abigail’s face scrunched as she cracked her knuckles and glanced through the glass at the small pyramid of on-sale bell peppers. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have the key on me and dad’s already down at the beach.” 

“Ah. No worries…” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just slap your name on our stuff? It’s really no big deal.” 

“Thanks, Sam, but it’s all right. I’ll figure something out.” 

“Suit yourself, man. We’ll see you down there!” 

They traipsed off—Abigail with a slight limp, Achilles briefly noticed before turning his attention back to the problem at hand. Perhaps he could pick a bunch of raspberries and class them up in one of his nice fruit bowls. Yeah, that could totally work, right…? 

You sad, dumb bastard…

“Hello, dear!” 

Evelyn was coming out of Dusty’s pen, a large jug of water in her hands. Dusty himself was on her heels, ready to follow her back to the house. Too hot to be outside! the slow, low wag of his tail seemed to say. 

“Let me get that for you,” Achilles said, hurrying over and taking the jug. 

“Oh, that’s very kind of you!” 

They made their way over to 1 River Road. 

“Are you excited for the luau, dear?” 

“Ah… oh yes! Looking forward to it…” He opened the front door for her and Dusty first, taking off his shoes in the foyer before setting the jug in the kitchen. 

“You just missed Alex, he and Haley usually make something together for Luau Day.” She must’ve caught him peaking his head around the space. “You know, dear, George and I would actually love some help with our own dishes. I’m just finishing up the poppyseed muffins, but if you happen to have some time, I would be incredibly grateful if you could peel these potatoes and chop those veggies over there. I know George would very much appreciate it, he hates cutting up vegetables.” 

In response to his name being dropped, George croaked an aggressive “What?” from the living room. 

“Morning George!” Achilles called. 

“I can’t talk right now, young man. My favorite program is on.” 

Achilles, who strongly suspected Evelyn had overheard his conversation with the trio and was simply rescuing him from Lewis’ wrath, nevertheless wasn’t one to let an opportunity like this slide when it had been dropped so deftly into his lap. Even if he hated cutting vegetables. 

“Happy to help, I should be thanking you.” 

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense…” 

He joined her at the counter and began to peel the potatoes for the potato salad. With George’s scornful retorts safely out of the way, this seemed as good a time as any for the pursuit of Project #2. 

“Actually, Evelyn, this is perfect timing all around—I was hoping to ask you about the junimos. The forest spirits?” 

“Oh dear. Have you been spending more time with the Wizard?” Evelyn was pouring her batter into four separate tins. Those thin arms must’ve been packed with stringy muscle, the bowl was huge. 

“Hmm…” Achilles thought back to his most recent visit to the tower. “Not particularly. I’ve just been… seeing them around…” 

“Oh! Have you now?” She looked up from her pouring, her widened blue eyes beaming. “How nice that must be for you!”

“Yes, well, perhaps. They don’t… do much. I actually didn’t know what they were at first, but Alex suggested I ask you about them. He said you had been able to see them before?” 

“Oh yes. When I was your age, or perhaps a bit younger, the Valley was a different place. There was a… glow to it. A brightness to it all. Stardew was filled with those little forest spirits back then— junimos, you called them? Charming little things, I remember them well.” She smiled, thinking back to a simpler time. “Now, I always said, if I ran into one, I knew it was going to be a lucky day! 

“In fact, I saw two of them—a pink one and a green one—hopping through Cindersap the morning of my first ever date with George. He could never see them, but what a wonderful day that turned out to be!” She sighed, taking a minute to savor the memory before somberly shaking her head. “But as I grew older, they became scarcer and scarcer, and I’m afraid to say, dear, I haven’t seen them in quite a long time.” 

Evelyn paused to put the now-filled tins into the oven. “But if you’re seeing them, they must be allowing you to! What a special blessing—perhaps they will bring you good luck, too!” 

With the muffins now in the oven, she reached for the celery and began to swiftly dice the stalks, her smooth speed all but confirming she never needed Achilles’ help with the dishes. “Now you keep an eye out for the bad spirits, though, dear. I’ve never seen them, but I’d hear the rumors. 

“Sometimes, when I was a younger girl, I’d feel a bad smell in the air up by the mountain, something really rotten I knew to avoid. Now not to say you’ll feel them, too—I pray you never do, dear! But I do feel it my duty to warn you; if you’re seeing the forest spirits, I feel it’s best to be prepared for the unsavory sort as well.” 

At her words, a chill began to creep up Achilles’ spine as he remembered the purple smoke that had kept him captive in the Wizard’s tower—was it that same whisper he was suddenly hearing right now? He shook his head, and the voices faded to silence. Just your imagination… 

“But enough of that—I believe such things, good and bad, can be spoken into existence. Now pass those potatoes, please, dear!”

*****

“Stealing my grandparents, are you?” 

Achilles had arrived at the beach with Evelyn and George carrying a giant bowl of potato salad while George balanced 47 muffins in his lap (Achilles had eaten one—with Evelyn’s encouragement—before they left. It had ruined muffins for him, never would any baked good from Pierre’s, from even Hyacinthia’s award-winning bakeries, ever be able to match). 

“What can I say, they just like me more,” Achilles ribbed, placing the potato salad next to the ginormous fruit salad Alex and Haley had brought. “Nah, your grandma just took pity on me…” 

As with the previous festivals, the beach was fully decked out in decor. Totem poles ten feet tall had been dug into the sand while red and yellow flag pennants fluttered alongside string lights in the wind from above. Mats of giant leaves served as the dance floor—Robin and Demetrius were already jiving to a tropical song blasting from the speakers.

Four long tables clothed in gold and green had been set up in a rectangular formation on the beach, each straining under the weight of all the dishes that had been—and were continuing to be—arranged. In the center of them all was the largest pot Achilles had ever seen—so large, a ladder had been erected next to it for folks to add ingredients—and which was emitting a cacophony of scents. 

Alex followed his gaze. “That’s Stardew’s famous Luau Soup for you… four years ago everyone got super sick after drinking it, and I’ve never trusted it since. Not really sure why it’s still a thing… what’d you bring for it?” Right now, Penny was perched on the ladder preparing to drop something in from a cloth bag. 

“Shit, I was supposed to bring something for the soup, too?” 

“You didn’t bring something for the soup?” 

It wasn’t Alex, but—of course—a nearby Lewis who had just happened to overhear Achilles’ question. Before either boy could get a word in edgewise, the Mayor stalked over, pulling on his mustache. 

“This-is-the-most-important-dish-at-the-luau-how-could-you-forget?” 

Achilles straightened himself to his full 5’11” and looked Mayor Lewis squarely in the eye. 

“Bringing something for a soup wasn’t mentioned in the letter.” 

To be fair, him even reading the letter had been a complete accident, but Lewis didn’t need to know that. 

Unfortunately, the mayor was not one to be intimidated. He gave his moustache another yank before sticking his wrinkly finger straight into Achilles’ chest and declaring, “The tasting isn’t until noon—you’ve got two hours to get something.” 

Lewis’ fingernail was digging right through the linen of his button down, and Achilles had to force himself to take a breath before answering. Oh fuck you—

“Have you got a checklist, Lewis?” There was venom in Achilles’ voice now that he wasn’t bothering to disguise. “Just lurking about with a clipboard, making sure every member of this community contributes?” 

The mayor huffed and puffed before lowering his voice to a dangerously cold tone. “I’m looking out for you, Achilles. I want to introduce you to the governor. We need a good impression from you.” 

“And we’re going to get that from me dropping something into a giant ass pot? Does he have a checklist then?” 

“Language!” Lewis jabbed his finger again for stalking off. “Two hours!” 

“Goddammit… what’d you bring?” He looked at Alex, who had been silently bearing witness to the spat. 

“Uh… some tomatoes.” 

“I am not making the trek back to my farm for this…” 

Instead, similar to Lewis, he stalked away from Alex and made the exceedingly short walk to Elliott’s beachside cabin, giving the door a knock or two before letting himself inside. 

“Elliott, my dear, dear friend… Oh shit.” 

“Ah, Achilles!” Elliott, startled, jumped up from his kitchen table where he had been sitting next to Leah, the two apparently deep in conversation. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt—”

“No, not a problem, my friend,” said Elliott, clasping his hand. “Please, how may I be of service?” 

Achilles shot Leah a quick glance before turning back to Elliott. 

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to bring something for this… soup… Mayor Lewis is watching me, don’t ask me why, I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure he’s getting ready to prepare my eviction notice as we speak… what do people normally put in this thing?” 

“Ah! The soup. A rather ghastly tradition, if I may so—in fact, my very first year here, everyone had a terribly rotten time. Sick stomachs all around! Dear Dr. Harvey had quite a field day… But any ingredient you can think of, my friend! Part of the, allure, for lack of a better word I suppose, is the mystery surrounding this soup. Everyone brings an item, and then the governor takes a sip before we distribute to the crowds.” 

“That sounds like a terrible idea.” 

“I am glad to hear we are of one mind. I refuse to partake—and must bear the mayor’s wrath every year—but dear Leah over here has brought some raspberries.” 

“So does that mean I can’t bring raspberries?” 

Leah rolled her eyes and joined the two by the door. She opened the Tupperware she had been holding and dumped several berries into his hands. “You can bring literally anything Achilles, nobody gives a fuck. The tourists drink it all up.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

“OK—thank you. Again, so sorry to disturb,” Achilles said, ending his sentence with a strange jerky little bow before scurrying out. 

He made sure to give the mayor a big show on his way back to the pot, staring unblinkingly at Lewis as he climbed the ladder at an exaggerated snail’s pace and hurled the berries with all his might into the soup. 

Lewis, to his credit, also refused to break eye contact throughout this little performance of Achilles’, and in fact proceeded to beckon aggressively once he had made his way down from the ladder. 

But Achilles chose to respond with a cheery wave and teeth-baring smile, before turning and heading back towards the grills instead, where Alex, a brown Stardrop Saloon apron tied haphazardly around his waist, and Maru were chopping up burger and hot dog toppings ahead of what would likely be the lunch rush in an hour or so. 

“Burger duty?” Achilles asked, conveniently placing himself so that he’d be in Alex’s line of sight and out of Lewis’. 

“Every year, baby!” Alex looked up from his methodically diced onions. The lime green of his Tunnelers cap seemed to brighten his eyes just a tinge, adding just yet another level of mischief to their usual gleam. “You hungry? The line gets pretty crazy once all the tourists start arriving around noon.” 

“Nah, I’m good.” 

“You sure? I’ve got other things, too if you don’t want a burger or a hot dog right now…” Alex bent down to dig through the shelves that had been erected for the event. He popped his head back up, lifting the cap to run a hand messily through his hair. Achilles couldn’t help but squirm slightly in his sneakers. Perhaps it was the heat… and the sand…

“Want an egg?” 

“Well, I can never say no to an egg.” Achilles looked briefly away from Alex, who had cocked his head like an overeager beagle in response. “Over easy?” 

“One over easy egg, coming right up!” 

With one hand, Alex deftly cracked the egg onto the grill, his arms flexing ever so slightly with the movement. It was all too much. Achilles was transfixed, eyes continuing to follow the veins in Alex’s hands as they tossed the shells into a nearby bucket, and it took Penny’s nudge to break the spell. 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re drooling, Achilles.” 

“Like hell I am,” Achilles grumbled, but he surreptitiously wiped his mouth just in case. “In my defense, I’ve had very little to eat today.” 

“Hey, same—you know, I always like to starve myself the day before so I can leave room for ALL THIS DELICIOUS FOOD.” With a howl, Alex flipped the egg a foot into the air, letting it hit the grill with a bit of a splat. 

“That’s not healthy at all,” Maru said drily, looking up from the tomatoes she was cutting with significantly less gusto. 

*****

He would’ve stayed and chatted with Alex and the troublemaking trio for the rest of the luau if he could (Maru had traded places with Sam after being accosted by her father over a matter of “scientific importance” and had left for the boardwalk), but since he was also determined to stay away from Lewis, he had been forced to change up his plans. 

Luckily, it was Elliott who gave him his preemptive escape—his friend had sidled over with Leah and invited him to walk with them just as Lewis had begun to make his way over to the grills. 

“I’ll save you a burger!” Alex called as the three left, Achilles half-pushing Elliott to walk faster ahead as Lewis began to also increase his walking speed. 

“Oh dear! I didn’t mean to pull you away from young Alex—” Misinterpreting Achilles’ heightened urgency, Elliott began to turn back. 

“No worries, no worries, just go.” Achilles gave Elliott another, less gentle shove, tripping slightly over the back of Leah’s boots. At 6’5”, Elliott was pretty much a lightning rod for Lewis’ searching gaze. 

The tourists had begun to arrive in droves, however, which made it much easier to disappear into a crowd. Folks were piling their plates sky high. Damn, not even an entry fee? Achilles thought to himself, given that most tourists didn’t seem to be contributing anything to the potluck, though Achilles noticed the soup remained untasted and untouched for now. 

Thanks to Alex’s swim lessons, Achilles had no hesitations now racing towards the water. Together, they made their way to the boardwalk, where a separate little crowd had formed. Rather shamelessly pushing his way through to the front, Achilles found Maru surrounded by a multitude of different colored bottles and sheets of paper and pens which she was passing out to the tourists. 

Catching Achilles eye, she waved him, Elliott, and Leah over. 

“Helping out the ye olde parental figure with his latest science experiment—you know, the usual,” Maru began with a good natured roll of her eyes. “He’s conducting an experiment on the currents of the Gem Sea.” 

She held up one of the bottles—a purple one, semi opaque—and gave it a little tap. “Going to be throwing these into the sea later today. Hopefully in the upcoming months we’ll see when and where they eventually turn up—they’re actually made out of that polycarbonate I told you about last season, Achilles.” 

“Oh! Nice, did you get the patent?” He took the offered bottle and gave it his own experimental tap before handing it to Leah who conducted a much closer examination. 

Maru beamed. “I did! The material is nontoxic and won’t shatter, so it should be safer for wildlife than a typical glass bottle, and there’s not anything that’ll leach into the water.” 

Elliott tutted in hearty approval. “Absolutely fantastic—what a wonder you are, Miss Maru!” 

A small blush appeared on Maru’s cheeks. Achilles couldn’t help but look around to make sure Demetrius wasn’t anywhere nearby. The last thing they needed was the man falsely believing some 33 year old, unemployed beach bum in a ratty red blazer was flirting with his precious daughter. 

Maru coughed. “Well, anyway—I just thought I’d make the experiment a little more fun and everything with the luau, if you three are interested in participating?”  

They nodded, and she eagerly handed each of them two sheets of paper along with a pen. 

“The smaller card is the science stuff—most of it’s filled out already, but if you want to see what and how we’re recording, it’s all there. And then the second sheet is whatever you want it to be! You can write a letter, draw a picture, maybe even leave a phone number—any kind of message in a bottle you want to leave for whoever eventually, well… finds your bottle. Thought maybe it’d be fun, turn it into a pen pal sort of thing!” She shrugged, seemingly suddenly a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm. “Or, I don’t know, maybe that’s boring… but the folks so far seem to find it fun… anyway, just come back and give them to me when you’re done!” 

After assuring her it was a good idea, the three swiftly made their way back through the crowd to a rare empty space by the edge of the boardwalk. Leah, unsatisfied with the two inch wooden strip railing, instead had Elliott turn around and used his broad back as an easel for whatever picture she was inevitably choosing to draw. 

The man instantly turned scarlet, though of course from her new vantage point, Leah couldn’t see. Achilles on the other hand, gave him a squirrelly nod before leaving Elliott to write, also inevitably, what was likely to be an incredibly long winded letter.

Achilles, however, wasn’t quite sure what he’d do. What were messages in bottles typically used for? Love letters? That was a thing, right? He thought of Alex at the grill, arms bare from under his white UMF tank top, that baseball cap jauntily tilted just a few degrees to the side, laughing at even the most awful of Achilles’ jokes… 

There were other options, too, of course. He had forgotten the most obvious reason behind messages in bottles—distress signals. SOS. Cries for help and the like… 

At that thought, he was, with a flip of his stomach, reminded of a intoxicated night on a boardwalk and a beach and a sea. He obviously hadn’t written a note then—nobody, including himself, had thought that night was going to end the way that it did, but note or no note, it had most definitely been a night of distress. 

His pen was raised half a centimeter above the page. Perhaps it’d be cathartic to finally put those thoughts—the anxiety, the hopelessness, the frustration, all still stewing inside him—to page. 

Eva did always recommend journaling, didn’t she? 

His old therapist—surely it wouldn’t hurt to revisit some old exercises. 

But he was doing better now, right? Sure, relapses were a thing, but as a whole, Summer had so far been… nice. At least, compared to the end of Spring. Swim lessons and museum visits and other small tasks had kept him… somewhat busy. Why dwell on the past like that when there were brighter, if more mindless and silly, thoughts to share with the fish? Thinking back to what Evelyn had only said this morning about the spirits—why risk speaking anything distressing into existence? Even at the thought of it all, he felt a stir in the whispering voice at the back of his mind. 

Oh, but it wouldn’t hurt to get it all out, right? Even if he was past it. Which he definitely was. Right? 

He spent another five minutes wrestling between the two ideas. Why did it even matter which he chose, who the hell was ever even going to read this? A quick glance to his right notified him that Elliott (whose handwriting was neatly cramped and probably half the size of Achilles’) had already fill out the whole front side—geeze. Fine, if he was going to be like that—not that it was a competition… Achilles made his decision, put his pen to the page, and began to write. 

*****

He had only just turned the assigned materials to “Miss Maru” when Lewis, his face an intriguing shade of plum Achilles had never seen in a person, finally caught up to him. Gripping his shoulder with what must have been the combined might of all the mayors before him, Lewis dragged him away from a bewildered Elliott, Leah, and Maru. Off the boardwalk they went, across the sand, and back towards the festival entrance where a large, equally mustachioed man stood bedecked in a vibrant shade of purple not unlike the color of Abigail’s hair. 

“Governor.” Lewis cleared his throat and gave Achilles a slightly pointed smack on the shoulder, not that Achilles’ perfect posture needed the encouragement. “I would like to introduce you to young Achilles Robinson, our newest resident here Stardew Valley. He recently moved into old Dan Robinson’s farm—his father is, of course, Perry Robinson, I’m sure you remember him, and his mother Apolline Desrosiers. We are delighted to have him join our wonderful community here in Stardew!” 

Ah… Hoping to look good in front of the Governor, huh Mr. Mayor? 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Achilles said taking the Governor’s pudgy hand. It may have been sweaty, but the Governor’s eyes were kind—much kinder than Lewis’ beady little things at any rate. 

“Ah, young Achilles! I knew your father and grandfather well, he was a good farmer and an even better man, I was sorry to hear of his loss. I hope you’ll be following in his footsteps? This county could use some more locally grown produce!” 

Achilles shook his head somberly, biting down on his lip to prevent the smile threatening to break through when he caught site of Lewis’ impressive nostril flair. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a farmer—”

“—oh, but he’s found ways to support the community in a multitude of other ways,” Lewis said, rushing in. “He made a generous donation to help fix the old mining carts, you know, and together we’re working on rebuilding the museum and library.” 

Together, huh? 

“As you can see,” Lewis continued, “The Valley truly is a vibrant place that’s continuing to grow and attract such wonderful young people, and I do believe that you should reconsider—”

“It’s always a joy to visit Stardew Valley,” said the Governor, interrupting Lewis with admirable ease. “I take it you’ve liked your time here?” 

Armed with his brightest, smarmiest, most obviously sycophantic smile, Achilles threw an around around a visibly fuming Lewis’ shoulders. “Oh yes, the Valley has been wonderful. Of course, we’re all indebted to our Mayor here—over 20 years, I’ve heard, hasn’t it been?” 

“Oh. Well yes, yes… why, always unopposed…” Lewis’ halfhearted attempt at modesty was halting. 

The governor chuckled. “Well it was good meeting you, Achilles. Now go run along, no need to stay here with us stuffy old gents any longer. Perhaps, Lewis, we should move forward with the Luau?” 

Achilles didn’t need to be told twice, scurrying away back to Alex and Penny at the grill as the governor and Lewis together made their way to the giant pot in the center of the beach. 

“Sucking up to the governor, I see.” 

“Alex, let me tell you, I’m not the one doing any of the sucking there…” Achilles hopped deftly onto the edge of the table. The line for burgers had temporarily dwindled down; most folks were now either on the dance floor or hitting the water. 

“Figures… Hey, you want that burger now?” 

At that moment, Lewis took to a small stage that had been set up next to the giant pot of soup and picked up a microphone. 

“In a second, I want to see what the fuck is the deal with this soup.”

Alex barked a laugh and set his spatula to the side, wiping his hands on his apron. “Right-o.” 

Lewis gave the microphone a few shrieking taps and then began. “Well folks, it’s time once again for the potluck ceremony. I trust that you all put high-quality ingredients in the pot this year—Carl, you heard me! You better not’ve put in that eggplant dip again—we don’t want the governor to regret his visit to the valley!”

The crowd chuckled politely as the governor (and Carl, wherever he was) shook his head in mock consternation.  

“Well… Governor? Would you do us the honor of tasting the soup?” 

“Of course,” the governor said, moving forward. “I’ve been looking forward to this all year.” 

“Wow, no taster or anything, hmm? Could be a pretty straightforward assassination method, shame Lewis doesn’t taste it first,” Achilles murmured as Penny and Alex, who had leaned closer to better hear, held back snorts. “Al, didn’t you say people got sick once?”  

Penny laughed lightly, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh, it was awful… and we never caught the culprit. Lewis had always believed it was a tourist, but some of us have our suspicions…” Her eyes darted about the crowd. 

The governor made his way precariously up the sagging ladder, a ladle in hand. When he reached the top, he spooned a boldly large spoonful and gulped it down without hesitation. 

A pregnant pause. All eyes were on the governor. 

“Ah…”

The governor set the ladle down. 

“That’s a very pleasant soup. The produce from Zuzu never disappoints!” 

“I put in a cheese that I’m 95% sure came from Castle Village,” Penny whispered. 

“Now, who else wants some soup!” Lewis, all smiles now, waved a new ladle from atop the ladder as the townsfolk and tourists began to line up. 

*****

Alex was still on burger duty, which was beginning to pick back up (poor guy doesn’t get a break, huh?), so Achilles left to, despite his better judgement, grab a small bowlful of the mysterious potluck soup. He was now standing under the shade on a mat of palm fronds waiting for Elliott and Leah who were grabbing their own bowls, when Abigail joined him. 

“Once, like four or five few years ago, Sam and I dropped a pufferfish in. Straight up wrecked everyone.” 

Achilles immediately lowered his spoon back into his bowl. “Aren’t pufferfish… poisonous?” 

“Yeah…” Though Abigail didn’t look quite as remorseful as her tone may have tried to suggest. “We thought it’d be better than anchovies… hey, in our defense, we didn’t realize it would be that bad… like, nobody died… or had any longstanding health issues or whatever, so all’s well that ends well, right?” 

Achilles raised his eyebrows, unwilling to swallow the tiny mouthful of soup he had spooned before this revelation. 

“Don’t worry, we just put in some onions this year,” she said, watching him slosh the soup between his cheeks as if it could weed out any potential poisons. “Now,” Abigail leaned closer in and lowered her voice, “Nobody except Seb knows it was us though, so don’t say anything.” 

In an unusual turn of events (after assuring Abigail he wasn’t a snitch), he caught Shane trying to catch his eye from across the dance floor. He pointed to himself quizzically to confirm (when did Shane ever want to chat?), and received an urgent, almost conspiratorial, beckoning wave in response. 

Saying farewell to Abigail—although he wasn’t sure if she heard him, as Sebastian and Sam had arrived with plates heaping with food—Achilles navigated his way through the crowd over to Shane, who was now wearing his JojaMart polo, the bright blue cap clutched in his thick fingers. 

“What in the world have you got that on for?” Achilles asked, waving aside the beer Shane was offering him. 

“Gotta leave for a shift in 15,” he grunted. “Damn store doesn’t close during the holiday—doesn’t close any time, they’re open pretty much 24 hours every day in the Summer because of all these fuckin’ tourists…” 

“Ahh… I’m sorry about that.” Achilles took a seat on the wicker chairs, ready to give the man a much needed comforting pat on the back, just as Shane began to stand. 

From above his blue collar, Shane’s neck had turned slightly red, as Achilles realized it was oft to do when he was about to ask for even the smallest favor. Also in typical Shane fashion, the man turned his gaze to the ground. 

“Wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on Jas after I head out—Marnie’s a little… distracted.” his eyes wavered over at the bushy haired woman who was already rather red in the face, one hand grasping the stem of a cocktail glass, the other touching Lewis’ arm as she laughed heartily at a joke Achilles refused to believe warranted any level of teeth showing. 

“Hmm? Sure, no problem.” Jas, easy to find due to her purple hair, was currently down by the shore with Vincent. 

“She’ll probably stick close to him, and Jodi’s watching of course, but, ya know… just in case. Can never have too many eyes out, especially with all these strangers out here.” He glanced around, his eyes rimmed with red and suspicion alike. 

“Yeah, of course. No worries, I’ll make sure she gets back before dark.” 

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” 

*****

After a few hours spent chatting with Elliott and Leah, the sun had begun to set. Rather than wait for the tiki torches to be lit, Achilles made for Jas who was still splashing in the shallows with Vincent (Marnie had since disappeared…). 

“Hey Jas. I think it’s time we head back to the ranch.” 

She stopped mid-splash to glance distrustingly up at him. “Who are you?” 

It took a concerted effort not to roll his eyes. “I’m—”

“I’m just yanking your chain.” Definitely must’ve learned that phrase at home. “You’re Uncle Shane’s friend, the farmer man. Okay. Let’s go.” She reached for his hand and began to lead the way. “Bye Vincent.” 

Didn’t need much persuading, huh, Achilles thought to himself. Jas’ hand was small and damp in his, but she led with youthful confidence. At her touch, something ached ever so slightly in his chest—as the second oldest cousin of six, he had always (to some people’s surprise) liked children, though being an only child, he’d had no nieces or nephews. 

��Do you want to grab some leftovers?” he asked her as they neared the potluck tables, still laden with a fair amount of food. 

“Okay.” 

He grabbed her a plate and she reached for a few lukewarm hot dogs. “Why is your hair like that?” she asked suddenly, pointing at the streak in his hair. He was surprised she could make it out in the orange light. “You don’t look old enough to be going grey.” 

“Why is your hair like that?” he shot back at her. “You don’t look old enough to be going purple.” 

Jas giggled, as Achilles continued. “I got hit in the head hard as a kid, so you better be careful or the same will happen to you.” 

“You smell like grass.” 

“All right, well you smell like seaweed.” Achilles scratched his head. “You ready to go now?” 

He glanced around the beach again, but Marnie was still nowhere to be found. Neither, he noticed, was Lewis… 

“Hey, Achilles!”

Both him and Jas turned—Alex was tossing a volleyball between his hands. 

“You wanna play a round with Sam, Abigail, and I? We need one more.” 

“Ahh…” Oh he wanted to, that was for sure, but… “I can’t, gotta take this one back.” 

“You can play with Mr. Alex if you want,” Jas said, accompanying her somber nod with a clumsy pirouette. “I don’t mind.” 

A better wingman than your Uncle, Achilles wanted to say, but he shook his head instead, just as Alex strolled closer, bouncing the ball with his forearms. “It’s okay, Jas. I told your Uncle I’d get you back before dark.” 

“Oh, I see—babysitting duty, huh?” Alex knelt to offer Jas a high five. “Now Jas, you better take good care of Achilles, okay? Make sure he brushes his teeth and is in bed before 9.” She giggled as he stood back up, tucking the ball under his arm. “Well we might still be here for a bit if you come back. If not, I better see you Saturday, all right?” 

*****

It was over a half hour walk through Cindersap Forest with Jas determined to stop at every other rock or river to look for crawdads and roll polys and the like. While a part of him wanted to tell her to pick up the pace so he could maybe head back to the beach, Achilles forced himself to knock that bubbling impatience aside, instead joining her in her quest for to identify every species of bug they came across. 

Finally, they reached the ranch. But a knock on the door was met with silence. 

“You haven’t got a key, have you?” he said, looking down in the shadows at the pigtailed girl. She shook her head and took it upon herself to send a hailstorm of tiny fists down upon the door. 

He sighed, prepared to bring her back to his own cottage if needed, when a breathless Marnie wrenched open the front door, her hair rather askew and… to Achilles’ discomfort, her blouse unbuttoned incorrectly. 

“Achilles! Ah! Thanks very much for bringing Jas back.” 

“Bye Mr. Robinson, thank you for bringing me home.” Without even a second glance, Jas sprinted into the house straight for her bedroom. 

“I’m happy to take her back to my place if you’re… busy…” 

“Huh? Oh—no, no. Everything’s good here. Thank ya again!” With an abruptness that rivaled Jas’ unceremonious exit, Marnie shut the door with a goodbye. 

There was an empty sort of hollow in his chest, now that he found himself alone under cover of dusk. But figuring that nobody in their right mind would be playing beach volleyball now that it was this dark out (and would be even darker by the time he arrived back at the beach), Achilles shook off his solitude with just the tiniest sigh and made his way back to Strawberry Farms.

[sunspray-peak]

Ch 7: Flowers & Forest Spirits

WEDNESDAY - SPRING 10 

The saloon’s risotto had sat with him much better than he had anticipated, and so Achilles (who wasn’t a huge fan of cooking to begin with) was more than happy to return to the establishment for lunch and every evening for dinner on his way back from dropping wheelbarrows off at Clint’s.

Alex, who usually didn’t return from work until after sunset, hadn’t been able to stop by again to Achilles’ mild disappointment, but Abigail and Sam were happy to lend a helping hand when they could in exchange for a bite.  

Achilles had met the Stardrop Saloon’s proprietor, a warm and affable man named Gus, but it was usually Emily who waited on him, always eager to seat him in his favorite booth the moment he walked into the saloon. Whether that had anything to do with the 35% tip he always gave, he wasn’t sure, but she had proved to be a highly capable and personable waitress. 

“Love the Mercure,” she said, nodding at his duck patterned button down. The complimentary clothing commentary was another perk. “A lemonade to start?”

“Yes, please. And I’m thinking the soup of the day today.” 

“Good choice! I always love potato leek day myself.” 

“For sure, love a good leek.” He handed her back the menu. But an idle glance at the emerald green cover of her notebook filled him with a sudden (and embarrassing! What’s wrong with you?) sense of longing, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Say, does Alex ever stop by for dinner? I feel like I’ve seen everybody else in the Valley come through here since Sunday except him.” 

“Oh no, he’s very rarely here, unless it’s a party or a date or something. Can’t blame him, really, his grandma’s an amazing cook. Why do you ask, hmm?” she added sweetly, her eyes blinking just a bit too knowingly. 

Achilles laughed and chose to address her curiosity head one. With a fake sigh and a shake of his head, he said through a lazy smile, “What can I say, Emily, he’s a very good looking man.” 

“Very forward, I like you.” She tapped him on the head with the menu.

Achilles laughed again, dodging the cardstock. “No, I just felt like having some company tonight, but was in the mood for someone perhaps on the… quieter side.” 

Emily followed his gaze towards the game room where Abigail at this moment was beating her chest and yelling—in the spirit of competition—at Sebastian across the pool table. 

She clicked her tongue. “I see what you mean. I’d join you if I could, but I’m not off for quite a bit, I’m afraid. I’ll get you your lemonade though, be back in a sec.” 

*****

Instead of either Alex or Emily’s cheery visage—or nobody’s face in particular, which wouldn’t have bothered him, even though he had genuinely been in the mood for company—it was a dusty purple five o-clock shadow that slid into the booth across from him an hour later. 

“Hello, Shane,” Achilles said evenly, rolling with this sudden appearance. “I’m afraid I was just about finishing up.” He held up his credit card which he’d just been about to slip into the check holder. 

Just like that first day at Pierre’s, the man was stubbornly refusing to make eye contact.

Glancing at his hands instead, which were tapping madly away on the table, Shane grunted, “I’ve decided I would like to help you with the farm. If you’ll still have me. I heard those kids were helping you.” He gave a jerky nod towards the game room where the trio were now playing a heated game on one of the arcade machines. “But I’ll be a lot more help, I can tell you that.” 

Shane took a deep, shaky breath, clenched his fists and (finally) slowly looked up to meet Achilles’ rather inscrutable eyes. 

“I’m stronger than ‘em—well, maybe not Alex—but definitely those other three. I won’t do any of that goofing off that I bet they’re doing. I’ll be real focused on the job at hand. But mostly, unlike them, I know my way around a farm.” 

What was this, a job interview? The halting manner in which Shane spoke definitely sounded rehearsed. 

“You don’t need to sell me your strengths, Shane,” Achilles said quickly. “I’d be grateful for any help you can provide.” 

A big exhale—huge, really, Shane’s body visibly deflated as he looked back down at the table. “We’ll have to work around my JojaMart schedule. I have a lot of shifts— ”

“Oh, please, I’ll pay you more than what Joja’s giving you, if you’d prefer to move—”

Shane met his eyes once again, but this time only to throw Achilles a rather nasty look, his lip curling ever so slightly before quickly softening. He shook his head. “No. No money. Just being… neighborly.” 

“Really, Shane, it doesn’t feel—”

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning at sunrise if that works. I can work for three hours, and then I can come back after my shift ends at 5pm.” 

And then, just as suddenly as he had arrived, Shane slipped out of the booth and left the saloon. 

“I mean, sure Achilles, he’s quiet, but not really the company I had in mind for you.” Emily had swooped in immediately.

“Likewise… he just offered to help me with the farm…?” 

“Oh! Did he? Well good for him!” She smiled brightly, grabbing the check book. 

*****

“Hey, I know it’s early,” Emily said on her return once Achilles had signed and stood to leave. “But I’m having my birthday here at the end of the season, would love if you could come before, you know, you head out of Stardew. Spring 27.” 

“Oh no way, I’m Fall 27. For sure, I’ll be there.” 

“Alex will be too,” she added with a whisper and a wink. “Because, you know, it’s a party.”

Achilles rolled his eyes. 

THURSDAY - SPRING 11  

True to his word, Shane knocked on Achilles’ front door at 6:30am, just as the sun was beginning to hit the horizon. 

“Good morning, great to see you. Muffin?” Achilles held out half a dozen he had purchased from Pierre’s yesterday. Shane tentatively took one and gave it a suspicious sniff.

Seriously? But he kept his voice jovial. 

“They’re not poisoned, Shane. It’s just blueberry.”

“Mmph. You never know.” 

He gave Shane a beat to test out the muffin before rolling out his various maps and diagrams on the porch table. Over the next fifteen minutes, Achilles walked Shane through his vision of the farm.

“Thoughts?” Achilles glanced at Shane who was spilling crumbs and scrutinizing the paper rather too closely for his taste. “Of course, we still need to actually finish clearing said land, but I think it’s always nice to let yourself imagine the final product every once in awhile. For motivational purposes.”  

“This isn’t a farm.” 

“Hmm?” 

“This isn’t a farm.” Shane rapped his hairy knuckles against the diagram. “This is a glorified flower bed.” 

Achilles frowned. “Well, I mean… I don’t have time to take care of plants that will just go bad at the end of the season. I just need it to look nice. I mean, whoever buys it might want to lay the farm out differently. Might as well give them mostly a clean slate.”

“But will they want flower beds?” 

“The flower beds are just along the sides here if you just look—”

“This is terrible—”

“This is my farm, Shane—”

“This is not a farm—”

“Listen. Shane.” Cutting off Shane’s heated voice with a clap of his hands, Achilles sighed and pinched his nose to keep it from twitching. In a level tone, he continued. “I’ve done my research. I’ve looked at similar surrounding properties. This is what’s going to help sell it.” 

“Yeah, sell it to another city dweller like you who won’t appreciate the great land you’ve got here—land any actual farmer could only ever dream of.” Shane spat and gazed across the property, a soft trace of longing in his eyes. “But hey. Your land.” 

With that, he grabbed a pickaxe from the neat stack on the porch and marched away. 

Letting his nose now twitch at its maximum potential, Achilles grabbed the two muffin aprons Shane had left behind (alongside a grease stain on his maps), and hurled them into the trash. 

*****

Luckily, Achilles didn’t particularly hold grudges (way too much effort, unless your name was Eddie Bloomsbury) and it seemed like Shane didn’t either. Although the latter seemed to enjoy working in silence, an hour into their endeavor (which, Achilles begrudgingly noticed, was definitely moving faster than it had been with Abigail and Sam), the man had felt inclined to crack a joke in response to Achilles, who once again had claimed to have seen something bounce about the land. 

“I swear, I’m not crazy—I got a good look at it this time,” Achilles said, pointing over by a copse of maple trees. “There were two of them, both the size of a basketball, just scurrying around. You really didn’t seem them? You were looking right over there.” 

“Someone seems to have been hitting the bottle.” 

Achilles frowned, leaning against his pickaxe as he continued to search from afar for something in the leaves. Shane, to his credit, did take a quick look, but swiftly went back to breaking up rocks. 

“Nah, just kidding. You know, you’re seeing junimos I bet.” 

“Junimos?” A possible answer? Or was Shane just paying him back for their spat that morning. 

“Forest spirits. Apparently used to be all over Cindersap and this farm back in the day, if you believe the kid stories. Jas loves ‘em. I’ve never seen one in person myself, but Marnie says they’re supposedly real… mind you, she’s never seen one either so…” 

“Forest spirits?” 

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll bring one of Jas’ books. If they’re to be believed, they’re supposedly the good guys, so don’t worry. If you are seeing them—as in, you’re not going crazy—I don’t think it can be anything bad. Just means you’re special, I guess.” 

Special. 

*****

When 9:30 rolled around, Shane gave Achilles a gruff goodbye, grabbed another muffin, and strolled out of Strawberry Farms, a blue Joja cap now on his head but clearly in no rush to get to the supermarket. 

They had gotten quite a bit done—much more than expected, he’d have to redo the timeline again. 

With that knowledge, Achilles allowed himself a brief break before starting on a particularly vicious patch of weeds by a small cavern along the northern border of the property. At this rate—for Shane had offered to come every day—it’d likely take no more than half this season now to finish the the debris. He could probably even get started on those damn flower beds Shane hated so much this weekend if he really wanted to; the area around the farmhouse was almost completely clear. 

As much as he tried to concentrate on revising his timeline, however, his thoughts kept returning to Shane’s suggestion. Forest spirits… was he going crazy or were they, for some inexplicable reason, choosing to only show themselves to him? After all these years of nonmagical abilities? Perhaps it was a question for the Wizard—who better would know about spirits and magic? 

Oh, but he had promised himself not to get involved with that sort of thing—he didn’t need the distraction, and hearing Pierre and Caroline’s anxiety over the whole affair only added fuel to Achilles’ already existing anti-M. Rasmodius fire. Perhaps he’d check out the museum instead, see if there was any information there… 

But not yet. He had other things to worry about. Like the mountain of farm rubble waiting to be wheeled to Clint’s. The burdensome trek was probably his least favorite part of an incredibly all around unlikable process. 

“I’ll take some of that off your hands.”

Right on time! He turned to see Robin, who was stopping by this afternoon to get started on renovating the bathroom—Yoba, he missed baths… one would feel particularly good right now, his muscles hadn’t been able to catch a break since falling down that damn elevator chute. But at least the perpetual exhaustion had lessened his dependence on sleeping pills, he supposed. 

“The wood and stone, I could use some of that if you ever want to drop some of it off at my place. I could probably take whatcha got right there in the truck after I finish up here, if that works for you.” 

“Oh, would you?” Achilles rose from the rocking chair he had briefly folded himself into. “It’s a huge pain in the ass—apologies, excuse my language—it’s a huge pain dragging it to Clint’s every other day.” 

“Mmm, I bet.” Robin was closely examining some of the logs, giving a few a hardy tap with her fist “This is good stuff. Good hardwood. Hey, actually…

“You know what might be nice for ya—back in the day, there used to be mine carts that your grandpa would use to transport materials like this around town. There’s a station pretty close to the farm here, and you’ve probably seen the one next to Clint’s. If you can somehow persuade Lewis to get that fixed up, it’ll probably make your job a helluva lot easier.” 

*****

But Achilles did not trust Lewis to get anything fixed up. He’d never seen the man do anything outside of dig around his flower beds. He supposed this was, after all, the same Mayor who had done nothing to renovate the ghastly eyesore of the community center. 

Instead, Achilles spent his evening conducting an in-depth search into the history of the mining cart system and how to get it fixed. He had no issues leaving it to the professionals this time—he had zero interest in getting close to anything even tangentially related to the mines ever again—and by the time Shane had arrived the next morning ready to work, Achilles had already placed a call to the highest rated mechanical engineer in the province to get, as he was able to cross out on his To-Do list, “that mine cart shit done.” 

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 8: The Egg Festival

SATURDAY - SPRING 13 

True to the Sacred Timeline (as Shane had started to refer to it whenever Achilles brought it up), Strawberry Farms was well on its way out of the wilderness. Between Shane’s help, the occasional hand from the trio, and Alex who had stopped by Friday evening, everything was looking, as Achilles thought to himself, pretty damn good. One could finally walk across the land without having to make a detour around stray logs or boulders or weeds. 

In an alcove over by the western side of the farm, Achilles had ultimately kept a number of large, leafy oaks standing. He would have grinded the two thick tree stumps that Grandpa Dan had left behind out of the ground, but in a moment of inspiration during a midday search for shade, had decided to leave them as little chairs for sitting. To Pierre’s delight, he had purchased grass seeds to plant in the area, too. It could be… a fun sort of fairy garden for kids, or something. Put up a tire swing, plant some perennials… He had even ordered a small bird bath fountain. 

The repair company had finished the most pertinent mine cart route that morning, and Achilles had spent the better part of what was typically breakfast sending cart after cart from the bus stop down to Clint’s. That being said, an empty stomach was a small sacrifice to pay for no longer having to wheel 80 tons of rocks into Pelican Town and across the river. 

By noon, Achilles was knee deep in newly tilled flower beds, and loathing every second of it (not that he’d admit it to Shane)—if he hadn’t already been determined not to be a farmer, this really sealed the deal.

Yoba, why were there so many earthworms. Pink and slimy, wriggling their way through the dirt. Even during his lunch break, he hadn’t been able to escape their phantom crawl across his skin. And now, he thought, scowling at his latest victims squirming in the soil, there were two times as many damned worms as before (thanks to some overly-aggressive shovel work). 

“Disgusting, aren’t they,” Achilles said aloud, though nobody seemed to be there. He winced, flicking a few worms aside before stuffing a tulip bulb into the hole he had made. “Absolutely nauseating. Though they say they’re good for plant growth. Which perhaps you’d all like, I suppose?”

Ever since Shane had told him about the junimos, he’d had the peculiar sensation that someone was watching him. Even inside the farmhouse, Achilles hadn’t been able to shake his paranoia. Unperturbed however, and honestly more annoyed than afraid, he had simply decided to address his mysterious watcher head on. Perhaps the forest spirits wouldn’t mind his chatter. Perhaps they’d say something back. Or perhaps they’d grow tired of it all and leave him be. 

“Hey you! Achilles!” 

Achilles turned abruptly, spade brandished—a junimo? 

But no, to his slight disappointment, it was the grey mustache of none other than Lewis who was cresting over the small hill at the farm’s eastward entrance. 

“Good morning, Lewis—”

“Why aren’t you at the festival?” 

“Hmm?” Lewis or not, Achilles was happy to use this excuse to look away from the worms and stood to meet the mayor at the porch. 

“The Egg Festival! I left a note in your mailbox.” 

Ah. Achilles never checked the mail. But he didn’t see a need to share that right now, not to someone whose mustache was bristling this hard, so he simply responded with, “Oh, the festival. Of course. Well, I’m working.” 

“Huh?” 

“I’m… working.” Achilles waved his gloved hands down towards the pile of flowers waiting to be planted. “I have to clean the property up if I want to sell it—”

 “It’s a festival day, nobody should be working. Come on down, we’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Pardon? Waiting for me? Why?” Achilles laughed politely. “I don’t need to be there, do I?” 

Lewis’ mustache dipped dramatically to this sides as he frowned. 

“Well… everybody comes out to these things.” Then he puffed himself up and adjusted his newsboy cap. “We’ve got folks from all over Zuzu who visit, and it’s a good way for us villagers to show those outsiders our sense of community. You know, show them what a great place Stardew really is. We’d love for you to be there, too.” 

“Ah, I see.” Achilles dusted the dirt from his gloves and took a suggestive step back down from the porch. “Well, Lewis, I really appreciate the invitation, but I’m afraid I have quite a few things I need to get done before dinner tonight—Evelyn and George have been kind enough to invite me over.” He shot Lewis what he hoped was a bright enough smile before grabbing his spade and making his way back to the pit of worms and tulips. “But please tell everyone I said hello!” 

“You come down and tell them yourselves!” Lewis, now clearly cross, folded his arms and gave a mean little stare. “It’s the first festival of the year—your grandpa and your dad never missed a single one when they lived here, you know.” 

Not the grandpa card! And his father—who had been a literal child at the time…

Achilles turned to face him, gearing up to fight back—how dare this sorry excuse for a mayor command him to waste a valuable day watching children hunt for eggs.

“Listen, Lewis, like I said, I really appreciate you coming out here to invite me like this, but I’m on a bit of a tight schedule— ” 

“I’m not leaving until you come with me to Pelican Town right now!” 

All right, fuck you, too.  

He was ready to throw politeness out the window, but a glance at the growing, wriggling pit of earthworms (truly, where in the world were they coming from?) weakened his resolve. And the sky—oh, such an effortless blue, not a single cloud…

He was way ahead of the Sacred Timeline (he hadn’t been entirely truthful about being on a tight schedule), perhaps it’d be good to… take a brief break. 

Swallowing his retort, he set his shovel gently on the ground with a sigh. “I should change.” 

“Hey now, maybe you’ll meet some nice out of towners,” Lewis called as Achilles made for the farmhouse. The old man’s eyes had softened just a smidge at Achilles’ surrender, but there was still a tinge of suspicion as he followed Achilles closely back onto the porch. Gross. Get away. “Maybe even a prospective buyer. We have folks from all over come out, you know. I’ll just wait out here for ya.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Achilles muttered for his (and any watching junimos’) ears only, shutting his front door behind him with as much bitterness good manners allowed. 

*****

Twenty minutes later, dressed in khakis and a button down featuring pastel orange rabbits, he accompanied Lewis back into Pelican Town, which had been brightly decorated for the occasion. 

Maypoles wrapped in flowery vines had been erected through the square alongside long tables piled high with deviled eggs, egg salads, frittatas, quiches—multiple chicken coops’ worth of eggs— and clothed in a lovely pistachio green. 

It wasn’t uncomfortably crowded, but the town’s population of 30 (give or take) had definitely at least quadrupled in size. A sea of pastel people.

Good choice with the shirt. 

Contrary to what Lewis had said though, he had definitely not been missed. Nobody shouted his name or said hello, he hadn’t waltzed in to any sort of applause. In fact, the mayor himself had straight up abandoned him after Achilles had firmly turned down the offer of a basket for the upcoming egg hunt.

At 5’11” (well, maybe 5’10” if you discounted his hair) Achilles wasn’t short, but he still struggled to locate a familiar face as he maneuvered among the crowd, squeezing past children with face paint while politely smiling at their harried parents and dodging rabbit-shaped balloons. 

A flash of dull purple hair caught his attention after a few minutes, and he gently pushed his way closer to what seemed to be a photo-op. Someone dressed in a giant pink rabbit suit was posing with children in front of a flower-filled backdrop.

“Hey, Shane!” he called, raising his hand in greeting. The man was currently waiting in the line with a young girl; it must’ve been his goddaughter, Jas. They supposedly weren’t related by blood, but she shared Shane’s purple hair, hers currently pulled into two short pigtails. 

His greeting had caught Shane’s attention, but after also catching his eye, Shane proceeded to look stubbornly away. 

Achilles scowled. “Ok that’s fine…” He turned back north towards the food tables. Perhaps he’d be able to grab a bite and sneak back to the farm… 

“Heard you aren’t participating in the egg hunt.” 

Another shock of purple hair—this one attached to a much friendlier face—had appeared. Leave it to Abigail to track him down, she always seemed to be just a hair’s breadth away. 

“Don’t be a party pooper, bro, everyone participates, it’s just about to start.” 

“Hello, Abigail.” Achilles stuffed his hands in his pockets upon seeing the extra basket in her hand. That didn’t seem to dissuade her though, as she waved it in his face, the green and purple ribbons whipping his nose. “Ah. I don’t believe it’d be quite fair for me to compete against children in an egg hunt.” 

“Fine, but your loss.” She popped her bubble gum and stacked her baskets. “There’s usually a pretty fab prize.” 

Just as she finished her sentence, Lewis had taken to a stage that had been erected by the side of the saloon, clearing his throat into the mic: participants in the annual Egg Hunt should please head over to the center of the square, right next to Meteor Elementary’s art gallery.  

“Does she… at least go easy on them?” New habits died hard, too, it would seem. He had spoken aloud to no one in particular as he watched Abigail sprint full speed to the graveyard at Lewis’ whistle, her stride double that of the scrambling children left in her wake. 

“That wouldn’t be very Abby now, would it,” came Alex’s voice from beside him. 

Achilles jumped. Alex and Penny—a Pelican Town ginger whom Alex had introduced Achilles to last week (Alex just knew all the women, didn’t he)—had joined him by the face-paint tent.

“Oh, hello, didn’t see you there.” He made some space so the two could stand next to him as they watched the carnage unfold. Alex’s hands, Achilles noticed, were gripping Penny’s shoulders. “I suppose you’re right, it wouldn’t…” 

“Elderflower soda?” A teacher at the local elementary school, Penny had a sweet face that matched her light, breathy voice, although the dark circles under her eyes seemed to suggest there was something else at play beneath her sunny disposition. She handed him a glass, just as Abigail “accidentally” sent a young tween sprawling. 

“Is this allowed? It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” said Achilles lightly, taking a sip as Alex moved to stand in between the two. 

“Abigail at the Egg Festival or Abigail in general?” 

Achilles made a rather noncommittal noise. She had been a friendly face, all things considered. Very welcoming. But… 

“I get it. She’s great! In small doses.” Alex flashed him a conspiratorial grin. “Don’t worry, I know Penny’s not a fan.” He bumped her shoulder with his, causing the soda to spill slightly. 

Penny’s mouth tightened as she searched for a more diplomatic phrase. “I never said I wasn’t a ‘fan,’ Alex. I just think she’s…” 

Achilles lips couldn’t help but turn upwards just a bit, but his smile was quickly dampened as Abigail herself came barreling past, screaming at the top of her lungs in what may have been an intimidation tactic. “Young. She’s… young.” 

*****

All in all, she indeed did not go easy on the kids, swooping in twenty minutes later with 28 eggs, having bulldozed her way past Vincent, Jas, and the other visiting children alike on her road to victory. 

Achilles watched her claim her “pretty fab prize” (a straw hat) with a vague sense of nausea, but his well practiced poker face failed to betray his feelings of secondhand embarrassment. 

*****

The festival passed fairly quickly after that. Achilles had managed to dodge Abigail and her antics after the egg hunt, but still found himself bullied into getting his picture taken with the Egg Festival Rabbit (whom he strongly suspected from the smell was Willy, the local fisherman who owned the fish shop along the beach) by none other than Mayor Lewis. 

“Be a team player, Achilles.” He had hurled the words from across the food table. “We are a community.” 

There was in fact quite a lot of bullying going around today, Achilles thought ruefully to himself as he checked the time on his cell. That reminded him, he still needed to order a new battery for his watch… should’ve added that to the Sacred To-Do list (Shane had re-named that as well)… 

But after getting bullied into purchasing some strawberry seeds by Demetrius (“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your farm is called ‘Strawberry Farms,’ if I’m not mistaken?) and some sort of thick stalked, seasonal plant by Pierre (“You’ve got to liven up that house somehow”) it was finally time. 7 o’clock. Dinner with the Mullners.

Alex had introduced him to Grandma Evelyn and Grandpa George last week shortly after the Mine Endeavor (as Achilles had dubbed it in his head), but it had been very quick—Evelyn had been in a bit of a rush to get back to something left in the oven and George had merely hacked a loogie and told him to buzz off after a curt hello. But it was all smiles this time as he entered the foyer of 1 River Road. Except, oh fuck, he had left the bottle of wine he had purchased for the occasion back at home. Fucking Lewis, messing with his plans… 

Showing up empty handed now, you idiot…

“Oh, you look just like your grandfather did when he was your age!” Evelyn exclaimed with a warm, if frail, embrace. “He was such a handsome man!” 

At this, Grandpa George had huffed, but he gave Achilles a smart nod and said, “Good to see you again, young man.” 

“Likewise, you as well, George—oh, but who is this!” Achilles gasped as a chunky brown dog came tottering its way through the brightly lit hall, paws clattering on the hardwood floors. 

“Dusty! Come here, boy!” Alex knelt down as Dusty the dog burrowed his head into Achilles’ waiting lap, wriggling into his khakis. “Oh, he likes you.” 

“Dusty likes everybody,” George grunted. 

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true…” 

“What kind of dog is he?” Achilles asked, scratching behind Dusty’s long ears. 

“Not entirely sure, we figure maybe part beagle just cause of the ears, but he’s so big. The pound thought maybe part German Shepherd?” 

“He is a big boy, aren’t you, Dusty? Aren’t you?” Yoba, he missed dogs. They had had a number growing up, but in Hyacinthia, he had spent so much time in the office he had felt it’d be irresponsible to adopt one.

“Well you boys have fun now, George and I’ll finish up here,” Evelyn said, making her way back to the kitchen as Dusty, excited at the unusually exorbitant amount of attention, began to whine and drool steadily on Achilles’ arm. “I do apologize, dear, I thought this casserole would be ready in time, but someone forgot to purchase onions!” Over by the pantry, George rolled his eyes and gnashed his dentures.

“Oh no, no problem whatsoever.” Achilles immediately stood, following her while surreptitiously wiping his sleeve against the side of his pants. “How can I help?” 

“Oh, nonsense, dear! We’re just about almost done, you and Alex go have fun, we’ll call you down.” 

“No, really, happy to help—let me set the table—”

“You’ll be more of a nuisance than assistance,” George grunted yet again. The long knife in his hand caused Achilles to take an unconscious step back. “This woman is very particular about how she runs things in here, you take my word for it—you don’t much look like someone who knows their way around a kitchen anyway. Now you two go hang out or whatever the kids call it these days.” 

 And so, feeling like he was in middle school all over again, Achilles found himself following Alex down the hall, Dusty traipsing behind them. A handful of crooked photographs lined the walls—Alex in a grid ball uniform, baby Alex laughing on a swing set, high school Alex at prom with an unmistakably gorgeous teenage Haley… 

“My room,” Alex said, opening the door rather sheepishly. “Um, we can just chill here, if that’s good with you. We don’t have people over too often…” 

It was large; judging from Achilles’ estimation of the house’s dimensions (which he now found himself subconsciously doing ever since toiling over the farm’s proportions), it must’ve been the master bedroom.

Interesting. 

Yellow gridball wallpaper covered the walls under faded posters of bodybuilders and other sports stars. Charts displaying the alphabet and multiplication tables hung next to a nearly-bare desk, while a small row of stuffed animals and action figures lined the window, painfully neat. Similar to how he had described Abigail just hours earlier, the room felt… young. 

Alex took a seat on the bed and looked determinedly at the slightly discolored orange rug that Dusty had decided to lie on. 

“You play?” asked Achilles, nodding at the wallpaper, more to break the silence than anything else. “I saw the picture in the hall.” 

“Yeah, in middle school, a bit in high school. I’ll still throw a ball around with Sam every once in awhile, but was actually kinda more of a swimmer, I guess…” Alex trailed off, biting his lip as he leaned back on his bed, fingers digging into the red duvet. “Grandma put the paper up when I moved here.” 

“Oh, how long have you been with them?” 

“Since I was 12.” But if Achilles had wanted to know more, Alex was being unusually cagey.

Clocking the discomfort, Achilles swiftly walked over to a tall bookshelf across from the door. Books! Always a great neutral topic… “A ha, this is where it’s at.”

His fingers danced across the spines—pausing at the books he recognized, taking a second here or there to savor the selections of this mini library—until they found, with a small thrill, there on the second shelf from the top, a well read copy of Henry Spector and the Main Street Manor. 

He gently pulled it out. Holding it out in front of chest, cover facing away from him, he did a bit of a half-jig towards Alex who seemed to instantly relax. He stood from his bed and took the chapter book from Achilles. 

“I told you I wasn’t lying.” Alex tapped the cover. “I was a big fan.” 

“Was?” Achilles said in mock outrage, returning to the shelf where he gestured at the other five books in the series, each with its own well-creased spine. 

Alex laughed, face beaming as he pulled them all out one by one, turning to stack them atop the desk. “Was, am—you’ll have to sign these now, you know.” He handed Achilles a fountain pen. How perfect, he had always preferred signing with those… 

“And who shall I make it out to, young man?” Achilles took the chair Alex had pulled out for him. He scooted it forward, noticing, as he reached for the first book, a small framed photograph of what must have been a toddler Alex laughing in the arms of a kind faced, young woman. 

“Hey, you know what? Surprise me. Write whatever you want.” Alex’s grin was wide. “You know, 15 year old me would be dying right now.” 

Swiftly readjusting his gaze from the photo, Achilles opened the first book to the title page and signed, “To Alex. My only fan. Achilles Desrosiers.” 

“Okay, well that’s a little depressing.” Alex leaned on his arms atop the desk, squinting over Achilles’ shoulder. “Seb’s a fan, too.” 

To one of my two fans. -Achilles Desrosiers 

Alex took the second book from him and watched closely as Achilles signed something equally pathetic in the third. 

“Hey, write something a little happier, will you?” Alex smacked Achilles on the head with Henry Spector and the Ghoul in School (#3). “I won’t stand for my favorite author ever doing this to himself.” 

To my rudest fan, who violently assaulted me in the head with the book preceding this one. -Achilles Desrosiers.  

“You were a Ferngill Times bestselling author,” Alex groaned after a minute, leaning back against the desk as Achilles feverishly scribbled a note in the fifth book in the series, somehow already back in the heightened rhythm of book signings. “Didn’t you have a TV deal at some point? What happened to that?” 

A sharp inhale. Achilles gripped the sixth novel (Henry Spector’s Final Phantom), his knuckles white against the paperback as he took a pause from signing. Taking a deep but silent breath, he flipped rapidly through the pages, letting them flow meditatively against his thumb as the scent of the yellowed paper lightly washed over him.

It was an unusual edition—he noticed that now, flipping through. Left justified, wide margins, an unusual, cartoonish sans serif font. 

A long-buried memory resurfaced; a special edition of the series had been printed as a part of his publisher’s celebration of National Dyslexia Month. Huh. Well that explained why Alex hadn’t read Apparition, since according to Eddie Bloomsbury, Apparition was “a struggle to read for even the most capable readers…”

He pushed out those thoughts and flipped through the book again until he landed at the cover page. 

To Alexander Mullner, my favorite neighbor in Stardew Valley. Thanks for reading. -Achilles Desrosiers 

“Alex is short for Alexander, right?” Achilles asked, fountain pen resting against his chin. Fool, should’ve checked first. 

Alex, who was still taking a beat to decipher Achilles’ pointy handwriting, nodded.

“Well, there you have it,” Achilles said, popping the cap back on the pen and taking all six books into his hands. “Thank you for coming to the signing.” He headed back to the shelf and slid them neatly in place.  

“No, thank you, really!” Alex moved to clap Achilles on the back but smacked air instead, as the latter had knelt down to get a better look at the rest of the shelf. 

“You’ve got a lot of good stuff here,” Achilles said, but he didn’t touch anything further. Digging around had already been rather impolite, he thought to himself with minor embarrassment. It’s not like they were friends…

Friendly, sure, but friends… 

From behind him, he heard a sigh. He could see out of the corner of his eye Alex shuffle his feet. “You know, I haven’t actually read most of the books on this shelf.” 

Achilles stood back up to full height and glanced at Alex who was bitting his lip again and running a hand through the gel in his hair. “Hmm?” 

“Yeah, I mean I’ve read your stuff of course, and some of the other stuff down there… but like I’m not a… great reader. It’s why I used to listen to a lot of stuff on tape.” 

“For sure, I get it.”  

It was Alex’s turn to kneel, his hands digging around for something on the cluttered bottom shelf. 

“Sometimes I get worried, you know. About, I don’t know, being stupid or something. Worthless…” 

“You’re not stupid—” 

“My mom got me into comics though, when I was a kid. She thought maybe it’d be easier. A ha.” He had found what he had been looking for and pulled out from the back of the shelf a stack of colorful comic books emblazoned with various super heroes and villains. “Haven’t really kept up, so these are pretty old. Gotta wonder how much they’re worth now—not that I’d sell them, of course— but they were fun. Used to draw my own.”  

“Oh yeah? No way, me too.” Achilles knelt down next to him, sifting through the bright covers. “Nimbus was my favorite, I think.” 

“Wait seriously? Me too!” Alex shuffled through the stacks and pulled out a couple thin volumes featuring a blue-caped superhero flying among the clouds. 

“A thing like that.” Achilles took the volume Alex was offering. “It pushed me down a serious weather rabbit hole, I wanted to be a weatherman like Zedd so badly… I can still probably name you all the different types of clouds.” 

Dusty, inspired by their laughter, trotted over and took a seat between them. 

“Wow, I haven’t looked through these in years,” Alex murmured, just the tiniest glint in his eyes as he flipped through the Nimbus volume in his hands. From his position, Achilles could make out familiar panels featuring a showdown between Nimbus and arch-nemesis, Tsai Clone. Flashes of neon blue, green, and pink were likely Zedd Finch, Nimbus’ best friend (and side kick, depending on the era). The hero’s on-again off-again girlfriend, Meg Maizel, had her own cover, the history-making volume now peaking out from under Dusty’s paws. 

Achilles joined him in flipping through an issue with his own hearty dose of nostalgia. It had been awhile for him, too. 

After a minute or two, Alex began to neatly stack the comics and set them gently back on the bottom shelf. 

“When I moved in with my grandparents they tried to get me to read like, real books and stuff. But it just gave me a headache—I mean, it’s my fault, I know I could’ve been better about practicing and stuff…” Alex reached to pet Dusty as the dog settled into his lap. “It’s not that I don’t want to read—like some of my favorite TV shows and movies and stuff are based on books, of course I want to read them some day… I don’t know. It’s annoying. And I guess I’m just too… lazy to really sit down and try to do it…” 

“Do you still listen to things on tape? Maybe while you exercise.” Achilles nodded at the neat stack of weights in the corner. “Although I get it if you don’t like doing that, I usually jog in silence.” 

“No, yeah, I usually listen to stuff, but mostly music, easier to concentrate. And those books are so long, you know? And my headphones are also messed up—I’m just making excuses now, aren’t I?” Alex laughed lightly as Dusty stuffed his nose up his shirt. “Hey, excuse you, Dusty.”

Shit, can I be Dusty?

Stop that, you perv. 

“Well… we all have our strengths and weaknesses.” Achilles shrugged, nodding once again at the weights. 

“Sure, and my strength is being able to row 2000 meters in six and a half minutes and yours is being able to read a menu without wanting to gouge your eyes out. Which one’s more helpful in life, do you think?”

Alex had half-spat the words—some sarcasm, sure, he had come to expect, but Achilles had never heard Alex so… bitter before. 

Assuming (and hoping) the question was rhetorical and deciding he’d give Alex a beat of figurative privacy, Achilles began to focus on brushing Dusty’s tail with his fingers. 

We all have our strengths and weaknesses…

When he was younger, his parents had emphasized that the ideal career for any individual, what one should ideally want to pursue and commit to in life in order to maximize success, lay at the intersection of three different points: 1) what you were good at, i.e. your strengths, 2) what you enjoyed doing, i.e. your interests, and 3) what there was a market for, i.e. what society valued. 

Those words—while well intentioned, and meant to educate more so than intimidate—had nevertheless plagued Achilles over the years and were partly the reason why he was in Stardew Valley stripping paint and carving up worms to begin with, rather than making six figures at a desk over in Hyacinthia. 

He hadn’t quit in a blaze of anti-capitalistic glory fueled by an eagerness to escape a soul-crushing job and find solace and meaning from the natural world. No, it had been much simpler than that, the reasons far less admirable. 

“Sorry.” At Alex’s voice, Achilles glanced up from the small pile of fur he had managed to absentmindedly brush from Dusty. His host’s eyes and tone both had brightened to their usual selves once again.

“Didn’t mean to complain. You’re right, of course—strengths, weaknesses and all that, everyone’s different.” Achilles had to hold back his snort. “But hey, who knows. Maybe I’ll take another crack at the books and one day we’ll be able to have dinner and discuss… phi-lo-so-phy. Isn’t that what you smart people talk about?” 

“You’re smart, Alex,” Achilles said in a softer tone than he had intended. 

“Eh, you can’t really make a decent living in this world without a brain, I’ll tell you that,” Alex said with a whistle that caught Dusty’s attention. “Hey, speaking of which, you need to stop by the gym some time. Can’t remember if I told you, I teach classes down at Orange Grove over in Zuzu, you should swing by.” 

That explained the mini-first aid kit he had had in his duffel that day down in the mines. 

“Swing by? Why? Are you calling me weak?” Achilles narrowed his eyes in mock anger. “Or are you paid based on class attendance and need me to help you in your quest for a brainless decent living?” 

“Ha ha, very funny. No, I’ve been trying for years to get people from the Valley to stop by but people rarely ever do… it’s just nice to see a face from home, you know?” 

There was a knock at the door. They hadn’t closed it behind them and George was lurking in the doorway.

“Dinner’s ready, boys.” 

“Perfect timing, thank you, George,” Achilles said as Alex gestured for him to exit the room first. “Alex here is ready to discuss philosophy.” 

[lhck999]

May I suggest to you the absolute blast of an ongoing fic called "Learning to Listen to a New Kind of Sound" by the user @sunspray-peak ? It's a Male Farmer X Alex fic that, although it's mainly focused on the farmer, developed Alex's arc extremely well. Definitely check it out if that sounds to your liking.

mild pet peeve of mine that i noticed a lot when reading stardew fanfic: stop mischaracterizing alex!!!

look, he’s not the nicest guy, especially before you get to know him. he can come off as sort of arrogant and selfish, and i get why a lot of folks don’t care for him. but it feels like some fic writers really project their own bad experiences with people like alex onto his character in their writing and that annoys me so much. the dude has trauma. he’s got one of the better crises of sexuality of all the characters. he’s smarter and more self aware than he lets on at first. making him the one dimensional bully to antagonize sebastian and/or sam just kinda irritates me, like it’s one thing to make them not like each other (makes sense) but he’s not fucking evil!!

i married alex in one of my playthroughs and i’d do it again! he’s a sweet guy at heart and way more sensitive than he’s given credit for. i wish more of that nuance could be captured in stardew fics.

[lhck999]

Since I'll probably run out of motivation soon, I drew a bunch! Farmer OCs are really fun!

Farmer Nana by @spacepatrolhana

Achilles Robinson by @sunspray-peak

Reina, Lyra and Nora by @stinkiesdraws

[lhck999]

Alex is such a dork and I'm living for it!! I think I'll explode out of pure joy the newest chapter has brought me!!

Based off of @sunspray-peak 's Stardew Valley Fanfiction, Learning to Listen to a New Kind of Sound!!

[lhck999]

I found the fanfiction "Learning to Listen to a New Kind of Sound" BY @sunspray-peak absolutely amazing!! Achilles was living rent free inside my head, so I decided to draw this!

[lhck999]

Jeez, this took a lot more effort than I thought it'd take! I planned to make an animatic on the whole sequence, but I might not finish it.

I want to do more animatics, so expect posts with less frequency!

Based off of @sunspray-peak 's fanfiction "Learning to Listen to a New Kind of Sound"

[lhck999]

"What do you want?"

"Why are you here?"

Art based off of @sunspray-peak 's amazing Stardew Valley fanfiction "Learning to Listen to a New Kind of Sound"!

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 52: The Smallest Scrap of a Whole Picture

TUESDAY - WINTER 2 

Run. 

Perhaps it was the lie he told Evelyn the day before that had put the idea into his head, but Achilles woke early the next morning with a voice in his brain insisting he do something more than wallow like a sad, pitiful slug in his bed. 

Running would be, at the very least, a small distraction. Just like yesterday’s trip to Meteor Elementary. Not that he had felt better after the visit, but surely it hadn’t hurt. 

Regardless, cigarettes and sleeping pills could only do so much to calm him, and he never did like the haze they induced much anyway. Wasn’t exercise supposed to be a stress reliever? Although, hell, what was he supposedly even stressed about anyway… 

Pathetic. What’s wrong with you? 

Perhaps he’d go for the backroads. With luck, he’d avoid the townspeople. He wasn’t in the mood to chat. 

Run. Eat. Sleep. Three more bullets for the brain. 

He was slower than usual. He blamed the lingering soreness from the mines, but at least he was moving. At least he was doing something… 

Past Marnie and Shane’s (what’s Shane doing these days? Back at Jojamart? The thought was fleeting), cutting swiftly through Pelican Park to the lonely little trail to the railroad… 

“Fuck!” 

A sloppy step had sent him skidding on the little bridge right by the parking lot. Stupid! Just as Evelyn had warned him; it was too early for the sun to have fully melted the night’s frost. 

His Pear Pods had fallen out in his little tumble, and his hands were stinging as he crawled along the icy stone to grab them—fuck, he better not have re-broken anything, he had only a few more days with the damn cast… 

He had just been about to reinsert his earbuds when he heard it—a laugh. Definitely a woman, though not one he thought he recognized. 

Clambering up, Achilles quickly wiped off the bits of bloody evidence from his scrapes. He didn’t need anyone’s pity. 

Slowly, he neared the parking lot to investigate. Perhaps it was tourists. They got them every once in awhile on non-festival days, folks stopping by the Valley on their way to Sunspray Peak, hikers grabbing some last provisions from the JojaMart (or the general store, if Pierre got his way). 

But it was actually Alex. 

Alex getting out of the passenger seat of a little red sedan, his gym bag in hand, though at 7am, it was clear he wasn’t coming back from work. 

Achilles stopped in his tracks and ducked behind a large oak. 

Perhaps you ought to turn back… 

But curiosity got the better of him, and despite his rapidly sinking stomach, he peered through the bare branches. 

Tanya was in the driver’s seat—the laugher, clearly. And as she leaned out the window to chat with Alex, one hand playfully swatting his arm at some inaudible joke, the pit in Achilles’ stomach grew deeper and deeper. She laughed again, her fingers reaching to interlock with Alex’s before pulling him lower. Closer. Down to her eye level. And though Alex’s back was turned, there was no mistaking what was happening. 

That’s enough. 

Achilles pulled himself back from the scene just as Tanya pulled Alex’s face to hers. 

“Right.”

He retreated behind the cloak of the tree line, leaned against the trunk of the oak. Squatted to the ground and braced himself against the frosty grass as the world begin to spin. “Sure. Right.” 

He wouldn’t cry. He’d cried enough for the next ten years—and what on earth was there to cry about anyway? Talk about pathetic. Why did he care? Was he going to feel bad every time he saw Alex kiss a girl? If so, he’d better get used to it. Alex was hot, he was nice, he was happy, he was young… if anything, it was remarkable that it’d taken a whole year for this to happen. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

But with each and every breath came a flash flood of memories, each a twisting stab in his gut. Alex’s hand on his chest. His lips against his cheek. Alex stroking his back. The citrus smell of his hair and the salt of the ocean he swam in. The way he smiled, the way he always listened. 

That was enough. 

Not willing to wait to witness whatever came after for the two in the parking lot, Achilles turned and sprinted noiselessly back down the path. 

*****

He ran. Longer than he’d ever run before in the Valley, and that was saying something. Weaving through every possible route by the mountains, by the sewers, down through Cindersap, down even to the cliffs he had once found Shane what seemed like a lifetime ago—seeing nothing and no one, scarcely aware of anything except the dull pound of his footsteps until he slipped, again, on the bridge to the beach, palms and knees skidding roughly against the cobblestones. 

“FUCK.” 

“Achilles! Oh dear, oh dear—my dear friend, that was quite the tumultuous tumble. Please, take my hand…” 

The large figure that had been standing by the bridge knelt, gently clasping Achilles’ elbow and helping Achilles to his feet. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Fine. Fuck. Fine…” 

But it was clear by Elliott’s cocked brow that his friend didn’t believe him for even a second. Not that evaluating his paltry condition required a particularly discerning eye. The damp stains currently darkening his knees from his icy fall were just the tip of the iceberg. Dark circles under red rimmed eyes. Cat hair all over wrinkled clothes. A slightly stale and sour smell beneath the masking scent of cigarette smoke. 

Achilles scratched the unshaved stubble on his cheek, licked his cracked, bleeding lips and took a deep breath.

“I’m f—”

But Elliott cut him off with a bright, toothy grin and slipped his arm firmly into Achilles’. “Rather exemplary timing, my friend! I have just finished baring witness to the annual migration of the endangered golden goose—or shall I say, anser aurumus! Such beautiful plumage! Now why don’t you join me in my cabin? I’m in the mood for some company, and perhaps I can put on for us a cup of tea…” 

*****

“Now my dear friend.” Elliott lay a steaming, chipped cup in front of Achilles before taking the wobbly desk chair across from him.

What a sorry little shack this was, Achilles thought bitterly to himself as he took a sip of watery tea. Only one chair in the whole space—Elliott had had to drag over the piano bench for Achilles to sit. His commitment to his penniless lifestyle was admiral, but why have money if not to spend it? Achilles couldn’t help but critique Elliott’s choice. Surely using his lottery winnings or inheritance or whatever to purchase one more chair wouldn’t distract him from his publishing pursuits. 

But nausea struck him with a guilty start when he remembered Elliott had broken this vow only once, to help purchase the typewriter… 

“Why don’t you tell me what it is that ails you?” 

“Ah.” 

Achilles paused, tracing his fingertip along the rim of the cup. Where to even start? Six years ago or three days ago, what was the difference… He didn’t particularly want to tell Elliott (or anyone, really) anything anyway—not now, not before he had a chance to sort through it all himself, and he was definitely in no rush to do that… 

“Please, Achilles—as your friend, I would be more than happy to lend an ear to your troubles.” Elliott accompanied his words with a small bow of his head, a large hand atop his heart. “I have heard some say that to ease the tongue can oft help to ease the mind.” 

Right…

Avoiding Elliott’s probing gaze, Achilles took first another long sip from his tea. Well. It couldn’t hurt… right? But perhaps he’d start with the simplest issue at hand… 

“Alex—”

“Oooooooh!” 

“Are you going to let me talk?” Achilles grunted. Rude, yes, but he didn’t care. In fact, he even followed the words with a narrow glare. “What are you ‘oooing’ so excitedly about?” 

But Elliott was unperturbed, his hazel eyes rather admirably immune to Achilles’ growing animosity as they brightened in anticipation. “Well, after the events of Spirit’s Eve, I thought perhaps—”

“What events?” And he scowled at his instinctual eagerness to protect his image—Alex had sworn no one from town (other than Lewis and Marnie) had witnessed his breakdown after the maze… oh, but even if he had been mistaken, Elliott of all people wouldn’t judge him for it… chill out, you pompous fucking prick of a puffin.  

“Why! Oh my dear friend, surely—well, I assumed—surely the events of the night hadn’t escaped those observant eyes of yours! I have never seen the boy so enamored—”

“Enamored.” 

“Oh yes! Absolutely glowing, young Alex was that evening. Always in your company! I scarcely saw him tear his gaze from you all evening, and always with such a lovely smile on his face. Oh, my dear friend, I said to myself—and to Leah, of course, I hope you do not mind—I believe we have a romance a-brewing!” 

“Well you believed wrong.” Achilles wrenched one of the stale crab cakes Elliott had offered to him in half, crumbs scattering across the table. “Alex had a date yesterday. Must’ve stayed the night.” 

Elliott’s face fell immediately. “Oh. I see.” He reached across the table for Achilles’ hand, but Achilles scooted backwards, leaving bits of crab cake in his hair as he ran his hand through the unbrushed tangle. “Perhaps it was but a prior commitment, or perhaps—”  

“Can we talk about something else?” 

“Oh, but my friend, if you would like to relieve yourself of—”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

The edge in his tone and the simmer in his eyes was enough to silence Elliott. Not for too long though, for the man was always eager to fill silence, and it took but a minute for him to recover and transition to his usual, favorite topic. 

“Well then… I was considering planning a book reading some time this season. Nothing grandiose—something simple, perhaps just for the Stardew community. A final farewell of sorts before sending it out into the world for publication consideration!” Here, Elliott rose both arms, as if awaiting an embrace. 

“Fuck…” Elbows on the table, Achilles pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Elliott, I’m so sorry, I know I told you I’d finish it before the end of Fall… I’ll get it back to you with my notes soon, I swear—” 

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” This time, Elliott succeeded in grasping both of Achilles’ hands, leaning across the table to wrench back his wrists, and nearly sending him sprawling off-balance, headfirst into the plate of mushed up crab cakes. “I know you have been busy, my friend. Saving the Valley, I hear! A delay in my schedule is but a small price to pay. But speaking of which, how are you feeling about tomorrow?” 

“Wish it wouldn’t come,” Achilles grunted, swiping back his hands. “Plan on spending the day sleeping.” 

Elliott gasped. “Through your own ceremony?” 

“What ceremony?” 

“Why, your ceremony, of course! And Abigail’s! Celebrating your victory in the mines! Our fine mayor sent us all a letter in the mail just yesterday, surely you received—”

Achilles made a noise somewhere between another grunt and a snarl. “I don’t check my mail, Elliott. I fucking hate the mail. It’s just ads. And coupons. And more ads—if anyone has anything important to say, they should just fucking call.” 

At these words, Elliott started, and a curious gleam crept into his hazel eyes. “You… you never check the mail, you say?” 

“Not unless I’m expecting something.” 

“Ho ho—” 

“And what are you ‘ho hoing’ about now?” Achilles stood. It was time to go. The mere thought of his heated mattress was lightyears more welcome then spending even one more second on the receiving end of curious looks and sympathetic sighs… 

“I myself left you a letter in the early Spring! Shortly after your arrival, inviting you to my cabin for a writerly chat. After young Sebastian had informed me of your accomplishments, I was more than eager to learn more about your work and your process! 

“Oh, but you never responded…” Elliott’s face drooped at the memory. “I thought, perhaps, I had insulted you. A junior writer such as myself reaching out to someone of your caliber… oh, my shame! Well, I was put off a bit, I will not lie. But I swore to never disturb you again, henceforth. 

“But after the… shall we call them… events of the final evening of the Spring, I found you a most delightful young man—so very kind and open with your knowledge. No letter was ever mentioned, and I came to conclude that perhaps my words had merely been lost in the mail.

“How illuminating it is now, to learn you never read them to begin with! ” Elliott rested a firm hand on Achilles’ shoulder and walked him to the door. “I would not call it a miscommunication—no, ’tis far too one-sided for that—but perhaps something more akin to that of a… false conclusion drawn but from only the smallest scrap of a whole picture. How intriguing! 

“But no matter—look at us now!” Elliott gave a short bow as Achilles opened the door. “One of my most wonderful friends! Please know you can count on me anytime, Achilles—you are very important to me, my dear friend. I am here for you.” 

*****

“Fuck—fuck, god dammit…” 

Not for the first time that day, a burst of pain swept through Achilles fingers. After escaping Elliott’s, he had stopped to grab his usual steaming hot post-run tea from Pierre’s (which was now steaming all over his fingers) before heading back to Strawberry Farms with nothing but sleep on his mind. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Achilles set the cup on his railing and wiped his burning fingers across his already rather stained joggers, all the while glaring at Alex who had appeared as suddenly as a shadow spirit, leaping from one of the rocking chairs the moment Achilles had stepped foot onto the porch. 

A sickly sweet cloud accompanied Alex’s steps as he bounded forward, and Achilles’ stomach tightened as Alex’s lips parted ever so slightly, first in confusion, and then to say, “You… smell like smoke.” It seemed scent was top of mind for Alex as well today.

“And you smell like cotton candy. “ Achilles didn’t stop his nose from twitching as he retrieved his house keys from his pocket and made for the door. “What do you want, why are you here?” 

The trespasser at least had the decency to blush at the brusqueness of the interrogation. “Oh. Well. Um. Well my grandma told me you stopped by yesterday. Just wanted to… see if you needed something. From me.” 

“Nope. Don’t need anything.”

“Are you sure?” 

Yoba, the porch was practically shaking with the rate Alex was bouncing on his heels. Achilles sighed and shoved the door open with his shoulder. 

“I believe I asked her if you wanted to join me on a run. That was it. Nothing important.” 

“Oh.” Alex frowned, but Achilles had already turned back to the door, missing this flash of disappointment. 

“As I said, nothing important.” 

“Oh, I see… Sorry, I was… out. Last minute concert thing, Tanya asked after work…” Alex finished his sentence in a fidgety mumble, taking a breath before rallying with his usual bright smile, “But do you wanna maybe go for a run now?” 

Achilles already had one foot inside, but he paused to give Alex the haughtiest look he could muster. “Alex.” He motioned at the running shoes on his feet. “I just got back from one.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Of course. Duh. You’ve got your tea and everything…” Alex grimaced and shook his head as he stuffed his hands in his hoodie’s kangaroo pouch. “Stupid.” 

At that word, Achilles softened. 

“Right…” He sighed and leaned against his doorframe, his good hand braced against the hinges. “Listen, I’m sorry Al, I’m just really tired—“

“—I got an interview.” 

“Pardon?” 

“I got an interview. On Monday. For that manager job at Orange Grove. Found out yesterday.” 

Ah. I see now. 

Achilles clicked his tongue. “Should’ve led with that, talk about burying the lede. I suppose you’re here to—”

“I applied at the end of Fall. I didn’t want to tell you, in case nothing came out of it, and you were busy with all the mine stuff anyway, but I was wondering… maybe you could help me again? If you have time? You were really helpful with the resume stuff, wouldn’t have even made it past that step without you…” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s enough flattery out of you. Stop kissing my ass.” Perhaps on another day, Achilles would’ve accompanied the words with a sly smile, or even a chuckle. But today the joke tasted sour in his mouth. 

So this is why Alex is here, lurking on your door step. Career advice. 

Well. Might as well. What else are you good for?

“No!” Alex eyes gleamed in naive, innocent insistence. “Promise, I’m not trying to butter you up, it’s the truth, and only if you have time—”

Ask and ye shall receive… 

“Stop by whenever. Not like I’m doing much these days.” This time, Achilles managed a small, tight lipped smile. “Congratulations.” 

Alex brightened. Likely Achilles’ acquiescence had eased his anxiety: his mission here successfully accomplished…

“Thank you! Saturday work for you? I have that day off this week.” 

“Sure. I’ll… pencil you in…”

*****

Achilles grabbed a cigarette from the side table the moment he shut the door behind him. It wasn’t a habit, as he crossly told Voltaire who had skittered forward. Just something he occasionally used to do during times of… stress? Annoyance? Well, he didn’t know what he’d call it, but he knew it when he felt it. 

“I’m not an addict, I can quit anytime,” he grumbled over Voltaire’s mews as he flicked his lighter. “Look, I even have the window open. Praise me, please.” 

He shuffled over to his desk, scooting a pile of dirty clothes off from the chair and fumbling among the towers of books and take out containers for his planner. 

Stupid ass ceremony tomorrow. Finish Elliott’s book by Friday. Interview prep with Alex on Saturday. Would you look at that. The week was really filling up. 

Now that was a thought that almost made him laugh—“almost” being the key word, for in lieu of a chuckle something more akin to a derisive snort spluttered from his throat. 

Pathetic pathetic pathetic. 

Shouldn’t he be excited? Shouldn’t he be happy? Alex had said it himself—a whole ass ceremony, all for him (and Abigail). Should’ve been the stuff of his dreams…

And speaking of Alex. Oh to spend a whole day with him, just them two. Even if it was career advice…

And Elliott. His bewildering admiration for Achilles’ writing, his eagerness to impress, and the trust he held in Achilles’ feedback… it should have been flattering. 

God, what do you want? 

All these things. And yet he only felt hollow and bitter. 

But you know why, don’t you? Don’t lie to yourself. 

The ceremony was a sham—he shouldn’t be celebrated, it had all been Abigail. What had he done but splutter at some shadow brutes and delivered the final blow to the Portal? He’d never have gotten there without her. 

And Elliott’s manuscript was just yet another reminder of his own failures, his own lack of skill, lack of creativity, lack of focus. 

And Alex… god, it couldn’t have all been in his head, could it? Not if Elliott had noticed… Achilles still hadn’t allowed himself the time to fully parse through Alex’s mixed signal behavior from Spirit’s Eve, but now, after witnessing this morning’s events, he probably wouldn’t ever let his imagination go down that path. What would it bring but envy and regret? 

You’re pathetic and useless and you have no potential and you will never be happy .

What could he do? Nothing, really, except to keep moving, keep moving… get the damn ceremony over with, maybe learn a thing or two from Elliott, fully stomp out any lasting remains of longing with Alex. Anything to move even the tiniest step forward. No matter how tough it was to even tug on some pants in the mornings, he had to keep moving. For he’d definitely make no progress continuing to laze about like this… 

[lhck999]

I want to reply to everyone who's reblogging my post, but the blog is getting a bit messy!!

So I'll try my best to say everything here:

To the makers of the OCs, I admire you all!! I don't have money to comission or donate, so I try my best to showcase my admiration through fanart!! I'm glad it made you all so happy!

To the people liking my posts and supporting me, I don't even know what to say!! Seeing the notifs popping up makes me amazed that my art reached so many!! Tysm for all the kind words!!

Take care!! <3 @stinkiedinkiedoodles @sunspray-peak @stinkiesdraws @spacepatrolhana

[lhck999]

Achilles taking a break with Voltaire and the junimos

Character belongs to @sunspray-peak

[lhck999]

SPOILER ALERT FOR LEARNING TO LISTEN TO A NEW KIND OF SOUND by @sunspray-peak here on tumblr!

Wait... Chapter 52's name is "The Smallest Scrap of a Whole Picture" and in that chapter Achilles sees what he ASSUMES is a kiss between Tanya and Alex. Later, Elliott talks about a letter he sent Achilles that never got a response and talks about how he jumped to conclusions. Achilles might be misunderstanding the whole relationship between Tanya and Alex!! Especially considering Chapter 54, where Alex seems to be flirting with Achilles. Or maybe it's just the part of me that's cheering for him talking, Idk.

If by any chance sunspray-peak is reading this, sorry for all the tagging!! Please tell me if the notifs bother you.