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bittersweetorpheus · 8 months

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☆ THERE IS NO SWEETER INNOCENCE THAN OUR GENTLE SIN ☆

The original sin is the fairest: everyone sinks. make the most of the final feast, because for the sinners, the curtain call has come.

☆ CONTENT WARNINGS ☆

Spoilers for 4.0 Fontaine archon quest, pov switches, co-dependency & obsession, hints of soft yandere

“I’m not quite sure when it began, but a prophecy has been circulating around Fontaine: the people will all be dissolved into the waters, and only the hydro archon will remain, weeping on her throne.”

This has become a fact for the Fontaine people, with the water levels slowly rising and consuming parts of the nation. Everyone has different opinions on this- some ignore it, deciding to live in the moment- surely they’ll be long gone before water consumes the whole nation, some believe it’ll be like returning to their origins, and some dread it- how horrible must it be to dissolve into water and possibly lose themselves forever?

But mostly, the Fontaine people have been resigned to it, and gone about their day as normal. The water levels were rising pretty slowly, anyways, so it wasn’t their problem yet. Or it wouldn’t be, if the rising water was still moving at the same pace. However…

☆ 1 WEEK BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

Your awakening is a gentle one.

Or, atleast, it is for about a minute or two before you realize you’re underwater. You panic, scrambling around like a fumbling idiot for another two minutes before you finally get your wits about you and realize that you are, in fact, not drowning and are breathing like normal even though you’re underwater? Unfortunately, along with that realization comes the fact that you… well, where even are you?

You take in your surroundings. Ignoring the fact that you’re underwater for some reason, it’s actually… very pretty. There isn’t a single piece of litter in sight, and you don’t have a hard time seeing, as the water is clear and beautiful. An underwater cliff arches a few miles behind you. The lush ocean ground beneath you splits apart and a trench can been seen below it that splits into multiple different paths leading even deeper under the ocean. The ocean floors and cliffs are lush and foliage is all around you, ranging from huge and tall stocks of plants resembling a mix between flower stems and lilypads to areas with plants the color of autumn leaves. Fish can be seen almost everywhere- crabs that glowed a mesmerizing blue, tiny tidalage, seals splotted in pastel colors, groups of fishing swimming together, and more.

The clear, litter free ocean, bright foliage, and adorable pastel creatures make for an idealized version of an ocean. And, surprisingly, they seem familiar somehow.

Wait…

You give the seals nuzzling you one last pet, and make your way to the surface of the water.

You surface. Huge mountains with colorful foliage surround the ocean. A beautiful city can be seen in the distance, with some ships floating near it. Some sort of bridge can be seen running from the city and through the mountains. It goes so far that it disappears from your line of sight.

Oh.

Oh. Your guess was right. You’re in Fontaine. You stay there for a bit, astonished. You push that to the back of your mind, you’ll deal with it later. But first, did you still have your inventory? You cross your fingers- please, please, please! Archons, you spent so much money getting all those weapons and characters and so much time just farming materials and artifacts. You shudder at the thought of losing all your progress. You’ve already checked the banners, and they’re the same as usual, so you close your eyes, trying your hardest to imagine opening your inventory and-

Huh? What? You are, once again, astonished. You close your inventory and open it again- maybe its just a glitch? Or maybe you’re delirious. You open it again. Nope. Nothing’s changed.

When did you have all these characters- you’re pretty sure some of these characters haven’t even become playable yet. And all these weapons? Wait, how good is your artifact luck? How is this possible? Are you gonna be banned for hacking? Can you even be banned if you’re actually in the game?

You slowly close the inventory once again, still in shock.

Surely this is a dream, right? Yeah! It’s just a lucid dream, even if it feels so realistic.

You decide to spend your time exploring and petting more animals- maybe even meeting some characters! Who knows when you’ll be able to dream like this again.

Yep. Just a dream. You’re just dreaming, thats all.

☆ 1/2 WEEK BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

Dozens of rain droplet streak down the stained glass windows of Nuevilette’s office. Jazz plays, alongside the sounds of a heavy downpour of rain and the ticking of the clocks in the office. He finishes flipping through the files and leans back in his padded chair. He hasn’t been able to do much work these couple of days, always anticipating the familiar feeling of warmth flooding into his body and being guided to do things, but it never came, and with that realization, the rain had started to pour even harder.

Had you finally abandoned him? Had he not concealed his feelings well enough? Were You able to see through his facade? Had You finally noticed his concealed feelings whenever he saw You guiding the ever so immature Furina, or doing exploring the city with Navia? How the corner of his lips would curl down every so slightly whenever You took the warden, Wriothesley, to go ice-briding when You felt bored, one-shot bosses with the Champion Duelist Clorinde for fun, or farmed for talent materials for the magician triplets?

He may not understand humans and their emotions, but even he knows what these feelings are. So, he promises that he’ll stop soaking in jealousy or anger when you fawn over the two Fatui Harbingers or anything of that sort. Just… come back to him. Don’t abandon him. Comfort him like You always do. Praise him, praise his appearance, praise his personality, please come back, he needs You.

But he knows that You haven’t abandoned him. You’re still here, in fact, Your presence is stronger than ever, and the whole of Teyvat is flourishing, almost like its in celebration of something. So, where are You?

Neuvillette sighs, standing from his chair. He’d better check on Furina- who knows what she may be doing without your guidance. As he starts to walk to the door, his long tailcoat brushes against his desk, making a file that was buried beneath all the others fall down, onto the ground. It’s contents sprawl on the floor.

He bends down, picking up the papers and placing them back into the file. As he does, he skims over the contents.

He frowns. Could it be true?

☆ 2 DAYS BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

People are whispering, and Focalor is frozen in place.

The whispering grows louder. She can make out hushed and anxious tones.

“What’s she doing just standing there? How disrespectful.” She hears.

She snaps out of her state of awe, and tries to take grasp of the situation. Unfortunately, in her panic, she says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Imposter!”

☆ 1 DAY BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

“And what do you say to these claims?” Nuevillette asks, snapping ‘The Imposter’ out of their stupor.

“No.” ‘The Imposter’ says.

Nuevillette frowns, “no? I ask that you elaborate.”

“How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even know what I did wrong?” ‘The Imposter’ reasons, still not fully processing the situation.

“Hah! Trying to act dumb won’t work here. You know what you did!” Focalor interjects. Truthly, this situation had come to be because of her carelessness and now it had spiralled way out of her control. She can’t take back what she said now, so she’d had to pray for the best. She dug her grave, so she might as well lie in it and hope for the best. I mean, surely it was fine, right? Surely this is an imposter. “If you can’t defend yourself in court, than you might as well duel to prove your innocence.

“I- huh? Alright, then.” ‘The Imposter’ says, not seeing any other choice. “I request a duel, I guess.”

“Very well, your request is accepted. You will be dueling against Clorinde tomorrow at dawn.” Nuevillette says.

People slowly filter out of the court room in anticipation for the day of the duel.

Focalor has a sinking feeling in her gut.

☆ THE DAY OF THE DUEL ☆

Clorinde sits at the harbor, too ashamed to watch over The Creator.

The duel had lasted no more than one or two minutes. The Creator had made no move to fight back, and Clorinde had made quick work of Them. It was only when she had made her way over to Them to end Their life when she noticed the ichor that spilled from Their many wounds. Her heart sunk into her chest. In a panic, she screamed for doctors. She had tried her best to keep Them awake, but They had already fallen unconscious by the time the doctors arrived.

Obviously, The Creator was still alive- who knew what would happen to Teyvat if The Creator, Themselves, Died. But she couldn’t get the image of their unconscious form out of her mind. The sin she’d committed weighed her down like the anchor of a boat.

She sighed, standing up shakily, starting the walk back to the city and…

Wait. Was the water level always this high?

Oh.

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hippography · 5 months

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FELL PONY

Photo: Reid

Live Stock of the Farm Volume III: Horses, ed. Professor C. Bryner Jones, 1915

#pony #Fell pony #Reid #1915 #Live Stock of the Farm

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maelialuv · 11 months

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A Farmer's Friend. a Bridgerton fanfic <3

part one: A Chance Encounter

Summary: division brings unity. secrecy creates infatuation. a king's venture into the real world reveals desire.

Warnings: slow burn! strangers to friends to lovers! (Charlotte does not exist) smut! cold showers are on me.

Wordcount: 3.4K

The country side , to you, was heaven on earth. The far roaming hills, the deep valleys. The wide expanse of nothing but lush green fields. There was truly nothing more beautiful.

Your father's farm, to you, was the most beautiful of all. Located at the farthest edge of the county, miles and miles away from the city of London, it was a haven of tall grass, fruitful crops and rich orchards. That is where you spent most of your time, perched between the trunk and wide branches of a tall apple tree in the deepest part of your family's gardens. Far away from the bustling farm house, the uproar of live stock and the erratic, but loving, nature of your home.

From the moment the sun rose over the hills and danced across your face in the morning, to the moment it tucked itself into the valley at night, you were out in the fields. Tucked away indoors, you found yourself claustrophobic. Cased in, stir crazy and a tad hysterical. From a young age, your parents had to heard you inside at the end of a day much like the sheep dogs would heard the lambs back into their pens. It was no different, even as you approached adulthood.

You had your back to the trunk of a tree, a book clutched in one hand and an apple - freshly plucked from the branch above you- in the other, when you caught sight of one of the stable boys chasing after your father in the field ahead of you.

A man of great strength and pride, your father took his work in the fields very seriously. Even after the death of his own father, he was back shearing sheep after just two days. This is why it confused you ever so much , brows furrowed in a frown, to see your father drop his shears at once in front of the stable boy and clutch his chest. The pair raced down the field, sprinting in the direction of the house with the dogs trailing behind them in a flurry of brown and grey and white.

You took a pensive bite of the apple, crunching deliberately. 'Whatever is the matter?' you thought. 'What is the meaning of such fuss?' You tried desperately to get back to your book, the words of the author falling on distracted thoughts as your mind pondered such a reaction from your father. You snapped your book shut with a huff, annoyed and now positively rabid with curiosity.

John, an Orcher in his late fifties, was plucking apples from a tree just next to yours. You peered your head over to him. "John," you called, "have you any reason for father's fuss with the stable boy?"

John's face paled, almost frightfully white, at your question. He took his cap off with the type of remorse one shows with deep apology. "I'm terribly sorry, madam. I thought all the children were aware." You quirked a brow at his words, irritated that the farms people still saw you as one of the children despite being the eldest daughter in the house. His voice was gruff and gravely, years of shouting at yardsmen wearing on his vocal chords. "There is to be a royal visit, madam. Today."

Your eyebrows shot up so fast , you wondered for a moment if they were still on your face. "A royal visit? Here?" The Dowager Princess had not been out in the country since the passing of the late King. Your brows furrowed in deep confusion. "Whatever for?"

John shrugged his shoulders earnestly.

"Lord knows but I, madam. Some sort of review of the farmland, but that's between the King and his advisors."

"The King?" you squawked. You hiked your skirt up, throwing your legs over the branch and jumping down. You stalked to the bottom of the ladder John was standing on. "The King is coming here?"

In all your eighteen years, you'd only ever seen one monarch. Even so, it was a painting of His late Majesty. All you knew of the current King was that he made no visits to the towns, nor galas or balls. He had been labelled somewhat a recluse of a man. You wondered how that could be healthy for such an old person. At least, you assumed he was old. The previous king had died aged seventy and two, so this king must have been creeping into his late fifties now.

"Yes, madam." John said. "Your father has been called now, to prepare. He is due to arrive soon."

Your feet sprang into action, galloping down the aisle of the orchard at lightening speed as you raced toward the direction of the house. You never cared for pompous displays, or the royal family as a whole, very much at all. But today was different. The king himself was visiting your home. Your fields, your valleys and your hills. You felt oddly protective. As if this inspection was to be one with an insulting conclusion. You reassured yourself that they would see the beauty in your home. In the sway of the grassy hills in the wind.

Knowing your mother would not let you close enough to see even the Royal carriage make its way through the wooden gates of your home, you rounded the corner of the brown farm house and clambered your way up the large oak tree in the middle of the drive way. From high above in the branches, you would not be seen by your mother - as she so preferred. She yearned for a daughter more like the ones her sisters had. Lady like and proper and ones that smile at every pleasing farmer their mothers set them up with.

Your mother was disappointed in the lack of girlishness in you. She was displeased in your fascination with reading, and your taking to the outdoors. She was put off by the closeness between you and your father, finding it strange that the two of you could be friends as well as father and daughter. She found your desire to spend all day outdoors odd, and you found her desire to marry a farmer whilst hating farms to be odd in return.

You gripped on to the tallest branches, peering through leaves in the hopes of seeing the gleams of gold as the carriage approached. You saw your father and the farmer boys line up in front of the door below, and your mother and younger brothers waited just behind them. In the distance, you heard a low thrumming sound. It got louder, and seemingly closer, as more seconds ticked by. You realised, as you heard the clop clop clop noise, that it was the sound of horses' hooves on the dirt tracks as the carriage came into view.

The carriage halted in front of your door, and your father outstretched his hand to an older gentlemen in a plush blue suit. Though your fathers clothes- an old grey shirt and black trousers- were not as elegant, he looked just as regal as he shook hands with the stranger, who you assumed to be the King. He had greying hair, curled into ringlets by his side. There were several other men beside him, ranging from young to old to very old.

You craned your neck to hear their voices, a chorus of low hums and stiff lipped compliments from the old man you saw to be the king. Several minutes ticked by, boredom creeping in as you swung your legs back and forth over the branch, before the group of men finally split to tour the farm land with your father. You rejoiced, a grumble in your belly making any words they said inconsequential. You began your decent from the tree.

With scraped palms and knees, you made it to the ground with a thud. A successful spying , you thought as you wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress. Your monologing was interrupted by the stifled chuckle of a man behind you. You whipped round, narrowing your eyes at the man. Dressed in a simple white shirt and the same black field trousers as your father, he looked to be a fielder himself.

"Hello," he said, voice even and light. He stood with his hands behind his back, polite and effortlessly straight. He was young, younger than the rest of the group you assumed he had been standing with. He must have been no more than three years older than you, as his cheeks still had the faintest roundness to them.

"What are you doing?" he asked when you did not say anything.

You knew your eyes were wide, those of someone caught. There was no use in lying , nor excusing. This man had watched you climb down the tree, from where you had spied. You outstretched your hands, as if stating the obvious. "I was climbing down. From the tree."

"From the tree?"

"Yes, from the tree."

"From that tree?" the man asked, voice teasing and smile irritating as he pointed to the tall oak you had previously been perched in.

"Yes, that tree."

"Whatever for?" He placed his hands behind his back once more, slowly pacing around you in a circle.

"I was hungry, you see." You deadpanned.

"Ah," he affirmed, "and you did not bring food when you climbed up the tree." He was enjoying teasing you, as the smirk on his face grew larger at your squirming. "Or simply not enough."

"Well," you trailed off, waiting for the man to introduce himself to you.

"Forgive me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I am George."

"Well George," you continued. "Usually the trees I climb have some sort of fruit or such for me to eat while I climb, or lounge, or read. This is not my typical tree to climb." You explained.

"And I suppose you have a typical tree?" His face was oddly gleeful, as if this conversation with you - a stranger- was the best part of his day. His smile was wide, showing teeth.

"Yes, I do."

"Which is?" He asked, stepping closer toward you. His smirk was a teasing grin now.

"The apple tree," you stated, that protectiveness creeping back into your tone. "at the farthest end of the orchard."

"Now," he said, voice lilted with mock impress, "I must see this tree, that you so fondly and regularly climb." His voice was a stage whisper.

"Alas, I cannot." You teased back, some what enjoying the banter yourself. "I do not simply show my tree to strangers."

"Ah, but I am not a stranger," he said, closer again now. "I am just George." He stuck his hand out again, waiting for you to shake it. Hesitantly, you did. "I would be honoured to see your tree."

"Do you not have business to attend to?" You asked, gesturing in the direction the other men and the Royal herd had walked in. George shook his head, waving off your remark.

"They are fine themselves. They have no use for my agreements here and questions there." He said. "And even so, if I were to re-join them now," he took another small step closer to you, eyes searching in the distance, "my mind would think of nothing but this apple tree at the farthest end of the orchard."

You smiled at the man as he looked down at you, and felt the strangest urge to lead him by the hand to your sacred reading spot. Something about George made you trust him, utterly and completely, as if you'd known him your whole life. As if you'd run through the fields with him as children, and he knew where the tree was already.

"All right, just George."

A bright, down right contagious smile etched itself on to his face. You couldn't help but smile just as brightly.

The two of you strode side by side through the back field of the farm, chatting idly as you lead him to the orchard. George told you he was a keen farmer himself, but his family bound him to the city. "Why don't you just leave them?" you asked as you opened the large wooden field gate for him.

George paused, leaning on the gate with both arms crossed. "It is not that simple," he said, his face contort in a frown. "I am obliged to stay there. It is a duty, of sorts." He looked around at the tall grass, the wild flowers that bloomed in the field at his feet. "If it were up to me, I would spend all my time in the country."

You felt immensely sorry for him. The thought of being away from the country for more than a day put a nasty pit in your stomach. Gently, you placed your hand on his arm. He looked up at you with glum eyes. You gave him your best reassuring smile as you squeezed his arm lightly. He smiled back at you.

You fell back into stride with one another after that. George asked about your family, and you told him about your father and your three younger sisters. He asked where they were, and you let out a haughty laugh. "They cower at the sight of mud. They are cooped inside with my mother, embroidering or learning the pianoforte or some other nonsense."

"You see no value in these tasks, then?" George asked with a small smirk.

"I see no point, given where we live. What use have I for musical impress or intricate sewing when I spend my time outdoors?" You paused your walking, gesturing to the cows grazing near by. "Any man I encounter in these parts will be as impressed by my pianoforte as those cows."

"Ah, I see." George chuckled to himself. "You are to be a spinster then." You whipped round to face him, annoyance turning your brows into a tight v shape. George laughed again.

"For a stranger you are certainly bold."

"I do not hear a defence."

"No, I am not to be a spinster." You crossed your arms, uncrossing them when George cocked his head to the side slightly. You must have looked ridiculous, like an petulant, spoilt child. You huffed.

"I am not to be a spinster. At least not by intention." You both began walking again, rounding the corner to the long aisle of the orchard. "There," you said, pointing to your tree at the very end.

You turned when George remained silent. His mouth was agape slightly, brown eyes wide and almost honey in the mid day sun. "Beautiful," he sighed out.

It caught you off guard, the strange desire to lead him by the hand to your tree and show him the very best branches. The way he looked at your favourite spot with such awe made you near desperate to share it with him. You had to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching his hand that was inches from yours at your side. You shook your head slightly, as if a jitter would rid of of such peculiar feelings. "Come along, then."

George walked obediently at your side, keeping perfect pace with you. As you walked, he couldn't help but notice the sway of your hair in the light breeze, the way it framed your face so gently. Or the patches of freckles that spotted the bridge of your nose, or the subtle fullness of your bottom lip, how it was slightly larger than the top.

"You said you are not to be a spinster by choice," he began as you reached the foot of the tree. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What I mean is," you said as you reached up to a near branch, pulling yourself up with little struggle, "no man here is in need of a wife, and I am in no need for an elderly husband." You frowned when George laughed again. "You must stop that!" You cried.

"Stop what?" He smiled through his teeth again.

"Laughing at me!"

"I am not laughing at you, forgive me." He said, reaching up to the same branch and - just as you had- hauled him self up with ease. "I simply find it hard to believe no one here is in need of a wife."

"Everyone is already married, or too old, or far too young." You deadpanned. "I do not want to marry a frail old man."

"Let me rephrase," George began. He reached across you, and for a moment you thought he was going to touch your cheek. You sucked in a nervous breath. He plucked an apple that was hanging just above you ear. "I find it hard to believe no one here wants you for a wife."

You found it hard to form words, stuttering over a response. George bit into his apple , smugness radiating off of him in reams.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a moment, your backs leaning against the trunk of the tree while your legs stretched out next to each other. "Do you sit out here all day?" George asked softly, turning his head toward you. His breath fanned over your face slightly. You nodded.

"Most days," you sighed contently. "I am usually the one that goes into the towns if needed. Otherwise, I am left alone to sit here as I please." You looked out as the sheep roamed the field ahead of you.

George rested his head back against the trunk of the tree.

"I am envious of you, truly." He said, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You turned your head to face him. Your shoulders were brushing against each other with every breath.

"You are welcome to come here," you said, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "You can bring a book, and you may sit here for as long as you like, whenever you please. Whenever your family allows you to be in the country."

This close to him, you noticed the flecks of gold in George's eyes. The small freckle above his eye brow. The rosiness of his cheeks. His words echoed in your head.

'I find it hard to believe no one wants you for a wife."

In the distance, you heard the ruckus of the men returning to the front of the house. George shot up. You shot up with him.

"I must go," he said hurriedly. He swung his legs over the branch and jumped off. As you moved to do the same, you saw him waiting on the ground with his hands outstretched. He was helping you down. You reached a hand out to him, and he pulled you down. Expecting a thud, you noticed he had steadied you with a hand on your waist. "I wish I could stay longer, I truly do. Alas, they will run like chickens without heads if I am not back soon."

You wished to find some poetic goodbye, but all you could muster was a soft sigh. "Will you be back?" His hand was still gripping yours.

George chuckled breathily.

"Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. "I must bring a book and see if this really is the best spot for reading."

The voices in the distance got louder, calling George's name now. He looked over his shoulder, then back to you. "I am back in the country in two weeks time. May I see you then?"

You smiled at his politeness, hoping your hasty nod came across as friendly and not desperate. "Of course."

"Splendid."

He brought your hand to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles. "It has been a pleasure, madam." He said with a gentlemanly bow.

He turned to walk away then, and you felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your feet were glued to the ground, unable to move you from that same spot.

"Oh," George called from a distance. "The inspection went fantastically. Your farm shall have a wonderful review." He grinned, all boyish and joyful, before turning back and sprinting in the direction of the loud voices.

His words only sunk in after he'd rounded the corner gate, and you nearly collapsed onto a log.

Not only had you spent your afternoon with a total stranger, telling him your deepest thoughts and secrets, scandalously close should a gossiping eye see it.

You'd just spent your afternoon with the King of England.

#queen charlotte #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #queen charlotte netflix #king george #king george x reader #king george bridgerton #corey mylchreest #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #period piece #slow burn #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #strangers to friends #fluff #smut #fanfic #bridgerton queen charlotte

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divinemedias · 2 years

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obsessive-valentine · 3 months

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Dark-Yandere!Farmer x GN!reader (HC’s)

Much darker yandere than I usually write but wanted to give it a go, I kinda like it but I’ll proof read later. Open to feed back and requests like always !

TW murder, reader is kidnapped, mention of physical abuse and ‘punishment’

He lives isolated from people, his modest farm house and barn in a valley surrounded by mountainous land -some open and other directions with trees. Most of the open land is fenced off and divided where his cows and horses roam but hikers still travel through his land on occasion, he doesn’t appreciate people coming to far into his land; and those who do usually don’t make it out.

...Feeds them to his farm dogs

He’s a busy man running a farm without help but enjoys it, he starts his days at the crack of dawn and finishes it with a cigarette on his porch watching the sun go down. He adores his animals and takes care of his land, he appreciates a quiet life, only venturing to the closest town once a month in his old truck to stock up on luxuries.

He inherited his farm from his father pretty young, he hired people to work it while he worked in the nearby town, until his mother died too and he decided to downsize the farm, fire the people running it and move out there for a quite life away from people and a dead end job. He had no family left near by and didn’t get along with people, the farm was all that he needed.

Until you came along of course, maybe you were a hiker who interested him or you were lost and he pitied you, maybe he killed the group you were travelling with but last second couldn’t kill you. However you found yourself on his farm, you weren’t going to leave, especially after he strips you of all your items- you’d never make it to the closest town on foot if you manage to get off his land without him dragging you back by the hair.

The only contact with the outside is his small flip phone he uses for work reasons, he keeps it locked away in his study with most of his guns etc. He does own a old TV and a few radios, would get you a old game console if that what your interested in but other than that he’s pretty tech free.

There are a two old landlines in the house but they have been cut off for a long time- he just has yet to take them off the wall and pull the wiring out, if he ever sees you trying it however, safe to say you’ll be sleeping in the shed outside. He doesn’t bother locking the windows or doors aside from his study, you won’t get far.

The shed is used as a punishment, it’s a very small worn and empty wooden shed with 2 big locks on the door. There’s no tin for the roof just wood planks that leak during bad weather and the wooden walls have no insulation and small gaps that allow for some beams of light but also allows the wind to whistle through. The only thing that saves you from hypothermia is the thick layer of hay on the floor and few old stale blankets usually crawling with beetles and spiders.

He marches you across the yard, not far behind the noisy barn of animals he pushes you into the shed, muttering as he slams the door hard that it shakes the whole shed and noisily locks it “you did this to yourself sweetheart” he shouts back to the shed as he walks back to the house, leaving you in the cold damp dark and only gets worse as the night rolls on.

At some point during the late hours he comes back to the shed and unlocks it, you can hardly see him in the dark, his silhouette outlined by the stars “you comin’ back to the house and behave or you gonna stay all night?” It’s up to you if he leaves you locked in the shed till morning or takes you inside and warms you up by the fire.

Loves you very much despite being so strict and occasionally physically abusive, he tries to not be so emotionally constipated when you behave. Likes to take you out with him to tend the animals, it’s where he and you are most relaxed and domestic moments come easier.

#Yandere Farmer #yandere oc #yandere #x reader

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thedansemacabres · 3 months

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Introduction To Supporting Sustainable Agriculture For Witches and Pagans

[ID: An image of yellow grain stocks, soon to be harvested. The several stocks reach towards a blurred open sky, focusing the camera on he grains themselves. The leaves of the grains are green and the cereals are exposed].

PAGANISM AND WITCHCRAFT ARE MOVEMENTS WITHIN A SELF-DESTRUCTIVE CAPITALIST SOCIETY. As the world becomes more aware of the importance of sustainability, so does the duty of humanity to uphold the idea of the steward, stemming from various indigenous worldviews, in the modern era. I make this small introduction as a viticulturist working towards organic and environmentally friendly grape production. I also do work on a food farm, as a second job—a regenerative farm, so I suppose that is my qualifications. Sustainable—or rather regenerative agriculture—grows in recognition. And as paganism and witchcraft continue to blossom, learning and supporting sustainability is naturally a path for us to take. I will say that this is influenced by I living in the USA, however, there are thousands of groups across the world for sustainable agriculture, of which tend to be easy to research.

So let us unite in caring for the world together, and here is an introduction to supporting sustainable/regenerative agriculture.

A QUICK BRIEF ON SUSTAINABLE AGRICULTURE

Sustainable agriculture, in truth, is a movement to practise agriculture as it has been done for thousands of years—this time, with more innovation from science and microbiology especially. The legal definition in the USA of sustainable agriculture is:

The term ”sustainable agriculture” (U.S. Code Title 7, Section 3103) means an integrated system of plant and animal production practices having a site-specific application that will over the long-term:

A more common man’s definition would be farming in a way that provides society’s food and textile needs without overuse of natural resources, artificial supplements and pest controls, without compromising the future generation’s needs and ability to produce resources. The agriculture industry has one of the largest and most detrimental impacts on the environment, and sustainable agriculture is the alternative movement to it.

Sustainable agriculture also has the perk of being physically better for you—the nutrient quality of crops in the USA has dropped by 47%, and the majority of our food goes to waste. Imagine if it was composted and reused? Or even better—we buy only what we need. We as pagans and witches can help change this.

BUYING ORGANIC (IT REALLY WORKS)

The first step is buying organic. While cliche, it does work: organic operations have certain rules to abide by, which excludes environmentally dangerous chemicals—many of which, such as DDT, which causes ecological genocide and death to people. Organic operations have to use natural ways of fertilising, such as compost, which to many of us—such as myself—revere the cycle of life, rot, and death. Organic standards do vary depending on the country, but the key idea is farming without artificial fertilisers, using organic seeds, supplementing with animal manure, fertility managed through management practices, etc.

However, organic does have its flaws. Certified organic costs many, of which many small farmers cannot afford. The nutrient quality of organic food, while tending to be better, is still poor compared to regeneratively grown crops. Furthermore, the process to become certified organic is often gruelling—you can practise completely organically, but if you are not certified, it is not organic. Which, while a quality control insurance, is both a bonus and a hurdle.

JOINING A CSA

Moving from organic is joining a CSA (“Community supported agriculture”). The USDA defines far better than I could:

Community Supported Agriculture (CSA), one type of direct marketing, consists of a community of individuals who pledge support to a farm operation so that the farmland becomes, either legally or spiritually, the community’s farm, with the growers and consumers providing mutual support and sharing the risks and benefits of food production.

By purchasing a farm share, you receive food from the farm for the agreed upon production year. I personally enjoy CSAs for the relational aspect—choosing a CSA is about having a relationship, not only with the farmer(s), but also the land you receive food from. I volunteer for my CSA and sometimes I get extra cash from it—partaking in the act of caring for the land. Joining a CSA also means taking your precious capital away from the larger food industry and directly supporting growers—and CSAs typically practise sustainable and/or regenerative agriculture.

CSAs are also found all over the world and many can deliver their products to food deserts and other areas with limited agricultural access. I volunteer from time to time for a food bank that does exactly that with the produce I helped grow on the vegetable farm I work for.

FARM MARKETS AND STALLS

Another way of personally connecting to sustainable agriculture is entering the realm of the farm stall. The farmer’s market is one of my personal favourite experiences—people buzzing about searching for ingredients, smiles as farmers sell crops and products such as honey or baked goods, etc. The personal connection stretches into the earth, and into the past it buries—as I purchase my apples from the stall, I cannot help but see a thousand lives unfold. People have been doing this for thousands of years and here I stand, doing it all over again.

Farmers’ markets are dependent on your local area, yet in most you can still develop personal community connections. Paganism often stresses community as an ideal and a state of life. And witchcraft often stresses a connection to the soil. What better place, then, is purchasing the products from the locals who commune with the land?

VOLUNTEERING

If you are able to, I absolutely recommend volunteering. I have worked with aquaponic systems, food banks, farms, cider-making companies, soil conservation groups, etc. There is so much opportunity—and perhaps employment—in these fields. The knowledge I have gained has been wonderful. As one example, I learned that fertilisers reduce carbon sequestration as plants absorb carbon to help with nutrient intake. If they have all their nutrients ready, they do not need to work to obtain carbon to help absorb it. This does not even get into the symbiotic relationship fungi have with roots, or the world of hyphae. Volunteering provides community and connection. Actions and words change the world, and the world grows ever better with help—including how much or how little you may provide. It also makes a wonderful devotional activity.

RESOURCING FOOD AND COOKING

Buying from farmers is not always easy, however. Produce often has to be processed, requiring labour and work with some crops such as carrots. Other times, it is a hard effort to cook and many of us—such as myself—often have very limited energy. There are solutions to this, thankfully:

Many farmers can and will process foods. Some even do canning, which can be good to stock up on food and lessen the energy inputs.

Value-added products: farms also try to avoid waste, and these products often become dried snacks if fruit, frozen, etc.

Asking farmers if they would be open to accommodating this. Chances are, they would! The farmer I purchase my CSA share from certainly does.

Going to farmers markets instead of buying a CSA, aligning with your energy levels.

And if any of your purchased goods are going unused, you can always freeze them.

DEMETER, CERES, VEIA, ETC: THE FORGOTTEN AGRICULTURE GODS

Agricultural gods are often neglected. Even gods presiding over agriculture often do not have those aspects venerated—Dionysos is a god of viticulture and Apollon a god of cattle. While I myself love Dionysos as a party and wine god, the core of him remains firmly in the vineyards and fields, branching into the expanses of the wild. I find him far more in the curling vines as I prune them than in the simple delights of the wine I ferment. Even more obscure gods, such as Veia, the Etruscan goddess of agriculture, are seldom known.

Persephone receives the worst of this: I enjoy her too as a dread queen, and people do acknowledge her as Kore, but she is far more popular as the queen of the underworld instead of the dear daughter of Demeter. I do understand this, though—I did not feel the might of Demeter and Persephone until I began to move soil with my own hands. A complete difference to the ancient world, where the Eleusinian mysteries appealed to thousands. Times change, and while some things should be left to the past, our link to these gods have been severed. After all, how many of us reading know where our food comes from? I did not until I began to purchase from the land I grew to know personally. The grocery store has become a land of tearing us from the land, instead of the food hub it should be.

Yet, while paganism forgets agriculture gods, they have not forgotten us. The new world of farming is more conductive and welcoming than ever. I find that while older, bigoted people exist, the majority of new farmers tend to be LGBT+. My own boss is trans and aro, and I myself am transgender and gay. The other young farmers I know are some flavour of LGBT+, or mixed/poc. There’s a growing movement for Black farmers, elaborated in a lovely text called We Are Each Other’s Harvest.

Indigenous farming is also growing and I absolutely recommend buying from indigenous farmers. At this point, I consider Demeter to be a patron of LGBT+ people in this regard—she gives an escape to farmers such as myself. Bigotry is far from my mind under her tender care, as divine Helios shines above and Okeanos’ daughters bring fresh water to the crops. Paganism is also more commonly accepted—I find that farmers find out that I am pagan and tell me to do rituals for their crops instead of reacting poorly. Or they’re pagan themselves; a farmer I know turned out to be Wiccan and uses the wheel of the year to keep track of production.

Incorporating these divinities—or concepts surrounding them—into our crafts and altars is the spiritual step towards better agriculture. Holy Demeter continues to guide me, even before I knew it.

WANT CHANGE? DO IT YOURSELF!

If you want change in the world, you have to act. And if you wish for better agriculture, there is always the chance to do it yourself. Sustainable agriculture is often far more accessible than people think: like witchcraft and divination, it is a practice. Homesteading is often appealing to many of us, including myself, and there are plenty of resources to begin. There are even grants to help one improve their home to be more sustainable, i.e. solar panels. Gardening is another, smaller option. Many of us find that plants we grow and nourish are far more potentant in craft, and more receptive to magical workings.

Caring for plants is fundamental to our natures and there are a thousand ways to delve into it. I personally have joined conservation groups, my local soil conservation group, work with the NRCs in the USA, and more. The path to fully reconnecting to nature and agriculture is personal—united in a common cause to fight for this beautiful world. To immerse yourself in sustainable agriculture, I honestly recommend researching and finding your own path. Mine lies in soil and rot, grapevines and fruit trees. Others do vegetables and cereal grains, or perhaps join unions and legislators. Everyone has a share in the beauty of life, our lives stemming from the land’s gentle sprouts.

Questions and or help may be given through my ask box on tumblr—if there is a way I can help, let me know. My knowledge is invaluable I believe, as I continue to learn and grow in the grey-clothed arms of Demeter, Dionysos, and Kore.

FURTHER READING:

Baszile, N. (2021). We are each other’s harvest. HarperCollins.

Hatley, J. (2016). Robin Wall Kimmerer. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. Environmental Philosophy, 13(1), 143–145. https://doi.org/10.5840/envirophil201613137

Regenerative Agriculture 101. (2021, November 29). https://www.nrdc.org/stories/regenerative-agriculture-101#what-is

And in truth, far more than I could count.

References

Community Supported Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/community-supported-agriculture

Navazio, J. (2012). The Organic seed Grower: A Farmer’s Guide to Vegetable Seed Production. Chelsea Green Publishing.

Plaster, E. (2008). Soil Science and Management. Cengage Learning.

Sheaffer, C. C., & Moncada, K. M. (2012). Introduction to agronomy: food, crops, and environment. Cengage Learning.

Sheldrake, M. (2020). Entangled life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures. Random House.

Sustainable Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/sustainable-agriculture

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three-penguins-in-a-trench-coat · 4 days

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Oh to be an NPC in Stardew Valley! Their lives must be so interesting and unique, and yet, they have no clue of it themselves. It must be nice to be so clueless as to one's legacy.

Pelican Town was quiet, and peaceful for a long time. Tourism was beginning to bolster, and the town was growing. A young, aspiring writer took up residence in an old shack on the beach. A family moved in to the town, bringing laughter and joy. An artist fixed up an old cottage, ready to bring her creations to life. Other businesses begin to pop up as well; a doctors clinic, a blacksmith, a scientist exploring the valley. For a long time, life was good. The old residents and the new blood worked together to improve the town, and carefully grow their slice of paradice for others to enjoy.

Unfortunately, all good things must eventually come to an end. The Farmer, a good, kind man, eventually had to retire, and his spirit returned once more to Yoba. The local economy begun to waver, just a little. Lewis knew they'd be okay, but it would take time.

And then Joja Corp stepped in.

The first the townspeople heard of the development was the builders rocking up to begin construction. Lewis, who should have been informed of the plans, was outraged. Unfortunately, he was bullied out of filing any lawsuits by Joja's ferocious team of lawyers, hounding him into silence. Pierre looked on with worry as the Joja symbol was painted on the new billboard.

The new Jojamart did help to keep some of the struggling townspeople afloat, with it's cheap prices and large stock. Unfortunately, it had a chain effect that was felt by the whole town. Pierre was hit the hardest, having to lean in heavily on savings he had put together for retirement. In turn, Marnie's clientele hit rock bottom, as did Clint and Robin's. They had to rely on travelers and tourists to support themselves, of which there were less and less. Joja had turned the town's rustic feel into another slice of modern suburbia.

Lewis eventually couldn't affort to keep the bus going, and it fell into disrepair. No one visited. With the main highway carefully making it's way around the town, only the occasional visitor would stop in. Slowly, the town fell further and further into ruin. The once grand community centre lay wasted and abandoned, left to rot.

But while everyone was focused on the ruins and the past, no one saw the magic creep back in...

The old Farmer's grandchild was certainly a bit odd. New to the town, the villagers looked on in faint amusement as they sprinted their way around the town. Pierre, who was sadly preparing to sell the store, felt a faint sense of hope start to stir. Within weeks of their arrival, they had project after project lined up for Robin to begin, and she took to it with great vigour. Clint and Marnie, who's businesses had all but dried up, were suddenly back in swing. And once Gil and Marlon had shown them the mines, well, Harvey never ran out of patients. While the Farmer dealt with extradimensional entities and shook hands with the magic of old, everyone else was noticing the slight uplift. The old, rusted gears that ran the town had ever so slightly started turning once more. Morris sat behind his desk and happily assumed that Joja was there to stay, and magic was left for fairy tales.

As spring rolled into summer, little improvements continued. The annual luau was a bit more festive, and the pot luck just that bit sweeter. Everyone liked the Farmer, even the most jaded of residents had to admit that having them was a big help for the town. Pierre found himself with more stock than he knew what to do with, and had begun shipping it out the excess to the distant Zuzu city. Robin found herself almost constantly called out to the farm, as the Farmer was constantly asking for new barns and sheds. Linus was the first to notice the re-appearance of the magic. The green rain which the Farmer ran through happily, the little creatures hiding in the ruins of the community centre. The faint wails echoing from the mines. He quietly observed from a distance, but chose not to interfere. As distracted as he was from the local politics, even he could see the positive change that was occuring.

The Stardew Valley Fair brought new crowds with the recently fixed bus. Everyone knew who had fixed it up, but they had chosen not to come forward, so no one pressed the issue. With new tourists filtering through the town, it truly felt like the Pelican Town of Old. Welwick the Oracle glanced at the old Community Centre, ruined and abandoned, and then at the shiny Jojamart that stood nearby, and smiled to herself. She knew that someday soon the roles would be reversed. When Lewis checked the quarterly figures for the town, he nearly jumped out of his seat with excitement. For the first time in years, he was able to put back into the town savings, instead of skimming from the bottom as he had been.

It was a quiet winter's day when the Community Centre was restored. Lewis was going for his morning stroll, and something nagged at his brain, telling him to take a different route. As the grand building came into sight, he fell to his knees, and tried not to cry. Evelyn was next to notice, carefully making her way next to Lewis. She put a hand on his shoulder, and they simply looked on in wonder. "It's just how it used to be." Evelyn said.

Word spread through the town, and people came out to have a look. The inside was just as grand, with the reinstated town vault, plenty of areas for people to socialise and a proper office for Lewis to work at once more. Food was brought in, and they celebrated, harder than they had for a long time. More than one person had to dab their eyes from time to time, trying their best not to cry. The Farmer was the last person to arrive, and quietly watched the celebrations from a distance. A faint smile came over their face, and they seemed content.

It was a while before Morris found the community centre. He had only been out there once, to survey the land for the new warehouse he wanted built. The sight of the centre standing once more shook him to his core. In that instant, he knew that everything he had worked for was over. Despite his best efforts, the town had prevaled, and Joja had lost. Pierre officially saw to his execution, and he fled for Zuzu city in shame. The higher-ups in Joja Corp were not impressed, and Morris was never able to recover his position.

Life in Stardew Valley changed once more. The Community Centre brought everyone closer, made them feel like a real community. Lewis was able to fund more projects, clean up the town, make the festivals bigger. Willy's idea for the "Trout Derby" took off, and at the first annual event, more than a hundred avid fishers took off into the Cindersnap forest to hunt down the elusice Rainbow Trouts.

For Pam though, the biggest moment was when she came back from her shift at the bus station, and saw Robin setting up construction equipment where her caravan usually sat. At first, she was angry and afraid that she'd been moved, but when she heard what was happening, she openly wept and thanked Robin for her service. Pam knew that the house being built would ensure that Penny would have a stable future, with a place to come back to if she was ever in need.

Kent returned from his time as a prisoner of war, scarred and hurt. When he had left, the town was on it's last knees, and feared for it's future. To see the Community Centre standing once more filled him with a sense of joy he hadn't felt in a long time. Of course, that feeling was completely overrided by the ecstasy of seeing his wife and children happy and safe. It was a long time before he was able to open up about his experiences, but together they were able to heal and grow.

It was a warm, spring day, and Linus was foraging for salmonberries in the forest when a man appeared. He was dressed completely in black, with a broad brimmed hat and sunglasses to hide his face. Stars twinkled all over his clothing, as if you were looking directly at the night sky. Linus turned to look at him, and smiled. "Hello old friend. I was wondering when you'd show up next." The man in black smiled, and for a brief moment, you could see the blue skin beneath the hat. "I've been rather busy of late, but I thought I would just pop on in." No one else would see his firm grip on the valley, no one but the Farmer.

Sometimes, there were dreams. The townspeople would dream of screams and death. Creatures being slain where they stood, unable to stop the wrath of the monster. Children crying and running, reaching out for help, only for them to turn into doves and fly away, cooing cries of sadness. Some of the younger townsfolk would have vague memories of the farmer in a more intimate light. Perhaps a moonlit stroll, or a spring wedding, but then anger, and a sense of betrayal.

They would wake up in a cold sweat, trying desperately to remember what had made them chilled to the bones, but it always faded. Life in the valley is beautiful, but is it by their own volition or the hand that made it so?

#stardew valley #stardew #sdv #my writing #writeblr

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pierperian-leisure · 18 days

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I'll Take My Whiskey Neat

The saloon was dim and lively, with the warm lights casting a molten glow over the villagers inside. Shane and Sam sat in the corner by the fireplace, with the younger man lively gesturing to the older in conversation, with Shane secretly smiling at the boy's gesticulations behind his beer mug. Leah and Elliot sat next to each other on the other side of the bar, each artist gently swapping pieces of conversation from the day and the progress on their respective crafts, and hollering could be heard from the next room over as Abigail, Sebastian, and Alex competed around the pool table.

Harvey sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey neat that Gus had stocked away for the doctor specially. The amber liquid was a warm rush down Harvey's throat, a rich yet ultimately fruitless distraction from his wandering mind. Lewis and Marnie sat only a few stools down from Harvey, and he hoped desperately that they wouldn't pick up on him eyeing the saloon door every few seconds.

The doctor sighed, swirling the remaining whiskey in his glass. He wasn't waiting for the farmer, no more than anyone would wait for any of their other friends, Harvey tried to convince himself. No, it was normal to anxiously watch the door until one's friend entered the bar where all the other town's people were gathered, normal to anticipate the way the ambient lights would glow in the farmer's eyes, how her hair would curl gently around her face, loosened from the day's work. These were all normal behaviors, completely, the doctor told himself, as a flush rose on his cheeks not just from the drink in front of him.

If he were honest with himself, though he rarely was, Harvey wasn't entirely sure when his friendship with the town's farmer became something more. Harvey could recall her first week in town, taking over her grandfather's farm, and running about the town introducing herself to the town's people. Harvey would never forget how the sun light glittered off her hair as Penny shyly opened up to her, or the sound of her laughter with Alex and Sam running outside. But most of all, Harvey would never forget the simultaneous peace and butterflies that filled his chest when the farmer made her way into his clinic for the first time, like being faced with one's future all at once. The farmer bounced into his waiting room, chatting with Maru and Evelyn, asking so sweetly how even cranky George was doing, that Harvey stood struck in his spot. There was no time though, as soon Harvey stood face to face with the energetic young lady. Her beaming smile and citrusy scent had Harvey enraptured at once, and warmth flooded his chest even more when the farmer grinned and extended the black coffee to him. She had found his favorite from Maru, and the two had left him none the wiser. Harvey didn't recognize the butterflies in his stomach at the time, determined after years of medical school and cultivating proper doctor patient relationships to digest the feelings before they could grow. But with every weekly coffee shared, each wine testing for the farmer's burgeoning winery, Harvey was swallowed up into friendship and eventually, the infatuation that had him in his predicament that night.

The doctor wasn't used to romantic feelings, having never been the recipient of them growing up and too busy and professional later in life to act on them. He felt like a school boy struck dumb with his first crush, and even worse, on his closest friend. Harvey stared into his glass, torn between waiting for the farmer and sorting through what to do about the bubbling feelings in his chest.

It was at that point that the farmer finally burst through the saloon doors, laughing alongside Maru. The two had become fast friends, and Harvey both loved and cursed that fact as it made even more of an excuse for the farmer to stop by the clinic often, a problem as the doctor's feelings grew.

He had been right, though. The bar lights twinkled in her eyes, highlighting the glow on her cheeks given to her from days working the farm in the summer sun. The farmer was wearing her hair back in a braid, customary to keep her hair out of her face on long days on the farm and in the mines, with wisps kissing along her temples. A pair of shorts hugged her hips, strong from hard work, and a white blouse made her look absolutely ethereal. Harvey was dumbstruck at her beauty, desperately trying to hide the fact behind his whiskey glass.

The farmer made light conversation with the other villagers, laughing through the crowd and playfully swatting at Elliot's overly verbose flirtations. Eventually, she made her way to the bar, plopping into her usual seat beside Harvey. His breath caught in his throat, had she always smelt that nice? Warmth practically radiating off of her? The tall doctor hunched his shoulders, trying to remember how to breath with all of those thoughts about the farmer running through his head.

The farmer called Emily over, chatting with the other woman and ordering a drink for the night. A whiskey on the rocks, inverse from Harvey's own. The farmer had tipsily confessed to him one night just like this that she couldn't handle the straight whiskey the doctor preferred, but wanted to at least try. It had sent a loving flush to the doctor's cheeks then, flattered and touched by the woman. Harvey didn't hear her call over another drink for himself as well, jostled out of his reverie when the two glasses were set down before them.

The farmer grinned up at Harvey, a teasing glint in her eye. The doctor simultaneously loved and slightly feared what that glint may bring. The farmer chatted with him as usual though, asking how his models were going, how the work at the clinic was treating him and if he was eating like he should. The flow of conversation eased Harvey into their usual repertoire, with Harvey eventually comfortable enough to tease the farmer about her latest risky excursion into the mines, chiding her to be more careful, that he didn't want to stay in business that badly. The giddy peace Harvey usually felt with the farmer settled into his chest, though he couldn't help but notice the farmer slinking lower and lower on the stool beside him, eventually resting her head against his shoulder.

Harvey did his best to stay as still as possible, flushed with the current position he and the farmer found themselves in and determined not to startle her off and break their shared moment. The farmer must have felt Harvey turn into stone, as she titled her head up, eyes sparkling, and asked the doctor to walk her home. Not an usual practice between the two, but something felt different about it tonight.

The doctor stepped down from his stool, holding his hand out to the farmer, and led the two of them through the saloon's crowd and to the door. Harvey could feel the eyes of a few of the more observant town's people on his back, but told himself nothing should appear out of the ordinary, and focused on the feeling of the farmer's smaller, but tougher, palm in his. The pair made their way through the summer night, a gentle wind ruffling their hair and giving the air a pleasant, playful edge, the only sound the doctor and farmer's footsteps on the path's cobblestone. The silence was comfortable, and Harvey glanced down at the top of the farmer's head, gently resting on his arm as they walked. If he didn't know better, Harvey would have sworn he felt a smirk from the farmer pressing into where she gripped his arm.

The two finally reached the farmer's property line, soon stepping up onto her porch. Without warning, the farmer stopped dead in her tracks, using Harvey's forward momentum to pull him to turn and face her. He had been right, a smirk attempting to appear innocent played at the farmer's features, as she tried to school them into something nonchalant and unassuming. The summer air turned heady and promising, an electric current zipping its way through Harvey's gut. The farmer gazed up at him through her eyelashes, sweet and playful, before swinging to her tip toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of Harvey's mouth. His mustache bristled at the movement, and the doctor's knees nearly gave way beneath him. While he was still in shock, the farmer giggled. Before Harvey could come back to his senses, the farmer thanked him for walking her home, slipping into her cabin, a pleased look on her face at the stupor she had left Harvey in. Harvey stood on her porch, shocked, hand gently brushing his lip and facial hair where the farmer's lips had pressed.

It was a small gesture, but a sweet one. Nearly too sweet, but maybe, just maybe, something for Harvey to pin his hopes on.

#harvey sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley harvey #harvey x farmer #harvery sdv x reader #afab farmer #blatantly a reference to that one hozier tik tok

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