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fishofthewoods · 1 month

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Oh my god I woke up this morning and my Stardew Valley meta post had almost 150 notes????? Hello?????????? Anyways I started writing this last night because @moon-is-pretty-tonight left nice tags on the original so thank you so much!!

We know from the starting scenes of the game that the farmer's grandfather loved Stardew Valley. So why did he leave? Pelican Town is a good place to grow old; George and Evelyn are just fine. It's a fine place to raise a kid, but maybe he just wanted to raise his child closer to real schools and other children.

Or maybe, just maybe, he understood.

Was there a day when he was in his thirties where he looked at his friends and realized they weren't like him? That he could run faster than them, work longer, explore deeper into the hidden places of the valley?

Was there a day when he went to the wizard to ask him for help, for knowledge if nothing else? Did he learn then that his family was different? Special? Chosen? And how did he react? He couldn't possibly raise a child in the valley if they would be as strange and fey as him. He had to leave. There was no other way.

But years later, on his deathbed, did he regret that choice?

Is that why he gave the farmer the letter?

Is that why they went back home?

When the farmer steps off the bus that first day, the valley is still on the cusp of winter, just barely tipping over into spring. The flowers are starting to bloom, but a chill still hangs in the air. As soon as the farmer's boots touch the soil there's a change. The air gets warmer. The trees get greener. Not by too much, not all at once, but it changes.

The junimos watch the farmer as they do their work. They're new to farming, but take to it with frightening speed; their first batch of crops is perfect. None of the townsfolk tell them that parsnips don't normally grow in less than a week, that cauliflowers don't grow to be ten feet tall, that fairies don't visit when the sun goes down and grow potatoes and beans and tulips overnight. The junimos talk amongst themselves in their strange, wild language, and agree: this is the one. They're back. The valley recognizes its own, even when they've left for a generation. The farmers have come home.

Things change fast in the valley. The community center, empty and decrepit for so many years, is rejuvenated. (Lewis says it was abandoned only a few weeks after the farmer's grandfather left. Strange coincidence, he says, that it both came and went with the farmer's family.) The mines and the quarry, similarly abandoned, are explored for the first time in ages. The town becomes cleaner, brighter, more vibrant, happier.

And it is happier. Not just the environment, but the people. It's the talk of the town for weeks when Haley does her first closet purge. Leah's art show in the town square is a huge success. Shane's smiling for the first time since he moved to the valley. All of them, when asked, say it's all thanks to the farmer.

People love to ask why Lewis didn't fix the community center on his own. Why Willy never repaired the boat to ginger island. Why Abigail or Marlon never went down to fix the elevator in the mines, or why Clint didn't fix the minecarts.

But isn't it so much more interesting to ask how those things were there in the first place? How they got so broken down? If the stories the townspeople tell are true, the valley was once a beautiful place, flourishing and full of life; why did that change? When did it change?

Was it when the farmer's grandfather, the locus of the valley, its chosen representative, left town?

And if so, what happens when the farmer comes back?

#lich says shit #stardew valley #stardew farmer #sdv #my writing #Hope y'all enjoyed!#I'm thinking about developing this into. Like. An actual Fan Fiction. Still sort of short-form but like with more detail?#LMK if you'd be interested to see that! Also if you want to be tagged in future installations of this please just let me know :)#I'm super into this version of the farmer as like. Blessed and cryptic child of the valley with all the strange behavior that entails #If i DO write a more in-depth version of this it'll be from the perspective of someone in town #maybe Leah? She seems like she'd be the one to notice the farmer being Odd. Either that or I'll do it from the perspective of multiple--#--different people to get their unique insights and stuff #I'd also want to dig into like #The family history of the farmer. And what that's like.#Because like why did grandpa leave?#He clearly loved the valley #So why didn't he stay?#Why did he give the deed to his grandchild and not his literal child?#And is it a coincidence that everything in the valley went downhill when he left?#I don't think so.

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beebopurr · 6 months

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Hello, I have a shipping question for you.

So, do you only have April and Leo as friends who are raising a kid together? Or are they romantic and raising a kid together?

(whispered) Love your work by the by ^v^

I had to think about how to word this for a while bc their dynamic is so stupid LMAO

So it wasn't really a joint decision between them to raise CJ, it's more like they each individually thought "this is my son now" and eventually started raising CJ together bc he needed both of them 😭 plus this dynamic is just incredibly funny to me

But yeah the simplest way I could put it is that it's a QPR

#I know tumblr is more normal (<-insane statement btw) but insta did NOT like this take so lets hope this goes well #rottmnt april #rottmnt leo #rottmnt casey jr #rottmnt #rottmnt future au #qpr

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bizarrelittlemew · 2 months

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i was hoping to make a post like this under happier circumstances, but here goes.

as some of you know, everything with the cancellation and renewal campaign has happened right on top of the worst part of my mom's cancer treatment (plus the show was cancelled on my actual birthday 💀). i won't go into details, but it's been tough. lots of ups and downs, mostly downs, luckily ending (for now) on as much of an up as circumstances allow. the whole thing has been weirdly tied to the cancellation for me, kind of amplifying every feeling. the grief got mixed up, and there was so much of it - mourning the loss of the kind of future i thought i'd have with my mother and the time we might not get, mourning the end of a show that means so much to me and is such a big part of my life. different types of grief, sure, and of different magnitudes, but in one big ugly swirl. i sort of had a breakdown right at the start of february, and it was because of news about my mom, but it morphed into my brain telling me everything i'd ever written was shit and wanting to delete it all. stuff like that, spilling over.

anyway. i was holding off on writing this post to see if the show got picked up by someone else. but i still want to say it. because what also spilled over was the support and community from this fandom, and being in this space (despite the rough times and high emotions) helped me through it, because of all of you here. whether we talk regularly, or you left a comforting reply or simply a like on one of my posts about having a hard time (i tried to keep them few), or wrote a nice comment on a fic, or said something funny or nice or insightful in the tags of a gifset, or was active here (or on twt) in any way, talking/sharing/creating stuff about the show - THANK YOU.

you all helped me through all the ups and downs, and i am so grateful. thank you for being here, listening, distracting, helping me feel some joy despite the horrors. i love you and i love this incredible show and all it has brought and will continue to bring and inspire, and although it should go without saying, i'm not going anywhere. just do me a favor and give yourself a big ol' hug from me, and know that you made a difference for some random guy on the internet (but in reality for many more, and for this fandom as a whole, just by being here and being you) 💕

#🐭📓#oh wow this got long #i grieved so much in january and never truly got my hopes up even though i of course wished something would happen #that the second “cancellation” message did not hit me as hard as it did for others - like i'd already absorbed that reality #but no matter what. all the effort was worth it - even for just the slightest chance of renewal and showing the cast and crew all the love #and seeing the fandom rally and all the fun moments we found along the way in a shitty situation none of us wished to be in #and for the record - i don't think this means there is no possibility of anything happening in the future #i just think the current/immediate negotiations fell through due to the current streaming landscape #you never know what can happen even if nothing happens for years #it's just that it's not happening right now and we shouldn't be at the edge of our seats. but instead settle into long term fandom mode #instead of constant campaign mode. keep showing all our love for the show and letting it inspire us and move us #and keep supporting the cast and crew in their next works #there is so much more to come from the same creative minds #and i for one am looking forward to experiencing it with you all 💗#ok i will stop rambling now skdjfhdjks

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suddencolds · 1 month

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Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early.

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.”

Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside.

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A Y: you need anything else?

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum.

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise.

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work.

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside.

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough.

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom.

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take.

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that.

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i wanted to end somewhere more conclusive but i was falling asleep at my keyboard trying to end this so #please take this for now 🙏#my fic #it is very late rn so i am scheduling this for the middle of my work day tomorrow... now i need to run to sleep T.T #i will finish off the latter half of the house visit in the not too distant future!#yvverse #ps caughtintherain if you are reading this ily and i am so grateful to you for letting me consult you abt these two 😭😭 and i hope it's #okay for me to post this as a gift jafkhjfslk ANYWAYS pls read this at your leisure and happy birthday again!!!

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dreamofmetoday · 1 year

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PICK A CARD #1: WHAT DO PEOPLE THINK OF YOU

this is to tell you what common impression you give most people 💖

how to participate:

ask yourself, “what do people think of me?” and “how do people see me?”

choose the photo you feel most drawn to.

take as long as you need to choose, you can check more than one if you feel drawn to do so. however, if you are having trouble feeling called to any then this pick a card is not for you. these readings will be honest.

tip jar

1. people think you are shy and distant, that you have trouble standing up for yourself and that you hang back and stay invisible while other people shine. people will suspect that you act in underhanded ways to compensate for how you can’t stand up for yourself - manipulating others, acting smarter than you are, copying others to try and seem more appealing. they think you are giving and patient with others but work best behind the scenes and that you could be suited to teaching and guiding others in a quiet way. they think you hide your emotions, have deep thoughts and prefer to do solo activities.

2. people think you lack real direction in life, that you prefer to go wherever life takes you and that you are not stable. they think you are restless and that it causes you to act agitated, frustrated, strung out and even argumentative. they think you worry a lot and that you focus too much on missing out on things or focusing on what you don’t have and not appreciating what you do. despite the chaotic nature of your energy, people think you always land on your feet and have the energy and skill to keep yourself afloat. people think you keep many secrets and don’t trust your stories, believing that you lie a lot. they think you’re afraid to be alone.

3. people think you are magnetic, well put together and likely physically attractive. they think you rely on praise a bit too much for your own good and that you may not be as confident as you try to portray or wish to be. people think you are talented or pick up on things easier than others. they also think you have a good sense of timing and things seem to go your way even when you don’t deserve it. people think you indulge in gossip often and don’t trust you to be honest or be loyal. they think you don’t make good romantic choices or that you are too focused on waiting to be saved romantically.

4. people think you have a big head and that you can’t see yourself clearly, that you act more arrogant and entitled than you deserve. however, people do respect that you have good leadership qualities and don’t always mind that you put yourself in the position to be the boss, trusting that you will at least try to be fair when you feel you are being treated correctly. people fear your anger, thinking you are easy to get along with and then all of a sudden your mood switches and you are too angry - a volcano randomly erupting. they think you have good social skills and people may open up to you randomly and confide in you, but at the same time they think you are also cold and can become mean.

5. people usually like you easily, finding you warm, charming and approachable. people think you are a good conversationalist, a good listener and think you have high emotional intelligence. people think you are generous, giving and patient. they think you are good at being considerate and people often want to confide in you and think they can trust you. however, people also see you as slightly arrogant and self-centred and that you kind of wait for others and the world to come to you, that you don’t make the effort to be proactive and go after people or things yourself (that you can be lazy and lack purpose). people will also think that you can be fake and that you change your personality to fit certain situations or that you tell people want they want to hear and not what you really feel or think.

6. people think you are romantic and desire this strongly. they think that you hold onto toxic things, can’t let go of what’s not working and that you don’t stand for anything real. but at the same time, people think that you are never satisfied and always searching for greener grass - that you complain and self-victimise. people respect that you try and be empowered but think that you go about it in a way that lacks humility and integrity - that your “boundaries and standards” are sometimes just created in an attempt to get people to cater to you. people think you are anxious to please people you admire and can be overly loyal to them. people think you have trouble seeing things clearly and also think you are indecisive.

7. people think you are highly resilient and clever. people see you as someone who cannot be taken down easily and that you’re very switched on and street smart. people see you as highly loyal, responsible and dependable and think you easily connect to others and inspire trust in other people. people also think you have a childlike, playful and innocent quality so they are not walking on eggshells around you, but at the same time they find you judgmental, serious and think you have the ability to be very cruel. people think you are observant and know many secrets about people. you’re seen as heavily burdened but that it could also be your fault to an extent, this makes you also seen as a bit closed off and people think you prefer keeping to yourself.

8. people see you as very dramatic and that you “always have something going on”. people think you complain a lot, that you are depressive and mentally weak. they think you daydream about a better life but don’t really put action into it. people think you’re insecure and that you prefer to be more of a wallflower and watch people rather than participate in life. people think you lack common sense and the stuff you say seems very ungrounded. people think you prefer focusing on creative activities in your spare time and assume you may be into art, writing or consuming a lot of media.

9. people think you are someone who is very anxious and overthinks. people think that you easily get yourself into a rut and have periods of very low self-esteem and drive but that you manage to pull yourself out of it and make sure you get done what needs to get done - people see you as very up and down and unbalanced. people also think you don’t know what you want and you seem lost. people think you’re very secretive and that you are shy, nerdy and studious. people think you are not stubborn or arrogant and that you remain open to listening and learning. they also think you’re messy, don’t do chores and that you’re also likely unkempt.

10. people think you are a go-getter and that you don’t let life pass you by, that you take it upon yourself to earn money or create solid foundations to expand upon and that you can be a rock in others’ lives too - that others depend on you. people think you are a good worker but sometimes ruthless and amoral. however, people often believe you have your heart in the right place and that you have a lot of people you care about. people think you have a naive and unpredictable side, that you are attracted to “bad” things and have a tendency to indulge in things or people that could result in harmful consequences later (without thinking it all through properly). people think that you try hard to be the bigger person but that you only do it to be praised for being the bigger person and not out of true care for others or the situation.

11. people think you are always running away from problems, when things get tough (especially romantically) you just leave and start over and don’t see things through - you can’t settle in one place. people see you as fake happy and that your joy and positivity is a mask for deeper sadness. people think you are lonely and that you enjoy searching for answers and deeper meaning in things and hate superficiality - people may think you’re into things such as tarot and astrology and take it seriously, hoping it will give you all the answers.

12. people assume you have been hardened a bit by life but they think that you are generous, giving and wise (that you truly try to learn from your experiences). people believe that you are giving in an honest and true way and that you do it because you are a good person, but people think you can be overly submissive and that people try to take advantage of you - especially romantically or in the sense that people will sleep with you and then leave you after having gotten what they wanted because you overestimated them. people think your boundaries and standards are unclear and you don’t know when to give more and when to give up. people think you’re pretty emotional. people think you’re a bit awkward and have trouble maintaining a stable sense of identity (that you don't really know yourself).

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #tarotblr #melody tarot #pac #what do people think of you #how do people see you #please reblog if you appreciated this pac 💖#also if you're curious and don't know the person in the photos is the model #jung hoyeon #also please remember these are honest! please don't feel the need to participate #anyway...#thank you for reading i hope to do more pick a cards in the future so let me know what type of questions you'd want answered #sorry about tumblr photo quality too 😅

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kineticallyanywhere · 1 year

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this got entirely out of hand

(for those who missed it: au/idea where Normal gets fully sick of everyone's ignoring his pleas for empathy and abandons the quest to join the Doodler and be the Final Boss)

#dndads #dndads 2 #dndads spoilers #normal oak #the doodler #more sketches of this coming in the future cause it has dug itself a hole in my brain at this point #kineticallyart #fanart #aus #I'm so caught between wanting Normal to be a paragon #always full of hope and for that hope to win out in the end #at the same time #i want Will to just flex on everybody and let Normal go to his final peak gross form #of dripping with eldrich ooze #completely sweeping the goth crown out from under Scary's nose #be The Dark One dew it

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ofallthingsnasty · 2 years

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at home

Pairing: Merman x F!Reader Tags: teratophilia, breeding, oviposition, age difference (reader is over 30 but merman is… pretty old according to human standards), size difference, reader is implied to be chubby, very soft with bits of condescension Word count: 1.5k Summary: You’re finally ready to start a family with him.

Note: Minors DNI! This is weirdly soft for this blog. Born from a very intense dream I had. Pwp with a lot of feelings… Very soft but ONLY smut. I’m working on some sketches with him, so keep your eyes peeled haha. (Due to work I won’t be able to show you these until next weekend-ish though!) Don’t think too hard about this - it really is just a smutty dream I had. Request are open!

He smells like sun and brine.

You're nestled into the great expanse of his body, clawed, blue-ish hands gripping the fat of your belly while he holds you up, your bare chest exposed to the morning sun. His grip is tight on your waist, the muscles of his arms working while he moves you up and down on his cock, his hips chasing after your cunt with every upward motion. The brisk temperature makes your skin prickle- his soft stomach is the only source of warmth against your back and his rough skin moves in waves against you. He’s slick with water and sweat as he slowly fucks up into you, labored breaths wet and hot against your ear. The feeling is unbearable. Your legs are spread wide, feet moving lifelessly against solid stone as they’re rattled around by his thrusts- although he’s gentle you feel like you’re going to lose your mind at this point. He’s simply too big not to completely wreck you, any preparation be damned. At almost twice your size, he could easily tear you apart. "I can't take it anymore-", you sob, speared on his tapered dick. You mean it.

He has the girth of your closed fist and the length to match. It’s all you can feel in this very moment, the sweet and prickly pain of being stretched to the limit is maddening.

"You can and you will, little one", he says, his brogue so soft and caring, yet relentless.

He has been nothing but kind so far, stretching you on his fingers before slowly splitting you inch by inch, bit by bit- always a sweet word flowing from his sharp-toothed mouth into your ear, always pausing when you beg him to. But he never stops. Not that you want him to. It’s the sweetest kind of torture - so full of him until it hurts, so lost in the sensation that there is only him, him, him in this very moment. The world could end this exact second and you wouldn’t notice. How many times have you been in this position? Too many to count. It’s so familiar, yet different- now there's a rough determination in his thrusts, in his whole demeanor. He fucks you like a man starved and it makes your brain short-circuit.

"This will be one of my last seasons, sweet thing", he murmurs against the shell of your ear before gently biting down, sending a shiver through your whole body. It’s not like you don’t know that - you’re very much aware that this could be his last shot at having children with you - but the fervor of his words makes you cry out regardless, desperate to receive his eggs this time. He’s old by human standards- at least thrice your age. Physically, you’d say he looks like he's in his late 40s - and he hasn’t aged a day since you met him, roughly ten years ago. But even so, he ages like the rest of earth’s living, breathing creatures. Ever since you started your courtship, he has been nothing but patient. You not only needed time to adjust to your unusual relationship- but to enjoy your freedom. You wanted kids, yes, but not after a year of being together. It had been strange to him, his customs so different from human ones, but he had accepted your decision. Now that his window is closing, he has grown restless - luckily for him, you’re finally ready. “Please-”, you choke on your words when he strokes over your g-spot. “I want your eggs, so bad-” An approving rumble leaves him in response. “Keep talking like that and you’ll carry them in no time, little one.” A kiss is pressed behind your ear and he starts to fuck deeper into you, rattling you in the process. You whine and sob as the pressure builds, the familiar feeling of being so close that it almost feels like you have to pee is almost painful by now. You know he isn’t anywhere near reaching his peak, but having an orgasm is supposed to make this easier for you, according to him.

He's just so big. You feel dwarfed by him, especially when he coils his tail around you,

shielding the two of you from prying eyes. His hand easily sprawls across your belly, his thick fingers long enough to reach deep into you when he splits you on them. He doesn’t, now - but he presses into the soft skin of your lower stomach, the pressure electrifying and just right and- You finally cum. It rolls over you in one large wave, makes your toes curl around nothing and your head bends into your neck until you can stare up at him. He gently fucks you through it, calloused hands gently massaging your tits as he hums into your hair. “There you go”, he mumbles tenderly. “There, there.” Finally, your full weight is settled into his lap. He’s no longer holding you by the waist, his hands have started to twirl around your shoulders in gentle touches instead. Your orgasm has made you so sensitive that the tip of his cock still sends fluttery sparks through you, even though he’s not moving anymore. It borders on uncomfortable but you’re too spent to complain. “Ready now?”, the fingers on your skin go from gently to heavy as they dig into your skin. You stare up at him for a moment, at his gentle eyes that study you from above. They swim with love and arousal for you, icy cyan pools you could get lost in for all of eternity. A nod is the only thing you can manage in response but it’s enough for him. “Alright”, he smiles before he paws at your waist again, fingers weaving themselves into your soft fat. You’re tipped over just so - body forward and ass pressed into his lap and he starts to move again, slowly this time. It’s not for pleasure, it’s to stimulate something else entirely- You feel it before he can warn you. Something round and hard, as big as your curled thumb, slowly travels upward. It’s a strange feeling, especially through his skin. He grunts with exertion above you, hands turning into iron around your body, but not for long. It only takes a few more seconds until you can feel a distinctive snap within you, then something hot and wet - and Blue relaxes. A moment of peace, then he ruts upward and you gasp. The egg is nestled against your womb, its gooey shell hard and warm. It pummels its way through your cervix slowly and without mercy and it hurts. It’s encased by slime that sticks to your walls, almost gelatinous in nature, but it doesn’t help with the sheer force needed to pry open your deepest point. “Blue”, you press out through clenched teeth, scared and hurt. His fingers dig into you in response, a try at a reassuring gesture. “Shhh, I know, I know”, his voice is gentle and low as he strokes over your belly, soothing your tears. It does very little for you but you try to breathe through the pain anyway. The first egg takes minutes to finally slip into your womb and you sweat and cry your way through it. Blue shushes you through the process, peppering your slick skin with kisses and encouraging nips - it doesn’t really help, but still you lean into his touches. “No more, please, Blue”, you roll your hips away from him after the first one is inside, a fruitless attempt at getting away from him. His dick is sheathed too deep within you and his hands are like iron around your wrists. He tuts at you- a noise that distinctly reminds you of someone chastising their lap dog. “It’s okay, sweet”, he says, ignoring your squirming. “The second one will go in easier, just bear with me.” As if he’s trying to give his words more weight, he settles deeper into you, so close to your cervix that it sparks sharp pain that makes you clench involuntarily. “It’ll get better. Just wait a little. I promise.”

#terato #merman x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #OC: Blue #I wanna write more terato in the future especially darkfic but inspo hasn't really struck me yet... so let's pray for more dreams lol #tw.monsterfucking #tw.breeding #tw.oviposition #i hope the formatting isn't fcked #oh btw i had to delete a lot of backstory bc this is just a pwp #so if have more questions/want me to write more send me an ask!!#love ya *kith kith*

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