#AGUAR

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

I might be wrong, but it's implied that dragons are an extinct species in the SDV universe. So like, what if the Farmer found a petrified dragon egg, or even a whole clutch, and somehow managed to hatch it/them Game of Thrones style? They've done some insane stuff both in canon, and in SVE and RSV so it's not hard to imagine they'd do the truly impossible like reviving not only an extinct species, but a magic species at that. Rambling aside, onto the question: how would the SVE mages (including Morgan) and adventurer's, and Mr. Aguar from RSV react to the farmer's feat of bringing dragons back to life?

(P.s, maybe add Mr. Qi as well bc I imagine he'd be VERY interested in this event)

You're 100% right

And it's interesting: I've long wondered why there was no mention of dragons anywhere in the notes or in the library, when there are skeletons and teeth of these very same dragons lying around in the Calico Desert and Ginger Island? And can serpents be considered descendants of these dragons?

Lance's mention of his teacher with the title "Dragon Master" also gives us the right to believe for the existence of dragons in the SDV world (although I used to think it was just such a cool title for his teacher. Or a reference to Lance's Pokémon trainer in general).

But enough rambling! Thanks for your ask and enjoy some short stories ☺️🫰

Warning: this post is long...

_________________________________________

Marlon & Gil:

Marlon sipped his tea quietly in his Guildhall on a cold winter morning, to the crackle of a blazing fireplace and the soft snores of his friend, Gil. The one-eyed adventurer was enjoying a rare moment in his life - a quiet morning, with no worries about stocking up on provisions and elixirs, no worry about monsters...

But apparently the Yoba itself decided that Marlon had had enough of the peaceful time and presented him with a Farmer riding a dragon. The flying reptile with purple scales, beautiful as amethysts, along with its rider managed to smash through the old Adventurer's Guild roof, but thankfully no one was hurt.

If Marlon had only known Farmer for a few months, he would have been in mute shock at what he had seen. Now that the youth was a full member of the Guild for the second year, Marlon only sighed tiredly and went to the undestroyed room to get his tools. Dragons? Yes, he was interested in that. But questions later, first they need to fix the hole in the roof because it's cold winter outside, you know.

The Farmer will help, of course, as they are the direct cause of the collapsed ceiling. And the Gil will join in when he stops hiding his chuckle behind his snoring. He's been awake for a while now, and he can hardly contain his laughter (and his pride in Farmer) while pretending to be asleep.

_________________________________________

Isaac:

If the quote "I don't get paid enough for this shit" were a person, Isaac would be the complete personification of that phrase.

Anyone would be shocked, amazed and delighted by the most beautiful and noble creatures that had extinct so long ago that many people no longer believed they existed and had come to regard them as a fairy tale and a legend. Anyone, but not Isaac. Because the moment the master of the dangerous reptiles appeared before Isaac's eyes - he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

Let no one dare tell him that 'Farmer is special' or 'Farmer knows what to do'. No, they don't know what they're doing! A bloody immature upstart who coddles a dangerous dragons like a puppies! That even now the curious reptiles are slowly moving towards Isaac to sniff and study him, a man they don't know. And how does HE know what the hell is going on in their heads?! Maybe they see him as just another snack, for Yoba's sake!

He won't be tempted to trade his own safety and the safety of other people for prickly curiosity. He will not, like the others, reach for the huge toothy maw, nor is he going to scratch the head of the purring (dragons can purr?) creature. Isaac goes to report the Farmer and the dragons to the Order of Pythagoras, and he doesn't care that he'll be disliked by many for such an act. It will take a long time before Isaac finally trusts the Farmer and their pets, but that will be a while yet. For now, the scarred adventurer will do what he thinks is right.

_________________________________________

Lance:

After a long training in swordsmanship and magic spells, young Lance always waited with joy for his teacher to call him for a short break. After all, it was during the break that they would both go to the tavern, eating dinner, where his teacher would praise him for his success in the last training session, and most importantly, tell him another fascinating legend about monsters and creature. Even though his mentor was a "Dragon Master", they haven't met any dragons themself. Their great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, however, had seen the beautiful flying reptile once with his own eyes.

Oh, how Lance wanted to be the man who would see a dragon, how he wanted to believe they still existed!

It was just a childhood dream that Lance had long since grown out of. But life had given him an unexpected surprise.....

He slowly touched the dragon's snout, gently running his fingers over the warm scarlet scales. Taking his time, careful not to bring his fingers too close to the razor-sharp fangs. Lance almost couldn't tear his gaze away from the big amber eyes that watched him intently. Slowly turning his head towards the Farmer, the pink-haired adventurer saw a sign of approval that he could continue. Giving his friend a grateful nod, Lance turned his gaze back to the dragon. Who would have thought that gallant adventurer would have the opportunity not only to see this marvellous creature, but also to learn from Farmer how miraculously they were able to do the impossible.

It'll go down in Lance's memoirs for sure.

_________________________________________

Jadu:

Due to insomnia, hard work with manuscripts and scrolls, and an unhealthy obsession with coffee, Jadu looked like the walking dead these days. Add to that the fact that the young wizard was as stubborn as an ass: no matter how much Lance tried to gently help his friend, no matter how much Isaac tried to force him into bed, and no matter how hard the others tried - to no avail. Jadu's goal was to finish the job - and he'd done it, and sleep was of secondary importance to him.

Naturally, this disregard for his sleep regime was not without consequences, and so Jadu, about to teleport back from the Stardew Valley to the Castle Village, didn't even realise how the world swam before his eyes and his body went limp. But before poor wizard lost consciousness, he felt that someone had grabbed him and would not let him fall. Half an hour later, Jadu realised that he was not lying on the cold ground, but in the warm embrace of someone... with scales? And wings? And claws on its paws?

Is he still asleep?

But as it turned out, he emerged from the realm of reverie and listened half-asleep to Farmer's restless speech. The sensation of inhuman skin and the word "dragon" made Jadu jump up as if scalded by boiling water and quickly get to his feet.

A dragon?! A real one?! Where from and how? Farmer, please explain! You raised it? Where? And what kind of dragon?! He'd studied the legends, but he'd never thought he'd meet a large reptile himself. And what do they eat, and how do they conjure? He need to know? Sleep? What sleep, he doesn't need that right now!

It took a lot of effort for the farmer to at least get Jadu back to a sitting position. It is not clear whether the noble reptile understood their words, but the creature's gaze was shrewd and full of wisdom. And amusement from this funny scene.

_________________________________________

Morgan:

Morgan follows the familiar hidden path again, behind a flowering tree with a swing, where there is a hole in the farm's fence. Trying not to make any loud noise, Magnus' young apprentice walks through the tall grass, holding back a playful chuckle.

Even though the Farmer had long ago told them that they would always be welcome at the farm and would be treated to ripe fruit from the greenhouse, Morgan still chose to visit in this way, adding intrigue and fun to their dull routine of studying the history of the Republic and the bestiary.

The young talent once again wanted to go into the chicken coop, where there was a void chicken that the Farmer had allowed them to feed and even give her name (Morgan had named her Coal). But when Morgan looked into the coop, instead of the usual joyful clucking, they felt a smoky breath coming from a toothy mouth that definitely did not belong to a hen. In the dark wooden room, Morgan couldn't see who it was, so all they could do was run out of the coop screaming in terror and crying.

Luckily, the Farmer, who had arrived quickly, had time to calm the child and explain that a dragon lived here for the time being.

Morgan at the mention of the mythical creature completely forgot about everything in the world. A moment later, the Farmer was bombarded with questions and requests to see dragon again. The farmer allowed (taking Morgan's word that they would keep it a secret). Wow, dragons are even cooler that void chicken! Sorry, Coal...

_________________________________________

Alesia:

Crazy... This was just a crazy idea. Maybe Alesia still had the option to refuse and get off the green dragon's back? Before she could say anything, however, Farmer gave the takeoff command to his winged friend, and they and Alesia, riding the dragon, began to separate from the ground higher and higher. The sniper was out of breath, and her mind was unable to comprehend what was happening. A farmer, a dragon - a living dragon! - and flying on top of a large reptile. How had all this happened for literally half an hour?

Alesia never thought she would agree to ride a dragon without a second thought. She felt a little ashamed, for she had been so quick to give in to temptation and curiosity, forgetting all about safety. But that view... Definitely worth it.

Finally when they landed and Alesia felt the solid ground beneath her feet, she had to temper her excitement and have a serious talk with Farmer. About the dragon, mages and adventurers should know. No, no arguments. It is better to let the senior adventures be warned, for it could happen that seeing Farmer on a dragon could mistake them for an enemy or potential threat. This is for the safety of both the humans and the Farmer with the reptile. The girl sees that this beautiful creature is significantly intelligent and wishes no harm to anyone. Therefore, she will feel safer if Farmer, as a responsible adult, makes the right decision.

But until they notified the Order and the others, Alesia would be interested to hear how the Farmer was able to not only raise the dragon themself, but also hide their existence from the others for so long. And, if the Farmer and the dragon itself are okay with it, to repeat another flight. Because that's was fun.

_________________________________________

Magnus Rasmodius:

The Farmer couldn't have been happier when, after months of caring for the dragon eggs, they saw the first crack of the shell and a cute little scaly face emerge. One little flying lizard was followed by two more, and now the trio are chirping and flying merrily around their parent, already begging for attention and food.

What Farmer didn't know was that as the dragonlings hatched, a strong magical flow would come out of the eggs, which Magnus Rasmodius definitely felt.

Shocked at the unknown strong source of magic, the purple-haired wizard dropped everything he was doing and teleported to the Farmer's house. The magic that had broken through his barrier? But the barrier was still intact! Then what? An anomaly? A strong corrupting spirit? Ancient magic? And his apprentice is right at the epicentre! But while Magnus was filling his head with horrific scenes and preparing to recite the spell, teleporting straight into the living room of the Farmer's house, all his battle fervour deflated. And before Magnus's gaze was an unharmed Farmer, with three little dragons sitting on top of them, eating peach slices with gusto.

On the one hand, Magnus has an irresistible urge to smack himself on the forehead for having conjured up such scary scenes, when as an experienced magician he should always keep his composure. On the other hand, he really wants to scold the Farmer for another wild thing. His gut tells him that he has a very long report to write to the Ministry of Magic. He also needs a bottle of strong wine to get drunk and pass out after all this madness. Poor wizard is too tired to marvel at the very fact that dragons have been reborn. Maybe later...

_________________________________________

Camilla:

My oh my... And how come the Farmer didn't tell her, Camilla, about this wonderful pet that breathes fire and can fly in the sky? She's their best friend, isn't she? And friends always share secrets with each other.... How did the Farmer manage to raise such a marvellous beauty? Really? Hmm, interesting.

Some might rightly resent that the head witch of Castle Village treats a dangerous mythical creature like a cute poodle. Even the dragon owner themself might be surprised that she doesn't show the reaction that people usually have at the sight of a big and scary dragon.

But even it look like Camilla in her favourite way is not serious about everything, it is not true at all. Quite the opposite, she will always put her duty to protect the people of the Village above all else. But she is confident in her abilities, so just in case the Farmer's scaly friend wants to make a little mischief in her domain, she will make sure that the creature never wants to appear on the Continent of Galdora ever again. But enough of that!

Camilla will become a more frequent visitor to the Stardew Valley, because the witch certainly won't miss the opportunity to study such an interesting specimen. Camilla also has some of the rarest pets, and the witch would like to get a dragon as well. Ah, what a cutie!

_________________________________________

Dr. Aguar:

For a fortnight now, Aguar couldn't figure out why his body was tingling with magic like an annoying itch. For a fortnight he had been walking around irritated, unable to understand the source of this itch that was driving him crazy and preventing him from working in peace. It was only at the bus stop that Aguar realised that the closer he got to the farm, the stronger the tingling became. There's clearly something the strange Farmer is doing here.... Magnus had already mentioned that the youth had a magical gift, just like Aguar himself. But the former mage knows nothing much about the Farmer: not their motives, nothing. So Aguar wanted to find out what the Farmer does, and whether it has anything to do with this unbearable itch.

Before Dr. Aguar could even reach the porch of the Farmer's house, something blue flew out of the door at full speed, but he couldn't see it because of its speed. The Farmer ran out after it, calling to someone and waving their arms.

The thing stopped abruptly in mid-air and returned to the Farmer, wrapping their body around Farmer's right hand and growling merrily. The Farmer, barely out of breath, held their breath as they realised they had guests and that they could see the dragon. Aguar, on the other hand, crossed his arms and waited patiently for the Farmer to start the conversation themself.

So that's what it was...

A dragon, yes? And a dragon of the water element, Aguar's own element. Indeed, this little reptile was too young to control magic on its own. And the incessant flow of the same element's magic influenced the flow of the scientist's magic. Very interesting. That's what really caught Aguar's attention. He's really going to want to study the dragon. Oh, spirits, Farmer, there's no need to look at him as a bloodthirsty monster! He won't harm this little one.

_________________________________________

Mr. Qi:

"Congratulations to you, Farmer. Once again you managed to exceed my expectations when your tending to the eggs I left behind succeeded. I didn't doubt the success one bit, of course not. I hope you enjoy your new pets, they are truly wonderful. Also, I'll put it on a note, they are fruit-eaters, so treat your dragons to fresh fruit often. Especially melon, these dragons love it. I already know that, hehe. Good luck to you, child. I'll keep watching your progress. And always remember, the key to success is within you."

The Farmer would probably have been surprised by a letter from Mr. Qi..... But alas, the little flying reptiles accidentally burned the paper before the Farmer could open anything.

[ghostatrandom]

So yeah I am very addicted to Stardew Valley BUT ESPECIALLY to the Ridgeside village mod cause idk why but the characters are very fun for me, especially Mr. Aguar he is the old man tired dad energy I need as a role model in my life.

I insist that Lenny and Ms. Maive have something between them you cannot convince me otherwise

(I will draw some base game SV stuff soon don’t worry)

[myhandsarentsmudgediusedigital]

Stardew Valley World Magic

Okay so to start this is just my headcanon, I'm sure ConcernedApe didn't intend this at all and hell, it might be completely disproven when Haunted Chocolatier comes out.

That being said, here's my headcanons for how magic works in the world of Stardew Valley. (Warning: very long and detailed)

TLDR: Magic in Stardew is based on one of eight elements, and humans are right in the middle with "aether" aka non elementals, which is why they can learn any type of magic.

So first, we have two pieces of main information in the vanilla game. The first is when we meet Rasmodius, and he calls himself "master of the seven elementals". However, if you look at his magic circle, you can see there its a octagon, not a heptagon.

An oversight? Probably. Or it could mean there's one element Radmodius hasn't mastered. Which also checks out cause being literally master of everything is just unrealistic, even in a fantasy game.

So the magic of this world is element based, and there are 8 elements. With that in mind, I made this possible chart.

This chart accounts for most of the species we see in game. Species can be attuned to one or more elements (Merpeople are attuned to water, Junimos to Wood, Slimes can be any element depending on the variety, etc.)

Humans are attuned to what is called "Aether" which means they have a mix of all the elements more or less equally (some drift towards a certain element but its usually not much). This is why humans aren't naturally magical, but if they study they can learn basically any kind of magic.

In contrast, other beings find it almost impossible to learn magic from an element they are opposed to (Merpeople learning Fire spells, Junimos learning Metal spells, etc.). This is why most wizards are humans, and why most hybrids are human plus something else, because humans don't outright conflict with any elements (in terms of biology of course, politically it's a whole other story).

All spells are based off a certain element, and healing spells are usually light-attuned. Because of this, Shadow People (like Krobus) had to develop their own method of healing that uses Shadow Magic, but it doesn't work as well on other species (this is important for one of my stories).

Also, wizards tend to gain the hair color of whatever element they use most. Rasmodius, for example, has purple hair, so he's an Air mage. That checks out given his flashy teleporting skills.

He works with Wood/Nature magic a lot, and that also makes sense because Wood is right next to air on the octagon. Going back to what I said before, this would imply that the only element he hasn't mastered is probably Earth, since it's diametrically opposed to the magic he normally uses.

For another (non canon) example, Mr. Aguar from Ridgeside has blue hair, and he expressly studies the water.

(apologies for the jumpscare, this was the lowest res image I could fine)

So yeah, that sums up my thoughts. I guess I could sort spells into different elements, but that would be a whole other post lol.

[caelwynn]

Another Heart Event Extravaganza

One of the ideas that pops up in Choices from time to time is that Callie attracts drama. And honestly, considering all of the damn heart events she triggered during her Wednesday visit to Ridgeside, I feel like it's justified.

Between dealing with people who are injured—

—people who have lost things—

—designers who either need someone to kvetch to—

—or forget mundane needs like eating—

—older members of the community needing help with errands—

—younger members of the community breaking under the stress—

—and whatever the fuck this was—

I don't blame Callie for feeling wrung out and tired from all the damn drama. 😅

At least she got to end the day with a bit of zen:

Too bad she had to vent her spleen to her new friend as opposed to her husband....

Yeah, I'd say Callie's justifiably a bit stressed these days.

All my 1.6 playthrough posts can be found here, and my mod loadout here. If you're curious about Callie and my attempt to interweave SVE, Ridgeside, and East Scarp, look here for an ongoing series about her first year.

[aschenblumen]

una lágrima es una poética inasible, una poética de las minúsculas y una erótica corrosiva que se manufactura en los hornos del tiempo. una lágrima es una bomba de sal estallando en silencio los verbos del exterminio.

val flores, «Aguar la agenda», texto preparado para la décima edición de Agenda kuir (2023). Proyecto de agenda temática en torno a las disidencias sexuales, feminismos y teoría queer a cargo de Felipe Román Osorio.

[vellz2]

Cried a little w quackitys stream :’)

[shadowwingtronix]

"Yesterday's" Comic> Prince Valiant Free Comic Book Day

BW's "Yesterday's" Comic> Prince Valiant Free Comic Book Day

Just another family gathering for Shadiversity and Jazza. Prince Valiant: Free Comic Book Day Special Edition Fantagraphics (April, 2013) WRITER/ARTIST: Hal Foster EDITOR: Kim Thompson Prince Valiant is a long-running newspaper comic strip about a prince whose country was taken over by villains. He found a new home in Camelot, raised a family, and has had many adventures. This sampler features…

[casaboatem]

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Some random RSV headcanon:

Maybe I'm wrong, but I kind of remember one of Raeriyala's dialogues, when she said that she transformed into some spirit form and rolled Farmer's Granny on her back when she was a young lady. And I want Rae to also offer this to the Farmer, because it's fun, the Farmer is a very kind person, and it's necessary to come up with a reward for defeating Gabriella's corruption.

Rae took the form of a huge red fox and invited the Farmer to sit on her back, to which the Farmer immediately agreed, because c'mon, who doesn't want to ride a giant fluffy magic fox? Belinda grumbles a bit about her lover and the young Farmer jumping around the Ridge Forest like crazy, shocking Jio, the other ninjas, and the local fauna. But she laughs in her heart and remembers how she, Rae, and Grandma also fooled around together sometimes, because this moments were so rare due to Gabrielle's curse. And now that the Ridge Forest is out of danger... why not have some fun?

[imninahchan]

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐙚 ⌜𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐒: swann!namoradinho, diferença de idade, cigarro, perda de virgindade, romântico pq eu tô melancólica, tensão, yearning, corruption kink, masturbação fem + fingering + oral, breast/nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, aftercare, sexo sem proteção (se protejam!). Não revisei, pode conter alguns errinhos de digitação! ⁞ ♡ ̆̈ ꒰ 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑨 ꒱para o querido anon que me mandou a ask<3 ─ Ꮺ!

.⸙ NÃO É COMO SE FOSSE ALGO PROIBIDO, já conversaram sobre isso. É só que... ainda não fizeram.

Você confia nele, estão juntos a quase dois anos. Ele cuida mais do seu apartamento do que do dele próprio, passando para aguar as plantinhas pra ti, ou alimentar o seu gatinho. Te envia mensagens de manhãzinha, quando você acorda, pra desejar um dia bom, e quer saber tudo que aconteceu à noite, antes de dormir. Não falta nada demais nesse relacionamento, se tiver de ser sincero. 𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 não deseja por mais nada do que você não possa oferecer.

A questão é que você quer. Sempre quis, mas as suas inseguranças às vezes parecem que vão te consumir. Sabe que é amada, não há espaço para dúvidas, só que o corpo congela, a barriga revira e aí desiste na metade do caminho até o homem grisalho sentado no sofá da sua sala assistindo um programa de tv de auditório. É bem mais simples dizer as coisas pra ele do que demonstrar pelas ações. Já o disse, eu queria transar com você, sem vergonha nenhuma, durante o café da manhã. Ele entende, já se passa pela cabeça as milhares de dúvidas ou expectativas que você possa ter, e sorri, contido, entornando um gole da xícara.

O excesso das cinzas do cigarro são descartadas no ar, pela janela do seu quarto. A fumaça sobrepõe momentaneamente o azul da tarde ensolarada, e o único tom que sobrevive, vívido, nesses breves segundos são os das íris oceano límpido focadas em folhear as páginas manchadas pelo tempo no exemplar antigo de Camus. Traz para ti, mostra, “esse é em francês”, diz, “bom pra você treinar.”

Você analisa o livro, cheira. “Vou guardar”, e o deixa na prateleira junto dos outros de filosofia.

𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 permanece ao seu lado, observando os movimentos das suas mãos entre os livros. Apoia de leve o queixo no seu pescoço. Agora que a sua vizinha vai se mudar, ficou para ti de presente três caixas lotadas de obras de diferentes gêneros e idiomas que ela tinha armazenada na biblioteca invejável. “Era pra você escolher alguns”, te olha, rindo, “mas você tá ficando com todos.”

A sua resposta é arquear os ombros, como quem se abstém da culpa, são todos muito bons, se defendendo. E ele ri mais, com os dentinhos pequenos à mostra. Chega com o rosto mais perto da sua pele, a pontinha do nariz resvala no seu pescoço só para causar cócegas e te fazer sobressair, fechando a região no ombro. Uhum, espertinha.

Ele traga novamente, mas te oferece o pito, o qual você faz que não, mais focada no próximo exemplar que vai buscar na caixa. Escuta os passos do chinelo dele no assoalho, se afastando até a janela outra vez para assoprar a fumaça. De costas, perde a visão, porém, do jeito que o cotovelo dele descansa no parapeito, os fios acinzentados recaindo na testa, enquanto te olha. Corre o polegar pelo lábio inferior, a extremidade do cigarro queimando entre os dedos, pensa.

“A gente podia dar uma pausa”, sugere então.

“Mas a gente acabou de começar...”

Ele desvia o olhar, sorrindo consigo mesmo do seu tom desanimado. “Os livros não vão sair correndo”, traga pela última vez antes de jogar a bituca pela janela.

“Eu sei”, você responde, “mas vai que você rouba.”

“Eu?”, aponta pra si próprio, teatral, ao fazer o caminho em linha reta de volta pra ti. “Vou trazer pra você segunda-feira, tá?”, começa a se justificar, articulando com uma mão ao passo que a outra precisa envolver a sua cintura, “é que eu não terminei de ler...”, você faz que sim, igualmente atriz, expressiva, sim, claro, entendo. “Eu não sou uma pessoa que fica com as coisas dos outros, não”, ele prossegue, sem corresponder ao seu contato visual porque faz parte da performance, “tipo uma certa mocinha que pegou o meu perfume e não quer me devolver.”

Você não contém o sorriso, cada vez maior a cada palavra que escuta. Não quer nem se defender, mas o corpo responder involuntariamente ao roçar do nariz dele pelo seu pescoço.

Cambaleando para trás, até os pés bêbados serem parados pela parede do quarto. Encolhe-se, tenta empurrá-lo, só que as gargalhadas doces te assaltam toda a força de vontade, como se os músculos ficassem molinhos, molinhos. Então, só pode respirar fundo para aliviar a barriga doída de tanto contrair-se quando ele ergue o rosto de novo. Os cabelinhos grisalhos estão atrapalhados, a pele do rosto aparenta mais vermelhinha depois de esfregar-se na sua, mesmo os pelos do sobrolho estão bagunçados.

Aos poucos o seu riso cessa, embora um sorrisinho pequeno ainda resista nos seus lábios. Se olham. E ele arregala as pálpebras, bobo, apenas para gerar outro risinho, e cola a testa na sua. Fecham os olhos.

É incrível. Sente a ressaca da fragrância francesa ecoando da sua pele, banhando o nariz dele feito as ondas do mar. Preenchendo e embriagando. Dá vontade de te manter ainda mais perto — abraçar com força, tombar para a cama e grudar a boca no seu ombro. Esticar a língua, lamber de levinho, depois resvalar os dentes, mais leve ainda pra não te escutar reclamando.

Mas, além de tudo isso, podia fazer muito mais.

Quando levanta o queixo, você faz o mesmo, no automático, pronta para encará-lo outra vez. Entretanto, o pedido vem num sussurro, fecha os olhos.

E você não contraria, silenciosa. O frio na barriga de não saber o que ele vai fazer é o que te causa um sorriso de canto, suave.

Ali, na bordinha, onde a pele se enruga no repuxe dos lábios é o exato mesmo lugar que recebe o carinho dos lábios finos.

A respiração alheia chega quente, mas calma. Ao não sentir mais o vapor, te arde a falta, a vontade de mais, mais proximidade, a qual, por sorte, não te abandona por muito tempo. Na maça do rosto, do lado oposto, a calor masculino te atinge primeiro que o toque dos lábios uma vez mais. Tão mélico, tão amável. 𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 tem um jeito de amar que às vezes parece assustadoramente delicado.

Você ri, soprado.

Tenta abrir as pálpebras novamente, porém é impedida pela sombra que a palma da mão dele forma por cima das suas vistas, sussurrando “não, olhos fechados.”

Agora, sente o nariz encostando no seu. Casualmente, apenas por estar com o rosto pertinho assim. Desce os dedos pelo lado da sua face, como quem desenha as curvas no papel, e contorna até o queixo. Acaricia com o polegar.

E se afunda mais abaixo, não para. Porque você acaba tombando a cabeça pra trás, os dedos magros tem ainda mais adoração para escorrer do ossinho do queixo até o da clavícula. Mas, aí, quando aporta ali, não cai mais, prefere tomar a esquerda para deslizar até a extremidade do seu ombro, arrastando pelo percurso a alcinha fina da sua blusa.

Se abre um caminho perigoso diante do francês, a possibilidade tentadora de afogar a face na curva confortável do seu pescoço. Ele se inclina, se debruça, se esconde. Aspira.

Você arrepia.

Parece que o tempo para, essa é a impressão. É impossível pra mente dele calcular quantos segundos, minutos ou horas passou dessa forma, tão pertinho que pode escutar o seu coração batendo no seu ombro. E quando, por fim, tem de se separar, o flagrante dos seus olhinhos ainda fechados é de comover qualquer um. Bonitinho. Inofensivo. Por isso, num certo instante, até se sente mal por ter pensando em dezenas de cenários obscenos nesse espaço de tempo entre vir da janela e chegar até aqui.

Olha os seus lábios repartidos. Solitários. Convidativos.

Não resiste, pega no seu pescoço, te devora a boca. O encaixe perfeito de mais um dos milhares de beijos que já trocaram ao longos desses meses juntos. Nunca é dente com dente, ou saliva demais, 𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 sabe o que faz, e você sabe como recebê-lo. Gosta do amargo do café que ele toma, do cigarro que fuma. Do som molhado, o estalar dos lábios em movimento. Quando a língua dele empurra a sua, até mesmo no desencontro delas porque ele sorri entre os ângulos e faz hora com a boca entreaberta para voltar a te beijar.

Te alucina de tal forma que o seu corpo verga na direção do dele, bambo, incapaz de fugir do que viveu até agora, à medida que é abandonada pelo ósculo.

Passa a mão pelo rosto, se recompõe. Um sorriso vem surgindo na face, tola, retraída. Olha pra ele — os lábios inchados, vermelhos, como se o tivesse beijado de batom. Diferente de ti, o homem não se intimida, o que é muito bom, pois de inibida já basta você. E é justamente essa bravura masculina que você anseia. Anseia. Desesperadoramente quer que ele atinge o ápice da coragem e te tome nos braços, que te deite na cama, que toque o seu corpo para além do que já tocou. Que preencha, recheie. Precisa que a atitude parta dele, porque de ti não vai partir, e vocês vão ficar assim, incessantemente ansiando. Ansiando.

𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 cobiça também. Tanto que se martiriza, que dói, lateja dentro das calças e faz o sangue ferver. Como pode nutrir tanto desejo por algo que não lhe parece concedido mas já é seu?

Sorri.

“Vem cá”, conduz, segurando na sua mão pra te levar pra cama. Os livros são empurrados pro canto, abre-se espaço para que possa te deitar sobre o colchão e se colocar por cima. “Escuta”, murmura, “eu preciso muito, muito foder você, senão eu vou ficar louco... e eu já tenho idade pra ficar caduco”, o tom de cautela da piadinha te arranca um risinho, e enquanto você distrai a mente rindo, desviando o olhar pra outro canto do quarto, as mãos ágeis do francês aproveitam para desabotoar o seu short e te despir da cintura pra baixo. A sobriedade da situação só te retorna quando sente o meio das pernas tão quente em contato com a temperatura ambiente.

Os músculos travam, as unhas cravadas na coberta vermelha que decora a cama. Nem mesmo pisca direito, apenas o encarando de volta, assistindo o torso masculino se livrando da camisa. Já o viu seminu antes, e já o deixou te ver da mesma forma, cotidianos, ao trocarem de roupa juntos de manhã para o trabalho. Mas dessa vez, aqui, é diferente, sabe?

Os seus olhos até então estáticos, levemente esbugalhados, acompanham o indicador dele ser apontado no ar, à sua frente. Desce o olhar junto com o dedo que cai da altura das suas vistas pro seu busto, e depois sobe de tudo, te levando a tombar a cabeça pra trás, rindo. Ele está brincando contigo, e obtém sucesso ao te fazer rir mais uma vez. Se aproveitando da leveza que toma conta da sua alma para chupar a ponta de dois dos próprios dedos da mão e levá-los até entre as suas pernas.

Você estremece com o carinho, a maneira certinha com que chega ao seu pontinho. Suspira, boquiaberta, a atenção sendo roubada para o braço esticado no meio até o meia das suas coxas. “Ei, aqui, chérie”, o escuta murmurar ao pé do seu ouvido. Beija a sua bochecha, “olha pra mim”, pede, e você obedece. Vê as pupilas dilatadas, o brilho cheio de ternura, mas também banhado de tesão. Não foge da mirada nem quando sente a pontinha dos dedos se colocando pra dentro.

𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 beija os seus lábios, e escorrega a boca pelo seu queixo, pelo seu pescoço. Desliza pelo tecido leve da blusa, entre os biquinhos rijos apontando por baixo, até chega no seu ventre. Se demora um pouco mais ali, porque os dedos já fazem um bom trabalho em te ocupar inteirinha, indo fundo pra acariciar um lugarzinho doce lá dentro. Os estalar dos beijos na sua pele se mistura à umidade sonora de cada investida entre as suas pernas. Está cada vez mais molhada que você mesma considera patético da sua parte.

Porra, eu preciso tanto te chupar, ele sussurra mais para si mesmo, bêbado de vontade. E quando é a boca que está sugando o seu clitóris, caramba... o seu corpo espasma, os pezinhos empurrando contra o colchão, as costas se levantando, o ar enchendo os pulmões para sair barulhento, com dificuldade. “Tudo bem?”, o homem pergunta, de lábios meladinhos, com um sorriso tão sacana que é impossível para ti conter o riso.

E ele mantém tudo espontâneo, rotineiro. Está como rosto afundado em ti, até mesmo a ponta do nariz circulando a tua areazinha sensível, mas te perguntando se vai mesmo se desfazer daquele exemplar amarelado que deixou no canto da mesinha do quarto, ou se pode levar pra casa com ele. O genuíno da conversa te alucina, a vontade é de agarrá-lo pelos cabelos, por ódio, e deixar que ele te coma mais e mais, por desejo. Sabe que o mais velho está fazendo de tudo para te deixar confortável, te fazer esquecer das dúvidas que sempre te assolam. E funciona. Swann, você chama, baixinho, entre suspiros e os olhos fechados. “Diz”, ele ecoa de volta, murmurando contra o seu sexo babadinho, “o que foi, hm? Vai gozar na minha boca?”

A pergunta suja é o que te faltava de estímulo pra se derreter inteira. Dá a ele cada gotinha, se revira de prazer a cada lambida obscena que ganha. Aí, com os músculos latejando, o peito queimando, já não tem muita consciência do acanho, é facilmente moldada sobre a cama, bobinha, só se dá conta de que ele está completamente nu quando é sentada no colo masculino.

Se esfrega um pouquinho sobre as bolas, devagarzinho. Os olhos captam a cena erótica da cabecinha meladinha manchando o abdômen do francês, só que logo é obrigada a encará-lo quando a mão alheia toma conta da sua nuca, os dedos enroscam nos seus fios. “Vou deixar você comandar, okay?”, 𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 conta, com um sorriso, ao que você sorri mais, agora mais soltinha, nossa, que bondade a sua. “Eu tô sendo muito bom”, ele embarca na brincadeira. A mão na sua nuca escorrega pelo canto para que os dedos se abram ao redor do seu pescoço, “poderia te deitar nessa cama e eu mesmo te foder. Você ficaria linda de quatro pra mim, sabia?”

“Uhum, querido, merci beaucoup.”

E ele ri, te chama baixinho boba, acertando um tapinha leve na sua bochecha como quem só quer mesmo é implicar. “Vai, me coloca aí dentro.”

É uma sensação conflituosa. Embora bem molhadinha, o desconforto que te preenche no deslize te faz duvidar de que vai chegar até o fim. Mas quando as suas coxas descansam nas dele, completamente cheia, surpreende a si mesma. Daí, as paredes do seu interior se retesam mais, reclamam, porque arde um pouquinho, empalada. Porém não o tiraria de dentro, nem por um centímetro... Viu? O conflito.

Ele suspende a sua blusa, te deixa usá-lo da cintura pra baixo pois pretende se perder da sua cintura pra cima. As mãos embalam os seus seios, massageiam, os olhos azuis tão perdidos neles que parece hipnotizado. Você até se esquece de que pode quicar, subindo e descendo, se abala com a boca chupando o biquinho e só rebola, lento, sensual. Mas ninguém aqui tá com pressa, né? Por que mais que 𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏 esteja explodindo por dentro, absurdamente louco pra te lotar de porra, vai deixar que você controle, que drene no seu tempinho tudo que ele tem pra te oferecer.

E ao finalmente conseguir te encher, poxa, juram, isso pode vir a se tornar um vício. Você se sente quentinha por dentro, as gotinhas escorrendo pelo interior das coxas ao erguer o quadril e liberá-lo.

Desmonta sobre o colchão, exausta. Não quer mover um músculo, só resmunga positivamente quando ele te pergunta se está com fome. Escuta o barulho dos passos no assoalho, da panela na cozinha, mas só senta-se na cama ao receber o sanduíche e o copo de suco nas mãos.

Ele apoia o joelho no colchão, já está vestindo a bermuda, embora o cinto e os botões permaneçam desfeitos, bagunçados. Te olha. “E aí?”, quer saber.

Você não aguenta o sorriso, tímida. “Tudo bem”, e ele sorri junto, tudo bem, hm?, repetindo a sua fala, apertando a sua bochecha.

“Quer tomar um banhozinho comigo?”, te pergunta.

“Depois.”

“Depois?”

“Uhum.”

“Muito cansada agora, meu amor?”, acaricia o cantinho do seu rosto, terno, “quer ficar deitadinha comigo, então? Hm? O que você quiser eu quero...”

Você encolhe os ombros, fazendo manha. “Não, é que...”, não para de sorri, “queria saber se o meu velho do INSS já tá bom pra me foder de novo, ou eu preciso esperar mais... Ah, Swann!”, nem consegue terminar a própria piadinha. Ele pega as coisas da sua mão, deixa na mesinha de cabeceira e parte pra cima de ti, te imobilizando num abraço de urso, distribuindo mordidinhas, chupões. Sabia que você ia virar uma putinha depois que fodesse comigo, sussurra no seu ouvido, a voz soando rouquinha, mas tudo bem, eu gosto de você assim também. Vou te foder quantas vezes precisar, okay?

[airship-full-of-dragons]

Final review

Merrigan: Incredible... Of everything I had imagined on this search, hearing the Tidelord's voice... Such a profound brush with our very origins! The seers were thankfully able to translate the message, but this raises so many new questions... What was part of the Pillar of the World doing down here? What are these cores and why are they so important? Where are they now? Unlikeliest places? Oof, there's much to learn. And we still don't know what happened to the Tidelord... The damage to his message has me worried that something nefarious is at work. Our dives may be done for now, but there is still plenty of mystery left to solve. I've spoken with the rest of my pod, and we've decided to drop anchor here for a while to help. We'll contact other pods, too, to update them and see if they wish to come help. None of us are accustomed to staying in one place for long, so this is going to be... a challenging adjustment. I don't think we've anything to worry about, though. Aguar has already agreed to serve as an ambassador while we get settled in, and I get the impression you'll be right there with us, too... Just as you have been. I can't thank you enough. We've circumnavigated the oceans for so long with nothing remarkable to speak of, I had settled myself in for a life of boring routines. I'd forgotten the importance of a wayfinder's duties—and more, I had lost sight of the sheer breadth of novelty the oceans contain. Even the eldest of us could never behold the beauty of every reef, every ridge and trench, but there is no greater thrill in life than to try anyway. Whatever comes of the Tidelord's disappearance in the end, I will be heartened to face it beside all of you.

(as during the first effort, I will not be copy-pasting the full recap text, it's up on the page and screencapped here, though. But so this post isn't a mile long, i'm skipping on it)

New images:

[spanishskulduggery]

How can one express disapproval colloquially? Or what are the equivalents for "Not cool"?

I think the closest all-purpose expression you're looking for is no vale which is sometimes no se vale

It literally means "that's not valid" or "that's not accepted", but colloquially you use it like "that's not fair" or "that's not okay"; it's especially common in games or for kids when someone does something that's like cheating or they're suddenly winning etc and it's like "that's not fair!" - that's no (se) vale

There are some regionalisms for "boring" like I know Chile says qué fome but most of Spanish recognizes aburrido/a "boring" or qué aburrido/a "how boring"

I don't know if it's common in other places but I believe Spain uses the word pesado/a which is literally "heavy" to kind of be a mix of "stick in the mud" and "annoying" - it's just short of calling someone an ass, but it can also mean that something is uncool or ruining the vibe

The other expressions I can think of are kind of like shock/disapproval like no puedo creerlo "I can't believe it", or no me digas which can either be "don't tell me" or "you don't say" - sometimes people will say some variation of lo que faltó or like lo que me hizo falta which is something like "just what I needed" but it's literally "(exactly) what was missing", and that expression is like disapproval + a feeling of frustration/exhaustion just like English [and of course you can change the indirect object like lo que nos faltaba "just what we needed" / lo que nos hizo falta "just what we needed"]

...

Aside from that it kind of depends on the exact disapproval but there are many standard ways to express some things

The expressions I can think of are more standard throughout all of Spanish, but decepcionante is "disappointing" or ¡qué decepcionante! "how disappointing" or ¡qué decepción! "what a disappointment"

The verb is decepcionar "to disappoint" so it could be like me decepcionas "you disappoint me"

...

Standard Spanish also uses aguafiestas which is gender neutral but it's like "party-pooper", literally aguar la fiesta is "to throw water on the party" but is also "to spoil someone's fun"... so the noun aguafiestas is like "spoilsport"; in school we were taught to think of it as "raining on someone's parade" for the image of water

Other expressions are like mentira which is literally "lie" but it could be "you are lying" or "that is a lie" etc. calling somone a liar is typically mentiroso/a

Another commonplace expression is no tener gracia "to not be funny" usually said of situations so no tiene nada de gracia "that's not funny at all" or no veo la gracia (en algo) "I don't see what's funny (about something)"

More extreme or dramatic ones are like traidor/traidora "traitor" or using traicionar "to betray"

[xexyromero]

Xexyyyyyy!

Como você acha que seria a casa/apt dos meninos e a leitora? Com plantas, biblioteca, cantinho do violão... ♥️

aiiii tópico sensível!!!

acho que seriam assim ó

enzo: tem cara de quem tem um apartamento com chão de taco. uma sala bem ampla, até maior que o quarto, com um janelão enorme. umas três estantes de livros espalhadas por tudo que é canto. uma vitrolinha marota com alguns lps antigos e novos no cantinho, junto de um violão. muitas samambaias e costelas de adão! uma cozinha organizada e um quarto bem clean daqueles que só tem a cama, a cabeceira e uma televisão.

agustin: uma casa com toda certeza!!! mas uma casa pequenininha, de um andar só, com um quintal enorme que ele cuida e cultiva várias plantinhas pra usar de tempero - e enche uma piscininha inflável pros dias de calor. tem uma energia meio bagunçada caótica meio good vibes com aquelas mantas em tie-dye meio alternativas atrás do sofá que tem uma capa estampada, sabe? o quarto numa vibe bem similar. só que com um aparelho de som babado. a moto é o xodó que fica na garagem.

fran: uma vibe pequenininha clean só que com milhões de plantas em tudo que é canto. inclusive deve ser um saco ficar responsável por aguar as plantinhas dele - missão interminável. é do time que mora em casa também, um duplexzinho numa parte mais tranquila da cidade, perto de natureza. uma escrivaninha no quarto com uma cama de madeira, um quadrinho aqui e ali de algum pôster de filme ou porta retrato dele criança. agora é tudo de um aconchego e conforto que deve ser impossível querer sair. a geladeira tem os imãs mais divertidos do mundo.

matí: um apartamento de adolescente que foi morar sozinho porque foi fazer faculdade em outra cidade, sabe? é uma bagunça tenebrosa porém bem limpinho, tá!! ele chama uma pessoa pra ajudar com a limpeza. tem uma televisão enorme com vídeo-game, um sofázinho mixuruca, pôster de tudo que é coisa na parede. no quarto dele tem até um grafite enorme que ele fez. abriu gaveta na cozinha? bufo, cemitério de pod/vape. tem um cheirinho de cigarro que ele tenta evitar. mas é aconchegante.

kuku: apartamento de adulto, sim!!! e daqueles adultos bem cult bacaninha!!! as paredes são de um tom mais creme, com alguns pôsters e quadros de muito bom gosto que ele comprou/ganhou de amigos artistas ao longo dos anos. algumas prateleiras com livros pontuais, uns ornamentos de metal, uns prêmios que ganhou quando criança. o quarto dele é daqueles planejados com uma cama king enooooorme, cheia de travisseiros. o chão é de taco também, mas é bem colorido por conta das artes e das colchas que ele usa. cheirinho de bambu, sabe?

pipe: tem camisa assinada pelo messi enquadrada em cima da cama dele e não tem alma viva que o faça tirar. foi assinado!!! pelo messi!!!! tirando isso, é um apê alto astral, bem clean, com várias fotos em preto e branco que ele tirou e emoldurou na parede. de todos é o que tem a cozinha mais legal - um balcãozão de madeira e vários utensílios. de vez em quando vai na casa do agustín pegar umas ervas fresquinhas pra cozinhar. o quintal dele só serve pra churrasqueira e pronto.

[caelwynn]

More Green Rain

Not gonna lie, that's an ominous way to start the day. Also, I loved the green hue on everything. Added to the eeriness in a lovely way.

I did not go into the Green Rain event for SDV 1.6 blind. Much like Callie, I like spoilers. However, in the various posts I've seen about it, I've yet to see someone talk about some of the modded NPCs reactions. I don't have everyone's, but I did grab a handful that stood out to me.

If I recall correctly, Keahi had a similar reaction to Philip, though he was far more hopeful.

Mr. Aguar took a tack similar to the Wizard in reassuring Callie...

Gee, thanks. So grateful for your concern.

But my absolute favorite response of any of the modded NPCs is this one, hands down:

Same, Olivia. Same.

All my 1.6 playthrough posts can be found here. If you're curious about Callie's 1.5 relationships with Sterling and Shane, look here for an ongoing series about her first year.

[dark69skin]

Ian Aguar