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dastardly-imbecile · 29 days ago

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A Lesson in Culpability

By the time he makes it home, an hour later, it is approaching midnight. For once, the roles as he slips into bed are reversed—Caroline sleeping, him creeping like a burglar under the sheets—and he almost feels guilty until he gets a whiff of the scent on the sheets, something like mushrooms and ozone, and he remembers watching her meander off towards the fortune-teller’s tent during the fair.

If he’s some sort of sinner, then she is too, broke the inviolable contract of marriage, and Pierre has never been one for unequal bargains. — Five times it isn't Pierre's fault and one time it is. OR Pierre's life sucks and he gravitates the one thing that brings him joy: Morris OR Old Man Yaoi(sad version)

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Wordcount: ~8.4k

The first reason it’s not Pierre’s fault is because Caroline did it first. That’s what he tells himself, anyways, the first time that he gets up in the middle of the night in the guise of ‘going to the bathroom’ and instead slumps against the cold tile and tries to scrub Morris’s face out of his mind. It’s not even bad, a stray—nay, intrusive—thought or two, because he hasn’t done anything other than argue with the man a bit. They’re enemies.

And, in any case, back to that original reason, it’s because he knows there’s a reason Abigail doesn’t need to dye her hair anymore. He remembers those long nights of early, unhappy marriage, in which she’d take off at dusk for long walks down to the tower, not come back until dawn, slide into bed smelling of tea and smoke and fresh rain. Marnie asked him, one time, what Caroline was doing walking past her house at four AM and scaring all the cows, and he had to grit his teeth and spill out some pithy lie, and the humiliation from that is enough to pay for any errant thought ten times over.

Sure, now, a good two decades later, they’re fine, but still, she’s racked up quite a bit of moral debt and so, in turn, he’s earned the right to think, briefly, of the man.

He’s never stepped into a Jojamart—moral obligation, that—but Morris finds some perverse joy in invading Pierre’s corner store, strolling up to the counter and slinging a few remarks back and forth about prices and customers and sales quotas. It’s always bothered him, but it’s never bothered him, not until the recency of a few months past. Wherein even after Morris leaves, he can smell the sharp, artificial tang of his cologne, where sometimes he glances out his bedroom window and sees him trekking up to Jojamart in the morning, down back to his rented house at night, both of which occur at the ungodly hours of five AM and eleven PM respectively.

Pierre’s always been a dedicated man—has to be, ever since he was shafted into the position of reviving a dying corner store—but even that ethic quite pales in comparison to his. It makes him disgusted and envious and curious in equal measures.

In the morning, after another few nightly hours spent in the bathroom—not even doing much of anything with the time, simply leaning against the wall and trying to think and not think in equal measures, breathing in the only Yoba-damned bit of solitude he ever gets—he settles behind the counter once again. Caroline and her aerobics group are back in the living room, and Abigail is off doing something with her friends, and the day of drudgery is punctuated occasionally by the occasional customer.

Usually, the most entertaining thing to happen is that new farmer coming in with four hundred melons or something of the like, but today, even that isn’t here to break up the boredom. Word is that Linus dragged them out of the mines the day before—at least, that’s what he hears from Harvey next door—so they’re probably too busy recuperating to bless his shop with the entertainment of an obscene amount of produce. Pity.

And then, the doorbell rings, and the day brightens by a considerable amount. Elliott, the only other one in the shop, looks up, and exits immediately. Usually, he’d be angered by the loss of a customer, except he swears Elliott does nothing except stand there for four hours and meticulously read the packaging of every single item in the store, and, even then, that annoyance is immediately stifled when he realizes who it is.

Black suit and obnoxiously long coat, obnoxiously large red tie, obnoxiously gelled hair, little glasses perched on the brim of his nose like the greedy capitalist playing at twee aristocracy that he is, Morris walks slowly down the aisle. He takes a deliberately long time, examining the new summer stock, picking up a few packets of seeds and turning them about as diligently as if he was going to plant them himself. That annoyance resparks almost immediately, like muscle memory, and far from hating the feeling, Pierre revels in it—for, before Morris, he has not felt anything as strong as this.

Well, that’s a lie. He remembers the humor of seeing a solid-gold statue of Mayor Lewis in the town square, remembers irritation when Demetrius chases him down at the saloon to ask whether a tomato is a fruit—absurd question, who’s putting that in a fruit salad?—remembers a heart-twisting sort of anguish when Caroline vanished during the Flower Dance and came back with a violet flower tucked behind her ear.

Pierre is not some emotionless machine, far from it, it’s just that this inspires a fire in him that he hasn’t felt since he was trying to be a boxer, before he resigned himself to being a small-town shop owner for life.

“Buying customers only,” he states, when Morris appears to be too engrossed in a packet of corn seeds to come to the counter. He snorts, plucking the packet from the container, saunters to the desk and tosses it upon it.

“How much? Ten gold?”

“One-fifty,” he grinds out. Morris laughs—actually has the audacity to laugh—but he digs into his pocket for a small pouch of jingling coins, carefully counts out the correct amount, piling it into a neat little pyramid upon the counter.

“Highway robbery, Pierre! Joja’s grows faster, is pest-repellant, and we sell it for cheap. No wonder you’re bleeding customers.”

“‘Bleeding’ is a strong word,” he sniffs, “did you not see Elliott, just now?”

He barks out another laugh. “The hermit? Does he buy anything? What would he pay in, seashells?”

The worst thing about this is that Morris is right. Pierre doesn’t deign to respond, instead picking up the single packet of seeds. “Don’t suppose you’ll need a bag?”

Morris takes it straight from his hands, and fingers brushing for the faintest moment, and Pierre withdraws immediately. Still, the man doesn’t turn to leave, a part of him is horrifically happy for that, despite the fact that the only reason he’d stay is to attempt to insult him a bit more.

Which proves true only a second later.

“From my point of view,” he says, leaning back and surveying the space dramatically, “it’s, in fact, rather empty.”

“It’s ten AM on a tuesday,” Pierre snaps back, “not exactly the best of sample sets.”

“When are you busiest, then?” Morris asks.

He hesitates, trying desperately to grasp at schedules, before eventually settling on, “noon. Saturday.”

“I’ll be checking, then,” Morris says, tucking the corn seeds into his pockets, and it sounds like both a threat and an invitation. To what, Pierre’s not sure, but as he turns and ambles away from the store, he makes a mental note of Saturday.

That night, Caroline is nowhere to be found, and he only barely manages to catch Abigail on her way out of the house.

“Where are you going?” He asks her. She fixes him with the flat stare that he’s come to expect means he’s being some form of lame.

“Sam’s. We have band practice on Tuesdays, remember?”

Right. Jodi, as a matter of fact, complains about them quite liberally to Caroline, but it probably wouldn’t do to crush Abigail’s dreams of becoming a rockstar or whatever she plans to do with the band.

“Do you know where your mother is?”

“Dunno,” she says, shrugging loosely, and then pausing, eyes flicking towards the ceiling. “I think Haley said something about seeing her going to the forest?”

“What’s she doing out there?” Pierre asks, though he already knows, deep in his gut. Abigail’s purple hair shines in the dark. He used to bemoan how much money it took, going to ZuZu City every few months to redye her hair, but now he almost misses those days, in which he didn’t have to know the violet came not from artificial substances, but her very own genome.

“Dunno. I don’t like talking to Haley.” She wrinkles her nose. “Probably enjoying nature or something. Or, isn’t there a trader out there sometimes?”

He almost manages to grasp onto the idea of the trader, before remembering that they only come on Fridays and Sundays—another tidbit of knowledge from the Farmer. When he doesn’t respond, Abigail throws up a hand in a casual wave, walking towards the door.

“Bye, Dad. I’ll be back before midnight. Maybe. I’ll crash at Sam’s if we go too late.”

He doesn’t manage a, “bye,” until the door is already shutting softly.

There is nothing in the fridge but leftovers, most of them not even his. A few closed containers of tea, many of Abigail’s half-finished meals, a piece of quartz for some reason. Unbidden, he bends, reaching towards the produce drawer, and from inside withdraws an ear of corn. Stands, shuts the fridge, walks woodenly towards a pot.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. In fact, he hates corn.

Despite that, when it’s cooked, he brings it to the table, examines it under the light. It’s another one of that new Farmer’s crops. They brought two hundred ears, in fact, and he still remembers trying to hold in his astonished laughter as they carefully took each one individually from a backpack that looked far too small. It’s clearly high-quality, round and fat and gleaming.

When he bites down, the kernels burst in his mouth, sweet and hot, and there’s the part of his mind that knows he detests this grain, but the rest is occupied with the question of what, exactly, Morris is planning on doing with those seeds he bought.

He’s already been in bed for a sleepless hour by the time Caroline comes back, slipping in like she thinks he’s asleep. Abigail never did come back home—she and Sam and Sebastian are probably going to be the topic of Jodi’s complaints for the next month. Not that he begrudges her for that. They hosted Sam at their house exactly once, and he left a can of Joja Cola on Yoba’s altar. Sebastian’s marginally better, but that doesn’t mean much.

“Where have you been?” He asks. She rolls over.

“Oh, just around.”

“Abby said you were heading to the forest.”

She hesitates for a long moment. The silence draws out.

“Just looking at some of the plants that grow down there,” she manages eventually, “seeing if I can bring anything back to the greenhouse. Where is Abby? Are you letting her stay out again?”

“Find anything?” He asks, not letting her change the subject.

“No. Look, if she wants to keep living in our home, I think she should-”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, shutting her down. She quiets immediately.

“Goodnight,” she manages eventually.

He doesn’t respond.

The next morning, when he makes the bed, he finds a long strand of purple hair entangled in the sheets.

—

The second reason it’s not his fault is because Morris issued the challenge. He’s pleased, on Saturday morning, to see the shop as packed as it ever is. Harvey poring over the newly imported coffeebeans, Marnie and Lewis chatting in the corner, Elliott mouthing the words on a snack package, Leah picking through the artisan goods, and Gus being the only person to actually buy groceries.

His heart actually jumps a bit when he spots Morris through the window, that familiar fluttery black coat. The doorbell jingles only a second later, and the man steps in. All eyes turn to him briefly, but soon, they return to their previous activities.

Pierre feels the most satisfaction he’s perhaps ever felt, seeing the quick flicker of shock, followed by an unhappy sort of sulk, appear on Morris’s face.

“You just going to stand there?” He asks, when he doesn’t move. Urged by the words, Morris approaches the counter, plucking a small packet of radish seeds from a shelf.

“Color me surprised, Pierre. I might say it’s bustling in here.”

“Empty Joja?” He asks, fake sympathy absolutely coating his voice.

“Not quite.” Morris half-smirks, tossing the seeds down upon the counter, “can’t predict this hubbub will last long. But I might as well pitch in, eh? How much’re you upcharging for these?”

“Twenty.”

He lets out a long, low whistle. “That’s almost reasonable. Full of surprises today.”

Pierre grimaces. “Are you paying, or not?”

Whatever Morris is about to say next is interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. He glances up, over his shoulder, to spot the Farmer stepping into the store. For a moment, he’s quite afraid that they’re about to unload a couple hundred pounds of produce onto his counter, but no—instead, they make a straight beeline for Lewis, pulling from their backpack a single large hot pepper. Then, to Marnie, a whole diamond. Similar stories for Gus, Leah, Elliott, Harvey—a gleaming orange, a paper-wrapped goat cheese, a perfectly-coiffed duck’s feather and, somehow even more astonishing than Marnie’s diamond, a cup of coffee.

He’s equal parts afraid and excited when they approach him. This time, from their bag comes a book, thick and shiny in the way that new things all are. On the cover, in bold letters, it reads Price Catalogue, 5th Edition.

“It’s… it’s perfect,” he manages, staring down at the book, at the immaculate drawings of gold coins running down its spine, “how did you know..?”

“Seemed right,” they reply, shrugging. He—and, everyone else, perhaps—waits for them to turn to Morris, offer up some perfectly-curated gift, but they do not look towards him at all. A silent moment passes, and then two, and then three, and finally, Morris slides twenty coins across the counter, snatching up the packet of Radish seeds with an uncharacteristic quickness.

“I’ll be leaving,” he says. Gus, when he passes, offers him a slice of orange, but he ignores him completely, buffeting out the door.

Pierre stares at the Farmer, unsure whether to address this or not, because on one hand, exclusion is exclusion, but on the other, Morris is Morris. Greedy capitalist come to ruin Pelican Town, the antithesis to this from-the-bootstraps farmer, and he’s probably threatened to buy out their farm more than once, but still, there’s that niggling urge to say, that wasn’t very kind-

And then, they upend their backpack on his counter, sending him reeling back under the force of an avalanche of radishes.

“Harvest came in,” is the only explanation they give.

That night, while he’s cooking dinner, Abigail comes in, takes a single look at the pot, and promptly turns up her nose.

“Radishes? Really, Dad? I don’t like those.”

“Farmer sold me three hundred today,” is his only reply, and she groans, stomping out of the room. Caroline rushes after her, no doubt to give some lecture on being picky or something like that, and he stares down at the pot. Half-truth��three-quarters truth, even, because he did in fact have to count through three hundred radishes that morning, but he also cannot help but remember Morris and seeds and the faint expression of hurt on his face, when faced with no gift.

Something’s wrong with him. They have not done a single thing but exchange a few thinly-veiled hostilities, so why can he not stop the excitement when he strolls into the store, why can he not stop taking long strolls through the town and pausing in front of Jojamart?

Why, when he dreams that night, does he imagine waking next not to Caroline but instead the broadness of a black-cloaked back, face obscured?

—

The third reason it’s not his fault is that he’s slightly drunk at the Stardew Valley Fair. Pelican town has long turned to fall, all its colors darkening and browning and the warmth of summer whisked away by a chill wind. Life is as normal—Abigail and Caroline are still Abigail and Caroline, people brush in and out of the store, Morris pops in semi-weekly, always buying some sort of seed and quipping something obnoxious about the price. It’s the only good measure he has of time, really, those brief moments of entertainment that somehow feel clandestine. Moreso because it seems Morris lingers longer and longer, always finding small nitpicky details to comment on, Pierre, looks like there’s a few scuffs in the wall, or oh, sold out of bouquets? Not very professional of you.

The bouquet absence was, in fact, the Farmer’s fault. He has no earthly idea what they’d need twelve of the things for, but he has noticed that they’ve recently started wearing a rabbit’s foot clipped to their belt. In fact, most of his problems stem from them—from late nights cataloguing dozens of stacks of produce, to the occasional drinking mayonnaise incident, to this new humiliation at the fair—namely, being beaten at the grange display with a fucking display of purple shorts.

Before them, it was ten year streak of victory with superior produce. Briefly almost broken two years ago, when Willy caught a mighty octopus, but that was also the first year to have the title of Grange Display Winner revoked after the octopus managed to suction onto Lewis’s face and required Marlon’s intervention to remove.

This, though, this is pure humiliation and corruption and horrible and a hundred other words, and he breaks away from Caroline’s conciliatory pats to grab a bottle of saved-up wine and find an uninhabited corner to sulk in. Which turns out, unfortunately, to he behind Clint’s store, with the furnace clagging away and the horrible smell of smoke in the air and unfortunately close to Jojamart.

He only realizes that last detail when someone claps him on the shoulder and says, in that familiar smarmy tone, “heard you lost.”

“Morris,” he groans, taking another swig from the bottle, “fuck off.”

There’s real anger in his voice—not the faux sort of annoyance that comes about in their usual day-to-day banter—and Morris must notice, because he’s quiet for a long second.

“...Really? Got you down that bad?”

“That damn Farmer,” he curses, “it would’ve been- Marnie, or Willy, sure, I’d have congratulated them. But they won with shorts. I know they have good produce, they unload it on my counter every damn week, so…”

Another long moment of silence. Pierre turns, if only to make sure that Morris has not walked off completely- but no, he’s still here, observing him with a gaze that looks almost sympathetic.

“If it makes you feel better, Pierre,” he says, “I just witnessed them eat six of Gus’s burgers. In a row. Seems they were gearing up for more, too, but I left because I could not bear to watch anymore.”

He laughs. It’s undignified, no doubt helped by the alcohol in his system, but he shakes his head. “Not better at all. You aren’t down there?”

“Of course not.” Morris adjusts his glasses, “it’s all so… so, ah, quaint, but not my scene, really. Besides, I doubt I’d be welcome.”

His first instinct, that politeness that’s born from years of hobnobbing with the other adults of Pelican town, the sort where you can’t afford to be anything but cordial, is to say, no, you’d be welcome, I’m sure.

After only a moment, however, he knows that’s not the right answer whatsoever.

“Probably not. You’re not very well-liked.”

Morris shrugs. “Ah, well. Not my intentions, here. All I’ve wanted is to outsell you, and I seem to be quite successful there.”

“You’re a dirty liar. Show me your ledger and then I’ll believe you.”

He smirks. “Well, I’m quite a bit too successful to have a simple ledger, but would you believe I was doing paperwork, before I saw you out here?”

It’s an invitation, hidden behind those irritating words as it is.

Pierre takes it.

Ten minutes later, they are inside Jojamart for the first time. He doesn’t even realize the monumental nature of this step until he’s in Morris’s office. It’s surprisingly cozy, compared to the cold, white sterility of the outside shelves—carpeted, with a bookshelf pushed up against the far wall and a grand auburn-colored desk.

“See,” Morris says, pointing to a line of numbers, and that of course triggers an argument about who’s truly winning. Pierre breaks it only by, eventually, stepping away, clutching his head.

“Yoba, this is depressing. I know you’re the town pariah and all, Morris, but must you do paperwork on a holiday?”

“What else would I do?” He asks, sniffing haughtily. Pierre shrugs.

“Sleep? Travel? Bus was fixed a while ago, you could go anywhere.”

“Ha! I wouldn’t trust Pam to drive a bicycle.”

“Then anything but this,” he says, “I’m- I built my store from the ground up, and I still didn’t give this stuff more time than I had to.”

“Are you saying I didn’t build this up?” Morris asks, raising a single eyebrow. He adjusts his glasses again, leaning back in his plush seat. “I wasn’t always a Joja manager, you know. Started out as a shelf-stocker, built my way up.”

“All that effort for this?” Pierre snorts. This argument, again, is taking on a different tone, one that he doesn’t entirely know how to navigate. “You’re really going to be a manager for life?”

“You’re going to be a store clerk for life?”

“A businessowner.”

“Well-” Morris straightens his bowtie, “then call me a CEO.”

Pierre collapses against the wall. Useless argument, surreal situation. Outside, the fair’s no doubt winding to a close, and he’s still here, in this argument, quibbling about who’s relatively more successful.

“Fine, fine. Be a manager. Whatever. You can still take a day off. Walk through the forest-” his heart gives an uncomfortable palpitation at the words- “or… get drunk. Anything but this.”

Morris looks down at the bottle of wine, left upon the counter, then back at him. “Are you offering?”

“Sure,” he replies, expecting him to balk, because they have not reached this degree of closeness, but Morris picks up the bottle, takes a slow, graceful sort of drink, then proffers it to Pierre.

“As long as you don’t charge me for that.”

Any momentary surprise is washed soon away by the alcohol and the desire to reply, and so he lets out a derisive laugh. “Rich, coming from you.”

Still looking him in the eye, he takes a drink, passes it back, and soon, the tension bleeds away, replaced by another feeling. They talk, actually talk, and Morris is insufferably smug as he tells him of a childhood in ZuZu City, working his way up the Joja ladder, but somehow, it’s all fascinating. And, on his part, he does not look to be faking the interest in his eyes when Pierre speaks of a failed boxing career, of learning how to run a general store day-by-day.

He only realizes how much time has passed when he glances out the window and sees it’s completely dark outside, even the lights of the fair extinguished. The bottle is near-empty, between the two of them, and he jolts up, cutting Morris off mid-word.

“I should go.”

“Oh. I suppose it is dark.”

He moves towards the door, and to his surprise, Morris comes out from around the desk, accompanying him. Upon reaching the doorway, he pauses, turning back to look at him.

“This was… a good distraction. From all that.”

“Rather apt metaphor for your store as a whole.”

The words have no sting to them—in fact, he chuckles.

“Yeah. Say that until we shut Joja down.”

“Who’s we?”

No witty answer springs to mind, so he pauses for a moment, and that instant of pause turns into just…

Just staring. How many times has he thought of Morris on those late nights, how many times has he anticipated his entrance into the grocery store? His eyes are relaxed, coat slightly rumpled, glasses lower on his nose than usual. In the bright fluorescent light of Jojamart, he’s a bit washed out, yes, but there’s a certain…

“Pierre?” Morris asks, brow creasing, “perhaps you really should-”

He leans forwards and presses his lips to Morris’s, cutting off those words, and for a moment everything is stiff and horrible and he’s so acutely aware of the bad judgement on this.

And then, the moment passes when Morris leans forwards, softening, one hand coming to rest on Pierre’s side, large and warm. This, too, bliss as it is, goes on for only a second longer, before both break away.

“I shouldn’t have-” Morris starts, at the same time as Pierre says, “was that okay?”

Both hesitate, staring at each other once again.

“You have a wife,” he states eventually, “a child.”

He laughs. “She cheated on me first. With the wizard, no less. Still does it.”

“What? The- I thought that was a myth!”

“No, no. He’s very real.” Pierre grimaces. “My daughter is proof.”

“Still, it’s the principal of the thing,” he splutters, “I can’t… we just…” it’s the most loss for words that Pierre’s ever seen the man, usually so quick and tight-witted, always some retort bubbling in his puffed-up chest.

“Was it okay?” He repeats, “with you?”

“We’re drunk, both of us. Look-”

“Was it okay?”

Morris hesitates a moment longer before, almost bashfully dipping his head. “Not bad. Still-”

Pierre leans forwards once again, all abandon flying out the window, and despite his complaints, Morris leans into it, both hands now encircling his waist. They maneuver, blindly, towards a wall, until Pierre is pressed against it, encaged by Morris’s arms. When they break, both are gasping, breaths rushing heavily through his chest.

“If this gets out…” Morris starts. Pierre bats the idea away.

“You’re a pariah already. I… can’t say I care about my own standing.”

“You might think different soberly,” he cautions, and Pierre shrugs.

“Then I should take as much advantage of drunkenness as I can.”

If he’s some sort of sinner, then she is too, broke the inviolable contract of marriage, and Pierre has never been one for unequal bargains.

—

The fourth reason it’s not his fault is that it’s all too good, all too hard to stop. For once in his life, drudgery days behind the counter are bearable, for once, it doesn’t sting as much when Caroline doesn’t come home until much past midnight—sometimes because he’s not home by then, either. If Abigail notices, she doesn’t comment on it, which he’s glad for. If anyone could make him stop, it would be her—despite their lack of blood connection, he still raised her, she’s still his daughter in name if not biology—but, then again, she seems all too preoccupied with the band and her forays into the Adventurer’s Guild and, most vexingly, the Farmer.

In any case, she’s past the age where fear of breaking up his family isn’t easily rationizable, and every day he can, Pierre closes up the shop around five, putters around for a few hours, and then makes his way to Jojamart around eight. A good time, because both Shane and Sam have left work, and the only employee left is that orange-haired girl from out of town who seems far too perpetually tired to even question his presence.

It’s routine. Making his way into Morris’s office. Sometimes, they talk for hours about the most banal of things, and sometimes, the minute the door closes, they are upon each other, hands buried in Morris’s thickly-gelled hair, close enough that he knocks his glasses askew.

Winter is nearly upon the valley, chipping at the last of Autumn. Trees losing their leaves in rapid succession, breeze biting at any scrap of exposed skin. It is a Friday night, last Friday of the season, directly before the Spirit’s Eve festival, that he sits in the saloon as usual.

The most crowded night of the week usually, let alone tonight, a night that spirits—of a marvelous three meanings, that of good cheer, alcohol, and ghosts—run high. He’s partaking idly in Willy’s conversation about the best season for fishing, amused more by Clint jolting up whenever Emily nears than the conversation itself. Across the bar, there are the usual subjects—Elliott and Leah getting progressively rowdier, Marnie and Lewis pretending they aren’t infatuated with each other, Harvey ordering a mug of coffee—seriously, it’s eight PM—Shane in the corner, the younger adults playing pool in the side room. Tonight, as with many of the previous few weeks, the Farmer sits near Abigail, both of them chatting up a storm about something.

Apparently, they’ve been helping her get in the mines—mostly to collect ‘things for the Junimos in the Community Center’, a series of words that does not make sense whatsoever. He’d be more concerned for her, but the entire town loves the Farmer, and she’s never gotten too hurt when gathering whatever it is they need, so for now, he lets it rest.

In any case, Willy yammers on about the difficulties of catching Walleye, and then the door to the pub opens, and an unfamiliar figure steps in.

He half-turns, then fully turns, doing a double take upon sighting that familiar black coat. What is Morris doing here?

He doesn’t even glance towards Pierre, instead striding towards the bar. Gus pauses in cleaning out a cup, watching him, and though the saloon doesn’t do anything so dramatic as fall silent, it does quiet a bit, as if in anticipation.

“What can I get ya?” Gus asks, leaning forwards. Morris frowns.

“Just a glass of red wine.”

“Good choice,” Gus says, nodding, turning to grab a bottle and a glass. Just like that, the hubbub starts up again, and it’s all so startlingly normal.

Only once he has the glass in his hands does Morris turn around, make a beeline for Pierre’s table.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, trying not to sound accusatory. Morris shrugs, taking a delicate sip.

“Oh, I’ve been in town… a few years. Never bothered to come. It’s rather charming.”

Pierre knows the man well, too well, if he’s being honest, but in such a new environment, he’s almost like a stranger.

“Look, fellas,” Willy cautions, before he can respond, “I know you have your… ah, commercial disputes, but we’re all friends in ol’ Gus’s saloon, aren’t we?”

Morris brings down a hand to clap Pierre’s shoulder. It burns. Not entirely unpleasantly.

“Oh, I can set aside a few grudges for the sake of a night. What say you, Pierre?”

He smiles up at him, and suddenly, it’s no longer strange, but instead a shared joke.

“Of course.”

Morris slides smoothly into a seat. It is briefly tense, awkward once again, until Willy asks, “Have you ever caught a crimsonfish? Mighty strong, them creatures.”

And then Morris replies, “can’t say I’ve ever fished at all,” and it is once again some new sort of normal.

After eleven, as one of the final stragglers, Pierre follows Morris out of the saloon and—for once—not back to Jojamart, their usual rendezvous, but to one of the rented properties that line the outskirts of Pelican town, all small and delicate and too close to the Farm for comfort.

“Really,” Pierre asks, “why did you come?”

“Exactly what I said. Maybe I can’t sequester myself behind Joja’s walls forever.”

Pierre lets out a mock-gasp. “Really?”

He bumps his shoulder, sending him stumbling a few steps, “really. I like this town. It’ll almost be a shame when the rest of Joja moves in.”

“Keep talking. They’ve been ‘moving in’ for years.”

“Just a matter of time,” he replies, sniffing, as they walk down Morris’s front driveway. Pierre hesitates as he unlocks the door, unsure of whether to leave. The last time he had to deal with a conundrum such as this was him and Caroline’s first date, and that particular problem was rapidly solved when they noticed her mother watching them from the window. Somehow, he doubts that’s going to fix this time around.

“We’re having such a good time,” Morris says, interrupting his internal conflict, “let’s not cut it short.”

He steps in.

The house is just as undecorated as the exterior, spartan, only the bare necessities needed for life—and, most of those necessities look to have come out of an ‘easy install’ home kit.

“You live like this?” He asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Will you be missed?”

He knows what he means by that.

“No. She’s probably not even at home, you know.”

“Then yes, I do. Some of us don’t need… kitsch to survive.”

“It’s called decor.”

“It’s called eye-searing. Please, Pierre—did you make those posters on your walls, or did Vincent?”

He laughs, not deigning to respond, still following Morris—out of the living room, into a long, bare hallway, and then a bedroom. Surprise: also clear of decor.

“Let’s put aside a few more grudges,” he says, and it’s perhaps the worst line he’s used thus far, but Morris doesn’t seem to care—because he steps forwards, lips meeting Pierre’s, and somehow, they are upon the bed, skin meeting skin and hands under clothes and closer than he'd ever thought they’d be.

It changes, after that day, in not in a happily-ever-after, true love met sort of way—indeed, even though he knows Morris in ways that he hadn’t before, they continue as normal. Simply, now, with more meetings in the bedroom, with more late nights and early mornings and a pleasant sort of soreness that keeps him distracted when standing behind the counter.

No, it is a change in the community, and he can’t tell exactly what. Morris has not returned to the saloon, but no longer is he the bogeyman in the night, great bad Joja salesman. It’s an unfamiliar shift, only emphasized when he sees Jas scribbling portraits of every resident in Pelican town and catches one of Morris in her stack.

Winter comes with a sweep that catches them all. Neither him nor Caroline are really pretending at any relationship, at this point—he doesn’t know if she knows who he spends his nights with, but she doesn’t bother to inquire, and he knows who she goes with, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Are you and Mom okay?” Abigail asks, one early night, and he hesitates over a pot of simmering stew. He used to read parenting books, even joined the impromptu Stardew Parents Association when Abigail and Sebastian and Sam were all toddlers. Usually, those meetings devolved into either drunken gossip or some sort of tiff, but even without that, none of them really prepared him for this sort of question.

“...No,” he replies after a long moment, “we’re not. But it’s got nothing to do with you, Abby.”

“Didn’t think so,” she says, “just wondering. No, uh, no pressure, Dad.”

It’s surprisingly flippant, but he’s glad for that. One more load lifted off his plate, even when Abigail starts talking about the rather gorey topic of collecting fifty bat wings and he has to make a quick exodus out of the room before his stew makes a quick exodus out of him.

“We’re almost done with the community center,” she protests at his retreating back, and he wonders how, exactly, dissecting twenty-five bats helps with that.

—

The fifth reason it is not his fault is that it’s a goodbye, in a way, and it all starts near the end of winter, after the season crushes by at a staggeringly slow pace. He receives a letter from Lewis in the mail, customary, bearing the name of his Winter Star gift recipient. Last year, he got Alex, and he got so fed up with trying to find a gift for the boy that he asked Abigail to ask Haley what he’d like, which was returned with an apparently verbatim message of, I dunno, he likes protein, I guess.

Eventually, he’d settled on wrapping up a carton of eggs, and Alex’d seemed overjoyed, so that was a job well done.

This year, he expects it can’t possibly be worse, except it when he opens his letter, there on the back, it reads Morris.

The gift itself isn’t the hard part. Abigail lets it leak that she has the Farmer, and that results in a bedroom she won’t let him nor Caroline enter that emanates quite the concerning smell. Caroline gets Shane and agonizes for days about what to get him, before eventually settling on crocheting a small chicken.

Pierre digs through stockrooms of old seeds, gathering up many packets of corn and radish and all the other various one-offs that he’s sold Morris and still has no idea what he did with, and because a couple dozen seed packets is a horrid gift even by nostalgia-standards, also a bottle of fine wine. Farmer-provided, in fact—apparently, they have a whole winery going, and Lewis says that it’s a lot more pleasant picking up than twenty pounds of dead fish from their shipping container—and despite his distaste for them, he can’t deny that the alcohol is high-quality.

He is ready, completely ready, for the Feast, until, two days before, there is a commotion. Abigail pauses by the shop only to yell, “Dad, we did it! Come on!” Before rushing away again.

Slowly, cautiously, he proceeds out, following the flow of the townsfolk up the hill and towards…

Towards that old, abandoned community center, which, as he crests over the hill, is… neither old nor abandoned. The planks lining its outside are burnished and bright, windows clean glass, all as if it had been built only yesterday.

“Did you..?” He asks, turning towards Robin, the only logical explanation, but she shrugs.

“Nope. Nice craftsmanship, though! I need to meet whoever did this.”

He surges through the crowd, into the building itself, the interior of which is in fact more impressive than the exterior. All full of furniture, bright and clean and new, a grand fireplace the centerplace of the room. He doesn’t have many memories of the center—it’s been nigh-on a decade and a half since it fell into disrepair—but even in its heyday, it looked worse than this.

At the front of the crowd, before Lewis and Abigail, stands the Farmer, a proud look on their face.

“This is marvelous!” Lewis exclaims, and for once, he’s right. He doesn’t know how they did this, but it is something that’s gathered the entire town in fascination. Elliott runs through the books upon a newly-built bookshelf and Clint’s exclaiming something about a boiler room and Penny comes out of a brightly-colored side room with a dazed, happy sort of look upon her face.

“Had to fix it up,” the Farmer replies, shrugging, “couldn’t let Joja get its hands on this place.”

The joy rapidly rising in his stomach turns to ice in a moment, falls and shatters. Joja.

There’s one person that’s not here.

He turns, pushing back through the crowd. Behind him, Lewis says something about a Stardew Hero Trophy, but his eyes are fixed upon the door, and as he watches-

It opens.

And in steps a swishing black coat, a bright red tie, round glasses, and behind those, eyes that rove around the space.

“So this is where everyone is,” Morris says softly.

Nobody speaks in reply. Pierre’s throat has closed up.

“You won’t be buying it from me, Morris,” Lewis says eventually, after clearing his throat.

“No? I can fetch a very high price.”

All those days, this half a season of goodwill, is crumbling before Pierre’s eyes, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, “isn’t it?”

Morris meets his eyes. Smirks. “Joja craftsmanship can do it better.”

It’s the type of reply that would make him laugh, were they alone, but in this full space, it’s simply arrogant, echoing about. Morris evidently realizes that, before the smirk falls immediately.

“You’re leaving,” someone says from the front of the room, the voice that he’s come to fear and despise and admire—somehow—in equal measure.

The Farmer.

They push through the crowd, past Pierre, until they and Morris are face-to-face. “Community center’s fixed. Joja’s not going anywhere. Get out of Pelican Town.”

There’s been less emotion in their voice when recounting stories of near-death on Friday night saloon meets—indeed, they’re always calm, but now, there’s venom in those words.

“Oh, I’m sure Joja could-”

“Out,” they hiss, “or I’ll make sure the lightning hits you too, tonight.”

The statement makes no sense in the logical world, but the Farmer is anything but—from the way they say it, Pierre absolutely believes that this nebulous lightning will hit, will do anything they command it to. Morris holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine. Couldn’t pay me to stay in this backwater anyways.”

He turns, leveling one final glare at the crowd, and leaves. All is still for a long moment-

-And then Pierre runs after him. Completely uncouth and the whispers start even before the door closes, but he doesn’t care because he’s actually leaving.

Morris is already gone, far. He doesn’t run towards Jojamart, but instead towards Morris’s house, near the bus stop and the Farm. Only makes one final stop, darting into his store to grab an unwrapped box, before he’s out in the chilly air once again.

They meet as Morris is locking the door to his flimsy little shack, carrying only a single thin suitcase.

“Morris!” Pierre calls. He turns, raising an eyebrow, unsurprised.

“Pierre. Seeing me off?”

“You’re actually leaving?”

He shrugs, laughing mirthlessly. “What else can I do? You heard their threat. Nothing left for me here, anyways.”

“Nothing?”

The wind rustles through his air. He’s silent for a long, frightening moment, before blowing out a breath.

“Truth is, I was leaving anyways. Joja promoted me. Regional Overseer in ZuZu City.”

“You weren’t.”

Another laugh. More humor in it.

“You can read me so well. Well, yes, they did promote me, but I… I thought I might stay a bit longer.”

“You can stay,” he pleads, taking a step closer, close enough that they could link hands if wanted. “I’ll… I’ll call- I’ll get Abby to call them off. And then you can get a job-”

“I’m not wanted here,” he says firmly, taking a step forwards as well, “I never was. Pierre, I… I’m glad I met you here. But this isn’t my place.” He hesitates, before, “you know, you could accompany me to the city. If you wished.”

For a brief, glorious second, it’s tempting, the idea of running away with nothing but Morris’s company and the box in his hands, but then, real life comes crashing down. Things like your family, and your store, and the sheer fact that ZuZu City is not his place either. He tried, back when he wanted to become a boxer, lived out half a decade there, each day more stressful than the last. He’s tied as solidly to Pelican Town as Morris is not—could not imagine a day without seeing all these familiar faces and knowing, immediately, everything he dislikes about every single one of them.

Besides, he would not have brought the present if he didn’t know that this was when they would split.

He extends it towards Morris. “I can’t. But… I was your secret gifter. For the Feast.”

Morris laughs, and this one, finally, is the one he knows, boisterous and full.

“What an absolute coincidence.”

From the inner pocket of his coat, he takes out a small, paper-wrapped item, passes it to Pierre while taking his gift in turn. Damn Lewis. Must have rigged something. This is just like how he always makes sure Gus is ‘coincidentally’ his gifter for those free meals.

“Is this it?” Pierre asks. Morris tilts his head.

“You can walk me to the bus stop.”

“You’re taking the bus?”

“No, no. Pam, bicycle, remember? I called a car.”

He begins to walk, and Pierre falls into stride next to him, clenching the gift tightly in his hand. After a moment, Morris speaks again, answering his previous question.

“Maybe. Pierre, I don’t know. I’m not omniscient.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“...I hope,” he murmurs, “it’s not, then. I don’t know, but perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Pierre whispers. All too soon of a walk, and they stand there, before the old bus and the empty stretch of road. Morris leans closer, and he does as well, lips meeting. Though the world around them is cold, he is warm.

The moment is broken by the rev of a car. Morris breaks away. Pierre’s lips follow for a moment trying to recapture that, but it’s a futile attempt.

“Goodbye,” he says. “You’ll see me on the news one day. CEO, I’m sure.”

“And I’ll still be outselling you,” he replies. Morris laughs—he tries to commit that sound to memory—before, sliding into the backseat of the sleek black car.

Only when it is long-gone, vanished down the darkness of the tunnel, does Pierre remember the gift still in his hand. He brings it up immediately, fumbles at the wrapping paper with numb fingers, slowly unpeeling it from whatever it is within.

The first thing he sees is a bright blue Joja Membership Card, which he audibly laughs at, plucking it up and tucking it into his pocket. Not that he’ll ever use the thing, of course, but he’ll keep it.

Under is a book. Quite familiar—orange, and upon the front cover, it reads Price Catalogue, 6th Edition.

A small slip of paper upon it, in Morris’s distinctive handwriting, says, more modern than Farmer’s. May it bring you much use.

Pierre hugs it to his chest, smiling and crying both at once, the great expanse of gray sky over his head and fleck of snow drifting down to fleck softly in his hair like the tears of many Gods overhead.

—

One last thing. And this one, surprisingly, is his fault.

Mid-spring, which comes with new buds and a sheen to Pelican Town that only lingers directly post-defrosting. The end of winter was, as can be predicted, quite depressing, lightened only by the fact that Lewis gave himself the Farmer as a gifter. Perhaps a smart strategy, given their penchant for producing expensive wine and many different gems, except when it came his time to open his gifts he got a pair of purple shorts and ended the entire celebration then and there.

Still, spring is here, and things are new, relatively. Kent returned from the war, different from Pierre remembers, but it’s good to have a new face in the village, even if he sometimes can’t help but think it doesn’t come close to replacing the old face that left. Abigail left on her first trip to Skull Caverns and came back coated in monster goop and as happy as he’s ever seen her. The old Jojamart was indeed struck by lightning in the night, to the surprise of somehow nobody, and now it sits dilapidated, abandoned, and sometimes he goes and stands outside it, just to watch.

It’s on a windy Thursday that Penny races into the store, flushed red. “I’m so sorry,” she says, “but some of the wind took Jas’s drawings and, uh, scattered them, and I was wondering if you could help..?”

“Of course,” he says, stepping out from behind the desk—he had no customers today anyways—and into the town square, where most of everybody seems to be occupied in helping with the scavenger hunt. He finds a drawing of Demetrius snagged onto a garbage can and one of Emily caught in a tree and barely manages to save a rather amusing mock-up of Shane, who’s dressed in a tutu, from the river, but it’s the last one that gives him pause.

By fate or circumstance or magic or whatever, he spots a slip of paper blowing into the abandoned Jojamart. Faced between old building and Jas’s tantrum, he decides on old building, ducking inside under the hole in the door.

Within, all is dark, but he manages to spot the slip of paper illuminated by a sliver of light that fights through the slats in the windows, makes his way over the rubble to grab it and quickly leave the building.

Only once he’s out in the sun does he get a good look at it, and then, it drops his stomach to the soles of his feet.

There, upon the paper, is a rather crude drawing of Morris. Probably, he couldn’t even recognize it as such, if not for that outlandish red bowtie, and two clumsy circles that seem to be glasses perched upon his nose.

For a long moment, he simply stands there, staring down at the recreation, aching deep in his chest for a memory, a future that could have been.

Later, when he returns to Penny, he hands her Demetrius and Emily and Shane, the folded-up drawing of Morris burning a hole in his pocket. Friday night, at the Saloon, he hears Shane grumbling to Emily.

“-back’s aching because she had me searching for it all day. Don’t know why she wants his drawing so bad, anyways. Asshole’s not even here anymore. And Yoba, I’m glad for that—no more hell at work.”

So perhaps he’ll take fault for one thing, for being the source of some of Shane’s pain and probably a small tantrum from Jas. The rest, that’s all circumstance and coincidence and the rest.

That night, he sits at his counter, all the world dark and silent around him. Pulls out, from under his desk, a book, flips through the pages that are already managing to look well-worn.

Soon, it will be summer again, and there will be no more Morris coming in to bargain for seeds. When the Farmer somehow manages to beat him at the fair this year, he will be left to sulk alone, and Friday nights at the saloon will be uneventful and at the Feast of the Winter Star, he’ll probably get the Wizard or someone similarly horrid for his giftee.

Bleak future ahead. For today, though, he has the drawing, the book, the gift card, a few months of memories, and the world is brighter than it was last Spring, so he cannot complain too much.

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv pierre #sdv morris #everyone appears in here a bit #pierre x morris #sdv pierre x morris #morris sdv #biblically accurate farmer #morris x pierre #sdv fanfic #stardew valley fanfic #old man yaoi

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pecanwriter · 1 year ago

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Big Boy Mode: Activated PART 2

Themes: rapid weight gain, humiliation kink, technology-induced weight gain (so like, magic weight gain but for sci fi nerds I guess)

Words: 1147

Part: 2/?

Still as a 432lb(195kg) man, Elliott left the SimNano shop on shaky knees. They were shaky partially because of the sheer amount of weight he’d subjected them to, but more so because he just revealed his deepest fantasies to a handsome man and somehow managed to obtain that man’s number in the process. His system was fixed now, it would be easy to go into a changing room or a toilet stall and deactivate SimNano, bringing himself back to his real weight and walking out of the shopping centre as if nothing happened. The thing was… He didn’t want to.

to the shopping centre in the first place was the hottest and most fulfilling experience of his life. Not being able to fit in an Uber, huffing and puffing with every step… This was all Elliott ever wanted. When he got it, he really didn’t think of using SimNano outside of the house, planning on living his fantasies out in private. What he didn’t realise, was that with the sudden addition of 300lb(136kg) he was unrecognizable. That completely removed the only worry he had; that someone from work or someone he knew would see him. If they did, they wouldn’t know it was him. After all, they’d just seen Elliott days ago, undeniably a thin 132lb(60kg) man. There was no way this immense, obese man waddling around and sweating as if he’d just run a marathon was the same person.

Before making his way home, Elliott stopped at a few clothing shops. Picking up some ON SALE items in a range of different sizes, styles and materials. He’d received more than a few suspicious looks as he purchased clothes clearly too small or too big for him, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. Suddenly, adorned in his armour of flab Elliott felt invincible, shameless, absolutely free.

When Elliott got home it was only 11 AM, he still had the entire day to himself before having to go to work at 8 PM. Feeling sweaty and sticky Elliott deactivated the SimNano and watched as his body deflated and shrank, making him thin within seconds, as if nothing had ever happened. He immediately missed the feeling of his fat flesh rubbing together and how hard it was to walk… But he didn’t think he could fit into his tiny shower with all that blubber, and he really needed to get himself cleaned up.

When Elliott stepped out of the shower he had a text message waiting for him.

There was no message, just an attachment, the file titled “Big Fun”. The was another file with a short tutorial on how to upload the program into his SimNano.

If there was something that could get Elliott nearly as worked up as the thought of being fat, it was tinkering with electronics, so he eagerly set to work.

The program was extensive and it took a while for Elliott to find all the right sub-engines and codes necessary for it to work, but when he finally did he felt like he’d won a lottery.

There were tens, if not hundreds of different programs and sub-programs.

He scrolled through the menu on his SimNano pad, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of data.

Finally, deciding to just go for it, Elliott clicked on the first one that caught his eye.

The program was titled “Spoiled Little Piggy”.

Elliott activated it and shivered with excitement as the tingling of the nanobots started to roil along his entire body.

Feeling like a kid on Christmas Day, Elliott looked in the mirror. He was maybe about 250lb/113kg, which wasn’t that big, but he was gorgeous. There was an ample, rounded belly with adorable, soft love handles and a part of perky, floppy tits. His ass and thighs were blubbery and wide and with a fascinating texture of thick cellulite. Elliott rubbed it and jiggled it, fascinated, wondering how Omar programmed the nanobots to create cellulite. But what Elliott loved most about this program was that he still undeniably looked like himself. His face was fatter and with an adorable double chin, but it was definitely him. He could imagine himself getting lazy and being spoiled by a dotting boyfriend, slowly softening and widening, filling out, looking… Exactly like this. Elliott rushed to where he dropped the shopping bags after arriving home. He rummaged through them and found a pink t-shirt and a pair of baby blue basketball shorts that would be just the slightest bit too small for this spoiled little piggy.

The shorts were digging into his soft love handles and fit very snuggly around his cellulite-ridden thighs, the shirt was obscenely tight, digging into his flabby upper arms and riding up his soft belly.

Heart hammering hard with excitement, Elliott snapped a photo of himself from a low angle, featuring a sliver of underbelly and highlighting his double chin perfectly.

Elliott: Testing your programs

He sent the message along with the photo to Omar.

Omar: What a cute little piggy. But bigger suits you better…

Elliott groaned as the mere thought of being bigger sent a shiver of pleasure through him. He fondled his fat flabby gut as he scrolled through the other programs.

One called “Apron” caught his attention. He had a sneaking suspicion of what that could mean, but there was no better option than to try for himself.

Taking off the clothes so as to not destroy them in the process, Elliott activated the new program. His body bloomed and unfolded into new, soft shapes like a flower in the morning sun. It was big, it was heavy, he could already tell even before the nanobots finished their job. Getting to the mirror was way harder and took an arousingly long time as he waddled and huffed his way across the room.

He was enormous, bigger than his biggest setting from the previous day. As he suspected, the name of the program referred to the belly settings; it was amazingly fat, soft and heavy, hanging in front of him almost to his knees, like a massive flesh apron. Although most of the weight seemed to have been placed in his belly, the rest of the body was nothing to frown about. Jiggly, swollen arms, not one but two rolls of fat under his chin. His ass was wide and drooping with the sheer weight of it. The overstuffed legs looked like shapeless sacks of flower and they jiggled with the slightest movement he made.

He sent another photo to Omar.

Omar: Are you hard under all that blubber, big boy?

Oh, Elliott was hard, alright. He didn’t even know it was possible to be so hard. And the fact that he couldn’t even attempt to reach his dick didn’t bother him in the slightest. It was, quite frankly, the opposite of a problem.

PART 1

#gaining fiction #weight gain story #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #chubby boy #wg txt #wg story #wg text #bbm #bhm #bhm weight gain #fat bhm #male feedism #Weight gain story #Weight gain txt #Weight gain writing #wouldn't we all want to have a simnano

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midostree-art · 2 years ago

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Elliott is one of the few older bachelors, he lives in a little shack at the sea. He doesn't come out until after 6 pm, you can find him looking at you from the dark, and is a little melodramatic, but he does have a nice chin!

#sketch made on my phone again #Stardew valley #stardew valley elliott #sdv elliott #sketch #stardew valley fanart #fanart #my art

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art-but-only-sometimes · 1 year ago

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Stardew Valley 20 Heart Event Headcanons pt. 4!

Alex!

🏈 12-heart event: Alex sees you in town and asks if you want to go see a movie at the movie theatre with him. You meet him at the movie theatre at 7pm and you two go in and see a movie. You see whatever is in the theatre at the time. You sit and enjoy the movie, he puts his arm around you. In the middle of the movie, he kisses you.

🏈 14-heart event: Alex has never seen your farm and he wants to help out. (By that I mean lifting heavy things and showing off.) Alex comes over at around 8 a.m. You already did some of the work but he'd still like to help. He helps you lift haybales and put hay into the silo. He helps you move crops and helps you with some of your animals. (a chicken lands on his head.) You both sit down at the end with some drinks. Alex says he had a good time, he really enjoyed spending time with you today. You're always so busy farming and working that he doesn't always get to see you. The next thing to do is take the rest of the crops into town and sell them at Pierre's. Alex helps you grab some of the crops, but before he goes he gives you a kiss. Then runs for the town, he's decided he wants to race you to the store.

🏈 16-heart event: You go into town to see Alex talking to someone. You wait for Alex to finish his conversation and head over afterward. You ask Alex who that was and he says that was a talent agent. He has been looking for people to try out for the Zuzu City Tunnelers! Alex is so excited but also seems a bit nervous. Two dialogue prompts pop up (don't be you'll do great!/You put in so much practice, as long as you remember that you'll do just fine.) He responds and says that you're right, hugs you, and goes off to practice.

🏈 18 heart event~ Part 1: Be at the farm between 2 and 4 pm. Alex is waiting there for you. He says he went to the tryouts and all went well from what he could tell. He hopes everything went well but he's still nervous about all the things he might have done wrong. (Stop worrying about the small things, I'm sure you did great!/ well at least you tried, it's better than not trying at all.) Either way, Alex is glad he talked to you.

Part 2: be at Alex's house between noon and 2 pm. Alex is glad to see you, he says he's waiting to get a phone call from the recruitment agent. The agent calls and Alex listens carefully. He doesn't say anything at first but then he says he got into the team. He's so happy he hugs and kisses you. He then runs out of his room to tell his grandparents about how he got the position on the team. They are also very excited/happy for him.

🐚 ~ Marriage~ 🐚

🏈 20 Heart Event: It's time for Alex to play with the Tunnelers! A bunch of people from stardew get on the bus to cheer him on, you included of course. The game goes great and the Tunnelers win! Everyone is on the sidelines cheering. He sees you afterward and gives you a big hug. He's so happy that you won and he's even happier that you're here. He kisses you on the field sidelines as everyone cheers and confetti goes off from above.

(I never really 100% like the idea that Alex just abandoned his dream of playing grid ball so included it in my headcannon)

Elliott 🪶/ Sam 🎸/ Sebastian🎮 / Alex 🏈/ Shane 🍕/ Harvey✈️ Maru 🤖/ Haley 📷/ Leah 🎨/ Abigail ⚔️ / Penny 📖 / Emily 🧵

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stardewlegends · 9 months ago

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Shouldn't | Sebastian x Reader, Abigail x Sebastian (Smut, mild Angst)

Category: Smut, mild Angst (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Cheating, intercourse with someone else while in relationship, implied unhealthy relationship, arguing, public intercourse, explicit language Summary: The emo boy living in Robin's basement seemed to catch the new farmer's attention, that is until she realised he was in a relationship, but apparently that wasn't enough to stop either of them Request: N/A Contains Spoilers for: N/A Word Count: 3.9k

---

(Y/N) remembers all too well the first time she laid eyes on the dark-haired emo boy who resides in the basement of the local Carpenter.

The way she was chatting away with Robin about getting a chicken coop installed on her newly renovated farmland when she heard the light footsteps coming up the stairs.

Her eyes glanced aside to briefly acknowledge whoever was passing by but she had to double-take. So did he.

“Oh, Seb, this is (Y/N)! She’s the new girl who’s taken over the old farm to the West.” Robin introduces, “(Y/N), this is my son, Sebastian.”

The farmer has to lick her lips and swallow as if she forgot how to speak.

“A pleasure to meet you.” (Y/N) offers, smiling at the boy.

Sebastian’s expression remains stoic.

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool.” His voice is deeper than she expected and it only adds to the ridiculous attraction she has to him. “Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?” The man adds.

“Sebastian!” Robin scolds, Sebastian briefly looking at his mother before shrugging.

“See you round.” He finishes with before disappearing up the corridor.

“I’m so sorry about him, (Y/N); he’s not much of a talker.”

“No need to apologise; it can be a little unnerving meeting someone new, especially in such a small town.” (Y/N) smiles, Robin appreciating her sympathy before they go back to discussing chicken coops and cow barns.

As the days pass by and (Y/N) regular finds herself passing by the beautiful house in the mountains on her way to the mines and to visit Linus, she bumps into the man more often than she expected.

She was initially surprised when she caught him smoking by the mountain lake, but she realised it, unfortunately, only added to the attraction yet again.

He’s not much of a talker, mainly making comments about how much he enjoys peace and quiet. She can’t tell if she’s meant to take hints from those, but she can’t just ignore him everytime they pass by one another.

“I suppose I should finally drop by the saloon.” The farmer utters to herself as she finishes up the organisation of her chests.

Glancing at her watch, she acknowledges the time is nearing five-PM. She’s been told that most the townspeople gather at the Stardrop Saloon on a Friday evening so she figures it’s about time she showed her face and saw everyone in the same room. It’ll be a good opportunity to get to know everyone better.

Washing her face off and changing out of her farmers clothes into something a little more presentable, off she sets toward the town square.

“Evening, Clint!” (Y/N) smiles as the both approach the entrance to the saloon.

“Uh, hi.” The local Blacksmith never was much of a talker.

She gestures for the man to enter the saloon first as she follows behind.

“Evenin’ Clint, evenin’ (Y/N) - glad to see you come by!” Gus calls as the pair enter, Clint briefly waving before heading to a seat next to Willy, (Y/N) smiling.

“Hey, Gus! Wow, it’s really busy in here tonight.” The woman comments, glancing around the busy room.

“Ain’t it just! Always rowdy in here on a Friday night! What can I get you?”

“Some wine would be great if you have some?” (Y/N) asks, Gus nodding and pouring a glass. “Thank you!”

The woman wanders around the room, having a chat with Elliott and Leah, Pam wrapping her arm around the woman and drunkenly telling Gus how lovely she is, Pierre immediately trying to sell her some Summer seeds, and Willy going off about another crazy crab story.

It’s when she sees the archway into the next room and she freezes momentarily and her eyes widen at the site she’s greeted with.

Him. With his hands and lips all over Abigail!?

Sam is there too, circling the pool table and figuring out his next room like his two friends aren’t totally getting it on right beside him. This is clearly a regular thing…

She can’t decide if she’s disgusted or turned on by the site of his lips dominating hers, and more so watching Abigail’s hand teasing the man’s crotch.

“Seb,” Sam whines, “Stop making babies, I think I’ve nearly beat you!”

(Y/N) briefly glances at the pool table and, if she weren’t still Gobsmacked by the site she was just greeted with, would chuckle at Sam’s incorrect optimism.

Abigail’s giggle almost - almost - disgusts the woman.

Is this… jealousy? She smiles to herself at the stupid thought.

Sebastian grins and wipes the saliva hanging from his mouth before turning back to Sam, but his eyes widen at the site of the farmer in the doorway.

Abigail notices her presence at the same time, grinning with such innocence, she jumps back onto the sofa and waves before grabbing her beer.

“Oh, hey (Y/N)!” She calls before taking a sip.

“Hey.” The farmer responds, not wanting to seem like she was affected by the sweet girl getting it on with the hottest man in the valley.

“Oh, hey, (Y/N)!” Sam adds, throwing the woman a wave also.

“Hey, Sam. Hey, Sebastian.” She realises that Sebastian is clearly surprised so tries to break the ice.

“Uh, yeah, hi.” He greets before grabbing his pool cue and joining Sam at the table. “Sam, you’re not even close to winning.”

“What!?” Sam whines.

The trio carry on their antics before (Y/N) turns around and chats with Shane instead, although he’s not exactly the most friendly company.

As the night ends, she hears loud conversation as the trio pass her on their way to the exit.

“See ya, farmer!” Sam shouts, waving and grinning, stumbling on his feet from the alcohol influence.

“Bye, (Y/N)!” Abigail adds, hanging on Sebastian’s arm, giggling like a little school girl.

“Have a good night, guys!” (Y/N) smiles, noticing that Sebastian doesn’t even look at her.

It’s unusual given that anytime she passes the man up by the mountain lake, he always chats to her. He doesn’t say much but he always gives her the time of day to say hello and goodbye. Wishes her luck and wellness on her travels. Yet here he is not evening acknowledging her existence.

“He wants you.” Shane’s voice makes her eyes widen and head dart to look at him just as the loud trio leave the building.

“Excuse me?” The woman’s voice has increased tenfold in pitch.

Shane silently laughs as he downs the rest of his beer and heads for the exit.

“Careful, farmer.” The man calls.

Gulping and downing the rest of the wine, the woman follows suit and paces, rapidly, back to the farm. For a very, very long night’s sleep.

Weeks and weeks after that day she painfully realises how often Abigail is at Robin’s place. How often they’re in the saloon together. How Sebastian fucking danced with her at the Flower Dance and didn’t even acknowledge her. She wasn’t fussed. She isn’t much of a dancer anyway, and hell, he definitely isn’t either but Abigail clearly was.

One day, early Summer, she’s leaving the mines in the late afternoon, hoping to make it to Clint’s in time to open up some geodes for her, when she sees that all-too-familiar dark hair. She stumbles to a halt and glances to the side, rolling her eyes at how petty she’s going to be but take the slight detour passed Linus’ home to get round to town.

As she turns in her steps, his voice stops her.

“I’m sorry.”

She freezes and keeps facing ahead, unsure what to say.

The silence lasts slightly longer than what would be comfortable, but she’s pretty sure Sebastian doesn’t care.

“Why?-”

“Don’t be dumb, (Y/N).” His interruption of her question catches her off-guard. She turns her head to face him but he’s still staring out across the lake with the cigarette in his hand. “I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”

“Like what?”

He finally turns to look at her and throws his finished cigarette into the lake. Her eyes follow it in disapproval.

“Sorry.” He adds. She nods. A random, familiar conversation amongst the elephant in the room.

He chooses to not say anything more and begins walking back to Robin’s. She sighs and continues her route to the Blacksmiths.

She hasn’t gone back to the saloon since that night. There’s something weirdly unpleasant about watching a man you find attractive getting it off with the local goth girl.

She’s no homewrecker, that’s for sure. Well, she thought she was sure until the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies.

Of course she went. It was her first time and she’d heard nothing but good things about this particular Summer event. And they weren’t wrong - it was beautiful.

She stands with Alex and Haley for a short while, Haley excitedly explaining how incredible the jellyfish look on her camera. She is listening, for most of it, but when she stares up to the end of the pier and see’s the goth girl clearly yelling at Sebastian about something, Sam on his phone clearing dismissing the argument. Similarly to when they were making out in the Stardrop, this clearly isn’t the first time.

“Looks like Abigail’s off on one again.” Alex’s comment captures the farmer’s attention.

“Hm?”

“Ah, Abigail and Sebastian, they’ve been dating for around five years now but she’s always screaming about something, usually about how unresponsive he is, and it’s pretty shit to watch. Sebastian’s a good guy, he just isn’t very social, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that.” The jock explains, Haley nodding but her attention stays on flicking through her camera roll.

“That’s a shame.” (Y/N) adds, pretty disheartened that Sebastian is continuing to be in a relationship that doens’t sound healthy.

With her new-found knowledge, she finds the courage to bid farewell to Alex and Haley and start pacing up the pier toward the trio. She waves to Vincent along the way.

The footsteps along the wooden boards prompt Sam to look up from his phone. He awkward waves and looks embarrassed at the situation the farmer’s walking into.

“Hey, (Y/N).” He greets, Sebastian’s eyes widening once again as he hears her name.

He looks at her but Abigail doesn’t even flinch, continuing her rant.

“You’re fucking doing it again!” The girl screams, (Y/N) turning her attention to Abigail. “You’re not fucking listening to me!”

“Abigail, can you do this later?” Sam braves, scratching the back of his head in awkwardness.

“Shut the fuck up, Samson.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widen at the harsh words. She’s surprised given how nice and sweet the goth girl seemed to be that night in the saloon.

“Is everything okay?” The farmer braves.

“Clearly fucking not!” Abigail instantly replies, glancing at the woman for barely a second before scowling at Sebastian once again.

Silence fills the area around them besides the background chatter from their fellow townspeople.

(Y/N) comments that she better go and talk to Lewis before dismissing herself, Abigail’s voice immediately going off once again.

None of my business. That’s what she thinks to herself, but she doesn’t like leaving people in that kind of situation.

She sighs and tries to focus on the beautiful event that everyone has gathered for.

Mayor Lewis announces that he’s setting the boat off and the chatter dies down.

The sight is beautiful. It seems surreal - something from a fairytale. It’s enchanting.

Gasps and whispers are heard all around as everyone enjoys the view; even Shane is laughing as Jas is in awe of the beauty. She can relate to that feeling.

Sometime during the show, (Y/N)’s gaze wanders to the right where she’s surprised to lock eyes with none other than Sebastian himself.

She tilts her head as if asking him what’s up. His eyes glance back at the ocean momentarily before back up at her.

He nods his head behind him, as if gesturing down the pier.

It’s a question.

The farmer’s eyes furrow slightly.

It’s not a question. It’s an invitation.

After a few moments, she nods. Slowly.

Sebastian turns to look at Sam and doesn’t say anything, but the blond understands somehow. They have been friends for years after all.

As the moonlight jellies fade away and the chorus of conversations gets louder, (Y/N) looks across the pier and acknowledges Sam and Abigail talking, the woman still seemingly frustrated.

Sighing, the farmer begins walking down the pier, she meets Sebastian’s gaze as he stands at the top of the beach, nodding before continuing his venture up into town.

A few brief conversations with her friends as she heads on up, she freezes just as she crosses the bridge out of the beach and back into town, glancing around to try and find out where the boy went.

“Hey!” That oh-so-sexy deep voice calls, (Y/N) turning to the right and seeing the man stood over toward the bridge that takes them to the museum.

(Y/N) heads on over, Sebastian still not saying much as he continues his path. She has no idea where they’re going.

The man finally stops, taking a seat on the bench just outside Clint’s place. He’s instantly lighting up a cigarette.

“You want one?” He offers, but (Y/N) shakes her head, taking a seat beside him.

“No, thank you.” She adds, voice quiet.

They hear the voices of the townspeople in the distance, everyone heading home after the main event, a few heading to the Stardrop as Gus offers to stay open late for the occasion.

Clint briefly passes by the pair, nodding his head.

“Goodnight, Clint.” (Y/N) smiles in her usual chipper manner.

“Night.”

Sebastian finishes up his cigarette and tosses it into the river. (Y/N) chooses to not comment on it this time, but he whispers an apology under his breath anyway.

He immediately reaches into his pocket for the packet but the woman rests her hand on his arm, silently telling him no.

“Talk to me.” She whispers.

He turns to look at her and his expression is unreadable.

“What’s going through your head?” The woman adds and that’s when a soft yet almost pained smile rests on his lips.

“How badly I wanna kiss you.”

She feels like her eyes could fall out their sockets with how wide they go. He snickers the sight.

“God, you’re so cute.” He adds before leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers, one hand resting on her waist while the other slides up into her hair.

She wants to stop him. She really should stop him. But she can’t. Her hands are gripping onto the bottom half of his t-shirt like it’s keeping her alive. Her lips opening to invite in his tongue. She moans at the sensation.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He utters as their lips part. She’s panting as if she’d just ran a marathon.

Her eyes look into his for any form of answers.

“We shouldn’t.”

“I know.” His answer is instant. “Trust me, I know, but I’m a bad fucking person, (Y/N), and she makes me fucking miserable. I need out but I’m too much of a pussy to leave. She fucking lives down the road from me, for God’s sakes.”

“Seb…” The woman whispers, eyes showing sadness.

“Say my name again.”

His response makes her body throb, whether she likes it or not.

“Sebastian.”

His lips are on hers once again, the kiss rougher this time.

She’s whimpering, his touch so dominating and she fucking loves it.

He manouvers her into his lap and she can’t even stop herself from grinding down on his lap.

“Fuck!” He groans briefly before kissing her once again.

“Seb,”

“Yeah?”

“Want you.”

She doesn’t know what’s come over her. She’s fantasised about this way too many times and she can’t fucking stop the disgusting lust taking over her brain.

“I’ve wanted you since the second you moved in.” He confesses, one hand holding the back of her head while the other slides under her skirt, immediately caressing her underwear.

She gasps but doesn’t try and stop his movements.

“You’re fucking soaked, holy fuck.” Sebastian comments, pulling back briefly to admire the view.

Her cheeks are flushed although you can barely tell in the dark.,

“Can’t help it.” She whispers. “I’ve wanted this.”

“Yeah? Wanted to have me touch you?” He asks, eyes searching hers for reciprocated feelings.

“So bad, Seb.”

“So fucking pretty, (Y/N).”

They’re making out again, Sebastian’s fingers increasing their pace before sliding her underwear aside.

They both curse at the same time at the feeling.

“So fucking wet.”

“Seb, please.” She whines, instinctively grinding down on his fingers.

“Please what, babe?”

She rests her forehead on his. Both of them sweating like crazy.

“I need you inside me.”

The moan that rips from Sebastian’s lips is pornographic.

‘“I’ve fucking dreamt of hearing those words from you.”

“Then do it.” She whines, continuing to grind down against his fingers.

“Lift your hips.” The man whispers, the woman complying.

His hand slides out of her underwear and makes quick work of unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans, pulling out his rock-hard and admirable length.

“Wanna suck your cock.” The woman whispers, the man moaning once again but stopping her from moving.

“Another time, gorgeous; right now I’m way too close already and I need to feel my cum in your pussy.”

The sudden filth makes her moan equally as loud and just as erotic as his.

Sebastian makes quick work once again of pulling her underwear aside under hear skirt and lining his cock up with her entrance.

“You ready?” He whispers, using his free hand to tuck a few strands of loose hair behind her ears.

She nods, desperately.

“Please, Sebastian.”

And that was all he needed before full sheathing inside her, (Y/N)’s hands covering both her mouth and his as they both continue with their erotic sounds.

Her eyes dart toward the town centre where people are still leaving the beach, conversations happening all over.

“You’re so big.” She manages to whimper, Sebastian gasping for breath.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He responds, capturing her lips with his own once more. “Craved this for so long.”

“Me too.” The woman nods.

Within seconds, the woman begins bouncing on the man’s cock, unable to help herself, and neither can he. His hips are slamming into her relentless. She’s gripping onto his shoulders for dear life and his hands are definitely bruising her hips as he aids her movements.

“Oh God,” The farmer cries out way too soon. Sebastian internally smirks at the sound.

“You gonna cum for me, angel?” The sudden petname makes her head spin. It’s so sweet. Not like what she thought Sebastian would be.

She nods desperately in response to his question though.

“Fuck, yes, Seb, please,” She begs, unable to think straight as she feels the coil tighten inside her.

“Can feel you tightening around me, (Y/N). Feel so fucking good.” His dirty talk only edges her closer to that sweet release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” She can’t think. She can’t speak.

“Cum for me, gorgeous girl. Cum all over my cock.”

That was all she needed, Sebastian’s hand this time having to cover her mouth as her screams definitely echo across the valley. Sorry, Clint.

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

The man throws his head back as she clamps around his cock, his own release rapidly following suit.

“Fuck!” He groans, (Y/N) resting her forehead against his once more, their hooded eyes locking.

“Seb.”

“Yeah, babe?” He manages, voice strained.

She doesn’t respond, eyes holding various emotions.

He manages a smile and slows down his thrusts.

“I know.” He whispers, kissing her deep, but this kiss isn’t lustful… It’s passionate. It holds weight. Emotion.

“I want your cum.”

The sudden filth from the farmer’s lips makes him moan again and increase his pace once more.

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up, (Y/N)?”

“Please, Seb. Please.” Her begging is enough. His pace becomes rapid and he feels her tightening around him once again.

“Cum with me, baby. Cum all over my cock while I fill your pretty pussy with my cum.”

Another pornographic moan, and many desperate nods, and she does exactly that.

They both can’t stop how loud their sounds are as Sebastian releases deep inside her, the woman falling into euphoria, seeing stars as she gushes all over his cock, feeling him fill up every inch of her pussy.

“(Y/N)?” Sebastian manages once he comes down from his high, still with heavy breaths.

She manages to mumble something.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

She shivers at the petname and Sebastian chuckles.

“Sucker for being complimented, aren’t you, angel?”

She whines and falls against his chest, the man holding him close and stroking her back.

“You okay?”

She nods agains his shoulder.

“Words please.”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

Silence embraces the pair until (Y/N) takes a deep breath and sits up.

“Can I get up?” She whispers, Sebastian nodding and helping her off, the man moaning as he watches remnants of his cum drip out of her.

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

She giggles and takes a seat on the bench beside him once more, Sebastian quickly putting his cock away and putting his jeans back on properly.

The farmer’s head rests on his shoulder, the man wrapping an arm around her.

“What a night, huh?”

“Definitely the best introduction to the Moonlight Jellies.” She jokes, both of them laughing.

Silence comes around once more. A classic.

“You should-”

“I’m sorry-”

They both laugh as they start speaking at the same time.

“You first-”

“Go on-”

Another round of laughter.

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian manages. “I really shouldn’t have done that while I’m still with Abigail, but I’m gonna break it off with her tomorrow. I can’t handle her shit anymore - it’s draining.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been stuck in that situation.” (Y/N) whispers, stroking her fingers along his hand.

“You’re really sweet. It’s a nice change.”

Silence.

“Can I walk you home?” He offers, (Y/N) nodding.

“That’d be nice, thank you.”

Their walk to the farm is peaceful, vague music coming from the Stardrop as they pass by, otherwise just talking about the town and some funny stories they both have.

“Wow, you’ve really tidied up the place, huh?” Sebastian comments as they approach the farm.

“Trying to.” (Y/N) giggles as they head up the few steps to her front door. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Please don’t thank me, what I did was wrong.” He begins, (Y/N)’s expression clearly dropping because his eyes widen as he stumbles back over his words. “Wait, no, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that- God, what a dumbass. Sorry. I fucking loved tonight, in fact, I’d love tonight to happen every night, but I meant I shouldn’t have done it given the current circumstances.” He manages, (Y/N) nodding and stepping forward to hug the man.

“Oh, this is nice.” He whispers, relaxing for probably the first time in months. Maybe years.

The farmer presses a kiss to the man’s cheek and unlocks her door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sebastian.” She smiles.

“See you tomorrow, farmer.” He grins, lighting up a cigarette before heading up the path to his house, unable to stop smiling the whole way, thinking to himself that maybe there is some hope after all.

#sebastian stardew valley #abigail stardew valley #sebastian x reader #stardew valley #smut #stardewvalley #homewrecking #sebastian x abigail #cheating

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usafphantom2 · 4 months ago

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Navy Making Final Selection For F/A-XX Stealth Fighter, Plans For 2030s Service Entry

While the Air Force’s NGAD fighter initiative currently paused, the Navy is pushing ahead with its similar F/A-XX stealth jet program.

Posted on Oct 3, 2024 7:49 PM EDT

The U.S. Navy expects its sixth-generation fighter to enter service in the 2030s, bringing with it the ability to operate alongside drones and fly missions at long ranges — capabilities seen as essential for future conflict with China, for example. The Navy’s ambitions, if realized, mean that the service may introduce its next-generation crewed fighter before the U.S. Air Force, which is now re-examining requirements for its new stealth combat jet, with the program on temporary hold.

Boeing

The U.S. Navy expects its sixth-generation fighter to enter service in the 2030s, bringing with it the ability to operate alongside drones and fly missions at long ranges — capabilities seen as essential for future conflict with China. The Navy’s ambitions, if realized, mean that the service may introduce its next-generation crewed fighter before the U.S. Air Force, which is now re-examining requirements for its new stealth combat jet, with the program on temporary hold. As it sits now, the Navy is late in the source selection process on who will build its next generation fighter and that decision could come soon.

Like the Air Force, the Navy is working on its sixth-generation fighter as part of a program named Next Generation Air Dominance (NGAD). The Navy crewed fighter is often referred to as the F/A-XX. The Navy is involved in direct cooperation with the Air Force’s program and both initiatives put crewed fighters at the center of a broader ‘system of systems’ that will also include advanced Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA) drones.

A Boeing concept artwork for the F/A-XX next-generation carrier fighter. Boeing

But increasingly the programs seem that they might be headed in differing directions, certainly as far as current timelines are concerned.

The Navy’s sixth-generation fighter will have “advanced sensors, advanced lethality, advanced range, and being able to integrate with manned and unmanned capabilities together,” according to Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) Adm. Lisa Franchetti, quoted in an article by Air & Space Forces Magazine. This matches what we previously knew about the initiative.

Based on what we know about the two services sharing some technology and even control capabilities for CCA drones, it’s not a surprise that Franchetti mentions the manned/unmanned integration. “That’s one of the things, as we learn from the Air Force and the work they’re doing, to integrate that with what we know that we need to be able to do,” she added.

Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Lisa Franchetti delivers remarks during the Inter-American Naval Conference (IANC), in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, September 24, 2024. IANC was established in 1959 to strengthen the bonds of friendship, partnership, and collaboration among Western Hemisphere naval leaders through the exchange of ideas and knowledge. (U.S. Navy photo by Senior Chief Mass Communication Specialist Elliott Fabrizio/released)

Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Lisa Franchetti. U.S. Navy photo by Senior Chief Mass Communication Specialist Elliott Fabrizio/Released Senior Chief Petty Officer Elliott Fabrizio

The mention of range is also particularly interesting.

Faced with the prospect of a potential future war in the Pacific with China and facing ever more advanced and further-reaching air defenses, as well as the vast distances involved in such a theater, long range was always seen as being one of the core capabilities of the Air Force’s NGAD fighter. That requirement is likely now being reassessed, although the Navy remains committed to it, according to Franchetti. Allowing for the carrier air wing to be able to reach relevant target sets and at a significant frequency while keeping the carrier itself at a safe distance from anti-ship and other anti-access capabilities is a glaring issue for the USN. Dramatically increasing the unrefueled combat radius of at least some of its fighters, which would be paired with CCAs with similar endurance, would go a long way to solving this problem.

The CNO added that the service plans to place a contract in time for the new fighter to enter service in the 2030s.

This is the same kind of timeline that was anticipated for the Air Force’s equivalent new stealth fighter, but the current situation could push that date further to the right.

Exactly how the Air Force’s NGAD fighter might be rescoped is unclear at this point and elements of the design have always been a tightly guarded secret anyway.

As it stands, however, the Air Force’s NGAD program is under deep review, and there may be significant revisions to better reflect what the service wants — or can afford — out of its next fighter. Above all, this situation has been driven by the realization that the highly advanced aircraft might cost three times as much as a new F-35 — upwards of $300 million per copy. The Air Force is now eying a far less expensive aircraft, coming in at roughly the same price as an F-35 or F-15EX does, at around $90 million to $100 million each.

You can read our deep dive into what this revised NGAD could look like here.

An F-35 Lightning II test pilot conducts flight test Sept. 10 to certify the carrier variant of the fighter aircraft for carrying the AGM-158C Long-Range Anti-Ship Missile (LRASM). As part of ongoing integration efforts, the Pax River F-35 Integrated Test Force (Pax ITF) team flew two days of test flights to evaluate flutter, loads, and flying qualities with two AGM-158 loaded on external stations. LRASM is a defined near-term solution for the Offensive Anti-Surface Warfare (OASuW) air-launch capability gap that will provide flexible, long-range, advanced, anti-surface capability against high-threat maritime targets. The Pax River ITF’s mission is to effectively plan, coordinate, and conduct safe, secure, and efficient flight test for F-35B and C variants, and provide necessary and timely data to support program verification / certification and fleet operational requirements.

An F-35C stealth fighter carrying AGM-158C Long-Range Anti-Ship Missiles (LRASM). U.S. Navy/Dane Wiedmann

U.S. Navy/Dane Wiedmann

The Navy’s F/A-XX has also not been free of financial woes. As we reported back in the summer, the program’s budget, which was already set to be truncated, could be cut even more severely in the next fiscal year. Members of the Senate are proposing to give the service nearly 90 percent less funding than it asked for to support continued work on the new carrier-based fighter. ‘Black budgets’ also play a role in a program like this too.

Franchetti didn’t appear to mention those fiscal concerns, but the fact that she still said the service expects the aircraft to enter service in the 2030s makes it clear that the program remains a top priority. Still, it’s questionable just how achievable that goal is, and ‘2030s’ is a broad window to begin with.

Whether realistic or not, the Navy will first have to choose between Boeing, Lockheed Martin, and Northrop Grumman, which are currently in competition to provide the F/A-XX. Franchetti said that the service is now in the process of selecting which design to pursue. Meanwhile, it is understood that just Boeing and Lockheed Martin are perusing the USAF’s manned NGAD fighter tender, with Northrop Grumman dropping out of the competition in part to focus on the Navy’s program.

It was always considered likely that the F/A-XX would share a powerplant with the Air Force NGAD, using technology being developed under the Next Generation Adaptive Propulsion (NGAP) program. With that in mind, it’s possible that the Air Force reducing the goals of the NGAP program — in line with reductions in performance targets — could have a knock-on effect on the capabilities of the Navy’s NGAD fighter. Whether the Navy would be willing to take a performance hit on its fighter if it meant saving a lot of money, both in development costs and eventual production expenditures, is unclear.

General Electric’s XA100 adaptive cycle jet engine during testing in 2020. General Electric GE’s XA100 engine on a test stand. GE Aviation

Aside from the cost factor now impacting decisions on the future of the Air Force NGAD program, there are increasing signs that the service is also reconsidering whether the crewed fighter concept, as understood up to now, is actually the best to meet emerging threats.

As far as we know, however, the Navy still expects its F/A-XX and its accompanying drones to replace its F/A-18E/F Super Hornet multirole fighters as well as its EA-18G Growler electronic attack jet, all part of reshaping a carrier air wing that could eventually feature as much as two-thirds uncrewed aircraft.

Intriguingly, however, Franchetti said that, while it’s important that the Navy and Air Force NGAD programs are aligned to some degree, this wasn’t the most critical factor in the Navy’s F/A-XX efforts.

Making an effort to distance F/A-XX from the current uncertainties around the Air Force’s NGAD is perhaps understandable, considering the pause on the latter program.

The Navy should have a much better idea of how the Air Force’s potential overhaul of its NGAD affects its program of the same name once the flying branch makes a decision on the path it wants to take for its sixth-generation fighter initiative. Such a decision is due to be made in the next few months.

(ILLUSTRATION) -- An artist illustration depicts a sixth generation air dominance fighter during an evening mission over an undisclosed location during a future near-peer conflict. Mike Tsukamoto/staff; Boeing

An artist’s illustration depicts a sixth-generation air dominance fighter of the kind being developed under NGAD. Boeing

The Air Force has reiterated that it is committed to having a crewed stealth fighter at the heart of the wider NGAD initiative and that it will have a human pilot to start with, although an optionally crewed version might ultimately be developed too.

“I’m absolutely confident we’re still going to do a sixth-generation crewed aircraft,” Secretary of the Air Force Frank Kendall said in July of this year.

Even if the Air Force NGAD effort ends up taking a radically different approach to meeting the service’s future air combat requirements, that also doesn’t mean that the Navy will not be able to benefit from technologies and concepts spun off from that program or run collaboratively.

“I think more broadly, as all the services work together to make sure that they have complementary capability, ‘Where can we learn from each other?’” Franchetti asked. “Where can we leverage that learning so you can be more common in the future?”

While the Air Force NGAD initiative has been characterized by its secrecy, the equivalent Navy sixth-generation fighter program has been proceeding, if anything, even more in the shadows. It remains to be seen to what degree the pause on the Air Force program will affect the F/A-XX, but the release of any new details about the programs at this critical stage is of great interest, to say the least.

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