#he sits by the ocean and laments as if farmer isnt RIGHT there

[r3-ese]

tides

pairing : sdv elliott x reader

contains : fem!farmer, slight angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending

word count : 2k

note : elliott got me into stardew but i ditched him for an emo boy, skater boy, and rock eater so i owe this to him 💀 also im too weak to write angst without a happy ending. so. here's this 😁

Elliott stood at the end of the dock, enveloped in the tranquil embrace of the morning. The rhythmic dance of the waves below was a mesmerizing sight, their undulating motion reflecting the golden hues of dawn. The dock itself, worn and weathered by countless seasons, creaked softly underfoot as if whispering ancient secrets of the sea. The air was filled with the tangy, invigorating scent of salt, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly caught fish, a scent that comforted him like an old, familiar friend.

This place, this dock, was his sanctuary. It jutted out from the edge of Pelican Town, extending into the expanse of the ocean like a lone finger reaching out for the horizon. Here, Elliott found solace from the hustle and bustle of the town. The constant chatter of the saloon, the clamor of daily life—everything faded away once he was on this dock. It was his personal retreat, a place where he could immerse himself in thought, free from distractions.

He settled onto a bench that had seen better days, its wooden planks polished smooth by years of exposure to the elements. The bench overlooked the vast expanse of the sea, where the gentle waves sparkled under the early morning sun. Elliott’s gaze was drawn to a figure silhouetted against the light—a newcomer to Pelican Town. The farmer, with her mysterious aura, seemed perfectly at home amid the tranquil setting. Her movements were fluid and graceful as she cast her fishing line into the shimmering water, her presence blending seamlessly with the rhythm of the ocean.

The farmer’s silhouette was framed by the soft light of dawn, her form casting a long shadow that danced with the waves. Elliott couldn’t help but be intrigued. The way she moved—deliberate and serene—contrasted sharply with his own chaotic thoughts. He watched her with a mix of curiosity and admiration, feeling a connection that he couldn’t quite explain.

“Good morning,” Elliott called out, his voice carrying gently over the water. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving the farmer’s figure.

The farmer turned, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of surprise. Her face was partially hidden by a wide-brimmed hat, but her eyes, a deep and earthy brown, conveyed a quiet strength.

“Morning,” she replied, her voice soft yet clear, like the distant call of a seabird. She returned her focus to the water, her hands deftly working the fishing line.

Unperturbed, Elliott settled deeper into the bench, the wood groaning softly under his weight. He pulled out his weathered notebook, its cover worn and creased from years of use. The pages within were filled with scribbles and sketches that mirrored the world around him—depictions of the sea, the dock, and fleeting glimpses of his own thoughts. Inspired by the natural beauty of the dock and the enigmatic farmer, he began jotting down notes for his latest story, occasionally glancing up to observe her.

“So, do you come here often?” Elliott ventured, hoping to engage her in conversation.

The farmer’s eyes flicked towards him briefly before returning to the water. “Most days,” she said, her tone measured. “The fish are plentiful, and it’s peaceful here.”

Elliott smiled, the corners of his lips lifting in appreciation. “I find it peaceful too. It’s where I do most of my writing.”

She looked up, her gaze meeting his with a spark of interest. “You’re a writer?”

“Yes,” Elliott confirmed, a note of pride in his voice. “I write novels, mostly. Though I haven’t published anything yet.”

The farmer nodded thoughtfully. “What do you write about?”

Elliott shifted back on the bench, the weathered wood creaking beneath him. “Various things—love, adventure, mystery. Lately, I’ve been searching for inspiration for something new.”

Her eyes returned to the water, reflecting the dappled sunlight. “I like science fiction,” she said after a moment. “Stories about distant worlds and possibilities beyond our own.”

Elliott’s interest was piqued. “Science fiction? That’s fascinating. I’ve never explored that genre before.”

“It’s my favorite,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “There’s something thrilling about imagining what could be.”

Their conversation flowed naturally, an unexpected bond forming between them. They discussed books and stories, the farmer sharing her favorite sci-fi novels while Elliott described his writing process. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the dock. Elliott felt a sense of camaraderie with the farmer, a kindred spirit who understood the allure of a quiet life by the sea.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As the weeks turned into months, their regular meetings by the dock became a cherished routine for Elliott. Each morning, he would find solace in their conversations and the farmer’s insightful comments. The dock, with its weathered planks and the ever-changing patterns of the sea, had become a backdrop to their growing connection.

One crisp autumn morning, as the air grew cooler and the leaves on the trees surrounding the dock began to turn vibrant shades of orange and red, Elliott had a sudden inspiration, a thought arriving like a wave crashing over the shore.

He looked at the farmer, who was carefully tending to her fishing line. “What if I tried writing a science fiction novel?” he mused aloud.

Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she turned towards him. “That would be incredible. I’d be thrilled to read something like that from you.”

Encouraged by her response, Elliott made a decision. “Then it’s settled. I’ll write a sci-fi novel, and I’ll dedicate it to you.”

She blushed slightly, her cheeks tinged with the soft hue of the sunrise. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to,” Elliott insisted, his voice firm with conviction. “You’ve inspired me so much. It’s the least I can do.”

In the months that followed, Elliott immersed himself in his new project. His cabin, nestled in a secluded part of Pelican Town and surrounded by the lush, dense forest that rolled down to the beach, became a haven for his writing. The interior of the cabin was a reflection of his solitary life—a small space cluttered with stacks of books, scribbled notes, and half-empty mugs of coffee. The walls were lined with bookshelves, their contents spilling over with manuscripts and literary classics. The air was thick with the musty scent of old paper and the faint, tangy aroma of sea salt that had seeped in from the open windows.

Elliott’s desk, positioned by a window with a view of the ocean, was his workspace. It was covered in an assortment of notes, plot outlines, and crumpled drafts. The window, framed by heavy curtains that were often drawn back, offered a glimpse of the sea—once a source of inspiration, now seeming distant and detached. The cabin felt increasingly claustrophobic, its walls closing in on him as he lost himself in his writing. The outside world, including the dock and the farmer, felt like a distant dream.

Despite his growing isolation, Elliott pressed on with his manuscript. Each day, he poured his emotions into his writing, driven by the hope of creating something worthy of the farmer’s spirit. The manuscript became his focus, a labor of love that consumed his every waking moment.

Unbeknownst to Elliott, the farmer had not forgotten him. Each day, she left small tokens of encouragement at his cabin—a carefully wrapped package of his favorite wine, a collection of rare shells from the beach, or a bouquet of hand-picked wildflowers. These gestures were meant to remind him of her support, but they went unnoticed as Elliott remained engrossed in his work.

The beach, where Elliott often walked to clear his mind, became a somber reminder of the farmer’s absence. The once-pleasant strolls felt empty without her presence, and the ocean, with its endless expanse, seemed to mock his sense of isolation. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore, once soothing, now felt like a relentless reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

One evening, after months of relentless writing, Elliott finally completed his work. The novel, dedicated to the farmer, was held in his hands—a tangible manifestation of his efforts and emotions. Eager to share it with the world, he decided to release it the following day.

That night, seeking solace and clarity, Elliott wandered to the beach. The sky was a deep, velvety blue, dotted with stars that shimmered like distant beacons. The cool night air was refreshing, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea. As he walked along the shoreline, he noticed a chest partially buried in the sand, near his cabin.

Curious, he approached the chest and opened it. Inside, he found a collection of items that held sentimental value: bottles of wine he had mentioned in passing, rare shells he had admired, and flowers he had once expressed a fondness for. On top of the chest lay a note in the farmer’s neat handwriting:

“I know you’re focused on your work, but please take a break now and then. I understand the dedication it takes… just know that I’m here for you. - Farmer ꨄ”

Elliott’s heart ached as he read the note. The realization hit him like a tidal wave—he had been so absorbed in his own world that he had failed to see the farmer’s attempts to stay connected. Guilt and regret surged within him, but so did a renewed sense of hope.

The note was a lifeline, pulling him from the depths of his isolation. He felt immense gratitude for the farmer’s patience and understanding, her gestures a reminder of the bond they shared.

Determined to make amends, Elliott rushed to the farmer’s home, his heart pounding with urgency. The journey to her farmhouse, nestled in the rolling hills and surrounded by blooming crops, was filled with anticipation. When he arrived, he knocked on the door, hoping for a chance to explain.

The door creaked open, revealing the farmer’s surprised face. Her eyes, though weary, held a spark of curiosity. “Elliott? What’s the matter?”

“I finished the book,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I wanted to apologize for shutting you out.”

Her expression softened, and she stepped aside to let him in. The interior of her home was warm and inviting, with wooden beams and a cozy hearth that crackled with a gentle fire. “You didn’t shut me out, Elliott. I knew you were focused on your work. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Elliott felt a wave of gratitude. “I found the chest you left me. Thank you. It means a lot to know you were thinking of me.”

The farmer’s smile was genuine, her eyes reflecting the warmth of the hearth. “I care about you, Elliott.”

Taking a deep breath, Elliott asked, “Would you like to hear the story? I want you to be the first to hear it.”

Her smile widened, and she led him to a comfortable seating area near the fire. As they settled onto a plush couch, Elliott began reading his manuscript. The crackling of the fire provided a soothing backdrop to his words, and the farmer listened intently, her presence a calming influence.

As the night wore on, Elliott read the entire novel to the farmer. The dawn began to break, casting a soft, golden light across the room. When he finished, the farmer’s eyes were shining with admiration. “That was incredible. You captured everything I love about the genre.”

Elliott felt a surge of pride and relief. “I’m glad you liked it. I wrote it for you.”

She took his hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. “Thank you, Elliott. It means more to me than you know.”

In that moment, Elliott knew their connection had endured the distance and silence. They had found their way back to each other, their bond strengthened by their shared experiences. As they sat together, hand in hand, Elliott felt a renewed sense of purpose and a deep, abiding love for the farmer who had inspired him. The waves of the sea, the crackling fire, and the warmth of their shared space were a testament to the journey they had undertaken together.