#kitsu.sdv

[kitsuga]

two left feet. {Elliott x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Elliott has prophetic (?) dreams. 

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Tags: fluff, you ever have prophetic dreams? i do, elliott seems the type to have them too. look at him, reminder i am both blessed and cursed with the possibility of ooc bc mods have been installed in my brain for far too long, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, elliott x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, elliott

Word Count: 2,375

A/N: Written on: February 24, 2023 

I!! Think!! Hes!!! So!!!! Cute!!!! I don’t think I like the ending on this one but to be fair im gonna let it slide and pretend it doesnt exist, why not lKJSFHIUEF 

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It was cold in the stoney area Elliott found himself in; deep below the surface, he thought to himself—damp, cold, and full of unsettling shadows hidden in corners. Small flames lead his way down the makeshift corridor, but he was weary to follow—what would find him at the end of it? With no exit found behind him, he pressed forward. 

The flames started to die out as he walked past, their lives cut short without a second thought—except, he thought about it. Why were they blowing out so suddenly? A chill started to climb up his spine as he made his way down towards what looked like an open area; it was darker than where he had been, only a few dancing flames had sat within the room.  

This room was bad news, Elliott thought to himself. Everything in his body was screaming to run, that there was danger around, but he couldn’t. With his feet planted in place, his eyes darted from flame to flame, straining to see what horrors they would illuminate. The hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end as sounds started around the room; quiet at first before steadily growing louder, menacing, echoing off the stones. Shadows peeled themselves off the walls, contorting to hideous figures; sharp shrills came from somewhere deeper. The knot in Elliott’s stomach grew tighter, almost causing him to hunch over with fear.  

Creatures he thought he’d never be able to even dream of started to show themselves in the dim lights, just as frightening as they sounded. Horrifying sights, he thought to himself; dripping, oozing, some even rigid and sharp—creatures with faces so frightening he couldn’t fully comprehend what it was his eyes were trying to focus on. They moved with malevolence, each action full of venom; Elliott found himself begging in silence that he kept out of their sights. 

They started to merge together, moving towards something lying on the ground just within the remaining candle’s flames. It was balled up, hardly moving; the figure was... human, Elliott thought. What were they doing there? Were they alright? They needed to get up—needed to get out. The monstrosities grew ever closer, and his anxiety was on the rise; he tried calling out to the person, trying to will the air from his lungs to say something—anything—but nothing was productive. Even if something had come out, his voice would be lost amongst the terrifying noises that echoed among the walls, falling on deaf ears.  

The growing sense of urgency made him jittery as he tried and tried again to call out, but the moment his eyes adjusted and caught a glimpse of just who lay in the monster’s trap, his heart sank to his stomach. 

“Farmer...?” 

Elliott managed to whisper, his voice trembling while their name felt heavy with dread. He tried to move his feet, reach out to them. He tried calling out to them again and again, voice raising and wavering each time. The shadows started to move in, but he could only watch as they swoop in on their prey. With his heart in his throat and lead in his feet, he reached out for the Farmer who lay there unresponsive. 

“Farmer!” He shouted. “Farmer! Get up! Farmer, please!”  

He got desperate, screaming their name now as the shadows pounced at the person he cared about. 

“FARM--” 

“-ER!”  

Elliott woke up with a start, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears, jumping out of his chest and into his throat all at once. His breath was heavy, shaky, and felt as though he couldn’t catch it—his chest rose and fell with pain. Elliott’s clothes stuck to him, drenched in a cold sweat. His mind started running a mile a minute, no coherent thoughts were able to keep up. Was it a dream? It had to have been; he looked around the room and registered that it was his own. Trying to stabilize his breathing, he tried to brush his hair from his face and slowly lay back down.  

It was a dream! It was a dream. It was... a dream. Elliott bolted out of bed, alarmed that it had been a dream. It wasn’t a prophetic one, right? It couldn’t have been. Was it? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought. He was being ridiculous! Surely it was just a nightmare, and he should go back to bed. This is what he tried to soothe himself with as he drew back his blanket and attempted to crawl back into bed. 

But... what if it wasn’t? He jumped out of bed once again and rushed around his room—he should just go check on them! No, he NEEDED to go check on them. He felt around the dark room to grab his jacket from the back of his chair and struggled to put it on in a rush, tripping and falling against the front door as he also attempted to put on his shoes. Outside was quiet—even the waves were drowned out by the sound of his racing heart and his breath trying to catch up as he took off running, struggling to keep his footing in the sand. He ran much faster as his feet hit solid ground, sprinting through the familiar path to their farm. Weaving through paths of hard-earned crops and practically jumping over the rickety, old wooden steps of the porch, his fist pounds at their front door. He continues to knock, and knock, and knock, beating at the old wood so hard he could hear it over the static playing in his ears. 

Are they there? They have to be. It’s the middle of the night; oh, please be there, he thought to himself. Please be safely in your own bed, comfortable and warm—where they should be. He began to knock again before he was cut off, the door in front of him opening slowly to reveal the very person he was so desperate to see; they stood there in their pajama’s, a fist rubbing one eye while the other attempted to blink away the drowsiness and process the need to wake up. They were here, they were safe, they were... adorable. Elliott hunched over, holding his stomach, and let out the heaviest breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  

“Elliott...? Are you alright?” Farmer asks, voice drenched in sleep. “What’s wrong?” 

It took a few moments of trying to calm down and regulate his breathing before Elliott had stood back upright. He looked at them carefully, taking in every inch of them to ease his mind and soothe his heart, as their body was bathed in the gentle moonlight. 

“...Ahem,” Elliott cleared his throat and attempted to straighten his shirt. “Hello, Farmer.” 

They studied him with half-lidded eyes. Their shoulders hung with sleep still wrapping them like the warm blanket they had left in their bed. After a few moments, and a few hoots from an owl in the distance, they broke the silence of the night once again. 

“Are.... you okay?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

Elliott felt the corners of his lips turn upwards, but not of joy or relief. He was certainly feeling very awkward, now. How in the world was he going to explain this behaviour to them! His smile starts to grow, becoming more and more disconcerting; sweat fell from his brow though his body had certainly had enough time to calm down. He started to clear his throat again, moving to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to find the words to say. Come on, Elliott! You’re a writer! Certainly, you can think of a story to excuse this behaviour away? He watched as the Farmer looked him up and down, squinting a bit at him before they opened their mouth to speak. 

“Well... you were banging at my door is if your life depended on it... in the middle of the night.” 

“Ah... yeah...” Elliott managed to stammer out. 

“Then, your jacket is inside out--” Elliott promptly looked down to see the inside of his jacket pockets where they certainly should not be. “--and you’re also in your pajamas.” He certainly was. 

“Well, you see...” He started. 

Farmer looked down and stared, causing Elliott to follow suit. He took a look at his feet and felt the heat of a blush creep up the back of his neck the longer the silence drew on between the two of them. The distant hoot of an owl called out again before Farmer stuck their hand out and pointed at his previously mentioned feet. 

“You have two different shoes on.”  

The silence of the night swallowed the two of them whole once again. 

Elliott heaved a heavy sigh and slowly, almost with a shaky hand with how embarrassed he was feeling now, wiped the cold sweat off of his face and spoke through a crooked—and awkward—smile. 

“Ah. So I do.” 

“It’s like you have two left feet.” 

“That is not the same thing, they are simply different shoes—they're meant for the correct feet.” 

Elliott looked up at them through his eyelashes, his embarrassment practically melting away the instant he saw a bright smile on their lips. Of course they tried to make him feel better about it all, it was just who they were; it was something he truly adored about them, after all. Their soft, melodic giggle echoed through the still night, wrapping him with the comfort he had practically begged for just moments ago—it was such a welcomed warmth that he had almost forgotten what it was that had him so worried in the first place; the daunting fact crashed against him like a wave as he remembered and the blush of embarrassment crept up his neck once again. 

“Ahem... Well,” Elliott cleared his throat once again—it was going to be sore by the morning if he kept it up, “you see, there’s this tradition of... waking... people up... frantically... to...” 

Farmer cut him off with an unconvinced look and by gently putting their hand up to motion him to drop the horrible acting. 

“You’re a writer. You couldn’t come up with something better than whatever you were about to give me?” That’s what Elliott had been telling himself, too, only hearing the Farmer say it aloud struck his heart like an arrow. 

“Alright, fine.” He took a large breath, held it, and let it out in a quick meditation. “Believe in what you will, but there are times when dreams may be... prophetic.” 

“...Go on.” 

“It comes in as a sort of déjà vu at times, you see.”  

“Elliott.” 

He threw his hands up into the air as an indication that he had given up trying to beat around the bush. Holding those same hands out to the Farmer, he looked at them with such heavy concern and care in his eyes, he started to tear up. He fought back those very tears as Farmer gently put their hands in his own, instantly, without being prompted. Softly, quietly, as though the night itself would carry his words to the moon and reveal his secrets, he confessed. 

“I had a nightmare—about you.” He started, rubbing his thumbs across the Farmer’s knuckles and keeping eye contact with them. “I... needed to make sure you were alright. I was truly... truly frightened. I thought you had been hurt, or worse—if I had lost you.” 

Elliott leaned in closer to them, his voice now hardly above a whisper. 

“What would I ever do without you?” 

The Farmer looked back at him, their sleep still holding a shade over their eyes, though Elliott could see the gears in their head start to process. It was their turn for their skin to heat up a little, get a little embarrassed, feel a little awkward and lost for words. They opened and closed their mouth a few times, going to say something but changing their mind; finally, they settled on simply giving him a warm, comforting smile, leaving his slight confession for a time when they were more lucid.  

“Thank you, Elliott.” They whispered back. “For caring so much about me; for checking on me. I’m alright, I promise.” 

The Farmer’s smile turned into a larger one, with a little more pep in their step as they turned away from the door frame and faced the dark inside of their house. They held onto one of Elliott’s hands and gestured into the dark with the other, their eyes silently wishing for a certain answer as they looked into his own. 

“Now that you’re here, do you want some tea? You’re free to crash on my couch for the night, since it’s so late. I don’t know what happened in that dream of yours, but... maybe it’ll help you sleep knowing I’m okay.” 

Elliott’s eyes grew wide, but only for a moment, before the relief and thankfulness had smoothed his being. Right. They were okay. They were okay, and that was the best thing he could ask for at this point. They were here, in front of him, in the comfort of the rickety old wooden place they called home—not in some frightening, dark, dangerous cave. They were here—with him—he could feel the warmth of their skin and they gently held his hand and guided him through the door, into the comfort of their home. They were safe, and for that, he was thankful.  

A promise-- he silently made to himself as he watched the hot tea pour into the cup in front of him—to pay closer attention to their safety. A promise to protect what is loved, and a promise to do whatever was needed to keep any prophetic dreams at bay.  

A promise... to think things through a little more instead of panic; he gave a miserable smile as the Farmer started to give a genuine laugh at his two different shoes now that they were a bit more awake to truly appreciate the ridiculousness of his outfit. The sound, however, brought him his much-needed peace.  

Surely, he’d see them in a much better dream this time. 

[kitsuga]

love is gross. {Sebastian x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Sebastian finds that love is... a “gross” change of pace. 

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Tags: fluff, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, sebastian x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, sebastian

Word Count: 1,666

A/N: Written on: February 9, 2023 

I think he’d be so conflicted learning to love and be loved because itd ruin his apathetic image come on now who does he think he is? Anyway, I love sebby if no one could tell 

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He was going to run a hole into the ground. 

The way Sebastian paced back and forth all day, there was no way there wasn’t a dip in the floor from where he had been. His feet were tired, but he couldn’t sit anywhere for very long. 

It wasn’t that he was bored or didn’t have anything to do. Really, he was thankful for the peace living on the farm had given him, it was a welcome day of rest. Or, should he say restless? He heaved a heavy sigh and got up from the couch to pace around the front room once again. 

The light of day had started fading, and the colours from the sky illuminated through the front windows. Even hues of gold couldn’t shine upon an answer for him; it was there, surely, painted in bright colours and shining lights, but he’d much rather turn his sights towards the unassuming darkness and question the shadows. The home had felt empty, and he had been perpetually cold; it didn’t take a genius to tell what was wrong—he had been restless because his spouse had left before he had woken up this morning and he hadn’t seen them all day—but he refused to admit this to himself. 

It was still a weird feeling, loving and being loved. Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of it, really. He didn’t want to admit that he wanted—needed—someone. To hold them close, to share in their warmth, to feel wanted and safe while making sure they felt the same—all odd feelings and gestures on his end, at least. It was always stiff when he first started out, in their early days of dating. He got comfortable as time went on, of course, but what of marriage? It made him start over from the beginning, afraid of his feelings and of the Farmer’s-- after all, he had much more to lose now than he did then. 

It was new, welcomed, but new. Teaching old dogs new tricks was difficult, but he’d certainly been trying—the Farmer knew that—or, so Sebastian hoped they did. He wasn’t the best at showing them how he felt, but he surely did love them; never did he think he could be so... lovey dovey, so touchy feely, so... clingy. He didn’t want to admit these things; they made him cringe when he thought about actually doing it in practice rather than just in spirit. The feeling of wanting to run his fingers through their hair at the end of the day, to bury his head in the crook of their neck as they did anything in front of him, wanting to hold their hand during every waking moment of the day or kiss every inch of their skin he could get his lips on—he paused a moment to shake the thoughts out of his head. He didn’t need to be all over them, he could handle being on his own, to handle himself without need to hold their hand or hold them against him... or massage their shoulders after a hard day... or to gently wipe the dirt from their face before leaning in-- 

Sebastian shook his head once again to dispel the thoughts. He gave another heavy sigh and turned towards the front window, noticing now how the golden light had faded into a soft purple, the hints of orange illuminate enough to cast a long shadow down the farm's pathway. He rushed to the front door, embarrassingly, he thought, and opened it to find his spouse reaching the bottom of the porch's steps. They looked up to him and gave a big, loving smile without so much as a hint of exhaustion in their eyes when they found their way to his. 

“Hi Sebby! Did ya have a nice day?” 

“Mmm.” He grunted, still standing in the doorway. 

“’Mmm’,” They mocked playfully. “Sounds exhilarating. I, however, am tired.” 

They stretched out their back a moment before moving onto their arms, paying extra attention to the stretching of their shoulders. Sebastian watched carefully as they put down their equipment next to the steps and sat at the edge of the porch to rest their aching muscles; he quickly closed the door behind him and shuffled to stand awkwardly nearby them without saying a word. Embarrassing. Cringe-worthy, he thought to himself. How pathetic, he couldn’t help but think. Of course they just want to be alone and rest for a moment, they had been working so hard while all he did was pace around waiting for them like some lost puppy. 

The obsidian haired boy’s thoughts stopped in their tracks when he noticed them lean back on their hands and bend a bit backwards to look up at him. He blinked a few times to put himself back together and cleared his throat before speaking. 

“Sorry, what did you say?” 

“I asked what you were up to, silly.”  

“Oh... uh... nothing.” 

“Nothing?”  

“Nothing. Just standing here.” 

“Oh, well... alright then.”  

They continued staring at him; it was almost as if they could see straight through him and into his soul—maybe they saw all the turmoil brewing in his heart and mind all day. He was pretty sure they were a mind reader as soon as they spoke again. Or, maybe, they just knew him really well. 

“Overthinking today?” 

A split second of surprise on his end caused the Farmer to smile again; that damn smile was so warm, so loving, Sebastian thought he might melt into a puddle right there on the spot. Third time’s the charm as he sighed again, his chest now feeling tight as the knots in his heart grew larger. He stood there but couldn’t get himself to stand still; he shifted his weight from one foot to the other every handful of seconds while he tried to change the subject. 

“How was your day? Besides being tired, I mean.” 

His love gave him a pout, unconvinced about his subject change. He was glad they entertained him, though. 

“It was good; crops are growing well but I’m a little scuffed from the mines today.” 

“I told you to be careful and gear up when you went in there,” he bit his tongue and knit his brows together when he realized how venomous his words came out when he only meant to show concern. 

“Haha,” they simply closed their eyes and gave a toothy grin, “I know, I know.” 

Sebastian was lucky, he thought, that he had them. They could tell what his words mean, or lack thereof. In fact, he was just lucky in general that they had stayed with him regardless of how cold he was—he knew that. He was lucky he had everything—them, this house, the view. 

His eyes flicked between the setting sun on the horizon and the person sitting in front of him. The air was starting to chill just slightly, and the silence around them echoed but held no malice. He watched the gentle rise and fall of their shoulders from their levelled breathing, and how fixed their eyes were on the oncoming night. He wanted them, he thought, he wanted to simply bask in the warmth of their proximity and surely that would be enough love for him to live on for the rest of his days.  

Awkwardly and with an embarrassingly loud thud, Sebastian plopped down to sit on the step beside them. The silence remained, he thought he’d have to cut the tension with a knife; when he looked at their face, however... the exhaustion in the way the corners of their smile still soldier on and stand tall, the light of day slowly fading from the colour of their eyes, and the amount of love and appreciation for the life they get to live illuminating every curve of their features—everything was so breathtakingly beautiful. There was no tension, he had to realize and remind himself, there was only love poured into him day after day by the person who owned his entire world and held his very heart in their hands. How could he ever fret over feeling this way?  

There was no need for stiffness, he thought. No need for worry or for keeping up appearances. No need to burden himself and the Farmer with the shadows in his heart—not when they were there to hold the lantern with a smile so large they couldn’t keep their eyes open. He shifted and scooted over closer to them, almost hip to hip, before leaning his head against their shoulder. His heart raced and played a thrilling melody in his ears until the quiet laughter from under their breath played a new tune; they placed their head against his as well and interlaced their fingers with his, the warmth of their hand warming up his entire body as if the sun from their heart made its way through his veins. 

Or maybe it was the heat from blushing that spread across his body. Sebastian wasn’t so sure anymore, but he didn’t think about it too hard—or rather, he couldn’t think about it at all. The Farmer softly, as though he were going to break, ran their thumb over his—slowly, gently, a small action packed full of emotion and care that dispelled any and all shadows that clouded his mind.  

The night came out, but neither him nor his love made any movement to go inside. With all eyes closed, they simply existed with one another, warming the other up and creating their own space in the world. He got to place his heart in their hands at the end of each night and replace the hole in his chest with their own heartbeat. Sebastian felt happy—loved; he felt like he truly mattered in the world and that someone cared to have him in it.  

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he thought, to be so grossly lovey dovey.  

[kitsuga]

void of shadows, void of sun. {Shane x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Shane finds solace in the sun. 

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Tags: angst with happy ending, aka hurt/comfort, tw: suicidal ideation, tw: suicidal thoughts, happy ending though truly i promise!!, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, shane x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, shane

Word Count: 2,598

A/N: Written on: November 18, 2022 

My sister begged for this fic not remembering im a hoe for character analysis and angst yet she continues to give me fic ideas :sparkles: 

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Shane wasn’t sure what he expected in life. 

It wasn’t much, he might add—the bar was very low—but he didn’t know what to expect from it. 

He had lost his friends; he wasn’t very good at anything—had no ambitions and stuck in the hell of a mundane, retail, 9 to 5. He simply kept his head low and fell victim to the allure and enticement of just how good his vices felt before even they too decided he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t sure what he expected in life beyond this repeating of days simply because he never saw beyond them—he never assumed there was a tomorrow until his eyes opened the next day. 

He wasn’t stupid, however. He knew what other people had to say about him, and he knew it was of no use to try to change their minds. They’d be passive or rude, and he’d respond in kind—very rarely was he surprised by kind words, and they’d replay in his head for days until he tried to reset with another beer. His mind constantly ran with thoughts, hopes, dreams, prayers. He’d wish for his shift to be over, he’d think about an ice-cold beer at the saloon, he’d hope for Jas to be happy, he’d dream of a better life, and he’d pray he wouldn’t wake to the rising sun.  

Deprecating thoughts and suicidal ideations occupied most of his brain. Never being good enough, never knowing what to do with himself, never wanting to see the next day and relive the pain over again. The shadows no longer crept in the corners, they constantly surrounded every inch of him and suffocated him until his lungs would burn and the one solace he could receive was another glass. 

It had been a lot darker, lately. His mind could never stop running, and the chaser was more bitter than the shot. There had been no sunlight, no silence, in so long. He figured this was it, finally, the whispers were getting far too loud; he was going crazy—finally—he was reaching his end. What else was there to do in the dark than to simply dive in? To lay down and fall asleep? He was ready. 

A small, blinking light kept grabbing his attention, however. Piercing the dark, there was a faint light in the distance that blinked almost every day, burning just a bit brighter every so often. The whispers that turned to screams in his ears would die down, growing timid and quiet whenever the small light would appear. The light started to get closer and closer until it started to get brighter, and it was blinding him—annoying him. He tried to drown it out, create his own darkness, trying to find some sleep. 

The light wouldn’t let him. Like the sun, burning bright and wrapping him up in a blanket of warmth, the light shooed away the shadows and shushed the whispers. The light had become his new day, and Shane opened his eyes to find the new Farmer in front of him, wearing a frown and worry written all over their face. 

“Why should I even go on?” Shane managed to get out. “Tell me... T..tell me why I shouldn’t roll off this cliff right now...” 

Shane couldn’t hear their reply, but he could feel words of his own spill out onto the ground next to him. What was that annoying, bright light again? Everything kept fading into such a fuzzy darkness that he couldn’t keep track. What was he here for again? What had he been doing? What was that annoying, bright light that was keeping him awake? 

He remembered now-- to save his eyes, he’d bring a pair of sunglasses with him if he heard even the slightest hint of the sun coming near him. Protected from the light, he could brush them off with cold words that stung against the heat that would take over his chest when they spoke. The shade was his favourite hiding spot when the sun smiled just a bit too brightly at him—why did he still wish to be around it? If it blinded him so badly, if it warmed him far too much, why was he so desperate for the sun—for the Farmer—to be in his life? He’d mull over his words before spitting venom back out to them. Whatever warmth filled his body as they smiled at him, brought him gifts, are even tried to get to know him, would quickly dissipate on its own; their love wasn’t meant for him, nor was anyone’s worth wasting on a man like him in a world he didn’t belong to. Time went on, he tried telling himself, but these feelings refused to move along with it. He would drink to forget where he even was and let the shadows do all the talking—however, tonight, the shadows didn’t want a word with the Farmer, but with the look on the sun’s face, he certainly did. 

He wanted to speak; Shane just couldn’t find the words, nor could he find the capability. His mind was a blur; everything was—his vision, his thoughts, the words he tried to say. The world was spinning, sinking, flying, all at once; the world was ending. Life was slowly slipping away; the shadows were taking his place. He always thought his body would simply fall limp, feeling nothing at all as they took over in his stead—but it did not feel like that; nobody warned him that he’d be afraid. He thought he was ready, so why was there the pit of fear in his stomach? Why was he trying so hard to open his mouth and speak? To ask them to save him? This is the end that he deserved, so why did he want to survive right here, right now, so desperately? 

Maybe it was the fear of looking like a fool in front of the Farmer. Maybe it was the fear of pity in their eyes if he could manage to open his own and look at them. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see the sun for just one more day. Panic started to set in. 

Regret clawed at his throat as he tried to say something, anything, to the Farmer—to ask for help, to ask the sun for forgiveness. His body felt so far away from him, he didn’t know how to control it. The strings attached to his puppet were loose, and he was a terrible puppeteer. The voices in his ears grew so loud, berating him, laughing at him, reminding him that he couldn’t even die correctly as his hoarse voice started to whisper the Farmer’s name.  

“I’m sorry,” he tried desperately to say. 

“Are you sorry?” A heavy voice drowned him out. “Are you truly sorry?”  

The shadows started ripping at his skin, their bites, their words, their claws all burning with such intensity he couldn’t bear. He tried to cry out once again, to no avail. He saw the soft light in front of him once again, the Farmer’s voice very subtly, softly, breaking through and calling out his name; he reached for them. His hand was shaking, his arm was almost too weak to hold itself up. He hoped he was reaching; he didn’t know, he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t know he felt so cold until the sun itself placed its gentle touch on his skin. 

The rays of the sun seemed to caress him, cradle him, and shoo the shadows away. The loud voices screamed, hissed, and were drowned out by the sun’s soothing voice. The Farmer felt so warm—it was all he could think of anymore. His body had given up, gone limp. Though the sun was beside him, he could see the corners of his vision start to turn black; his eyes started to close, he couldn’t fight the sleep that was taking hold of him any longer. Unfairly, he knew, he put his life in the Farmer’s hands and asked them to take him to the hospital. The world around him shut down.  

He awoke almost a whole day later, in a bed at the clinic. His vision was blurry, his mouth was dry, and his body was still limp; he looked around the room to find anything that could help him recall what had happened. Shane’s head hurt more than it ever had before; every movement of his eyes seemed to bang loud drums inside his head.  

His body was cleared out to remove the alcohol—could’ve been poisoning, Harvey said—but Shane still felt like there was venom coursing through his veins. No part of him felt clean, nor did it feel right; just as the alcohol ate away at his physical, the guilt had now started to take turns biting into his emotional being. He listened closely as Harvey spoke to him, carefully, about the course of the night. 

“There’s help for you out there,” the doctor told him. “There’s someone I recommend that you go see.” 

Go see? Did Shane have the capability to see anymore? His vision had become so blurred since he last encountered the sun, yet he felt deep in his bones that he ached for the warmth to blind him once again.  

Void of shadows, void of sun. Void of cold, void of warmth. Void of himself, void of the Farmer. Shane mulled over Harvey’s words as he left the clinic, taking each word of the pamphlet in his hand to his heart. The sun had so graciously saved him from himself, but would they want to even bother listening to a poor worshipper’s words? Could a poor worshipper like him have anything to offer to a celestial being such as them? It was time to grow up, he knew, it was time to move on. It was time to take life a step at a time, jumping from lightened path to lightened path to avoid the shadows that clawed at his ankles—it was time to finally seek help and make a place for himself in this world; somewhere small, somewhere insignificant to others, but somewhere just for him—that's where he’d go.  

Before realizing it, he found himself on the unfamiliar doorstep of the very Farmer he had been avoiding since their arrival. The door in front of him swung open before his knuckles could even touch the wood. He froze—though he was so warm—greeted by a bewildered Farmer and comforted by the smile of the sun. Words, he thought to himself, use words, make sentences, sing your praises and chant your worships. 

“Uh... hey,” he started off weak. “Um...” 

Shane scratched at the back of his neck, afraid to meet eyes with the Farmer; he cleared his throat and tried again—this was something that needed to be said without shadows, shade, or sunglasses. 

“Oh man... Uh... How do I say this?” He swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs. That was... embarrassing...” 

The Farmer smiled at him, tilting their head ever so slightly—Shane felt as though it was deliberate to shoot another arrow through his heart—as they gave him their well wishes.  

“I’m just happy you’re still here.” 

There it was, the world shattering. Shane gripped his heart through his jacket, trying to calm his nerves and bring the heat down from his face. Awkwardly, to keep his courage up, he spoke again. 

“Wow, it was, uh,” he cleared his throat again, this time trying to keep himself from stuttering, “it was that serious, huh? I can hardly remember...” 

The Farmer nodded; their smile now changed to a gentle frown. Concern riddled their features and Shane realized it wasn’t a look he enjoyed bringing to their face; he’d much rather be the cause of that beautiful, sun ray smile.  

“It was... not pleasant, Shane. I’m... very worried about you.” Their tone was serious, with no hint of pity nor did their eyes look down the bridge of their nose at him. “I think for your own sake, you should seek some sort of help.” 

They waved a hand in front of them, nervously smiling once again before they spoke quickly, afraid of offending him. Little did they know, the sun had warmed him from the very core. 

“Sorry if that was rude! Not that I wouldn’t be willing to help you out, too! Just, you know, someone professional would... be... better...” they ended with an awkward giggle. 

It was Shane’s turn to be awkward, quickly throwing his arm out to hold out the crumpled-up pamphlet in his hand that he had gripped along with his jacket earlier. 

“Oh, yeah! Harvey gave me this, said he had someone in the city I should go see...” 

He noticed the Farmer look at the crumpled piece of paper and gave a small, awkward laugh under his breath as he tried to straighten it out again. 

The Farmer laughed. It was with him, Shane could see, rather than at him—how long had it been with him? How long had it been since he was so tainted by his own shadows, running from his own self-hatred, that he started to see the world laugh at him instead of with him? Had people been laughing with him at times instead of at him, and he was just unable to see? Maybe this counselor really could help him see. 

They had asked him if he planned to go see this counselor—if he was ready to live. He was so unprepared—what would he answer? What was he ready to live for? The correct answer would be himself, but it wasn’t the case, and he was aware of it. All he could think about was how beautiful they were, how lovely the light they radiated made them look. They stared expectantly at him, though his heart had betrayed him as his mouth opened to answer. 

“I... sorry, I don’t know why my mind goes blank whenever I look... at... you...” He trailed off, ready to smack himself in the back of the head for being so dumb. “I think I might be going crazy. Maybe I should go see this counselor.” 

Another soft, lively laugh from the sun. He felt much warmer than he did before; the heat in his cheeks was almost too much to bear, let alone the flames dancing across his chest. 

They teased him, saying that maybe he should bring them his diagnosis so they could prescribe him something to help; he mumbled for them to shut up as he turned away, completely embarrassed. 

Shane had gotten used to the sun—everything seemed to be crystal clear, and nothing was blinding him once he smiled back at the Farmer—genuinely, this time. He was ready to admit that he had always been fond of the sun, though his shadows made him believe the dark was his only place in the world; now, however, he knew that he could have a place in their life should he take the reins of his own. He thanked the Farmer again and left that day ready to see the rising sun on a new morning, as a new Shane. 

With time, maybe, just maybe, Icarus could have a happy ending if he worked out a way to protect his wings; and with that, Shane would have to find the answer himself as the sun patiently, kindly, waited for him on the wooden steps of that old farmhouse. 

[kitsuga]

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