#TY FOR THE ASK BEVV

[aberfaeth]

SOOOO curious about everything has breath inside: the sweet pea summer sequel

post with all my wips on it yippee

tldr

ok but for real does anyone remember the first chapter….when will this bitch update

but ive been playing stardew again (as anyone who’s friends with me on steam can confirm) and Thinking About Her (alecto the wizard and her junimo barbies). it’s funny bc i really did have all four seasons planned out to the scene and then the second i got the first one out my momentum crashed and exploded like a tesla cybertruck on black ice #lol anyways TAKE A SUMMER SNIPPET

With the dawn of new weather comes new seasonal foliage. Harrow finds magenta blossoms sprouting from patches of grass, ruffled butterfly blooms that smell like orange honey when she presses her face to the soft petals. Sweet peas, the almanac she’s borrowed from the library informs her. Following the guidance of those yellowed pages, Harrow plucks glossy, blood-red berries from thick bushes by the bus stop, and round purple grapes from vines that coil around the western forest trees. The grapes split under her teeth in a burst of sugar water, and just a nibble of the spice berry has her soft palate sparkling with invisible flame. Regardless of her personal feelings, the Junimos are delighted by every bushel of forage she brings, showering her with new mystery seeds that, if pattern follows, will allow her to grow even more of the stuff.

Augustine’s general store has a new stock, too. On the first day of his advertised ‘Summer Seed Sale,’ Harrow gathers seed packets for melons, blueberries, cabbage, peppers, tomatoes, and hops, which Augustine suggests flower very regularly, and grow best on a trellis. She’s admittedly unfamiliar with the construction of such a thing, but the instructions for it are scrawled in the earlier pages of her notebook, having been copied down directly after the diagrams of scarecrows. “Once you’ve got a good collection of the strobiles,” Augustine had said, while ringing her up, “you can start fermenting them—I’m sure Pyrrha can help you out with making some kegs,” to which Mercymorn had appeared as though magically summoned, and sneered that “if the farmer’s going to be fermenting anything, it won’t be that disgusting pale swill,” to which they had devolved into a bickering that Harrow had not cared to listen to, or attempt to decipher.

On her way back to the farmhouse, Mayor Gaius catches her attention. He’s standing by the fountain northwest of the town square, but he makes his way down to her. “Harrow,” he says, pleasantly—his face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his blue shirt dark near the undersides of his arms, and it comforts Harrow somewhat that even he seems affected by the wave of heat rolling through the Valley. “I was just heading home. Care to stop by for some tea?” Harrow must make some sort of affronted face, because he adds, “Iced, of course. I’m not that much of a masochist.”

That is—too much information entirely, and so Harrow gives him a quick nod, in a bid to avoid any more similar anecdotes.