Chapter Text
A summer breeze, a lock of gold, a pair of hands to gently hold
A summer breeze, a lock of gold, a pair of hands to gently hold
A summer breeze, a lock of gold, a pair of breasts—
Posy groaned. “Shut up,” she told herself out loud, shaking off the thoughts which had been haunting her for weeks now, which arose whenever she let her mind’s guard down for any amount of time.
She had a tendency to create stupid little rhymes as she worked, courtesy of the music minor she’d never put to use. Whenever a moment of monotony arose in her farm work, especially one with a rhythm, her bored mind generated phrases she’d repeat like mantras. It held the same degree of annoyance as having a generic radio song in one’s head. Only a little bit worse now, because it served as a constant reminder of just how whipped Posy was. And irresolvably so, for these feelings could never be reciprocated by the one who conjured them.
Posy’s face went hot. If it could get any redder than her perpetual sunburns had already made it, it would have. She took a break from picking tomatoes and slumped onto the dirt. She felt a tickle on her arm, which brought her attention to a particularly fat ant crawling along it.
“I hope your friends aren’t in my hair right now, little buddy.” Posy sighed. Was it possible to hit two rock bottoms?
Give me wisdom, ant so plump; guide this awful, wretched slump.
Give me wisdom, ant so plump; guide this awful, wretched slump.
The ant did no such thing, because it was an ant. It instead crawled up her sleeve and she lost track of it.
“Fuck me.”
Lying in the dirt talking to an ant provided a feeling of despair second only to that one time JojaCo removed dental coverage from Posy’s employee benefits.
Truthfully, Posy was completely, utterly, miserably enamoured with her dear friend, Haley. Posy, who worked in dirt all day, whose hands were calloused and whose lips were chapped, who wore frumpy overalls and a very frayed straw hat every day. Posy, who had no chance with the beauty queen who could run for Miss Ferngill and have an honest shot at winning. Everything about Haley was soft, and frilly, and probably coconut-flavoured. How could Haley ever feel the same?
She went back to picking tomatoes for the rest of the afternoon, trying like hell not to let her mind wander where it shouldn’t. Failing, yes, but let us not minimize her efforts.
It was late afternoon once her farm work was complete for the day, the sun still bright but beginning now to dip toward the west. Like most days, Posy’s body was sore and worn. She hung her hat and kicked off her dusty leather boots, and made a beeline toward the bathroom. While Posy wanted to soak in the bath, she preferred not to marinate in dirt and sweat, so a shower would do. She twisted the faucet and waited for the water to warm up.
Posy first removed her socks. Her feet felt refreshed against the cool, outdated tile of the bathroom. Usually the only part of her she wasn’t insecure about, today some dirt had gotten into her boots and stuck to the sweaty crevices of her toes. She sighed, feeling like a disgusting, sweaty mess. She felt out of her mind to dream she could ever come home to Haley like this.
Her overalls came next. She unhooked them and pulled them off, throwing them wherever they chose to land outside the bathroom. Her sweaty, ratty shirt followed, and no bra, because it was summer, and she was in overalls all day, and her breasts didn’t really need the support anyway.
Posy was left in her panties, looking back at herself in the mirror. She’d never been particularly tiny, nor particularly large, just in a soft, barely fluctuating middle which never really changed with dieting or binging. The farm work had certainly given her more muscle, especially in her arms and legs, but she still had a soft pouch of tummy, and thighs that jiggled when poked.
The softness wasn’t the problem, nor were the muscles; it wasn’t weight Posy was insecure about. She firmly believed tummies were cute, and muscles were hot, and thicker thighs just meant she’d have more to hold on to when she was between a woman’s legs… not that she’d ever been between a woman’s legs before.
In Posy’s eyes, Haley was the height of femininity, the absolute epitome, the goddess of feminine beauty herself. She’d know: Haley seemed to have no problem undressing in front of her. Posy gazed back at herself in the mirror, at her breasts which hadn’t made even an attempt at growing since she was fourteen, at her short legs, at that stupid farmer’s tan she couldn’t avoid with sunscreen. She looked at herself and could see some beauty, sure: little wildflowers of beauty sprouting within a weedy garden of inadequacy.
Posy stepped into the tub and let the water run over her freckled face. It burned her cheeks a little, and her forearms, which the summer sun had assaulted despite the sunscreen she applied in the mornings. She stood there, static, just letting herself be comforted by the water’s warmth. The old faucet began to drip as it always did, and she listened to its rhythm.
One, two, three, four,
One, two, three, four,
Ha-ley, Ha-ley.
It was embarrassing how much she thought of her. It was a year now Posy had been living in the valley, and these thoughts hadn’t ever arisen before a few weeks ago. When Posy arrived, they became friends— just friends, truly. Just friends through Haley’s initial stand-offishness, of course; just friends through Posy’s first flower dance, in which she partnered with the flower queen herself; still just friends all summer, with Haley traipsing around in bikinis all day. Posy hadn’t thought of her as even the hint of anything more, until the flower dance this year, when her bra strap had slipped down her shoulder and Haley had adjusted it before proposing they partner up again.
That was it. That was all it took. It was like a switch had flipped in Posy, like a key had turned which Haley swallowed and couldn’t un-turn. The way she’d lean in just slightly too close to share gossip, the little adjustments she’d make to smooth Posy’s clothes and hair, the straddling her to apply the latest product she recommended, they weren’t just friendly motions anymore; it was all very… frustrating.
Posy had finished scrubbing her body by now, with this rose-scented soap she’d stocked up on at the Stardew Valley Fair last autumn. Haley had helped her choose it, of course. Even showering, she was bombarded by thoughts of her, thoughts she couldn’t express but hated keeping to herself.
She ran the washcloth across her skin again… just along her arms at first, before closing her eyes. The cloth, rough and warm and sopping, moved to brush over her collarbones, to trace her neck, to caress the tops of her breasts. By the time she brought it downward over her stomach, the washcloth was abandoned, plopping to the floor of the tub with a pitiful squelch.
Her hand did not cease wandering; it roamed the tops of her thighs, her breath coming shallower in anticipation. A terrible, magnificent ache built at Posy’s centre, an ache for her, so urgent she could cry. So with hands that gave their own sweetness to nurture the seasons’ harvest, so with their gentleness she parted her lips and set to quieting the ache.
Posy’s fingers stopped their search when they reached the little hill between her lips. With her index finger, she began teasing herself this way and that, searching for a sensation that would relieve that building ache. Clockwise she tried, and then counterclockwise; up and down, and side to side; she pressed delicately and she massaged herself, and the ache only bubbled stronger without spilling over to quench her fire.
Steam rose and made breathing come harder. The hot shower water began to cool as the shitty hot water tank ran out. It splashed off her skin and left droplets on her face, and Posy did not heed it.
All thoughts surrendered to the overwhelming sensation between Posy’s legs. A soft sigh escaped from Posy, like she was in pain. She may well have been. Unable to endure it any longer, she dipped a finger into her centre, now glistening with arousal. Just one. Perhaps it was noncommittal in a way, like she could rest easy knowing she didn’t actually give it her all touching herself to thoughts of her best friend.
Posy’s rough, calloused finger entered herself and the pain of it snapped her promptly back to reality— a reality where she was rough and awkward and had zero chance with the woman she loved.
It was never going to happen; how could it? It hurt, and not just because she scratched herself with her finger (though that hurt, too). Suddenly the room was too steamy and the water was too cold and the ache had faded. Posy rinsed off her arousal and tried not to dwell on the shame after she dried off.
An hour passed since the unfortunate incident. She sat on the couch in a ratty T-shirt and worked on a frozen pizza as she flipped through Better Farms and Ranches magazine: pictures from her very own Maywood Farm had made this month’s issue. It was just a regular evening for Posy; it was as if nothing humiliating had happened at all. She’d excused her desperation with the fact that it had been a hard day of work and she had been hungry. Everybody knows you aren’t yourself when you’re hungry…
As she leafed through the pages, looking at photos of her own orchard and reading the gardening tips she’d sent in herself, the phone rang. Posy heavily considered ignoring it, but ultimately, after five rings, she picked up.
“Maywood Farm, this is Posy speaking—”
“Hey bitch,” a familiar, pretty, slightly disinterested voice answered back. Haley.
“Oh,” Posy replied. “Hey.”
“You could sound happier to hear from me, you know. What am I, like, the worst lay on your roster?”
“…What?”
Haley groaned. “…Like, the guy you don’t wanna hear from unless you’re desperate or drunk? I mean you took, like, an hour to pick up.”
She was right, in a way. That is, Posy wasn’t exactly enthused to hear from her right now. “Funny. What’s up?”
The line was silent for a few seconds before Haley answered. When she did, it came out as a pout. “I’m bored. Come over, I’ll do your nails.”
Haley’s tone made Posy smile. She could picture her lying on her front, kicking her feet while she twirled the telephone cord. If Posy declined, Haley would just beg until she gave in. No matter the method of acceptance, however, she knew when she eventually showed up at Haley’s door, Haley would pretend like Posy had just turned up by chance and it wasn’t any sort of big deal to her. Posy would humour her, pretend she didn’t notice, for instance, all the makeup Haley intended to use on her already laid out, or a batch of muffins that happened to be freshly baked upon her arrival.
It was just Haley’s specialty, she supposed, caring for her friends, making them feel beautiful and girly. Posy certainly felt it.
Still, tonight was not the night. Haley might beg, but even that might not convince her.
“I’m sorry, Haley. I’m not feeling it tonight,” Posy confessed. “Maybe some other time.”
The line was unusually silent. Normally, such a reply would be met with argument.
“Hale?”
Haley let out another groan. “Whatever, fine. You’re no fun.” She hung up.
Posy felt a little bad, but carried on. She was flipping through magazine pages again, just having gotten to her own blurb about Maywood Farm when the phone rang again.
“Maywood Farm, this is—”
“If you don’t come over, I will. Thanks to you, I like dirt now, so that won’t stop me. But it’ll be really annoying to bring all my stuff over. You wouldn’t want to inconvenience me like that, would you?”
Posy scoffed. “You’re terrible. I said not tonight.”
“You’re such a bummer,” she complained. “Won’t pretty nails cheer you up?”
“I don’t need cheering up.”
“Clearly,” Haley argued. “Won’t seeing me cheer you up?”
Silence hit the line again, but on Posy’s end this time.
Haley giggled. “I’ll see you soon,” she sang.
Posy hung up. “Suppose you will,” she said quietly, to an empty room, before getting up and pulling her boots on.
Suppose she would.