Two Posts Today Woaaaaw Learning How I Wanna Draw Stardew Valley Villagers

Two posts today woaaaaw… learning how I wanna draw stardew valley villagers

SOLUTION TO BEING MUCH TO SCARED TO TALK TO MUTUALS:

FUgkin..... hit em with ur paws......

i am a boop slut. a slut for boops. i see a boop button? i boop. and then i boop again.

ARE THEY WHO I THINK THEY ARE??

Stanley doesnt know his lefts and rights this is canon im the second crow

Hes probably gonna learn after 10 years of doing the same thing (hopefully)

Bonus comic

𝗛𝗮𝗹𝗳-𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗳𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.

Sequel for "Fireworks".

Fandom: Obey Me!

Paring: Diavolo X GN!Reader

Type: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Word Count: Around 2k.

Summary: Another party at the Devildom. Everyone blurs together as you forget yourself.

Your saviour of the night is Mammon, who's loved you since the start. But you love someone else, and that brings more pain than the lack of belonging you felt at the party.

Author's note: Enjoy reading! Positive interactions appreciated :)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54960238

TW: A bit of panic and alcohol.

Image belongs to NTT Solmare.

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 1: Why are you crying?

“Why’re you cryin’? Did your boyfriend break up with ya’ or something?”

A full face of makeup becomes a work of picasso and you can feel the black of your mascara melt into your burning skin. Hot, flushed - you can’t tell whether it’s the embarrassment or the tears; everything’s blurry and burning. 

Your eyes sting, your ankles ache; your heels give way to the ballroom floor. A failed dance with your own enemy-made thoughts. You thought you trusted yourself to be able to make it through the night, no panicking, no stress - just dance and the buffet. Anxiety forces you to the verge of regurgitating the night’s pickings of hellfire cigar cookies (Diavolo’s choice) and chaos devil cider, causing even more embarrassment. 

Demons watch, stare, gossip, whilst Mammon hoists you up from the ground, making you feel uneasy again, while he pockets the D.D.D that was grasped tightly in your hand. He slinks off your shoes and hauls them over his free shoulder.

Humiliating. Spilt cider. Red burning face. Humiliating. 

You haven’t got many friends, aside from the brothers, in the Devildom, and after tonight you certainly aren’t expecting more. Your dizzying mind cradles you like a mother does to a sick child, as all of your weight drops onto Mammon's shoulder. 

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 2: Why you were crying.

Parties hurt. Dresses cinched to your waist, possibly even further; heels pulling you down by the ankle, like the devil’s hand to a sinner; a whole face made up of products, a face that is not your own. A whole identity that is not your own. 

People looking at you, like you are somebody else. Someone to gawk at, someone possibly even to brush against. To seduce. It’s disgusting. 

Parties hurt. You haven’t been to one in years. In fact, the last time you’d been to a party was your own and it was a birthday celebration, the only type of party where you can actually be yourself, no makeup - your skin too young - no heels, no ball gown.  

You don’t hate the dress you are in, how could you? It’s beautiful. Shining, even. You could spot it in the Devildom sky and be convinced it was a star; perhaps even the moon. It was chosen by the prince, to make you feel like a princess. 

Lord Diavolo loves you, you’ve been told, and do you love him too? Of course. He’s gifted you many more stars, including the ones born in your eyes - you admire him for his hospitality upon your arrival, his dedication to his role as king-to-be, his generosity and the whole beautiful new world he’s introduced you to. You’ve loved him ever since you first arrived, but the reciprocation came later. Yet, neither of you have confronted these obvious feelings. 

But the dress is not yours. 

It doesn't belong to you. It clings to you like dead weight - a reminder you are not of this realm and that you don’t belong. Nothing here belongs to you, not even the room you reside in, temporarily titled as yours. You don’t seek control, but you seek comfort and familiarity. 

All of the faces at the party blur together. No familiar faces - you don’t know anyone, not even yourself. 

Stage one. The crowd. You feel people caving in on you, watchful eyes piercing red skin. 

Stage two. The tear that starts it all. Your brain betrays you; you are brought to think of the familiar faces that can be found back home, a place half-forgotten after almost a year of staying in the Devildom. 

Stage three. The panic. Will you ever see those familiar faces again? Will you ever know yourself and the dress, or even the suit, that will properly fit you? The identity that properly fits you is slipping away as you fall. 

A flash of a memory of the first night you stayed in the Devildom. Diavolo came to comfort you. 

And the memory is gone. 

Stage four. The fall.

You don’t know how it happened. You’re not even sure if devil cider has an effect on humans, much like how Demonus does not make you drunk. 

No-one to catch you.

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 3: How you stopped crying.

Everything still hurts. Despite lying down, in what appears to be Mammon's bed. 

He loves you too, and you know this, which makes this even more painful. Why couldn’t it have been anyone else to find you? You were in the centre of the ballroom, it could have been anyone.

You’d much prefer Asmodeus, or Beelzebub, even Lucifer. But Mammon? The way his eyes soften only with you, the gentle, quiet tremble of concern in his voice. The panic in his eyes when he saw you drop to the floor keeps replaying in your mind. He can’t handle it as well as the other brothers, and that’s perhaps because he was your ‘first’ - the first one to look after you, and the first one to fall for you.

Perhaps it’s a bit vain to assume all of the brothers had fallen for you, but they certainly act like it. But for Mammon, you know it’s true. No one had cared for you like this, before you noticed and were told about Lord Diavolo’s feelings. 

“So? You have…well had , I’m assumin’, a boyfriend, and didn’t tell me? I couldn’t do a background check or anythin’ to make sure he was the real deal? This is why you’re cryin’, ain’t it. He broke your heart.”

Where did the idea even come from that you had a partner? 

“That’s why you broke into tears while lookin’ at your D.D.D. You were obviously lookin’ at a break-up message, right? Those hurt the most, from what I know.”

His voice is soft, yet bitter.  

In reality, you were messaging Lord Diavolo, on the verge of begging him to let you out of the party early, to let you stay in his room. Or even to ask Barbatos to get you out for fresh air. Anything but the ballroom with the strangers. The unfamiliar faces. 

“No. I don’t have a boyfriend. I wasn’t broken up with.”

You’re offended. Not because he made an assumption to hide his jealousy, but because you thought he knew you well enough to know you didn’t like parties. This has happened before - you crying during or after an event that RAD hosted. He never once asked what was wrong, only comforted you and avoided the dreaded resolution. He cares about you, but he cares too much and doesn’t want to bring your emotions back for a difficult conversation. 

Diavolo, on the other hand, loves you too much as well, but is the opposite to Mammon, only focusing on solving the problem. 

You’ve fallen for Diavolo - not for how he treats you when you're unwell. It just seems rather like fate instead. 

“Then why in the Devildom did you just…break down on me? …come ‘ere.”

His hugs are the worst. A gentle reminder. He runs his hands up and down your back and his warm cider infused breath tickles your ear as he whispers “you’re okay” over and over. It’s the only thing he can say. 

And it makes you feel okay but at the same time you wish it were Diavolo. 

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 4: Spilt drinks and tears. 

Mammon’s perspective

“Can you get me Diavolo please. I need him.” 

You need someone else? When you’re in my arms? 

You need someone else when I’ve been here the entire time? I’ve been in love with you the entire time . 

That’s what I want to say, but it doesn’t come out. It never does. 

“Yeah, yeah. Yeah. Sure. ‘Course. I’ll get ‘im.”

My cowardice feet lead me to Lord Diavolo, back in the ballroom. He’s so immature for leaving them alone with only me - because apparently I’m not enough. 

“Lord Diavolo, we’ve got a problem.” 

“Oh? A problem? What is it?”

“It’s R/N.”

His face runs cold and he looks at me in a way that tells me he would kill for them - would do anything for them. The look I can never express. 

“Where are they?”

Calling over Barbatos, the Demonus in his glass slightly splatters as he rushes to put it on the platter. 

“Young Master, is there a problem?”

“R/N.”

“Diavolo, they’re in my room. They’re fine at the moment. They just want ya’.”

And not me. But whatever. Whatever makes them happy. 

Their happiness is my half fulfilled satisfaction. 

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 5: Happy tears

“Dia…”

“Shh, R/N… I’m here.”

You start to sob, but it’s no longer the party. It’s Diavolo. You missed him in the hour you were apart while he socialised with the guests. You missed him so much that you were gripping at the starry dress that you wished only he could see. 

“Dia…”

“Hm?”

“I just…"

He waits patiently. Your head burns - you have to say it. Perhaps you are a bit drunk on the cider, because you would have never done this just drunk on tears alone. 

“I just love you so much... It hurts.”

“What? Loving me?”

“No. Sometimes. Right now, it's my head.” 

“That’s because you’ve been crying… What caused all of this? I’ll address what you just said later on, but right now, what’s going on right now is more important. Tell me what happened and I’ll fix it.” 

“I’m tired.”

“Is that all?”

“I don’t like parties.”

“Anything else?”

“I think-"

You stop yourself. If you tell him about Mammon, he’d think there was competition. You’re too tired to explain. 

“I’m tired.”

“Alright. We can talk later.”

You do still want to hear if he loves you back, even though you’ve been told by many. Even though it’s as obvious as the Devildom sky is dark. 

“Diavolo, do you love me too?”

“...I want the time I tell you to be special, and that moment is not now. Please recover first. Do you want to stay in my room, instead of here?”

“Yes. Please.”

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 6: Fireworks.

As he allows you on his bed, he asks you something.

“Do you want to see the fireworks?”

“Hm?”

“There’s fireworks tonight… I know you love them.” 

“I love fireworks, Diavolo.” 

You’re so exhausted you find yourself repeating things. Things you love.

“I know.” He laughs and smiles back at you, after having drawn his curtain. His room has a view of the front of the castle.

And there it was, the first firework. 

“Thank you, Diavolo.”

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Please.”

“Of course.”

He sits beside you as you lay, your head facing the window that’s  lighting up with all sorts of colours. 

You can see your world in front of you. And for the first time, you can feel a sense of belonging to this unfamiliar world that he’s introduced you to. 

For once, you feel familiar.