"I've got a bad disease.

Up from my brain is where I bleed.

Insanity, it seems,

Has got me by my soul to squeeze."

Red Hot Chili Peppers

Thursday, April 4th, Year 1

It isn't until the 4th of April, only a few days past the day of her arrival, for Dani Wright to awaken to the sound of heavy rain against an aging roof, and finally admit the obvious to herself.

"I have made a huge mistake."

But it wasn't a single mistake. No, it was more like a train of errors, all one after the other, eventually reaching this unfortunate conclusion. Nobody makes the decision to become a struggling entrepreneur in a dying town; not at once, at least. But that doesn't really matter now. Because here she is, in her grandfather's old farmhouse by herself, feeling as though she has finally outdone herself in the competition of stupidest choices ever made. Maybe it is her magnum opus of terrible ideas, but it is keeping with her track record. She cannot pretend to be surprised by her poor judgment at this point.

Today's gonna be a bad day. It has been decided, without her input and with grudging compliance.

She pulls herself shakily from her bedside, hearing the beating of raindrops above her. She gives herself a moment to feel a little thankful. She wouldn't need to water anything today, or perhaps even the day after that. The static descends upon her, clouding her head and darkening the edges around her eyes, and she thinks of pouring rain, of crackling thunder, of anything except for the feeling of lightheadedness that begins to overtake her. She rests one hand against the wall, breathing deep. You're fine. You're fine. Three, two, one. You're fine.

Dani is fine.

She stares at the window, watching steady droplets of rain drip down the glass. She wonders if she should bother going anywhere today despite the date. She still felt perplexed on how to truly navigate through the small town and the vast valley surrounding it. The last three days, she got lost several times and ended up making it back home with only a few hours before sunrise. But at least it was kind of neat, seeing the sleepy village in the later hours, observing while not intruding. It did get kind of old the third time, though.

Four days in, three nights lost, marooned in a sea of foreign wilderness, with only herself to blame.

It's too late to back out now. And even if it wasn't, there is no way she could go back. This is the only way; it has to be, or else it has all been for naught. If she is going to succeed, she would need to work, work on everything, no matter what. Down to the bone and down to her soul. Fresh air and farming, forests and freedom. This has to work, and she needed to work, because this is the end of the line.

She may as well get started.

Dani walks forward, conscious of her unsteady steps. Her grandfather's farmhouse is modest; a small bedroom with a long unused fireplace, an even tinier bathroom that luckily lacked a mirror, and a rustic kitchen with ancient wooden cabinets. She peers at the supplies she bought from JojaMart, all arranged carefully in one of the shelves above her head. She's only bought nonperishables thus far. It's just safer that way. She takes one of the JojaBars from its package and carefully removes it from its crinkly blue wrapper. She manages to get through nearly half of it before giving up, wrapping it back up and returning it to its place. Some days are easier than others, but today she feels that familiar knot in her stomach, and that tightness in her chest that makes eating feel almost impossible. She considers bringing it with her for later, but she decides it wasn't worth getting soaked in the storm.

She remembers the regime, the one prescribed to her, but she doesn't want to think about it. Today is a bad day. There is so much that she needs to do.

She puts on the same thing she wore yesterday; a worn brown leather coat, a black pair of jeans that were subtly stained, and cheap hiking boots already so caked with dried mud that it was hard to tell what color they were when she bought them. She only brought a few things with her when she left Zuzu behind; everything else she pawned off in secret, knowing that gold is going to be very hard to come by in the months to come. She glances at the dirty clothes that had already begun to pile up at the foot of her bed. How the hell she is going to do laundry, she is not sure.

Stepping outside of the farmhouse, she's greeted with a pelt of chilling rain.

Her grandfather had told her about his farming days, decades spent in a distant valley farming produce for a quaint little town. Little money, sure, but more fulfilling than anything else he had ever known. She always pictured great rolling plains filled with golden grain, but the land before her is such a far cry from her imagination. Bloated with overgrowth, the farmland her grandfather raved about has more in common with the forest south of it, filled to the brim with thickets of trees and bramble and vines and weeds.

But there are signs of her grandfather's previous life here, too. Broken fragments of fences left scattered about, aimlessly protecting crops that were no longer there. A shed a short walk away, the dead wood splintered. An even larger building that might have been a barn at one point in time, but it is too decayed to say for sure. The skeleton of a former greenhouse, only the frames remaining with the glass long shattered. To see the farm in its heyday would be something spectacular, she's certain of it, but it doesn't change the reality of the present. She can only hope that the resources she brought with her will be enough to bring this overgrown landscape to something that can sustain her.

It's honestly quite funny. She might not even be able to keep a houseplant alive, but she doesn't actually know, because she has never even owned one. All of the flowers her parents kept in their apartment were fake.

My greatest mistake. Dani glances over at her pitiful excuse for a garden, protected by a few fractured fences that even a flightless bird could work around. She's only planted parsnips so far, and only because they were free. Mayor Lewis had brought them by, as a little housewarming gift for the brand new farmer. The earth they're buried under are marked by little mounds of dirt, as she had left them when she sowed them. She hangs her head, feeling the rain drops stream down her face like tears. Biggest mistake. This is my biggest mistake.

Her move-in date was April 1st, for fuck's sake. That is just too funny, she can't even deny it.

The task she had set aside last night still needs to be done, and she now regrets not doing it sooner. She pulls the packet of seeds that she bought from the local shopkeeper, a man named Pierre that she had met on the morning of her arrival when she journeyed into town for the first time. She had been directed there by the mayor, encouraged to support small businesses, and so she bought from the modest retailer rather than gravitating to Joja, where she would have been able to score them for cheaper. She hopes that this is part of a larger, hidden investment; if she is able to live up to the image that the folks that live here might want, then maybe she would be accepted into the community like her grandfather had been.

The physical work begins. She tries her best to bury the seeds in the way that the guidebooks she brought with her described, but translating words on paper into actual action is so much easier said than done. She chose potato and spinach seeds; she's been told in the past that potatoes are stupidly easy to grow, and her books had said that spinach is supposed to be fast-growing to ensure a quick harvest. She finds it's nearly effortless to shovel the ground while it was sodden with rain, so she counts herself lucky.

She also bought a few herb starters from Pierre, bringing them from the farmhouse and working to instill them into the earth. She had chosen parsley and basil because the labels on the pots had the words beginner friendly!, so again, this is hopefully foolproof. The pungent smell of the spices makes her eyes water, but it's a good feeling. Just another wave of culture shock. It's a part of what she signed up for; another phrase to be remembered in moments of doubt and despair. Lean in and learn. Fresh air and farming, forests and freedom.

By the time she's finished planting, her arms are coated to the elbow with wet dirt, it was way later than she thought it would be, and she feels so exhausted that she fears that she wouldn't be able to stand up. Drenched with rain, she lifts herself to her feet, feeling that darkness inching around the corners of her eyes. Quoting her reassurances under her breath, she finds her footing and stumbles to the house, trembling from the cold. How did the time get away from her so fast? It seemed like such a straightforward task when she started it. Time already feels so irrelevant, almost as though it is out of her reach. The day passing away from her without even a moment to contemplate it has a calming effect on her; it's the change she was seeking, after all.

She's dizzy, though. She shuffles into her grandfather's farmhouse, leaning onto the open door. The darkness grows. She can feel the rain splashing onto her legs, splattering onto the wood of the porch. Listing against the entrance of her new home, she mutters her words. You're fine. You're fine. Three, two, one. You're fine. Three, two, one.

The tinges at the ends of her eyes begin to ebb away, yet no true relief is in sight. But the JojaBar waiting for her in the cabinet could not be more unappealing to her right now, and she doesn't even want to consider the JojaShake cases in her refrigerator. Even after her productivity, it is still a bad day.

And she's going to have bad days. She's going to have bad days for the rest of her life.

But even if today is a bad day, it is still a day to recognize. So she brings herself to the shower, rinsing off the mud and the earth while letting her clothing dry, trying to motivate herself to find the will to walk into town. She had been told that there was a tavern near the plaza of the village, and there is really no other place that she can think to turn to tonight, not on this day.

It's still quite amusing. Alone and on her own, trying to muster up the strength and will to revel in the date. Drained but determined, she finds the strength to make the trek into town.

The center of commerce is called Pelican Town, and Dani admittedly doesn't understand why it's named as such. But she also doesn't know much about pelicans, so maybe that's where the confusion comes from; that being said, she still hasn't seen a single one since she's arrived here. Perhaps they are seaside, and she hasn't been there yet. But it's difficult to think about flapping birds with heavyset beaks as she paces into the sleepy township, soaked once more, trying to focus on being happy for today. She made progress. She leaned in and learned. She just wishes she didn't feel so hollow within.

"Hey, farm girl."

A voice reaches her as she trudges through the plaza of the town, and Dani looks around, trying to find its location. "Who's there?"

In the cemetery of Pelican Town, she spots a figure leaning unceremoniously over a gravestone, a black hood hanging over a mop of dripping purple hair. "Enjoying the sights?"

Dani holds her arms out and does a little bow. "Rain is good."

"Rain is good." The voice returns before breaking up in laughter.

It had to be Abigail. Abigail is Pierre's-no, Abby is Pierre's daughter. Dani had met her on her first day when she had timidly ventured into town to buy seeds, and the welcoming from her hadn't exactly been sunny. But despite her touchiness, she is no doubt a free spirit; that sort of self-awareness is hard to find in Zuzu City. Dani spots another figure alongside Abby, dark clothing yet no discernable features, but she decides to not pause her pace any further. It's nearly six o'clock, and she's worried she won't be able to stand for much longer.

The Stardrop Saloon is the only tavern in town, and there is really nowhere else to go. It's only a short walk away from the village square, a timeworn building hedged with bluegrass and clovers, with a flickering lantern hanging on the right side or the entrance. Dani pushes against the doors and they groan at her arrival, heavy slabs brushing against the floor. Her thoughts are still occupied, trying to figure out how the hell she is going to celebrate today. She scrapes her boots against the welcome mat that greets her at her feet, but she notices muddy footsteps leading to the stools beside the counter, fresh tracks against old flooring. The bar is pretty much empty, not a stir at her entrance.

The saloon is exactly was she would picture if someone asked her to imagine a small town bar. It's quiet and quaint, packed to the brim with memories that Dani is not privy to. A jukebox in the far left corner, though there is no music currently playing. A fireplace with a roaring blaze within near the right side of the bar counter. A massive taxidermy grizzly bear snarls silently, arching forward in an aggressive stance; seeing the once living creature so unnaturally fixed prompts Dani to avert her eyes, not wanting to look. Perhaps a room for guests past the bear on the right, but it's not something she can see into from where she is. A stout, paunchy man discreetly cleans dishes behind the bar, but he nods towards her in a warm welcome. "Ah, the new arrival," he says pleasantly. She hasn't even reached the edge of the counter yet. "Good to meet you, truly. My name is Gus; hopefully this visit won't be your last! What can I get for you?"

Dani stops in her tracks, hesitating. She is empty but she is entirely without appetite; eating something would likely do her wonders, but restaurant fare has always been one of her forbidden foods. All she is able to get out is, "Hi, uh... Great to meet you. A glass of red, any kind, please."

The friendly bartender only smiles at her; perhaps he did not notice her unease. "Certainly," he says, turning away and heading to a backroom behind a waist-high gate, obscured from her view.

She realizes with a pang that she didn't say her own name during their meeting. It is so hard, this part. She had been warned of the closeness of this community before, and she's absolutely terrified to make a bad first impression. This goes well beyond the social anxiety she felt in the city. If she wants to make a living here, she needs to seek to win them over. Just glimpsing the village from afar on the trip over here told her as much. There are folks here who have been living without much disruption; if she's going to trod through their home in filthy shoes, she needs to be likable enough for them to tolerate the mess.

Of course, that probably won't be enough. The nerves begin to reach her, and she feels herself shaking, partially from hunger but mostly from the stress. Sitting down at a stool, she finds herself staring at her hands and not at her surroundings. The bar was much emptier that it she thought it would be at this hour. But she realizes that it's a Thursday, so it makes sense. Dani hears a grunt behind her, and she looks over her shoulder; a short, overweight woman with shaggy blond hair staring distantly at a nearly empty mug before her, plopped down at a table where those muddy tracks led. Pam, Dani recalls easily. It would be difficult to forget the frightful bus drive to the valley. Pam raises her glass at Dani in greeting, downs the rest of her drink, and gives Gus a merry goodbye, stumbling all the way to the door. Gus doesn't hear the farewell, as he's still away; a parting unheard and likely to be forgotten.

For Dani, alcohol was always reserved for special occasions, whenever she could escape her household for a night of fun. Truthfully, she really doesn't like the way it makes her feel. Her mind would go foggy and the stupid stuff she would think would come out into the open. A lack of self-control is always unwelcomed within her. And besides, it's high in calories. That said, the appeal of the stuff is readily apparent; a moment to forget who she is, despite all of the useless thoughts and doubt running throughout her mind. Perhaps it is needed today.

The bartender returns from the backroom, carrying a delicate glass filled with a dark red liquid. Just looking at it made Dani feel off. She's never drank alone, not today. And even if this is not her usual routine, it just seems like what she is supposed to do. She gives Gus the coin and he beams at her again, thanking her for stopping by. She stares at the glass in front of her, and before she can even think of home, she's bringing it to her lips.

Only a few sips in and she's already regretting not eating before she came. And even if she could summon the bravery to order a meal, she still needed to think about her spending. She had tried to sell a decent chunk of her belongings, the stuff she did not and would not need out in the backwoods of Stardew, but she had been operating on a significant time crunch and a limited friend list. With the amount of the repairs the farm would need to be operable, it is going to be costly. That's what she justifies it with, concerning the coin she has. It's a bad day, yet a day that she needs to acknowledge. Perhaps it's just another part of growing up, but she really doesn't know. Even in a bar, newly independent, she feels like a child, alone in an empty room, trying to quell the deep-seated terror within her.

She remembers the half-eaten JojaBar, sitting pretty in her shelf. She thinks about how she won't have the strength to eat it when she returns back home. She pictures herself fully recovered, smiles coming easy to her lips, healed not just in body but in soul. What would she say, if she ever saw her parents again? This life is doing wonders for my health. Never been better. Fresh air and farming, forests and freedom, that's all I needed. I'm finally me again.

It's so funny, she almost wants to cry.

It's only when Dani places her glass down, nearly empty, that she notices another figure in the saloon, slumped against a chair on the right of the taxidermy bear. He must have been sitting there when she walked in, but she hadn't realized that he was there before. He's all by himself too, gulping amber liquid from a mug. Just some man, away from her and nameless.

She watches the bartender come to him shortly after the last of his drink disappears into his mouth. Gus bringing the drink, the man sliding him the gold, and that was it. The entire transaction, without a word, as though it was part of a script.

She can see the faded blue JojaCoat he's wearing in the dim light though, and that motivates her to at the very least introduce herself. Perhaps that is enough here in this little town, a slight accord among strangers. But maybe it's not. No one sits so far away from the counter if they wanted to strike up a chat with some random person. In the end, there's really only way to find out.

She finishes her glass of wine. Eight ounces and an unknown calorie count, down her throat all the same. See? Recovery. She is far more inebriated than she expected it to leave her. She catches a glimpse of Gus chuckling softly, still preoccupied with dishes behind the edge of the bar. She smiles at him, probably too widely; what can she say? A little laughter at her expense is no harm, no foul.

She should walk right out the way she came, and fall asleep beneath the covers of her new bed, allowing today's date to come and go. But she still finds herself glancing at the stranger in blue, sitting by himself in the shadowy corner of the saloon, hunched over with a mug in hand. And she finds herself stepping wobbly to the stranger, right up to him, despite her better judgment.

"Hi," she says, her voice much hoarser than she was anticipating. "I, um... Just moved in to the farm north of Cindersap. My name is Dani."

"Okay." He responds curtly, taking another swill from the mug before him, not one glance in her direction.

That is the sign to end it here, to turn on her heels and stroll away. It was like that in Zuzu; nine times out of ten, urban folk tended to be perfectly happy left alone, anonymous even in their combined numbers. But here in this distant, close-knit community, she's met so few people so far, and she remembered the wisdom given to the by the Mayor Lewis: "Go out and introduce yourself! The townfolk'll appreciate it!" Perhaps she feels too keen on meeting others, and anyone would fit the bill. Or maybe there is something about the man at the table in the saloon, alone and isolated, that makes her want to ask more.

"Do you...live nearby?" She hears herself ask, clearing her throat. She is tired, slightly tipsy, and she can feel the aura of static brimming around her vision. But now the lack of an answer is somehow more of a curiosity. She's only met like, what, six or so people in this town? The mayor and the carpenter, the drunken bus driver and the bartender, Pierre and his family silently breathing down her neck though she's only just met them and hasn't produced a single crop. So much to live up to and so much to do; too much and not enough, even after only four days.

The man lifts the mug to his mouth. He does not look toward her, instead focusing his sights on the mammoth of a bear before the two of them, hulking over and motionless. "What's it to you?"

It's a great question, actually. Is she really looking for an answer here? Or is this just another introduction she has to make, expected of her and not even her own decision? This is such uncharted territory. Any and every instinct tells her to just let this go. But she doesn't want to. With the faded lights around her and the alcohol within her, a false courage brings itself out.

"Maybe a name?" The words she speaks are slightly slurred, so it makes her cringe, even in the moment.

Still not looking at her, the man says to her in acid tones, "I don't know you, and I don't want to. Now, if you don't mind, fuck off."

Right. Dani sways slightly on the heels of her feet, as though the man's harsh words had punched the breath out of her. Maybe they did. But she clearly isn't getting anywhere; her first instinct had been correct, and she feels stupid for even giving it a try. Wordless, she merely turns away, hurrying to the door. Don't take it personally, she says to herself. The last thing she needs is for her to internalize it, as that will get her nowhere.

Repressing the memory of the man in the saloon from her mind, Dani makes her way back to the farmstead. The wine makes her steps unsure, but she's able to locate the trail to the farm with relative ease. That is its own victory, finding her way back home. No getting lost, no ending up in the woods. The rain doesn't let up, but she tries not to let it soak her soul. The trek to her new home is not terribly long; perhaps a half hour, and only if she's walking briskly. Stumbling through the downpour, she shoulders through, fearful that she might collapse if she doesn't hasten her pace.

She reaches her farmhouse, staring blankly at the splintering walls and chipped wood. My farmhouse. It still didn't make sense, but at the same time, none of it did. She looks at the tiny garden she planted, surrounded by the collapsed fences, and she tries to imagine what it might look like next year, when she's had enough time to finally make sense of the lifestyle she has chosen. Perhaps it will be the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

Dizzy with drink, she brings herself to bed, only bothering to tear off her rain-drenched clothes before falling into the sheets. Sleep feels so soon to her, but she won't be able to dream of home. Where is home? She finds herself staring at the ceiling, studying a large crack that had formed at the corner. Fighting off the sensation of tears building in her eyes, she realizes that this is the loneliest she has been since she was fifteen, locked away in inpatient, terrified and angry and alone.

She is alone once more, only she chose it this time, and now she is unsure if that is better or worse.

With no one to bear witness, Dani wishes herself a happy birthday and lets herself fall tearily into sleep.

(A/N: Good day!

There is a plethora of Shane x OC Farmer slow burn fanfiction on the internet these days. Well, here's another one. I am so sorry, I couldn't help myself.

I've been working on this for a few months now, and I really am having a great time. It has been so long since I have written something just for fun. And at the end of the day, that's what matters, right? I have been so excited to share this with others.

I have taken a few liberties with the canon of the game. I actually haven't played Stardew since 2018, but these characters have stuck with me for a while.

Content warning for the chapters ahead. I don't think there is a way to tag for those on like there is on other sites.

I have about twelve chapters done so far, but I've been editing as I go. I am really hoping that I can maintain a pretty consistent publishing schedule, but you never really know with me.

Thank you for reading, it means a lot to me.)

This chapter's song lyric is brought to you by Soul To Squeeze – Red Hot Chili Peppers. This will be far from the last time that I will use their song lyrics for the chapters. I am only a creature of habit, after all.