#Dusty Smith

[archiveofaffinities]

Tom Kennedy, Harry Leverette, and Penny Smith, Dusty Dave the Dolphin

[billypilgrim-irl]

TEENS OF DENIAL

The Outsiders | Shoplifters of the Works Unite - The Smiths | Son of a Preacher Man - Dusty Springfield | Girls and Boys - Blur | Ferris Bueller’s Day Off | Oh Anna - The Microphones | Post Modern Fade - Cottonwood Firing Squad | We Need to Talk About Kevin | Times to Die - Car Seat Headrest | The Tourist - Radiohead | Donnie Darko | Back to the Old House - The Smiths | The Graduate - Nouns | Heathers | Hounds of Love - Kate Bush | I Want You to Love Me - Fiona Apple | But I’m A Cheerleader! | The Hand That Rocks the Cradle - The Smiths | Boys Don’t Cry - The Cure | The Ballad of Frank Sinatra - Car Seat Headrest

[aviscranio]

Looney Tunes: Back In Action (2003)

[twoseparatecoursesmeet]

Blowing out the Candles, 1950s

Sorry, my first effort is a bit dusty.

[ttexed]

the other side of Lady Wilde

"Lady Wilde is Marie Smith, who actually was from the UK, and was recording in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area. They appeared locally as Lady Wilde and the Warlocks and played at Louann’s in Dallas and Panther Hall in Ft. Worth. 

The Warlocks are the same band that included future Z.Z. Top bassist Dusty Hill and his brother Rocky Hill."

[c0smic-coral]

Me rn

Also someone has to make a Qcard edit with Jay Smith’s version of Bad Romance

[joeygallagher]

Huli Huli

John John Florence, Mason Ho, Nathan Florence, Koa Smith, Kaimana Henry, Gavin Beschen, Jay Davies, Dusty Payne, Balaram Stack and friends

by

Hayden Brosnan (2016)

[thisisaheist]

I love that I somehow discovered a whole video in which Sarah Hadland has passionate feelings about biscuits 🤣

[votava-records]

DJ Robert Smith - Dusty Donuts Halloween Stream 2021

[billypilgrim-irl]

cowboyposting again

All paintings by Glenn Dean | Goodbye Love - Car Seat Headrest | Spooky - Dusty Springfield | Trees and Flowers - Strawberry Switchblade | Cemetry Gates - The Smiths | Somewhere - The Danse Society | Sunburned Shirts - Car Seat Headrest | North to Alaska - Johnny Horton | Coffee and TV - Blur | Mister Church - Cottonwood Firing Squad

[clarabowlover]

Dusty Anderson

By Ryan Smith (ca.1945)

[toxicanonymity]

Wreck

PAIRING: Michael Myers x fem/afab Reader

ONE SHOT: 4300 words | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: MM is unconscious and shackled in a broken down bus. Reader takes shelter there and takes advantage.

WARNINGS: 18+ noncon dry humping, oral, & PIV; size kink, size diff, mask kink, manhandling, creampie, forced cum inflation - erotic body horror, (self) cum play. smut goes hard. 😳

NOTES: Reader wears a chekov's dress, no pronouns used. MM never speaks, and his face and hair are undescribed, so you can HC a DILF of your choice under the mask. Even him.

For @megangovier, @aurorawritestoescape , @sofmoth , and the cumflation nation. Thank you for your support and Happy Shaperil, everyone (the halfway point between Octobers). 💙

Hitchhiking didn’t even seem like a good idea at the time. You weren’t kidding yourself. Not only did you accept the risk, but there was something about the risk that made you feel alive.

This time was different, though. You became more uneasy as the ride continued. The man kept looking over and eyeing your legs as you tugged your dress down. This wouldn’t have bothered you much if he were someone else. In fact, if he’d pulled over to fuck you, it wouldn’t be your first rodeo, but there was something sinister about this man, and not in a hot way. As he lost control of his truck, there was a split second where you thought, thank God–until the truck began to roll.

You escaped the wreck dizzy but unscathed. The adrenaline surging through your blood made you so horny you would’ve considered fucking the man after all, if he weren’t staring blankly into space as the life drained from his face.

After climbing out of the truck, you took a few deep breaths and surveyed the surroundings. Bodies were strewn across the road and an orange prisoner transport bus was hissing smoke from the distorted hood of its engine. This was bad. You needed to get as far away as you could.

The problem was, you were in the middle of nowhere, in an unforgiving desert, and you were almost out of water. None to be found in the wreckage of your ride, and you hesitated to approach the prisoner transport bus.

From the comfort of your bed, under the buzz of a toy, this could easily have been another fantasy of yours, but it seemed your survival instincts were kicking in after all.

So you took what water you had and set off on foot in the direction you were headed all along. With any luck, the transport vehicle wasn’t coming from too far away. Keeping a safe distance from the transport bus, you listened for any signs of life as you walked by it, and you heard none, until you were thirty paces away, and something thumped. You thought. Or was it your imagination? Pausing to listen, you didn’t hear another sound, and weren’t sure what you would have done if you did hear something else.

All you could do was walk, but with every step, you became less sure of your plan. You weren’t entirely sure what road you were even on, only that it was long and straight. State route something or other. No shade. Only cacti and tumbleweed. The road ahead faded into a slippery mirage. What do they say to do when you get lost? Stay in one place, right? Authorities would be looking for the transport bus. When they found it, they’d find you. Yeah. With that revelation, you turned around and headed back toward the bus.

As you walked by the bus this time, you came a little closer, and you had to do a double-take at one of the windows. An enormous man with a stark white face and dark eyes staring at the ceiling of the bus—no, not dark eyes. A mask. Your breath hitched. That’s when you read the lettering on the side of the bus for the first time:

SMITH’S GROVE SANITARIUM

Your chest went hot with recognition. You didn't feel alone anymore. The desert didn't feel quite as big.

The sun had been fading as you walked, but sunset seemed to accelerate after this revelation.

A crack of thunder told you why.

Fat drops of petrichor began to blacken the dusty road in perfect little circles. As the rain picked up, you cupped your hands together, turned your mouth to the sky for a drink.

You had a few choices, none of them good. Sit on the side of the road in the rain. Return to the wreckage and take shelter with your driver’s body. Flatten yourself under the transport bus like a cat. Or get on board.

-

You approached the open doors of the bus with your heart pounding. Was anyone alive in there? They would've left, wouldn't they? Why would Michael be wearing his mask?

With your first steps onto the stairs, the echo of your shoe made you jump. You took them off after climbing into the vehicle. The driver’s head was slumped over the steering wheel, eyes open. Some of the blood appeared to be dry. If there had been others in the bus, they must have fled before your accident.

The only bodies remaining were two, near the back: That hulking figure and a man in a white coat. Strewn about were an open box marked “evidence,” a ballpoint pen in the shape of a spine, scattered papers, and a box labeled MYERS 10-19-1957

You pieced together the scene: perhaps the doctor himself had provided the mask. People said he wasn’t right in the head. That he revered Michael as a force of nature who belonged in the wild. The scene before you began to resemble the ruins of ill fated plans to return Michael to his rightful state. The psychiatrist had even brought a knife for the killer–a knife that ended up in his own neck, somehow.

As you neared the bodies, you thought you heard what sounded like a quiet ventilator at a slow rhythm.

When you listened closer, you could hardly hear it over the rain and the best of your own heart. But something told you Michael was alive. He was alive, you could feel it. Dark energy radiated from his seat, making you weak, holding you captive. Your legs wouldn't move even if you wanted to run.

Was he hurt?

The sound of the rain hitting the roof of the bus was soothing. More soothing than it should have been.

When you got close enough to look at Michael from a different angle, you really began to feel how large he was. He was sturdy. His trunk was strong and thick. His arms were huge. You couldn't see his neck, but there was a sliver of skin exposed between the front of his jumpsuit and the rubber of the mask, and there was a thick vein there. The jumpsuit stretched over the expanse of his chest, and the rise and fall of it told you he was alive.

As your eyes panned down, your breath hitched at a raised lump on his lower torso.

A phallic lump, in just the right place… Jesus Christ, could it be that big?

Was he hard?

Was he awake?

You were transfixed by this bulge and the promise of its girth. Your body readied itself without your permission, churning slick into your core, opening up, making room for a monstrous intrusion. Your face heated up at the thought. You salivated. Your heart raced.

You looked away and closed your eyes, and felt it even stronger.

You sat down in the seat diagonal from his, but couldn't take your eyes off him. It was self preservation - he could come to life and attack at any moment. Willing yourself to think about anything else, you tried to imagine where you'd be without the crash.

-

Who knows how long you were sitting there, but the rain was heavier, and your loins were hotter. Your thighs stuck to the weathered brown seat as you began to rise. You were tingling, dripping, Throbbing, throbbing for this killer.

Unable to resist any longer, you approached. You watched his chest rise and fall at a steady rhythm. Listened for his breathing, no longer audible under the hard rain.

You inched ever closer, until you were facing him and placed your hand near his shoulder on the corner of the seat, a small slice of brown not covered by his body.

And then, you experimentally grazed the arm of his jumpsuit.

He didn't move.

You ran your fingers over his enormous biceps, and his muscles dwarfed your hand.

He didn't move.

You gave his arm a squeeze.

He didn't move.

He was slumped down in the seat a little bit and his hands were cuffed behind his back.

His feet were shackled.

You began to calculate how badly he could hurt you if he were to react to your closeness.

What kind of weapons could he use?

What would his instinct be?

Part of you was excited to find out.

You progressed from touching his arm to touching his chest. And then…. your hand traveled down his torso, growing ever closer to the telltale shape sprouting from his crotch.

The body under your hand became warmer as your palm slid down his core and swerved to the side of the massive log in its path.

You just barely grazed the side of it, and a shock of arousal seized your body, paralyzing you for just a moment.

You had to remember to breathe.

You were drooling, throbbing for him. Your hand shakily dragged down along the edge of the outline of his cock, the edge of your finger rubbing just hard enough against it to feel the heat of the shape, and the give of the organ.

He wasn't even at full mast. He was semi-hard. You looked up at the mask again. Checked his chest for any changes in breathing. He showed no signs of waking up. So you did it. You placed your hand there, gently, and cradled the shape of his dick.

You’d never been more aroused. It was enormous under your hand. It made you feel small. You were so turned on and also nervous. Could you even take him if you wanted to? Who were you kidding: you wanted to. But it was a scary thought. Who could possibly take a dick like this? Your hand rubbed him lightly, all the way down his shaft, between his spread legs, to feel his enormous balls, which gave you another zap of need.

And when your palms slid back up his dick, you pressed down a little harder. His girth swelled against your hand, twitched, and got firmer.

You slowly moved your hand, slid your palm up and down his shaft, feeling him stiffen into a bold, erect shape until his absurd girth strained the fabric of his jumpsuit.

He still hadn't woken up.

You placed one knee onto the seat, against his thigh. The seat was made for two, but his enormity meant there was barely any room for this. You straddled him with your thighs spread wide. God, the size of this man.

He could wake up at any moment and throw you across the bus or worse. He could probably do it even cuffed, you thought. But at this point, there was no turning back.

You wanted it too bad. As though physically possessed by the desire, nothing would stop you.

You had to feel him with your loins.

With your dress spread between your thighs, you lowered your crotch, and the front of your panties rubbed against his dick outline, making you shiver and erupt in goosebumps before you even came to rest on his warm, hard bulge.

Fuck, you were so wet.

You rubbed yourself up and down his stiff manhood and it made your clit throb and twitch, aching for relief. You grinded against him, bracing one hand on his shoulder, and groping your own breast with the other. Your breaths became heavy as pressure built in your belly. He twitched against your sensitive bundle of nerves and the tension burst, and pulsed, and released, echoing between your legs.You came as quietly as you could, your walks squeezing needily around nothing.

The last twitch of your hole was violent. It told you how bad you had to be filled.

You had to unzip him.

Above a white tank top and under a thin gold chain, his skin was littered with white scars and divots, scant chest hair–pepper with a little salt. Prison tattoos were barely visible through the thin, ribbed fabric. His middle was thick and strong, solid muscle padded by years of confinement.

As the zipper nearly reached his cock, you used both hands to pull on the fabric, trying to get it as far away from the skin as you could, trying to create space where there was none. You didn't want to hurt him. Didn't want to wake him up.

When you unzipped the rest of his suit, his cock bobbed even heavier than it looked.

You could hardly fathom the girth of what stood before you. There was no way you could wrap your hand around it. There was no way you could take it, could you?

There was no way you weren't going to try.

The fat, pink tip of his cock glistened with pre-cum. You gathered the ample saliva in your mouth, and brought your lips close to his cock. You were hit with a wave of his musk that nearly knocked you out, making your nipples hard and your jaw slack.

Next thing you knew, you were squatting between his feet. The ridged rubber flooring dug into the balls of your feet, with your legs folded neatly, making yourself compact between the seats. Your head bobbed forward and your lips engulfed his tip. You let it rest heavily on your tongue, appreciating the warm heft in your mouth. With a gentle suck, you took another inch into your mouth, feeling the crown of the head. Tonguing it. Then you tongued the slit, and the salty precum reminded you of your mission.

You held it in your mouth as saliva gathered in your mouth, then swirled your tongue around the cock head. You let it out of your mouth, connected by a string of spit, and drooled more spit onto it before swallowing and getting into position. You spread your saliva on his tip. Your panties were not a factor - the loose g-string was easily pulled to the side.

Back into straddling him, you held his shaft and almost had to squat with your bare feet on the seat instead of being on your knees to allow enough room for his cock between you. You rubbed his tip against your dripping entrance, up your slippery slit, and nudged your clit with it, then brought it back to your eagerly awaiting hole and lowered yourself. His cock slowly spread you open. The stretch burned and radiated outward - the wide tip seemed to occupy all of you already. But you let gravity take you down further, and really, you hadn't even taken the whole tip - was just the initial curve. Slowly sinking onto him, the stretch intensified as you accommodated the girth of his tip and bit your lip. It was an exhilarating feat.

There was going back.

It burned, but it burned so good. You might never feel this stretch again. You sank a little further onto him and failed to stifle a closed-mouth moan, “mmm.”

The burn became a buzzing tingle.

The exhilaration became a hunger for more, and you slid down his shaft like a miracle.

Jesus Christ, you'd never felt so full of anything. Your whole body was spread around him, all of your guts forced out of the way.

You went further still down his cock, taking more than you imagined anyone could fit. By the time you bottomed out, the burn subsided into a feeling that you were gripping him. Spread thin and tight around him, he wore you on his cock. Your walls hugged his shaft, and it throbbed. It throbbed inside you.

You sat there, reveling in the fullness with your watering eyes scanning his torso and beautiful skin. You ran your thumb lightly over two bullet wounds just above his pec and felt him swell inside you.

Oh fuck, He swelled, he grew. Making you fuller than full. He throbbed and twitched, and nudged something in your depths that made you whispered out loud, “Oh, Fuck.”

Oh, God, the fullness was something to behold in its own right. You could have sat like that all day. but he had nudged something else inside you, something you needed to pursue.

And when you tilted your hips, his shaft nudged it again. Something that twitched, something that spasmed, something that had you ready to trip over another edge and freefall into bilss.

You slowly rolled your hips, not letting much if any length out of your cunt. Your insides clung to him right and merely shifted inside yourself, as though you were a fleshlight. That movement inside yourself made enough tension, friction, and pressure to make you chase more release. You moved your hips, barely going up and down on his cock, taking the pleasure you needed. You took and you took from him. Slowly, you had your way, until the pressure was building to uncontainable heights. Your breaths were shallow, and you could hardly take it. You took a deep breath and tilted your head toward the ceiling.

You closed your eyes and relaxed as best you could, with your entire body tense at the edge of your climax.

His dick twitched again, and you saw stars.

Your cunt tightened around his cock as pleasure spasmed through your core, bursting from your

solar plexus. “Oh god,” you breathed, you held both your breasts as you bottomed out again and came on his cock in a series of spasms that seemed to last a full minute. Your body was hugging his massive manhood, possessing it, possessing him. Your bodies were joined so tight, like you were one. Your energy faded as the orgasm rode on.

Your body leaned toward his, your tits pointy through your damp dress, poking against his chest. Your nose brushed his mask, inhaling latex, and then…. your lips found the perfectly sculpted, white rubber of his. You pressed a kiss onto the mask’s distinctive top lip and a different shock spread through your chest. You opened your eyes as you pulled back, and your fingers went to lightly brush your your own lips. Still spread around his cock, you trembed with an aftershock. And just as your climax was ending, a low rumble came from his chest.

His pecs flexed, his body tensed, and your heart jumped. You tried to slide off his cock, but his hips shifted and his cock grew again, making you whimper. Just as your body had grown to accept his size, there was more of him to hold. He throbbed and twitched and grunted. Metal jingled behind his back and at the floor board as you panicked. He growled and moaned, foreboding a seismic eruption in your womb. His hips lifted out of the seat, pushing you up, and if you weren't anchored by his girth you might have flown off and hit the ceiling

Like nothing you’d ever felt, his cock throbbed massively as it shot monster ropes of cum into you, spurting rapid fire, every twitch of the organ felt by your walls, by your cervix. Something snapped and let go in your depths, slick gushed around his cock, providing just the lube you needed to slide yourself up. But before you were off his shaft, the cuffs snapped, and his massive hands flew to your shoulders, broken chains dangling as he held you down on his cock.

He grunted as he filled you up with his seed. Time seemed to stop, but the flow of cum didn’t. It felt he was cumming for so long, but with it possibly being the last moment of your waking life, you were no longer in a hurry for it to end.

A new fullness bloomed in your depths, different than the fullness of his cock. Higher, more spread out. Pressure mounted in your lower belly. More and more pressure with each burst, each massive rope. And then his happy trail, pressed against your lower belly. It tickled your, and you looked down to a sight that made your clit twitch and put butterflies in your chest. His happy trail wasn’t pressing into you. Your belly was pressing into him. Your dress curved outward in a new shape. Not massive, but noticeable. You lifted your dress out of the way to see your belly bloated and round, filling out against his body as he stuffed you with his cum. The pressure was overwhelming. It didn’t feel bad, but the effect on your body scared you.

“No more,” you begged, then realized the bursts ad weakened and he’d already slowed to a trickle. “What’s happening?” You asked, voice shaky.

No reply, but his hands tightened into a bruising grip on your arms when you tried to move. His breath was deep and ragged.

He slowly tilted his head, then looked down at your exposed bloated belly. He moved his hands to your hips and the cool metal of the broken cuffs grazed your hot flesh. You looked down at yourself again, mesmerized. Maybe the shape was exaggerated in this position and might even put once you stood up. It couldn’t have been that much cum. You were embarrassed, worried, shocked, but also turned on. Very turned on.

Your nipples were so hard they were sore. Your breasts heaved under your dress, and the sight of them gave you another wave of humiliation and arousal. You couldn’t be completely certain, but your breasts seemed to look fuller. It could be in your head, you thought. You had gained a few pounds, you told yourself. This just happened to be the first time you noticed. But a different part of you knew some people thought Michael wasn’t human, that he was something from beyond. He was simply the shape of pure evil. His strength was superhuman, and you wondered if his semen might be, too. It terrified you and made you throb.

Your cunt now comfortably hugged his cock, which was no less stiff tha n it had been before he came. You couldn’t be sure if his swelling had gone down or if your body had again adjusted, more elastic than you ever thought possible. Or at least, you hoped it was elasticity. The idea that he could have stretched you beyond repair would be devastating. You might never be full again.

Michael’s hips began to rock under you, and he lifted you effortlessly, slid you up his shaft. He bounced you and wielded you up and down his dick, steadily ramping up the pace until the wind was nearly knocked out of you. It was clear he was using you as a cocksleeve. Fucking up into it as he jacked himself off with your body. It was just a warm, wet tunnel for his cock. Your thighs quivered and your breasts and belly bounced. He held you like a toy, head tilted down, yearning to see your swollen body swallow his unfathomable size, if his view weren’t obstructed by the aftermath of his load. Your insides pulsed with pleasure, you began to gush again, and a third orgasm caught you off guard. He growled as it choked his cock and then he slammed you down hard and erupted once again.

“No,” you pleaded, and held your tummy with both hands. “I can’t, it won’t fit.” He didn’t stop, and why should he? You did this. You put yourself on his cock, you took from him and he was continuing to give. There was barely any time between each rope. The steady pulse of his cock made you swell a little more, overfilling you. Your skin tightened to contain your swelling womb. It was a pleasant stretch and one you had earned. You held your belly and watched it slowly grow as the modest orb bounced with each lift of his hips.

When he was finished, He just sat there, then he lifted you off his cock and put you aside, making you stand next to the seat. He turned to face you, with his legs in the aisle, and his cum-coated cock still out. He lifted your dress and bent forward to look between your legs.

As your body drew itself back together, warm cum ran down your thighs. He huffed. You held your belly, expecting it to shrink. If it did, it was gradual.

Michael reached between his feet and used his hands to break the shackle. He tucked himself away, turned up his collar, and took your face in his hands. His thumb brushed your cheek, then he turned to leave. His boots thumped heavily down the aisle as he slowly exited the bus. He walked off into the rain and didn’t look back.

The drip of cum slowed with your womb still full. You sat on a seat and spread your legs wide, and used your fingers to pull more cum out of you. You were so stretched out that you could use four fingers with no trouble at all. You could have fit your whole hand in, and tried, but the effort of bending to get a good angle left you out of breath.

After scraping as much cum as you could out, you tried putting pressure on your belly. First with your hands, then by bending forward so it was against your thighs. The swelling went down a little, but you were still distended and beginning to cramp.

You tried with fingers again and found you had already tightened up at least a little again, to your relief. You stood up to stretch and caught your reflection in the window. You didn’t look quite as big as you imagined. Not full term, at least, but you probably looked five or six months pregnant. You walked to the front of the bus to look at yourself in the rearview mirror. Turning to the side, you held the fabric to the shape of your belly. It wasn't that bad. You could live with this, until the swelling went down. At least you didn't have to walk around gaping.

-

-

-

-

-

-

Don't be too sad that he walks away, I HC that he could come back or find reader again 💙

If you enjoyed this, I have a ghostface fic with a similar situation and parts 1, 2, and 3 are my top 3 most popular fics ever. Every Inch

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed it. Letting me know what you liked helps my future fics. 💙

[seredelgi]

What gets them going?/ AOT x fem!reader

featuring: Eren Jaeger, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Reiner Braun, Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman

tw: kissing, groping, dry humping, light dom/sub, foreplay, nipple play, sexual themes, 18+

For Eren, it has to be the way you silently slip your hands past the fabric of his shirt, too hungry for him to contain yourself. You let them travel from the tensing muscles of his stomach to the ones of his defined chest, making him groan into you and press you flat against him to better taste you with his tongue in your mouth.

Armin loves to hear the catching of your breath as he leaves humid kisses up your neck, and he has a damn weakness for the way you absentmindedly grip at the hems of his shirt, pulling him in closer, demanding his warmth against your skin. He caresses your hair away from your face when you do, leaning in for a sweet kiss.

Jean can’t get enough of the way you slide your fingers in the strands of his dusty brown hair, and the kind of soft hisses he lets go when you do make you hungrier, too. He grabs you by the back of your neck and tugs you down to catch his lips, tasting yours ravenously and eliciting sweet little whimpers from you in return.

Connie’s a sucker for dry humping. There’s something about the way you cling to him as he slowly starts to rut into you, feeling your thighs clench around his hips instinctively, feeling on his hot skin the way your breaths falter underneath his weight, and seeing your cheeks heat up at the advent of your arousal. It is simply priceless to him.

Reiner needs to hear you enjoying yourself. He loves it when you vocalize whatever he’s doing to you, whether it be him squeezing your tits or sucking on your nipples to get you ready and wet for him, he loves it when you can’t help but whine in his ear just how good he’s making you feel.

Erwin loves for you to start it. He likes how needy you get when he deprives you. It usually takes less than an hour for you to grow impatient and start following him around like a puppet, trying to gauge the perfect opportunity to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him passionately, dragging his hands all over those parts of you that so desperately need his attention.

Levi’s a control freak, that much you knew even before having sex with him. But when you two finally did, it all locked into place. He loves to tell you what to do, and he’s not even that self-conscious about it, which is why it comes off so naturally, so compelling that you find yourself obeying him with no hesitation.

So what about the way they kiss you?

How do they take you?

How do they take compliments, then?

What names do they like being called in bed?

What's their love language?

Do they get jealous?

And what pet names do they use the most?

What about JJK men?

[eighthchair]

Bracelets, a Fields of Mistria Fanfic

March x Gender Neutral Farmer

Based on this bit of dialogue

Gods, this is so fucking stupid.

March stood on the first step of the farmers house fidgeting with the small box he held in his hands. In all honesty, he doesn’t full know why he’s here in the first place.

Well, he knows why he’s here, he just doesn’t know why he chose to do this specifically. He doesn’t know why he chose to make something for them of all people.

From the very moment that overly-cheerful, disgustingly optimistic…

pretty, confident, hardworking—

… pain in his ass farmer moved to Mistria, they have gotten on his last nerve.

They never know when to quit. Almost everyday without fail, the farmer would bother him. Stopping by the shop to say hi or using his forge to make bars and armor, it was infuriating. The days that they left him alone were…

Lonely, empty, unsettling—

… a blessing.

And then once they started venturing into the mines, the gifting started. It was only a few nice pieces of ore here and there, which he appreciated. But then it turned into whole ingots at least once a week. They even found him a piece of Meteorite for him to experiment with! Honestly, if that brain dead idiot thought that they could win him over with shiny pieces of metal, they’re stupider than he thought.

But then...

“March!” The farmer came barreling into his workshop, covered in dirt and debris, “March, you’ll never believe what I found!”

March stood from his workbench and rolled his eyes, before turning around and stretching a bit, “Can’t you see I’m busy Farmer? What could be so important?”

The farmer deflated a bit and pouted, “Come on, it’s really cool! I think you’re going to love it.”

March just scoffed, “If it’s another ingot you smithed up, I can make some that are ten times better ya know.”

They shook their head and approached him, “It’s better than anything I could have done, that’s for sure, but I found it just now in the mines.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” March said, looking up and down at their dirtied figure, “Would it kill you to wash up before coming in here, you’re trailing in dirt.”

“Sorry, I just couldn’t wait to show you!” Their hands were still behind their back, clearly hiding whatever it was they wanted to give him this time.

“Well then stop wasting time and show me!”

Their smile got impossibly larger as they brought their hands to the front of them. The item was still a bit dusty from being excavated, but the shine and luster of it was undeniable.

“No way,” March’s jaw dropped, “Is that—”

“A perfect copper ore!” The farmer exclaimed, jumping up and down in excitement, “I didn’t even know ore could be so perfect, but just look at it!”

March grabbed the ore from the farmers hand and studied it closely, the structure of it is almost crystalline and it’s denser than any piece of copper he’s ever held before, plus if he shines it up a bit, he can almost see his own shocked expression looking back at him.

“Incredible,” he whispered to himself, still staring at the chuck of metal in awe.

“Isn’t it?” The farmers voice broke him out of his reverie, “I thought you’d really appreciate having something as nice as this.”

March’s head snapped up to look at the farmer, their face sporting a small smile while they watched him admire the ore.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I found two today and the first one went to the museum and I don’t have any idea what to do with this one so…”

“You can’t be serious.”

The farmer tilted their head in confusion, “Why not?”

March sputtered and pushed the ore back into their hands, “What do you mean ‘why not?’ This is much too nice to just give away!”

“Well it’s not like I’m just going to put it in my shipping bin and let Balor sell it to whoever will pay the highest price for it. Plus, you’d be able to do much more with it than any other blacksmith that could buy it.”

“But—”

The farmer placed the ore on his workbench, “No buts, it’s yours now.”

He spent the next day staring at the metal and contemplating what to do with it.

I mean, with something so naturally perfect the possibilities were endless! He could forge a beautiful sword or a glistening shield to display in his workshop to show just how impressive his work is. He could make a new set of tools for Ryis that would last him forever. He could make Reina new cooking utensils to go with the newly renovated inn.

Or he could make something just for them.

It took days to get it just right, one just to sketch out and plan the design, another to make a few test pieces with other, more dull pieces of copper to ensure that everything went smoothly, and nearly three days were spent delicately curving and carving the metal into something beautiful and intricate.

March has no idea why he did it, but he did and now he’s standing on their front porch like a moron wondering if he’s made the right choice or if he should just run back to his workshop while he still can.

“March?”

A voice from behind him causes him to nearly jump out of his skin, he turned around slowly and came face to face with the person who’s been living in his head for the past few weeks.

“What are you doing here?” The farmer asked, their flannel tied around their waist instead of around their shoulders, their well defined figure on display, “I mean, I’m happy to see you of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever had you on my farm before.”

March coughed a bit, hoping that the blush he could feel creeping up his cheeks wasn’t noticeable, “No I’ve never been here before. I just…” His voice trailed off, what the hell was he supposed to say!

The farmer climbed the steps to stand next to him, “Well, do you want to come inside? It’s a bit warm out here, don’t you think?”

March just nodded, not completely trusting himself to speak, and the farmer waved at him to follow them in.

Their house was exactly what he expected it to be.

For such a small space, they sure did know how to make the most of it. Even with the bed, the couch, the kitchenette, a carpentry table, and more than a few chests, the house felt cozy and welcoming.

“Wow, you can really tell that you live here, Farmer.”

They just laughed while putting things from their backpack into their respective chests, “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

March watched as they meticulously placed crafting materials, cooking ingredients, artifacts, and foraging items in specific places in each chest. Considering how incredibly busy they kept themself, it made sense that the root of that was a well organized storage system.

They finally finished their task and stood up straight to look at March once again, “Well, welcome to my home. It’s not much, but I’m working on it,” They laughed a bit and started walking towards their kitchenette, “Do you want a drink? I can put on a pot.”

“Oh, um, I’m not really a tea person.”

The farmer just smiled, “I know.”

Of course they knew.

“S-sure.”

The farmer gestured towards the couch, telling March to have a seat while they made refreshments.

The bright yellow couch was much comfier than March thought it would be and he found himself getting lost in thought again.

What the hell was he doing? All he came here to do was give the stupid farmer this stupid gift and leave without having to look at their stupid face for long, and now he’s sitting on their fucking couch. Maybe he should have just sent it in the mail.

The couch dipped next to him, alerting him to the farmers presence. They held out a mug for him to grab and he could smell the mixture of chocolate and coffee coming from it.

“Oh, you remembered.��

They laughed, “Of course I did, it’s not a hard thing to remember anyways.”

They both took a sip and March had to stop himself from groaning, it was delicious. How the fuck are they so good at everything?

“So, what brings you to my humble abode?”

Oh right their stupid gift.

March looked at them, their eyes peeking at him over their coffee mug, shining and curious.

“Well, um…”

Fuck this is harder than he thought it would be. His mouth opened and closed a few times while he tried to find the right words to say to them.

They waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts, sipping away at their drink.

March cleared his throat before he started talking, “Well, since you’ve moved to town you’ve been…”

A huge help to the community—

“… more competent than I expected you to be.”

They chucked a bit, “Thank you, that is certainly high praise coming from you.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Farmer.”

The soft smile they gave him almost left him breathless.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He shifted slightly away from them before continuing, “And, you’ve been, well… y’know… giving me gifts and shit so I wanted to…”

Give you something in return, to tell you how much I appreciate them, how much I appreciate you—

“… make sure you don’t think I owe you anything.”

“They're called gifts March, you’re not supposed to pay me back,” they said with an eyeroll.

He flushed a bit, “Whatever! Either way I don’t want to owe you shit so I made you something.”

March set his mug down on the coffee table, pulled the box out from behind his back and handed it to the farmer.

“What? You made me something? You didn’t have to do that,” The farmer gasped, taking the box from him tenderly.

“Well I did so, do whatever you want with it I don’t care.”

I hope you love them.

“Can I..” The farmer looked at him shyly, “Can I open it now?”

March scoffed, “If you must.”

The farmer set their own drink down and lifted the lid gingerly before pulling out a set of copper bracelets.

March could almost feel his soul leaving his body as he watched them examine the jewelry.

The first two were plain bands, perfectly shiny and glittering in the light. The next was one with rubies set into the metal. The fourth was a band carved to look like vines intersecting and intertwining with each other. The fifth was a delicate chain with four charms on it, a sickle, a hammer, an anvil, and a cow.

“Oh my gods…” the farmer whispered, their hands trembling slightly as they held the gift.

Shit they hate it.

March scrambled in his brain for something— anything— to say to get the bracelets back. It was a stupid idea anyways, of course they would hate it.

Before he could make a move to snatch them back, he was thrown back onto the arm of the couch as the farmer threw themselves at him and wrapped their arms around his neck.

March sat their frozen, his arms suspended in the air.

What the hell is happening?

He could feel their breath brushing against his neck as they whispered to him.

“They’re beautiful.”

It felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

March let out a sigh of relief before letting his arms drop and wrap around the person in his arms.

“You really like them?”

“Are you kidding?” They pulled away from him to look him in the eyes, their own shimmering with unshed tears, “This is the best gift anyone has ever given me.”

They moved to sit up and wiped at their eyes, “I don’t even know what to say.”

March followed them in sitting up, letting his hands rest at their waist and a small smile to grace his features.

“Well, you could start with a thank you.”

The farmer laughed loudly, a huge grin on their face.

“Thank you March, so so much,” they said as they leaned over to rest their head in the crook of his neck.

March tilted his head to rest his cheek against theirs, “Of course.”

Beautiful creatures such as you deserve beautiful things.