#March thinks the farmer hates him

[nemurenaivoron]

this idea been stuck in my head for way too long (one week?)

[televenus]

my heart honestly goes out to the ppl who dont gaf about or dont like march hes inescapable in the tags and gets so much more fan content than the rest of the cast when theyre so good

[ghostface001]

Broken Bottles

March is falling for you, but he sees how you act around Olric and knows you'll never return his feelings. His solution is to bottle up his emotions and drop kick it as far away from him as possible. Somehow, he doesn't realize what happens to glass when you kick it.

March x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), assumed unrequited feelings, minor swearing, drinking as a coping mechanism, a slightly toxic confession scene

Note: This took a lot longer to write than I thought it would, but I love it, so that's okay. Please let me know if you like it! Tagging @atoltia because she asked so nicely

The bell ringing above the door of the blacksmith’s prompts March to turn from his spot at his desk to see who entered, greeted by your bright smile and sack of ore from your latest trip down to the mines. He ignores the clenching in his chest as you beeline to him, procuring a perfect piece of iron ore and holding it out to him. 

“Hey, I found this and thought of you.”

He hates it when you talk to him like you want to see him. It could be so easy for him to trick himself into thinking that’s the case. The increased visits to the shop when you don’t need any new tools, the gifts, the attention — when he’s feeling particularly delusional, he wonders if it truly is all for him. But the illusion breaks after he takes the ore and gives the only response he’s capable of under your expectant gaze, something lukewarm to disguise the warmth rushing to his cheeks, and you move on to who you’re actually here for. 

Olric. 

It’s annoying, hearing Olric tell the same stupid story about his most recent part-time shift around town for the third time in two days. It’s even more annoying when he has to hear you laugh at it, because now instead of focusing on his work, he’s distracted by coming up with ways to hear your laugh for the rest of his life. 

“I’m trying to concentrate. Don’t either of you have work to do?” His voice comes out harsher than he intends, but he can’t bring himself to amend it. His position at his desk is a convenient cover from your gaze as you pause. Do you see the white-knuckled grip on his pencil? Do you notice the redness in his cheeks?

He doesn’t have to look at you to know your expression. Raised brow, a wrinkle of confusion and annoyance. He hasn’t snapped at you like that in a while, hasn’t deemed you a nuisance. You thought you were past this with him.You purse your lips and side-eye Olric, who only gives you a guilty shrug. “Sorry, March. I’ll get out of your hair.” You shoulder your bag and say goodbye to Olric, pausing at the door. “I’ll see you both at the inn tonight?”

“Yeah, totally!” March gives a flat grunt following Olric’s enthusiastic answer, and continues scribbling out blueprints. 

The door closes behind you, leaving a tense silence as Olric decides whether or not to question him. Before he can, a gasp escapes him. “I have a shift at the general store!�� He rushes out the door, and March turns in his chair to see him walk past the window with you smiling brightly at him. 

The rip of paper brings him out of his thoughts. March looks down at the blueprints to see a large tear where the pencil had ripped through the paper. With a frustrated sigh, March balls up the paper and tosses it into the wastebasket before pushing himself up from his desk, grabbing his hammer and heading out the door.

Get a grip. 

Why do you care who the stupid farmer talks to anyway? 

Why do you think they’d ever smile at you like that?

Each passing thought is channeled into March’s swing, punctuated by the loud banging of his hammer against metal. The shop needs a new sword on display after he gave you the last one in exchange for all the ore you’ve been handing over. He can’t let himself be in debt to you. Can’t let himself owe you anything. Because then you’d just give him that smile you have whenever you think you’ve made progress with him, the one that drives him insane. You drive him insane. Every laugh when he brags about his skill, every smile as you hand over a gift from the mines, every new scar from your journeys down there… he can’t tell if he admires you or is worried about you when you act like nothing happened after passing out in the mines. Seeing his sword strapped to your back as you run around town helped after the last time Valen had to heal you — it also made it worse. It made you keep talking to him; it made him keep responding. And now��� now it just makes him confused. Frustrated. Annoyed.

Angry.

Angry when you smile at him as though he deserves it. Angry when he messes up and snaps at you. Angry when you just roll your eyes and give it back to him, making his stomach twist in guilt — both because you don’t deserve his attitude and because he likes it when you return his energy. You don’t coddle him like Olric does. You don’t defend him when he’s being a jerk. You don’t insist he’s secretly better than he is. You see him for who he is, and you like him for who he is. 

But you like Olric more. You like Olric in the way March wishes you would like him. Not that he blames you, though he can certainly pretend to. Olric is better than him. Maybe not at blacksmithing, but at everything else. Everything you deserve. And it pisses him off.

“Are you, uh… trying out a new technique, bro?”

March forces his glare away from Olric to the anvil. The sword he’d been taking his anger out on now sits in pieces, the metal ruined from sitting in the forge for too long before he started working on it. He sneers down at his failure. “No. I’m screwing up.”

“I’m sure it can be reused… somehow.” Olric reaches up and scratches the back of his neck as he attempts to be reassuring. 

“It can’t.” March swipes the metal into the scrap bucket that’s been steadily becoming more and more needed the longer you’ve been living in his head. Maybe it’s for the best that you like Olric. That way, he can finally force his feelings to the back of his mind and get back to his standards of perfection. Maybe it’ll actually work this time. 

Olric is saying something about not worrying about the waste of metal when him saying your name brings March’s attention back. “— and I are going down to the tide caverns of the mines tomorrow, if you want to join?”

The offer makes March roll his eyes. He’s never been a miner. After the earthquake, sometimes he’ll go a few levels down in the upper mines for copper if he’s really desperate, but otherwise, he relies on Olric and Balor for supply. Not to mention, he’d rather look for worms after it rains than be a third wheel to you and Olric in the mines, working together, protecting each other with his sword on your back—

“March?”

He grits his teeth and tears off his gloves. “I’ll pass.” He storms past Olric into the shop, slamming the door behind him. 

~~~

As soon as you walk into the inn, March feels the room brighten, and he watches you make your rounds. You first visit the Dragon Guard, who are conspiring on their next hit — March overheard them ‘whispering’ about Juniper earlier, the kids aren’t subtle. Next, you check in on the latest session of Dragons & Drama that Celine is running, and after that, you stop for a round of cards. March observes you sitting next to Olric, consulting each other about your hands to the annoyance of everyone else playing. And when you win instead of Olric, he cheerfully congratulates you, his arm around your shoulders causing March to grip his glass tighter.

You finally sit next to him at the bar, and the sinking feeling in his gut disappears with your smile. Hemlock slides a drink to you over the bar, and you thank him before turning to March, your voice low. “You seemed a little off this morning, are you feeling better?”

“Now that you’re here,” He drawls with a smile, propping his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the bar.

You bite back a smile, and March suddenly has the strong urge to cup your cheeks in his hands as your face takes on a warmer hue and you laugh softly, hiding behind a sip of your drink. “Did Olric ask you about the mines tomorrow? I wanted to ask you myself, but thought you might still be… moody.”

He frowns — if he’s being honest, it’s more of a pout. “‘S’not fair.”

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You are bothering me.”

Your face twists in confusion and offense. “I can leave—”

“Noooo.” It begins to occur to March that drinking does not make him magically better at expressing himself. He reaches forward as you start to get up, but you’re closer than he’s prepared for, so he holds your wrists when he means to take your hands in his. “I mean… ‘s’not fair that you hang out with Olric all the time. ‘S’like you like him or something.”

“I do like him.”

You say something else, but the blood is already rushing in his ears. “You… you do?”

Your confusion doesn’t let up. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

No. There isn’t. Because Olric is everything March isn’t. He’s nice, and humble, and respectful. His compliments aren’t backhanded, and his praise doesn’t have to be earned. Olric doesn’t have to hide behind alcohol to express how he feels. He doesn’t have to drink to be happy. 

You like Olric. March already knew, but to hear it from your lips makes the sting burn. The warmth of your skin under his hands turns to ice, and he pulls back quickly. Too quickly, as his elbow hits his glass and sends it crashing to the ground. 

Everyone turns at the sound of glass shattering, and March’s face burns under their gazes as he pushes himself to stand. You reach out to steady him as he stumbles, avoiding stepping on broken glass. “I’ll pay for it,” He manages as Josephine approaches, ready with a broom and dustpan. 

 “There’s no need. You didn’t get nicked or anything, right?” Josephine waves him off with a smile that he can only read as pity.

“I’m fine.” He backs away, keeping his head down, and shoves his hands in his pockets before leaving. The cool night air does little to help the burning in his cheeks as he stalks over the bridge to get home. 

On the way, a hand is on his shoulder. And he turns to see you, your concerned gaze under the moonlight doing nothing to help his inner turmoil. “March? What happened?”

“I said I’m fine!” He wrenches himself away, glaring at you. “Just go be with your boyfriend!”

You hold your hands up to placate him, only angering him more. “What are you talking about?”

“Olric!” He steps forward, closing in the space between you. “You said you like him, so how about you go do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

Your face falls for a moment before hardening, and you straighten. “Get some sleep, March,” You say coolly. “It seems like you need it.”

You head back to the inn, and March glares over the side of the bridge, debating the merits of a night swim when Olric finds him and brings him home. 

~~~

March is occupying himself witht he inventory books the next morning when the bell above the door rings. He looks up to see you enter, dressed for the mines, with his sword strapped to your back. Despite the pain relieving tonic from Valen, his head throbs. “Olric left already,” He bites out, forcing himself to look down at the book.

“I told him I’d meet him there.” You set a paper cup on the sales desk and push it towards him. “Fresh from Darcy. She said she hasn’t seen you today.”

There was no chance in hell he was going to the market today. Everyone would just ask him how he was, and what was wrong, and he might just throw himself over the bridge for sure. His headache forces him to take the cup, despite never wanting to accept anything from you ever again. It’s a mocha. At least he can pretend it’s from Darcy knowing his order instead of you. You watch him expectantly as he takes a drink, an edge in your gaze. You’re expecting him to lash out at you again. He just might. “You should go. Wouldn’t want you to be late for your date.”

Your eyes narrow, and he pointedly returns to the inventory lists. “It’s not a date,” You reply. 

“But you want it to be.”

“No, I don’t.” You reach forward and close the book, bringing it over to your side of the desk. March glares at you, but you don’t waver. “So, let’s talk about it.”

It’s times like these when March wishes you would treat him like everyone else. Give him a wide berth when he’s upset, only bother him when necessary, and treat him like a ticking bomb just waiting to go off. Stop being so… you. Maybe then he wouldn’t like you as much, and you wouldn’t be forcing this conversation on him in the first place. “If you want to talk so bad, then talk to Olric,” He grits out.

“You are such a child!” You round the desk, removing the barrier between you. “I’m not dating Olric, I don’t want to date him—”

“You said you like him—”

“I thought you meant as a friend!” You throw your hands out in exasperation. “And you know what? Even if I did like him romantically, why do you care? Why is it any of your business?”

He balls his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “It isn’t.”

“No.” You step forward again, closing the distance between you. “It’s not rhetorical. Why do you care so much about who I like, March? Because I have a feeling, but I’m not gonna make it easy for you after you’ve been treating me like shit for no good reason. So how about you do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

For the first time in a long time, he does something about it. The kiss he pulls you in for is bruising and awkward, but that doesn’t stop you from returning the intensity with equal fervor. His drink sits forgotten on the table as he holds the back of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip. You clutch the front of his shirt tightly, arching your body closer into him. His lips part, and you capture more of him, causing him to gasp against your mouth.

When you finally part, neither of you let go of the other, both breathing heavily. “Why… why did you think I liked Olric?” You ask softly, still catching your breath. 

He knows his face is red, but he’s close enough to see that your cheeks are a deeper hue as well. “You always come by to see him.”

“I always come by to see you.” Your palms flatten against his chest and you laugh. “Do you seriously need me to tell you how disgustingly obvious it is that I like you? Because I will. And it will be disgusting. And slightly stalker-y. And you’ll feel really stupid that you got it wrong.”

He purses his lips to hide the smile threatening to surface. “So, what, you’re so smart that you’ve known I liked you all along and did nothing about it?”

“I had no idea until you freaked out on me last night.” Your hand trails up to his cheek. “So I guess we’re both a little stupid.”

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, dipping his head down. “I didn’t do it right the first time.”

“It felt alright to me.” Your gaze falls to his lips. You can still feel where your teeth had knocked together, and your lips sting. 

“‘Alright’ isn’t good enough.”

“You’re such a perfectionist,” You laugh, leaning in so your lips graze against his. “But I’ll allow it.”

He closes the distance, and vows to perfect his technique as long as you’ll let him.

[hibischush]

her angel wings surround my heartbeat NSFW

description; This wasn’t supposed to happen, March reminded himself. But when he’s head first in the farmer’s thighs, he can’t help but feel like he’s tending to an angel.

notes; Y'all ain't gon' believe this. I posted this fic to AO3 like an hour a go but I got side-tracked by ordering Indian food and as I patiently wait for my butter chicken and naan I shall feed you that NSFW fic featuring March 😌 Also, I tried to do like a...dual story telling but please lemme know if it needs some reworking to become more coherent.

word count; 1,363

warnings; this is NSFW! Minors Do Not Interact. Also some self-hatred and religious imagery so if you do not chill with that then don't read this

He’s an idiot. He has no one to blame but himself. When the farmer confessed her feelings for him, he scoffed and told her to buzz off. He told her so despite the thunderous beating in his chest, like a caged animal trying to break free of its confinement. Despite the fact that he wanted her so damn badly, March has always been a coward when it came to love.

He just couldn’t imagine someone as successful and so widely loved as her being interested in such a train wreck as he is. So he turned her away. He stood there like a dumbass, watching the hurt and pining cross over her eyes as she turned away with a sad smile.

“I see. I just thought I should let you know, because I would regret not telling you when I had the chance.”

She knew he was a liar. She knew, and he knew. And they both knew that he’d come to regret not telling her then, too.

He clutched his fists at his side as she walked out of the blacksmiths. Not because she angered him—no, not at all. Because he was foolish enough to have denied a deity.

The farmer whimpers and pulls on his fiery red locks, pulling him impossibly further into her folds, and he fights the urge to moan against her. She ground against March’s mouth, and he instantly loses his fight against being quiet, moaning before smacking her ass to silently convince her to stay still. The sound reverberated in the overly quiet, moonlit farmhouse. She gasped and covered her mouth to remain quiet, staring at him with wide eyes. March felt a warm twist in his abdomen. Guilt. Knowing that he doesn’t deserve the way she looks at him, a gaze with so much desire it could burn a hole in his skin. He sometimes felt sick, knowing that she could do better.

She wouldn’t stop by the blacksmith’s often after that. He thought the distance was for the better. Even though her absence gnawed away at his heart.

When he was able to catch Mistria’s farmer out and about—as by then he found himself seeking her—he only managed to make himself more plaintive. And by Gods, did it piss March off.

He hated that she could still force a smile. Hated that she would still glance longingly at his back, only to look away when he would return the glance. She was still the kind, sweet girl that the town came to know. She was so lively when talking to others. But the moment her eyes landed on the prized blacksmith, her façade collapsed like a poorly constructed house of cards. She talked meekly and flatly to him, and he could tell that she was fighting her urge to love him—or smack him. He couldn’t tell. He hated that she still cared about him. When they talked, her pretty eyes watered, and her frown was laced with pity.

He would spend late nights obsessively thinking about her. Her lovely eyes, her cute laugh. He would remind himself how severely he ached for her while he relieved himself, emptying himself on his lonely, calloused hand. He hated himself most of all for pushing her away and for pleasing himself in the dark to the thought of her. He felt like such a perverted loser.

He knew he was overstimulating her. She just about screamed when March slid two of his fingers inside her, her plot to cover her mouth to stay quiet notwithstanding. She trembled as he curled them against her walls, his lips still firmly attached to her clit. The journey to please such an angel was March’s personal pilgrimage, hopefully ending with her in bliss and clarity. He took his time to appreciate everything about his lover, as he needed to remind himself that she's real and his. He tried to contain himself even when his free hand snaked down to his trousers to palm his erection, grinding against it feebly. He’s positive that she could feel his stuttering breath against her pussy.

March didn't remember all the details of the night he confronted her. All he knew was that the belle looked incredible in her evening dress at one of Mistria’s many events at the manor, and she was talking to some guy—clearly not from Mistria. What March does remember well was the intense jealousy that slammed into his chest as he watched her flash her charming smile to the unknown man. And the pure ire that made his blood pump hot by watching him get handsy with her while she tried to politely tell him to back off.

March walked towards them, already fuming. Gently pulling her closer to his side by her waist and firmly removing the man’s hand off of her. He said nothing to him as he glared daggers into him and silently whisked her way, ignoring the man’s pathetic attempts to retrieve her.

She pulled her hand away from her mouth, a strand of spit following it, and cried his name out loudly. He knew that she was close and that his crusade was coming to an end. He maintained his bestial pace, finger-fucking her until he was positive she was seeing stars, and continued to desperately lick at her clit, slobbering like a dog that hadn’t eaten in days.

When she finally snapped and released herself on his face with a moan, he whined against her, bringing his grinding to a stop. He couldn’t bring himself to cum when he worshiped her. March has already done so many selfish things in his life that when his tongue lapped at her cunt, he could almost feel the sins on his shoulders flake off like the embers off of charred wood. He's yearning for her to know that he needs her, to the point that he's eager for her to use his body for her own pleasure. She deserves it, after all of the bullshit he’s drug her through.

His first mistake in this confession was pulling her to a secluded corner of the manor, one where the moon perfectly cast its light on her smooth skin and made her jewelry glow around her face, framing it like a halo. Her beauty terrified him and made him stumble over his words. He explained himself poorly to her, talking himself into a circle when trying to explain the way she made him feel. He felt like an idiot for the way his legs trembled. Who could blame him when the person he was talking to was a goddess in his eyes?

Before he lost the courage to say this for the second time, he blurted, “I'm in love with you. And I'm sorry I'm such an asshole.”

The way that her breath hitched as she parted her puffy lips was enough to make his heart explode. He selfishly pulled her into his chest and kissed her. Hard. He was expecting her to push him off, to strike him, to tell him off for being a jerk to her, and to say that it was too late for him to confess. The last thing he expected after he pulled away from her was for her to quietly lock the door behind him and pull him closer for a much more passionate kiss.

She jolts as he runs his tongue up and down her weeping slit, making sure that all of her heavenly essence makes it into his mouth. With one last kiss to her sex, he quickly marks the insides of her thighs, kissing them gently as if to apologize for making her his own. She sighs again as March kisses up her navel, stopping to nip at her neck. He sheepishly grins against her warm skin when she giggles after he playfully licks her ear. The sound of her laughter was almost as if the gateway to somewhere more holy than this plane of existence opened itself up to him. She cradles his flushed face, blessing him with a tender kiss—one that rids him of transgressions.

“I love you, March.”

“I love you, too.”

Can you tell that this is very Take Me to Church by Hozier-coded? Didn’t mean for that to happen but when you take body worship as a basis for your fic its bound to happen lmao. Anywoozies criticism is very welcome since idk if this is even a solid fic. As always, thank you for reading 🌺💗

[elflutter]

March x Injured farmer after 4-hearts cutscene

description: It didn’t matter how his steely gaze had gentled like molten ore these last few weeks. It didn’t matter that the few times the farmer couldn’t avoid March completely, his words didn’t have the same bitter edge they had that first season in Mistria. Maybe that was just her imagination, anyway. Wishful thinking, she told herself. So, when Olric asked Ariana to help him and his brother out at the forge, she tried not to get her hopes up.

Or, a rewrite of the four-heart cutscene where March helps the farmer home after she sprains her ankle at the forge. Then, they finally confront their feelings.

warnings: NSFW (rated M, nothing too intense. minors dni), minor injury

note: there are a few fics on ao3 where the farmer helps a drunk march home after friday night at the inn, so i wondered what a scenario where march had to help the farmer home instead would be like! this fic is also on ao3 ♡ i haven't written fic in 8 years if you like this please talk to me about it/leave a comment!!! it means the world and im feral for this grumpy blacksmith

Ariana hadn’t said more than a few passing words to March since he asked her to meet him at the Blacksmith a few weeks ago. March had chewed her out and then, perplexingly, gifted her a hoe with the nicest metalwork Ari had ever seen. She was used to working with wooden training weapons at the Adventurer’s Guild and since she had arrived in Mistria she had made do with whatever tools she could get her hands on. Sure, they were old and rusty, but they were also free. Ariana didn’t need nice things.

Ever since that day in his shop, Ari had avoided having any real conversations with Mistria’s blacksmith. When she could, she would leave whatever ore she had collected with Olric or with a note by the forge and continue quickly on her way without meeting March’s gaze. And the few times she had exchanged words with him, Ari found it hard to look away from his eyes, dark as the midnight sky, and those lips, quirked down in a frown.

You’re being ridiculous, Ari chided herself. He’s not warming up to you. He’s just keeping an eye on you like he promised.

Sure, he hadn’t outright insulted the farmer in a couple weeks. He didn’t need to. March had thrown his words like daggers when they last spoke at any real length.

March had looked at her with eyes hard like iron. “Oh please. You're in way over your head. You come out here, no money, no experience, and think you can just fake your way through running a farm? And now everyone in town acts like it was you who won the first-place blacksmithing trophy three years running. It's all fun and games now, but the second things actually get tough, I'm sure you're going to ditch Mistria and its problems.”

Ariana wasn’t a quitter. She had told March that much. But he was right about one thing. She had no idea how to run a farm. Back in the Capital, Ari could barely keep a houseplant alive on the windowsill of her apartment. She was always a quick learner, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t enough.

You weren’t enough for the Adventurer’s Guild, and you aren’t enough for Mistria.

And March was the only one who saw that. Ari wanted to prove him wrong- she wanted to be good enough for Mistria. Good enough for March, Ari tried not to think. She told herself that was the reason the blacksmith was always on her mind. She was only thinking about proving him wrong. She was not thinking about his eyes that sparkled when he laughed on Fridays at the inn, not the little crease between his eyebrows that she wanted to smooth out when he frowned, and certainly not what those pursed lips would feel like beneath her own

 That would be ridiculous, she told herself. He hates you. 

It didn’t matter how his steely gaze had gentled like molten ore these last few weeks. It didn’t matter that the few times Ari couldn’t avoid March completely, his words didn’t have the same bitter edge they had that first season in Mistria. Maybe that was just her imagination, anyway. Wishful thinking, she told herself. So, when Olric asked Ariana to help him and his brother out at the forge, she tried not to get her hopes up.

—

March was having a great day. It was still early in the summer, so the air in Mistria wasn’t blistering quite yet. It was just the right temperature that reminded him of standing in front of the warmth of the forge. He was pleased with himself as he approached his brother, “Olric! Balor cut me a great deal on the ingots. But we’ll have to bring them to the forge ourselves, so we’ll need to-” March cut himself short when he saw familiar purple waves and a denim overall dress. “Ari, what do you think you’re doing here exactly?” March’s skin simmered with a feeling that he told himself was anger.

“March!” his brother beamed, “Ari heard how backed up we were and uh… volunteered to help out! Right, buddy?”

Ari stood silently for a moment, her eyes locked firmly on March. He swore he saw a faint blush creep onto her cheeks. Figures, he thought, I’ve been a real ass to her. Of course she’d still be angry with me. The farmer had been avoiding him these last few weeks. Ever since he’d pushed her away. It was for the best. March had to focus on work and while Ari had captured everybody else’s attention in Mistria, it was best that she stayed away from March. He liked it better on his own.

March broke Ari’s gaze, and whatever spell was cast between them had broken. March didn’t let himself feel disappointed.

“Many hands make light work!” Ari recovered, sunny as ever. March thought it was infuriating. No matter how rude he was to her, she always responded with a smile and a kind word. It was ridiculous. Nobody was that nice.

Nobody except Ari, his subconscious added unhelpfully. He ignored it. It had to be an act, right? March angled his head so he could look down at Ari in a way he knew made most people feel small. “I don’t need platitudes, especially from you.”

Ari’s smile faltered and March chided himself despite his better judgment. This woman was so frustrating! “Well you can just- fine! Fine. But you’d better be able to keep up,” March finished. 

The blacksmith directed his brother to start carrying over Balor’s shipment from the inn, and Ari helped start up the forge. She kept the temperature steady easily. March wasn’t surprised, her skill had been improving steadily since she arrived in Mistria. The two of them fell into an easy rhythm. A swell of pride bubbled in March’s chest as Ari added another ingot to their growing pile. Once Olric returned with the shipment from Balor, he slotted into their routine and the work that would’ve taken all day with just the two brothers was done by lunchtime.

“And... that's... it! Whew, I think we're done. Are we done, Olric?” March panted.

Olric was out of breath as well, “We sure are! Everyone is going to be super happy about this!”

“That was fun!” Ari was beaming, showing that warmth that March craved despite himself.

The blacksmith felt his cheeks heat. “Y-yeah! ... I mean... thanks, Ari. I'm going inside,” March swallowed thickly, “I need to cool down.”

March felt the farmer’s stare on his back as he turned back into the shop. Before he could even latch the door closed, there was a scuff of boots and a yelp at the forge behind him. Next thing March knew, he was at Ari’s side helping her to sit on the stairs from the forge that she had seemingly tripped down.

—

Ari’s ankle throbbed as she sat on the steps to the forge, March’s hands carefully assessing her injury. She thought it was fitting that her first real injury in Mistria had come from her infatuation with the Blacksmith and not from a monster in the mines or from her work on the farm. March was the biggest pain in her ass, even more so than any of her real work. March pressed his fingers gently against a tender spot on her ankle and she flinched at the ache it caused.

March turned to Olric, “We should get her to Valen to check this out.” Was that concern in his voice? She was not going to see the town’s doctor. Absolutely not. She would never live down the indignity if her first trip to Valen’s clinic was caused by tripping down the stairs while ogling at the local blacksmith. It was barely a sprain, surely she could make it to her farm and patch herself up with supplies from her adventuring days. Ari carefully maintained her image as the competent farmer. She didn’t want Valen to see through the act like March clearly had.

You’re not enough for Mistria. And you are certainly not enough for him.

Before March could turn his gaze back to Ari, she pushed herself off the steps to make her way home. However, the second she put weight on her ankle she stumbled back onto the stairs. Despite the obvious difficulty moving, Ari managed to mumble out a pouted “’M fine.”

“Your ankle is already twice its normal size.” Ari felt March’s eyes on her injury. “There is no way you can keep working like that,” the concern in March’s voice was unmistakable.

So he does care.

Before Ari let herself dwell on that revelation, she threw the harshest look she could muster through the butterflies in her stomach and the throbbing in her ankle. She was never really good at harsh looks to begin with. “You are not taking me to Valen like this.”

March matched her disagreeable energy for a moment, with much more verve than she had managed “What do you mean? You know it's her job to see to injuries, right?”

Olric looked between the two of them, clearly not wanting to be caught in the middle of one of their arguments. “I’m just going inside to check on our, um, rocks… Ari just shout if you need any help, yeah? Take care of yourself, bro.”

When Ari didn’t say anything after Olric made himself scarce, March softened again. “You really do need to get this treated.”

Ari couldn’t help but smile, “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you cared about my well being,”

March’s face turned as red as his hair as he stammered, “W- well I don’t want you out of commission with all that ore you’re bringing around all the time. It’d be bad for business- that's all.” Though he tried to mask his worry, Ari still caught his eyes darting down to her swollen ankle.

“March, I’ll be fine. I have some supplies at the farmhouse. I can patch myself up, I’ve done it before.”

Before Ari could move to get up again, March carefully laid a hand on her arm. “At least let me help you get home. We both know you can’t put weight on that ankle right now.” Ari could swear she felt sparks where his fingers brushed, calloused and warm. The farmer nodded her head because her throat seemed too dry to form words.

It was going to be a slow-going process, getting back to the farm. Ari had an arm slung over March’s shoulder so he could help support her as they began to walk away from the Blacksmith. Ari tried to hide her wince and sharp intake of breath whenever her injured foot pressed against the ground. But they didn’t seem to escape March’s attention, because after a few steps, he motioned for Ari to stop moving.

“This will go a lot faster if you let me carry you.”

For a moment Ari forgot about her pride and imagined March’s strong arms, toned from long days at the forge, wrapped around her body. Imagined what it would feel like to wrap her own arms around him and what it would be like to feel his pulse under her breath as she rested her head in the crook of his neck. So Ari conceded. For purely experimental purposes, of course. 

March picked her up like she weighed nothing, despite her plump curves and her own toned physique from life on the farm and adventurer training before it. She had trained hard with the Guild, though they never sent her out on any real adventures. Ari was competent, but she had been relatively new to the Adventurer’s guild. There was always a more seasoned adventurer for the jobs that really mattered. And it would have been selfish of her to push for a job outside the city, protecting farmland from bandits or villagers from woodland monsters when her inexperience could have easily hurt the ones she wanted to help. So, the old farm in Mistria seemed like Ari’s best shot to make a real difference.

Even if I have no clue what I’m doing, she couldn’t help but remind herself.

She was shaken from her thoughts when March started walking after adjusting Ari in his arms. He was carrying her princess-style, and as Ari wrapped her arms around his neck, the feeling of his skin under her fingertips was even better than she had imagined. March’s hold was secure, and Ari relaxed into him. She focused on the pleasant up and down sensation of each step as they made their way towards her farm instead of her throbbing ankle.

Ari decided to test out another one of her theories, and rested her head in the crook of March’s neck. She felt muscles tense under her cheek for a moment, before March pulled her body closer to his. He smelled of cedarwood & sage, and she drank in the scent. This felt more magical than any spell Caldarus could teach her. Ari could feel March’s pulse thundering as they crossed the bridge that led home. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba- dum. It was mesmerizing. Ari wondered if her own heartbeat betrayed her like his did.

Is he enjoying this?

Before Ari could decide on an answer, March stopped at the front door of her farmhouse.

“We’re here, Princess.” March’s breath was on her ear and his voice raspy. He wasn’t teasing her, not entirely. Lightning licked down Ari’s spine at his words, and at his voice.

Ari tried to control her breath as she replied, “You can put me down now, I think.”

March seemed to return to himself as the tension loosened between them when he was reminded of why he had been carrying her in the first place.

“Let me at least get you settled inside. You’ll strain yourself trying to walk on it so soon.” 

Ari rolled her eyes at his mother-henning, but her arms were still around his neck and she wouldn’t mind a few more moments of feeling his body pressed against hers. “Fine.”

March set Ari gingerly on her plaid bed sheets and she told him where to find the healing supplies. He pulled the canvas duffel bag out from under the bed and began to sort through her first aid kit. 

“Do you even know what to do with all that?”

March looked up at her, “First aid training a couple years ago. I taught smithing at a summer camp.”

Ari studied her grumpy blacksmith. It made sense that he would be a camp counselor. He was great with Luc, Maple, and Dell; always working on little projects for them. She recently overheard Dell bragging about the awesome dragons-head belt-buckle he had made for the little adventurer.

“You really are a softy,” Ari accused him with no real malice in her voice.

“Would you rather I leave you here and let you break your ankle tripping over yourself?”

March gathered healing ointment on his one hand and carefully lifted Ari’s injured ankle with the other. He spread the salve over the swollen area and Ari couldn’t decide which sensation was more intense- the aching tenderness of her sprain, or the electricity she felt every time March touched her.

The air smelled of mint & aloe. The pain in Ari’s ankle quieted to a dull thrum. “I guess I don’t really mind that you’re here.”

March’s smirk told Ari he was unconvinced by her nonchalance. He wiped the ointment from his hands onto a washcloth from the healing kit, and moved to wrap her ankle for stability. As he worked the bandage around and around, March’s gaze stayed locked on Ari’s.

“Thank you, March,” her voice was barely more than a whisper. Where before the tension between them had grown slack, now it was pulled taut. 

“Arianna,” March breathed.

Before Ari could consider what she was about to do, her hands found their way to March’s red locks and she gently pulled him up so that his face was even with her own. He was so close that they could share breath. His lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were rosy. Ari closed her eyes and the distance between them as she gently pressed her lips to his.

Ari expected March to be reticent, at first. She feared he might even pull away from where their lips were joined. Instead, March deepened the kiss gently, almost reverently. His hands cupped Ari’s jaw and warmth pulsed down her body, through her stomach, and straight to her core. They explored each other with tenderness and without any rush. Ari’s grip loosened in March’s hair and she moved her hands down his chest and to the hard plane of his abdomen. His apron felt rough beneath her fingers, and Ari couldn’t help but stop and toy with the metal pendant he always wore. 

They kissed until they were out of breath and panting. When March finally pulled away, his eyes devoured Arianna like a starved man. The blacksmith pressed his forehead to Ari’s and she could feel his warm breath on her lips. Ari ached for him as March repositioned his hands to rest on her waist and his lips to brush against her ear.

“You’re so beautiful.” His words sent another shiver between her legs and Ari wondered if she was having the same effect on him.

“Do you really mean it?” She whined, “Don’t you dare tease me.”

Ari couldn’t help the lingering fear in the back of her mind that this was just some joke; that the harsh distance from before revealed his true feelings for her and now he was just having a bit of fun at her expense.

Deep down she knew that the man who taught his craft to kids at summer camp and who faithfully created a copper nugget beetle out of actual copper for Luc wouldn’t have the heart to do that to her. But the fear remained nonetheless.

March let out a sigh that sounded almost like regret. “Is it because of how I treated you before? I’m sorry Ariana.” His stare darted down for a moment, unable to meet her own. “I have a tough time with new people. I learned that they can’t disappoint me if I expect the worst from them.” March pulled back so he could look into her eyes again, pupils blown with desire and gaze simmering like hot coals. “I expected the worst from you and you proved me wrong every single time. Thank you for today.” March paused another moment, and Ari quietly marvelled at how beautiful he looked in that moment.  “I’m shit with words, Ari. Let me show you.”

Arianna nodded frantically, heady want flooding her thoughts and her senes until all she could feel were March’s hands on her overalls as he adjusted her farther back on the bed, carefully maneuvering her injured ankle. She ached for him. Then, March positioned himself between her legs and she could feel his need. For a moment, his lips were on hers again, and she relished feeling so close to him. He kissed down her chin and to her jaw. He paused his work to look up at her, and his gaze was like a blessing and a wanton prayer. March’s mouth trailed kisses down her overalls and to just below her navel, and she lamented that she was covered by the damned clothing. Ari wanted to feel his lips on her bare skin. Then, a hand snaked up her thigh and under her dress. Arianna moaned her assent.

March looked up again, “Is this okay?”

Ari mustered another nod, all rational thought lost to her. March bunched the skirt of her overalls at the waist.

“Is this okay?”

Again, Ari nodded. March pushed her underwear to the side and positioned his lips just above her core.

“Is this okay?” March looked at her with a primal hunger in his gaze, voice rough with want.

Ari tried to nod again, but all she managed to do was buck her hips towards March’s waiting lips and let out a needy moan.

Finally, finally March pressed a kiss to where she needed it most and Ari began to come undone underneath him. His tongue was hitting all the right spots; and his hands pressed her hips firmly to the bed when all she wanted to do was grind into him. 

March lifted his head for a moment, gazing up at Ari with his lips parted. She felt his calloused hands resting on her hips, only pressing down when she tried to lift them. “Careful with that ankle, Ari.”

The unabashed concern in his voice was as intoxicating as the evidence of what he had been doing to her on his lips.

All Ari could think about were those hands on her skin and the bulge she knew was between March’s legs. “Come back up here, March.”

They shed their clothes, and then March was pressed against her once again. Where before it was his mouth, now it was his hips. Ariana forgot the ache in her ankle and the cool gel of the healing salve when there was no more room between herself and March. He fit perfectly, and joined with her so gently. As March pressed his forehead against Ari’s and began to move within her, she thought she could see every possible shade of magic inside his blown out pupils. Ariana had come to Mistria for a farm and a house, but what she had gotten was a home. That thought scared her more than any monster in the mines. March reached a hand up to cup her jaw and he captured her lips in a tender kiss. His fingertips felt hot where they touched her cheek, and she savored the roughness of his callouses, hardened from long days at the forge.

Soon, both spent, they reluctantly pulled away from each other. March grabbed a towel from the small kitchen in the farmhouse and wiped up his mess from her stomach and chest. The texture of the towel was rough against her soft skin and slick against March’s release. 

“Was that clear enough for you, Princess?”  March asked with a smirk. March’s arm was around her shoulders and her head was pressed to his chest where she could hear his heartbeat.

Emboldened by his obvious affection, Ari adjusted to prop her head on her elbow and smiled as she stared lazily at the man in bed next to her. “Are you sure that's how you feel about me?”

March silenced her with a kiss and she laughed into his mouth. When they separated again, March’s fingers explored her purple waves. “Please don’t ask me to explain it again right now. I might need a break first.”

Ari laughed and curled into March's side, feeling content and decidedly not ready for another round. March pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

They held one another in companionable silence for some time. “I think I love you, idiot,” March finally mumbled into Ariana's hair.

Ari pulled away to meet his gaze, heart thundering in equal parts joy and disbelief. Composing herself, she smiled at her blacksmith. Her blacksmith. “I was just thinking the same thing, asshole.” 

[toasted-buguette]

Into Your Own Hands

Summary: Ryis decides to pine from a distance in order to be a better wingman for March. The farmer has other ideas.

Ryis is many things: A son, a brother, a nephew, a pretty good woodworker if he were to say so himself. A friend, and he tried to be a good one. 

Ryis is also in love, although he would desperately like to not be. 

Mistria is, despite its constant activity, a very small town with a very close knit community. It’s one of the things that made him love it there, that and the quiet that let him hear birdsong with more clarity and variety. Everyone knew each other and everyone had some manner of bond that had existed for at least a year or two, so it made sense that the arrival of a new member of the community would spark interest in everyone. Ryis wasn’t exempt from this, after all the last time someone new came it was him, but he liked to think himself a little bit chiller about it than some others.

Chiller than March, he means.

March is, as much as he likes to hide it, a pretty good guy underneath all his bluster. He just doesn’t like change, when Ryis first moved in it took March a week to stop sulking and talk to him. It was only once Friday came along and Olric dragged his brother to the inn that he and Ryis actually got to have a conversation and that (Plus one or two of Hemlock’s drinks) was all it took to spark a friendship that would surely last a lifetime. Because besides being craftspeople and their mutual adoration of Mistria and its citizens, the quality Ryis and March shared in the highest quantity was their loyalty. 

Which is why Ryis can’t acknowledge his growing fondness for the new farmer. 

You see, after the earthquake a lot of things needed repairing and the citizens of Mistria needed a distraction, so a new face was just what the town needed. Ryis, on his part, was eager to welcome the new farmer into town, after all he knew better than anyone what it was like to be the new member of a well established community. Besides, he knew they would be working together on the myriad of reconstruction projects, so it was only natural that they get along outside of work. It helped that they were very easy to get along with. 

March, as is his wont, was not as receptive to this newcomer. No one was surprised when any conversation with him eventually led to him grumbling about the no good farmer who was only here for their own gain and totally wasn’t going to last the season. Ryis, at least, was surprised when these grumblings continued past the first week of the farmer being there. 

After all, the farmer went to very great lengths to talk to everyone frequently, March included, and usually once he got to know someone he mellowed out at least a little. But no, it seemed that March’s ire only grew with every attempt to make peace the farmer made. Ryis tried to reassure them that March would warm up to them eventually, (He had to, they were just too charming even for March to hate for long), but his reassurances could only go so far when March seemed to go out of his way to antagonize the farmer. It wasn’t until late spring that Ryis found out why March was being so… like that. 

For all his guardedness it only takes a couple drinks to get all of March’s walls to crumble like a termite infested fence, and once they did the blacksmith was the most open book in the world. There was no such thing as secrets with drunk March, so Ryis got a front row seat as March got to rambling about the farmer once more, and it instantly became plain as day that March’s blush that night was not caused by the beer. 

Ryis couldn’t remember a time March was ever so enthralled with someone. He sat there and listed out Ryis’ thoughts verbatim about how interesting and capable the farmer was, how helpful and hardworking, and Ryis realized two things simultaneously.

One: He was developing a crush on the farmer.

And Two: He could not, under any circumstances, let it continue to grow.

When was the last time March was so enamored with anyone? When had he ever been this animated when talking about something that wasn’t made of metal? March had always been a happy drunk but this was beyond anything that Ryis had ever seen from his friend and he wanted desperately for that happiness to continue.

So he resolved himself to try and help March realize the feelings he had while he was sober as well as pushing the farmer in his direction whenever possible. It was easy for Ryis to ignore his own feelings, at first, after all the farmer hadn’t been there long and was always running around going who knows where to do who knows what. Out of sight out of mind and all that, and when they were not out of mind Ryis could always find a project to take his mind off them for a little while. And when that failed to work he could always tell himself that once their novelty wore off so too would his unfortunate crush.

And then the general store was ready to be remodeled and all that flew out the window. 

Unlike with the bridge Ryis couldn’t do the whole thing alone in a single day, and aside from his uncle (Who he loved very dearly and wanted to enjoy his retirement as much as possible) the only person qualified to help was the farmer. So the two of them set to work and Ryis tried very hard not to think about how every time their hands touched when exchanging tools a shock would go up his arm and send his heart racing, or how every so often he’d look up from his work and see them so deeply focused that he fell just a little deeper in love. 

That, he thinks, is what finally broke the dam and now when he aims the farmer in March’s direction (Because he still does, because he loves March) it is accompanied by a horrible pang in his chest that he knows he’ll never be able to get rid of. 

‘It’s fine.’ He tells himself. He’ll make do with what he can get and he’ll blame the work on why he’s so flushed every time he joins the farmer on a project and when March can finally admit to himself that he doesn’t hate them Ryis will look on as two of his favorite people can freely admit their love for eachother and it will be because of him and maybe the ache in his chest will get a little easier to live with. 

The next time he sees the farmer, Ryis wants to hide in his scarf. They’re sweaty and out of breath and he can tell why when they hand him a stack of hardwood so big he wonders how they fit it all in their bag. They smile so wide when he accepts it and their face makes him want to melt. That doesn’t stop him from inviting them to the shop, of course. After all, it's hot and he can’t move all of that himself (he can) and wouldn’t they like to sit down and cool off for a second after all that work? Really it’s the least he could do after everything they’ve done for the town (for him). 

And now they’re alone in the shop and the wood is all put away and Ryis would talk about all the projects he has planned for it except the farmer makes it really hard for him to think and of course Landen is gone and can’t distract the farmer from him so they’re just watching him stammer with those intensely beautiful eyes of theirs and Ryis realizes a little too late that he said that last part out loud. 

Mortified, Ryis looks away and it takes him a minute before he can bear to take his eyes off the pile of sawdust they landed on and return them to the farmer. The sight that greets him when he does is not what he expected; The farmer is staring at him with a sort of half-smile and did they get closer? Their face is definitely closer to his than it was when he looked away. He bashfully tells them that he’s sorry and they should probably forget what he said and after a second they say that maybe they don’t want to. Maybe they gave him all that hardwood because to them his smile is the prettiest thing in the whole town. 

And every plan Ryis ever made to play matchmaker for March goes in the trash because hearing that makes his heart stop and when the farmer kisses him it is the most right anything has ever felt. And soon they’ll have to leave because it’s late and their chickens are still outside and then Ryis will have to grapple with the fact that he just kissed the person his best friend is in love with but for now none of that matters because after a season and a half of pining and pushing his feelings down it feels like he can finally breathe. 

And as the farmer leaves, trailing promises to see him soon behind them, Ryis revels in not having to dread their next meeting any more.

[ya-what--ya-erster]

Spot Conlon Likes Idiots

Inspired by @lithuaniaseye 's post here

606 words

Farm kid Race written by actual farm kid Albert (hi)

...

...

It wasn't news that Race was a farm kid. 

Race was the ultimate  farm kid. He was tall, and skinny, and appeared to have no muscle at all, but he could toss you over a fence like a hay bale. He wore Twisted X shoes and faded boot cut jeans and shirts with American flags and guns on them. He carried his pocket knife around religiously, constantly fiddling with it like it was a toy. He could ride a horse, and he could try (and fail) to ride a bull in a rodeo. 

He was also really gay, though, and those two things happened to not go very well together. 

Not necessarily because of hate, although sometimes that did occur.

Mostly, being a gay farm boy was a problem for Race because he had a tendency to flirt with his farmer-ness. 

"It's gonna work this time, Jack." Race said certainly. 

"You look like you're gonna go kick his ass. Which you couldn't do, by the way. Spot's like, ten times stronger than you." Jack replied. 

"I just want to ask him to come to the rodeo with us, is it really that bad?"

"What's bad is that Spot's a city kid, and you ain't, and you dress like all those homophobic shitheads over there while Spot's openly bi. Do you understand what's gonna go through his head, Racer?"

"Do you want me to paint my nails or some bullshit? I don't gotta 'look gay,' whatever that means."

"Actually. I'm gonna make a bet with you here. You're gonna ask him out, to the rodeo. If he says no, you are  going to paint your nails. If he says yes, which he won't, then I will. Left on for a week. Deal?"

"No deal. If you paint your nails when ya lose, nobody will notice. You are the most obviously queer person in this room right now. If you lose, you're gonna wear my clothes for a week."

"I ain't losing, so. Sure thing."

The two boys shook on it. Race took a breath and turned to go, but...

"Oh yeah, I forgot." Race plucked a barley stalk out of the ground and stuck it in his mouth like-

"One of them damn buckle bunnies, that's what you look like right now. You look like an idiot." Jack was not having it. 

"Do ya think Spot likes idiots?" Race asked absentmindedly, staring at Spot. 

"You moron. Go, get it over with."

So Race marched up to Spot, loud and proud. 

"Hey."

"You know, I'm just trying to have a good time, I don't need any of your bullshit today." Spot said roughly.

"I was wondering if- wait what?" Race stopped.

"So I'm bi? Deal with it."

"Ohh darn, Jack was right."

"Kelly?"

"Yeah, Kelly. He said you was gonna think that- never mind, I ain't here to bully ya or anything."

"Okay, well? What do you want, then?"

"I'm gay."

Spot looked Race up and down, then scoffed. 

"Uh-huh."

"For reals."

"Alright. Good to know, bye." Spot took a step away, but Race caught him by the arm and turned him back. 

"I was wondering," Race said slowly, "If maybe you would want to go to the rodeo with me tonight? Like, as a date?"

Spot pulled his arm away from Race, and Race worried for a second that he was gonna walk away with a split lip or a black eye. 

"Sure thing. Let me text my Ma and let her know I'll be out late, yeah?"

...

"How do you wear this shit?" Jack asked the next day, standing before Race's full-length mirror. 

"Cause I like it. And now you have to deal with it for a whole week. Enjoy! I gotta go pick Spot up for school."

...

THE END

...

...

hi its the author I just realized y'all city ppl probs actually don't know what a buckle bunny is so where I come from we use it to describe someone who dresses like this, or basically like anyone who looks like a fake country person. The whole wheat in the mouth thing doesn't actually happen all that often which is why it tends to fall under the buckle bunny label.

Also, I used barley instead of wheat in this for me being a farm kid purposes so

[theladyofbloodshed]

It's been an age since I read the series, but I do think Rhys was intended to be one of the villains for the trilogy:

SJM scrapped her original plan for ACOMAF and wrote the current one. ACOMAF is touted as a hades x persephone retelling but it isn't really that at all. On her second (?) visit she decides to stay.

Rhys very much is the villain in book one but the end scene when they talk and the bond snaps was a different tone entirely - which makes me think it was a last minute edit to set up the new sequel

There are no mentions to Illyrians in ACOTAR - despite later finding out they did serve alongside Amarantha and were executed for it - the attor is the only one described as having leathery wings

There are also no mentions to Darkbringers who did also serve

Why would they serve Rhys if they hate him? It's explained as them being SO evil that they revel in Amarantha's punishment, but they would still need to follow his orders so it makes no sense that they would listen to him when they could bypass Rhys and bend the knee to her

It is retconned that with his single drop of leftover magic, he is able to shield Velaris and remove Amren, Mor, Cassian and Azriel from the memories of every single person in Prythian - which includes Mor's family, every Illyrian, the Vanserras, and Tamlin (in book 2, Tamlin and Lucien comfirm they know Cass & Az, Eris was engaged to Mor, Lucien calls Amren a scary story they tell children, the CoN apparently knows about Velaris) If Rhys wasn't the originally intended villain then...

Why does the king of Hybern who trained Amarantha - she uses his book of spells - do nothing for fifty years? The Suriel states that a hundred years earlier he sends spies to Prythian but Amarantha betrays him and traps the high lords and he then just chills

Why does he wait until the high lords are back to full strength to start a war to take over Prythian? He had fifty years to take over prythian when all of the high lords except one were trapped - but what? He was too scared of Amarantha? He needed an extra 8 months to launch his war?

Amarantha is his student so it stands to reason that he is stronger than her and could quite easily take over her coup with the army that was seemingly ready to go at any time. There's even a part in acotar where one creature questions the attor over whether amarantha thinks she's above the king. It's also stated that her revenge on jurian cost him the war because she didn't march with her section of the army, but he's benevolent enough to let her rule for 50 years

Hybern is made out to be this ghoulish country where they're all evil (just like Illyria and the Hewn City) with no variance amongst the people; they're all warriors too, clearly no children or farmers or smiths or matronly women. They're all nameless and faceless cannon fodder. There is no concern for the state of post-war Hybern or who rules in the king's stead, for the orphans and windows. It is underdeveloped as is the nameless king who is foolish enough to try and take over prythian only *after* its high lords have all had their power restored and are fortifying their courts

[elleworks]

The Jacket

Yoooo! I have been obsessed with Fields of Mistria since it's release, and I am FERAL for more writing out there, especially with everyone's fav, March.

I have more planned to write, but this is the first little blurb I could get out. I am also happy to take requests, just know I am slow moving :)

Most of these will be 18+ but this one is pretty tame. So enjoy!

It had been yet another long day spent at the forge, March didn’t prefer it any other way, but with winter just around the corner, today brought a relentless chill. Thankfully his work kept him busy, and the forge always burned hot. All throughout the day he had been visited by various villagers, whether they were seeking a completed order, or just saying hello. 

The day passed uneventfully, and as March was finishing up his work when Olric emerged from their home. 

“I’m heading to the bathhouse! Wanna come?” Olric was always so chipper, even after days like this. 

March thought about it for a moment. Now that he had been done working, he had begun to feel the cold air settling back in. A bath would be nice, but everyone else was probably thinking the same, and he liked his solitude. 

“Not tonight,” March finally muttered, before turning away from the forge and seeing Olric had already started down the street, eager to get a warm bath. 

The redhead scoffed slightly, and shoved his hands in his pockets, observing the rest of the street to find it mostly empty. It was strange, he had only seen the farmer once today- she ran by early in the morning, simply offering a wave to him as she passed the forge. 

Ari was an enigma to March. He didn’t understand her. When she’d first arrived he thought she’d only come for the land, but as the seasons passed, it was clear she was intent on helping Mistria. The blacksmith would be lying if he said he still disliked her. Though he hated admitting that to himself. 

Still, he couldn’t help but keep up his act whenever she came around. Something about her still irked him. He couldn’t tell if it was how cheery she always seemed, or how she took his spotlight all the time, or how she made his heart skip whenever she stepped into the Inn on Friday nights, or the way his name sounded rolling off her tongue when she teased him. 

March hated the way she would creep into his thoughts all the time. Everyday it was getting harder to keep up the act, when all he wanted to do was pull her to him and- 

The blacksmith realized he was getting lost in his thoughts, out in the cold street, so he huffed and walked into his home, hoping to find something to distract himself from thoughts of the farmer. 

March made some dinner, and sat at his desk, looking over some papers and blue prints he had. Focusing on work was always a welcome distraction. 

That was, until the front door opened. 

March initially ignored whoever walked into the shop, annoyed that they were here so late. But then he heard a breathless, “..March?” 

The redhead finally turned, looking over his shoulder, his eyes widened as he saw the farmer standing in the doorway, looking positively frozen. 

“What the hell, Ari?” March huffed, standing quickly and taking quick strides over to her to close the door, and usher her into the warmth. She was wearing a dress he couldn’t stand, something she just started wearing this season. The fabric was thick, a wonderful dress for the fall, it looked amazing on her, and that’s why he hated it. 

“Where is your coat? Why are you out in the cold this late?” March’s tone was biting as he took hold of one of her arms and led her over to the hearth. 

“I was in the mines this morning and got hot, so I took my coat off. But then I forgot it as I kept going deeper..” Ari shivered against his touch, but relaxed slightly as she felt the warmth of the fire. 

March’s brows were furrowed, annoyed that she made such a stupid mistake. But he could scold her later- right now he just needed her to get warmer. March walked over to his desk and snagged his jacket off the back of the chair before returning to the Farmer’s side and draping it over her shoulders. 

March paused then, the sight of his jacket on her made his brain short circuit. 

“Thanks,” Ari said, turning to look up at March with her big eyes, “I found this for you,” and with that Ari reached into her bag and pulled out a perfect silver ore. March’s eyes widened, looking from the ore back to Ari, his cheeks already significantly warmer. 

“You couldn’t remember to grab your coat but you could haul this thing around?” March rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not leaving a find like this behind!” Ari couldn’t stop her smile, though it was evident she was still trying to fight off the cold, “Besides, I like seeing you blush whenever I bring you one.” The farmer pressed the ore into March’s hand and giggled. 

March’s cheeks flushed even more, and for a moment the blacksmith stared at her in silence, unsure of how he wanted to respond to her. 

Ari hummed in amusement, “Ooo, did I get ya March?” She braved a step closer to him, her eyes watching his, with a mischievous glint. “I didn’t think you could be shut up so easily-” 

The farmer was promptly cut off when March’s hand rose and found the back of her neck. His fingers found purchase in her hair, and he pulled her to him. Ari gasped, her hands landing on his chest, just as March crashed his lips into hers. 

The blacksmith was tired of playing this game with her, if she liked seeing the red in his cheeks so much, maybe it was his time to return the favor. 

March was unrelenting in his kiss, his lips consuming the farmer’s. She sighed into their kiss, and March took the opportunity to deepen it. His tongue dragged against her lower lip, demanding access to her mouth, and she happily complied. March moaned as his tongue slipped into her wet mouth. His hand on the back of her neck kept her in place as his other hand moved to her hip and pulled her body flush against his. 

March broke away from the kiss then, his cheeks flushed- but now so were the Farmer’s. The redhead smirked down at her and released the hold he had on her. “That is how you shut someone up.” 

The farmer stared up at March in delighted shock, scrambling to find any words. 

March hummed in amusement before turning on his heel and walking back to his desk. “You can borrow the jacket until you get a new coat- but don’t be stupid and leave it in the mines again, and make sure you return it.” 

The farmer continued to watch in shock, until she gathered herself and looked down at his jacket. She smiled and then headed back to the door. “If you ever want it back, then you’re going to have to pry it off me.” And with that she shut the door behind her and hurried down the street. 

March couldn’t help but smile to himself, he didn’t mind the idea of seeing her in his jacket about the town.

[fieldsofwriting]

What would each of the Foam bachelors/ettes cast would dress as for Halloween?

oh my gosh this is such a fun request!! I did my best with what we’ve had so far! I haven’t made it to Fall just yet in my game so I hope you enjoy!

Adeline: She is ether super last minute to the point where she has to have a basic (but still cute!) costume of like- black cat. You know where you get the kitty ear headband and dollar store tail and draw on whiskers. Simple and cute! Or- she has meticulously planned and designed an entire group outfit and they are so fashionable it’s almost insane.

Balor: His first year in town? He probably didn’t do anything special. But I can see him doing something simple at first. But slowly getting more confident as his time in the town grows. I think he’d go as a couple different things. A pirate (always a slut for the slutty pirate shirt), his d&d character, or himself but say he’s a rouge.

Eiland: Indiana Jones. I’m sorry, I know cliche but he would fuck that shit up so good. He would also use it as an excuse to talk about the museum or his findings with all the ancient stuff. Or, or hear me out- dragon. He’d totally try and go for a dragon look.

Celine: I think she’d be roped into a group costume with ether Adeline, or her family. Not by force!! I think she’d be happy to do matching and be part of a set. But if she had to go solo? I know Sailor Moon and She-ra doesn’t exist here, but definitely something of that origin. Whatever Mistria’s version of a strong female lead. She’s go as that.

Hayden: Listen. He knows it’s cliche but he’s going as the farmer and letting Henrietta shine as the real star in whatever costume she wants. He is simply the means to show her off. Or, I could see him doing a matching costume- again with Henrietta. Anything for his girl.

Juniper: She’d be the type to ether go all out, or just say fuck it and not do anything. If she’s going all out, she’s decked out as a full blown witch, Dozy is her companion dressed up like a werewolf or vampire. She probably does a haunted bathhouse.

March: If they can convince him to do a costume, he’d go all in. He has to be the best at everything- including his costume. He’d probably go as something classic like a zombie, or a horror movie guy but go all out. I don’t think he’d do anything super scary though, he’d hate to scare the littles.

Orlic: (I know he’s not a bachelor but he should be. He’s so stupid and I wanna kiss him about it.) He’s going as a rock. :3

Ryis: This one’s tough, i’m not sure what he’d go as. If I had to pick something I think he’d be a fairytale prince. Something about his soft, caring demeanor screams ‘woodland animals want to sit on his shoulders. Women would do wild shit to be with him.’ vibes.

Valen: I think she’d dress up as something simple. She strikes me as the type of lady who would prefer passing out candy to dressing up honestly. So I can see just putting on a witch hat, or a pair of ears. She’d also definitely tell the kids “remember to bruh your teeth and eat extra veggies tonight!” because of all the candy.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! This was so much fun to think about! And as always-

Requests are open!! Send in your ideas today!! :3

[adozentothedawn]

I know I already talked about this a few years ago but can we again talk about the dumbass map and what it implies about Waidwen's war plans?

I mean what is going on here???

So there's no way in hell that Saint's Rest isn't named for him, so he came through here, on his way to the border. Alright, so far so good. Then he decides to march south to cross a whole ass mountain range instead of just taking the normal road, which is weird, but alright, maybe that pass there at Ondra's boot was well protected and he decided it would take less fighting to get through Cold Morn, which he was right about, so I am willing to accept that. Then he got to Mercy Vale, which is also fine, that is how the road goes. A bit strange considering that his end goal was Twin Elms but whatever, fine, maybe he wanted to take over Fleetbreaker Castle to break resistence. And then... he marched back up north?? To Readceras??? Why the hell is the Godhammer Citadel so far north?? The fuck was he doing there?? Even considering Eothas already knew about the bomb and had for some reason decided this was a good idea (Eothas is unfortunately not known for his great planning or scheming skills), the Readceran army had no reason at all to go there. None. Zilch. Why did the Dyrwood think they could make him? "The fields, maybe they reminded him of his past as a farmer" look Durance, I know you're stupid but even you should be able to tell there's something up there. Also what fields, there's a giant saltwater bay right next to it, what were's you farming there, glasswort?? And while we're at it, what the fuck is Evon Dewr Bridge actually bridging?? It's clearly not the bay, it's much to tiny for that, there's no river anywhere, so why the hell is there a fancy ass bridge???

So, in order to deal with these descrepancies, I propose two things:

#1: This map is in fact diagetic, and was constructed by the in-universe equivalent of Herodot, some guy (likely Aedyran lets be real) who's writing entertainment textbooks for a living and has actually been in the Eastern Reach. He's just kinda heard things and then started drawing in landmarks where he thought they'd look nice. He also has not heard about the Bridge Part of the Godhammer, just the Citadel, explaining why it's just marked as Godhammer Citadel, and he decided to put at the admittdely most logical point of entry into the Dyrwood from Readceras, assuming that's what that was about.

#2: The actual Godhammer Bridge is somewhere southwest of Mercy Vale, crossing the river there, meaning there is a point for a bridge and a reason for Waidwen to want to cross it. Considering timeline issues we'll just assume the river placement is also off, as well as the exact locations of Cold Morn and Mercy Vale.

Thank you for coming to my increasingly unhinged ted talk about a game I love but whose maps I hate (and love).

[subwaytostardew]

Maybe for Emmet's date montage you could have Polaroid pictures of what the day was like, there's a picture of the player and Emmet eating ice cream, of them touring the subway, checking out Elesa's gym, riding the roller coasters in her old gym, maybe they watch Emmet battle someone in front of Gear Station, whatever else the date montage has. And man, you guys have a lot to do! Remember to take care of yourselves! You don't wanna burn yourselves out!

That was the plan actually! That's also why we established Joltik's interest in photography back in his 8 heart event buuuut... I'm not so sure about giving Joltik such a big role in his 10 heart event anymore. The focus is supposed to be your date with Emmet... Don't want to be too awkward about a little baby spider watching your every action.

As far as the script goes, we're still working out the details, but I was thinking the first half plays out more normally until Emmet shares his first kiss with the farmer. Then it would speed up into a montage of visuals (mostly because thinking about properly eventing the rollercoaster part scares me). I don't want to have it be too visual-heavy if that makes any sense? Trying to have a nice balance with movement like Ingo's event. Emmet is expressive... I think he'd be clingy and marching around everywhere during the first half where they're boarding a train, multi-battling Hilda and Hilbert, watching a Pokestar Studios movie, eating Castellia Cones, etc.

I posted a snippet of this earlier, but here's the full idea page that I got sidetracked with for Emmet's 10-heart. This was made REALLY early on and pretty much everything needs to be changed to better match the main themes in my head as well as just... Making sense. A lot of my creative process is jotting down what few ideas I have, realizing that I hate them later on, and editing them until I'm okay with it. I did also get carried away spriting a few visuals over Haley's event assets...

But Haley's event didn't really have any dialogue or much interaction during the picture portion. I'm not too sure if I like the Polaroid-esque look alongside the text box... I was considering on expanding the visual dimensions to make it feel more... dynamic? Kind of like watching a movie (which would fit since watching a movie with him is a planned activity anyways)...

But I don't know... Maybe it's okay? I'll figure it out. I'll probably go with the widened visual dimensions since I do want to include a ferris wheel ride in the montage and it looks like it would be hard to fit into the Polaroid dimensions.

[tfw-thevoid]

my fields of mistria OC!

okay so ive been playing a lot of fields of mistria. like. ive had it a week and got 42 hours in it soooo i feel normal about this game! (so normal)

anyway, here's my farmer Aster! I KNOW that this hair item is technically ribbons, but they look like horns to me okay? just run with it

also i wound up romancing MARCH??? usually i avoid the asshole romanceable NPC, i have better things to do BUT the narrative really rewards you for kind of being petty back! the dialogue choices and results are actually a lot of fun. so i started talking to him just to make him mad and before i knew it i'd stumbled into an enemies to lovers 50k slowburn 😔 really played myself there

anyway here's the gremlin man himself i hate him so much i bought half a dozen slices of chocolate cake to gift to him throughout winter i feel fine

i know a lot of folks are doing pixel portraits in the style of the game and im hoping to do one too! i have some ideas for aster's clothing designs. and their backstory overall!

so far i know they used to be a merc / assassin and they dont actually know why they have horns or what they are >:3c (i mean i do, or at least i have some ideas that might tie into the actual game story p well i think)

ive got a lot of ideas for lil doodles and comics and im gonna try and not overthink them and just have fun making art!

[hibischush]

can you write for olric 🫣 I'm so whipped for him. what if the reader/farmer was so down bad and constantly trying to get closer and he never notices or thinks that maybe this is an "in" to get somebody to be his brothers friend... well, that's how playing the game feels knowing he's not romanceabale

ugh i feel you. he's got such kronk vibes from emperors new groove. he's just such a sweetie 💗

A variety of clanks and clangs bounce off of the anvil and out into the open air. The heat near the furnace wafted out in wispy waves, combining in the already hot summer air.

Your hair sticks to your forehead, and it feels like your clothes are melting into your skin. Not that you mind though, since you got to sneak glances at the master blacksmith's brother.

Olric focuses on flattening down a copper ingot. His thick arms raise and strike down with great force onto the metal, and you just about drool when you watch sweat fly off his rippling biceps. His face drips with perspiration, making his chiseled face shine like an angel that descended from the heavens. Your eyes trail down his stocky frame, quickly down to his belt line--

"How long are you going to stand there and thirst over my brother?"

You nearly scream and rip your eyes away from the other (hottest) brother, and March glares at you, arms crossed. He must have snuck out of the shop without you noticing. Sparing a quick glance back, it doesn't seem that Olric overheard his brother. You mentally sigh with relief.

You roll your eyes and match his stance. "Shut up, March. I'm just here to forge my own metals."

March smirks. "Sure you are. Listen, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Olric has not and will not notice your very obvious crush on him."

You sputter. "It's not that obvious,"

March gives you an incredulous look.

"Okay, maybe it is. But either way you don't have to come after me for it."

"He's my brother. I know him better than you. And I know I can be a dick, but here's a crumb of my community service to you," He lowers his voice, and leans closer into your personal space, "Give. Up." March spat with a level of finality, walking back into the blacksmithing building.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and looked back over to Olric. You let out a sigh. This is probably not worth the heartbreak.

"Oh! Hey! It's my favorite farmer. What brings you here today? Any cool new rocks you've found?" Olric calls out, wiping his forehead with a saccharine smile.

Your heart soars. Nodding with a smile, you return his enthusiasm. "You know it! How about we head down to the Tavern to discuss it over a cold drink?"

March can suck it. You could indulge in your little crush a bit longer.

mannn it is so funny to search up olric and see hundreds of articles of players begging the devs to add him as a romanceable character 😭I don't blame them, olric is such a hunk of a man who wouldn't love this darling 💗

[kindred-sims]

"Louisa, do you know where your brother is?"

Come dinner time that day, Henry still hadn't left his room. Jo had thought she'd seen him come in during she and Caleb's rather loud discussion earlier, but she hadn't thought much of it, nor had she thought he'd stopped long enough to hear it.

But now, she was concerned, especially given that he was usually one of the first people at the table -- if not the one setting the plates and forks up, and had approached Louisa as she entered the dining room.

"I don't know, Mama. I think he's still in his room. He was really upset when he went up there..."

That had all but confirmed Jo's fears, and she cast a bothered glance to Caleb. He'd gone very quiet since Louisa's confirmation, and was not saying a word, looking instead very deeply troubled.

Jo hadn't wasted another minute after that, not wanting to risk the chance of things growing any worse. She swiftly marched up to Henry's room, knocking at the door softly.

"Henry? Its Mama, may I come in?"

She waited, listening as footsteps quietly padded over to the door. The lock clicked a moment later, and she pushed the door back, heading inside. As expected, there sat Henry on his bed, back turned and arms crossed. Even without seeing his face, it was evident he'd been deeply hurt by what he overheard.

"Henry?" He said nothing, as she heedfully stood nearby. "Henry, were you coming down to supper? There's mushroom soup and hot buttered bread, and I made apple pie for dessert."

"No thank you. I'm not hungry."

"Are you sure? Because I can fix you up a bowl, bring it upstairs for you..."

"Maybe later..."

Jo nodded, moving to sit next to him on the bed. She regarded him thoughtfully, thoroughly, before deciding to speak again. He was clearly in a delicate state right now, and knowing from her own childhood experiences in the bad mood department, it would only take one wrong word for him to fall further downward.

"...I'm sorry you overheard Papa and I's fight," she began. "It wasn't my intention to have you and Louisa walk in on it, I'd hoped to have had it sorted before you two returned. Unfortunately, your Papa is as about as a stubborn as a mule."

With this, Henry turned to look at his mother, the slightest remnants of tears in his eyes.

"...does he hate me, Mama?" His voice was as quiet as a mouse, barely audible.

"Hate? Of course not, you know he loves you very much. We both do."

"Then if he loves me, why did he say all those terrible things? Why did he talk about wanting to pull me out of school?"

"I..." Jo hesitated, sighing deeply. "You know, dear, sometimes, when people get very upset, they tend to say things they don't mean. And in this case, I'm afraid your father was so flustered he didn't quite know what he was saying. But it doesn't mean that he hates you, I doubt he ever could."

"Is that true?"

"Without a doubt. I think its only because he's been very stressed lately, running the farm is a lot of hard work, and he only wants to make sure that you're ready to look after it someday. And right now, well, he feels that you aren't taking it seriously enough."

"But I'm trying my best, Mama, I try my best every day!"

"I know you do darling, and I'm so proud of you," she agreed. "And you know, that's all that your father is asking of you, at the end of day. He only wants to make sure that you know what you're doing, and that you know how to do it the right way. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

He did. Henry understood what his mother was saying, he really did. And it wasn't as if he wanted to disappoint her or his father, that was the last thing on his mind. Which was exactly why he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't even sure that he wanted to be a farmer...no matter how much the words longed to escape from his lips.

[theiressence]

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔.

full name:  keziah emem nickname(s):  kez, k, emem age:  33 date of birth:  march 23, 1991 place of birth:  vancouver b.c., canada current location:  woodside, michigan residental area:  woodside heights gender:  cis-female pronouns:  she/her sexual orientation:  bisexual romantic orientation:  biromantic religion:  secular buddhism occupation:  paralegal at law offices of hawkins, powell & patel, yoga instructor (online)

𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚.

label(s):  the benevolent, the halycon positive traits:  benevolent, ingenious, sincere negative traits:  indecisive, loquacious, sensitive likes:  the color of burnt orange, astrology, yoga retreats, farmers’ markets, sunrises dislikes:  being late, ugly christmas sweaters, delayed online orders, getting lost, scarecrows astrology:  aries personality type:  isfp-a moral alignment:  neutral good hogwarts house:  hufflepuff

𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

who is keziah emem? the daughter of a single mother, grace emem… that is until she meets willie murphy. he’s a good man. a pillar of the community. everybody loves him. he charms grace, and brings baggage of his own: a son — micah. he was… different from his father. but! everything looks picture perfect, right? it isn’t. not for keziah. micah hates keziah. says she and grace are the reason his mom isn’t around anymore. how is that their fault? she doesn’t understand it. she keeps trying. after all, she’s excited — she has a big brother! willie is kind, but distant. grace tries to keep her new man and his son happy, even if it means forgetting about keziah. willie and grace tie the knot. it’s suddenly keziah’s fault that micah has an issue with her. grace says she wasn’t trying hard enough, wasn’t doing the right things, must’ve been annoying him for him to act out. it was keziah’s fault.

it gets worse in high school. keziah doesn’t buckle and wants to prove she’s good enough — her mother expects it. high expectations meant high pressure, but she couldn’t shake. she needed to be the best. there was dance troupe and student council. it was ap classes and extracurriculars. micah thinks she’s a try-hard. willie is disappointed in him; throwing comparisons between the two around while insults cut his son like a knife. ‘just look at keziah!’ these were the nail in the coffin. her brother can’t stand her. the tensions continue to grow. willie v. micah. micah v. keziah. keziah v. grace. an implosion of epic proportions was on the horizon. she wanted no part.

the moment she graduated, she left them in the dust. college was like breathing again. she was free — free from expectation, free from negativity, free from her family. summer breaks were when she really discovered herself. european summer. from mykonos to vienna. from dubrovnik to paris. she fell in love. yet, it was bern that captured her heart. it was the small town of interlaken. it was the culture. it was the people. she was a world away, and she never felt more at peace. every summer thereafter, she would find herself in switzerland.

undergraduate completed, degree in hand. her plans for law school are discarded. she’s decided to pursue a new path. finding her bliss in different ways. grace doesn’t understand; believes she’s throwing away her life. unsupportive and judgemental, keziah finally lets go of pleasing her mom. no contact. she moves to bern. officially. what’s she doing now? she teaches yoga. she’s an administrative aide. she delivers food. keziah continues to work hard, while posting her yoga classes online. she doesn’t think too much of it. her youtube channel explodes overnight. now, her online following grows and she’s being asked to teach her classes to prominent figures. they share her on their platforms. keziah has become a wellness influencer. she spends the next eight years in switzerland. though, her online career takes her across the globe.

eventually, she decides to make another change. it seems inevitable. eyes closed, finger to a map — michigan. woodside. with the move comes fresh perspective. she re-evaluates what she wants. the influencer life just isn’t for her. what’s next? well, that’s for her to know and everybody else to find out.