#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 🌺💗

[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)

...

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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.

[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 💗

[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!

[detectiveseapancake]

Fields of Mistria Log 2

I'm going to put this man on a leash and make him bark like a dog.

I've gotten through summer and fall by now, so it's time to catch up here... as soon as summer came around I was super ecstatic that everyone has an outfit for each season! It makes the vibe even more lovely. I also got to enjoy the shooting star festival...

I couldn't ask anyone out yet this time, but scenery was really very cute. Such adorable stars... on your own it's not as exciting as I'd like it to be, but it's still fun. I figure next year it'll be cooler when I have to think about who I want to take along! It'll be a tough choice.

Looking at my favourite people's outfits for fall made me giddy. March keeps it simple as usual but I still like it (and wow is he starting to openly show some care for the farmer. Sounds fake 🤔) Eiland's clothes are fancy and purple as usual. I adore Juniper because she's really living the "I need to be the most fuckable person at the grocery store" life and her tits are always out in some way lmaoooo. I was so excited to see how she's gonna do this in winter and-

I was not fucking disappointed.

Valen's creepy basement made me laugh. Absolute must have for the only local village doctor :)

The lone bumblebee, lost at sea... where will he go?

Fall was really gorgeous. I've reached the bottom of the mines and upgraded Hayden's barn by now. The little quests to upgrade Mistria and how everyone works together are always super cute. I've gotten myself some animals and want to start breeding for rare colours now... 💜

Setting foot outside on the first day of winter was so cute! Everything's covered in a thick layer of snow, but I can still plant crops, thank fuck. If I'm able to then I want to use this season to make a proper storage area and arrange my farm a little.

My house is kind of cute but a little empty so far. Decorating always takes me so long and I want to find more nice things to craft before I do more.

Fucking love this animal. The Oumer. No other appropriate name to be given here.

This is Peeprika, child to Nutmeg and Pepper. She will soon have a baby with Garchick Phone :) (because we keep calling gartic phone garlic phone)

My little cow family started with Moofy and Mooffin and will now be continued with Buttercup and Moomin uwu

I've had fun with the heart events I've played so far! I hate how adorable March acted when you praised him for a job well done and then he ran off all flustered.

What a cute smile he has.

Exploring the Dig Site with Eiland was also very cute... big history nerd excursion. I like how he gets so excited and passionate over any possible discoveries.

I really like all of the events with the villagers and I end up going to the inn every Friday because I'm so excited to see what's going to happen next! Seeing everyone have a fun time is so cute.

Now it's time for me to tackle winter!

[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.

[aceinthering]

Ace knew he was no good at letting go. 

When Mom and Dad died, he’d been the one to holler at Gordy for even thinking about moving their belongings to the garage. Their tiny Tulsa home had always been crowded with the five of them crammed in there, but with both their parents gone, the ramshackle house felt too empty. And it would be emptier still without Mom’s crochet equipment and all of Dad’s old motorcycle magazines. He hadn’t understood why Gordy wanted to box them up and put them away.

“You get too attached,” his older brother had told him. He’d always thought Gordy wise. My brother says so was how Ace cemented any piece of logic he threw out on the playground. Sometimes the other kids didn’t even need to fact check him. Ace could tell them the sky was actually green and they were all calling it blue ‘cause their eyes were born funny and they’d give him skeptical looks until he rolled his eyes at them and said, “My brother says so!” From then on out, the sky would be green and a group of elementary school boys would all have guilty expressions on their faces as they sat and avoided looking at each other when they all ended up in the waiting room at the eye doctor on the same day after telling their folks they couldn’t see right.

So even though Ace had gone through his whole life treating Gordy’s word as law, he didn’t see how it was so easy for his brother to just… move on.

He hadn’t cried at the funeral. Goose had, silent tears tracking down his face even though Ace knew his kid brother hated crying in front of people. And him? He’d broken down and bawled like a baby. But Gordy had stood tall and quiet. No tears.

Ace supposed he’d never really let go of anything in his life. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to. When something was taken away from you, the pain was always going to be there, right? It didn’t just stop hurting ‘cause you’d decided you weren’t going to think about it anymore.

Like when Farmer Bill from down the road had arrived at their doorstep looking sheepish one day. He’d known that Ace had taken a liking to his horse, Nickel. Every day after school, he’d skip getting the bus with Barney and choose to walk instead. All so he could go the long way, down the lane by Farmer Bill’s field where Nickel would be standing by the fence, shaking his mane in greeting when he recognised Ace. 

Two young bucks, Farmer Bill had called them when he found Ace sunbathing in the tall grass, a blade being chewed between his teeth as Nickel stood over him, grazing in the space around him. He’d always known Ace was in love with that damn horse, which is why he also knew how much it was gonna kill him when he had to come tell him he wouldn’t be around no more. He’d been sold on, off to another farm where he’d be more use pulling tractors and ploughing fields than he ever had been at Bill’s, standing in a field with nothing to do.

Ace had been sixteen at the time and cried until his throat was raw. Nickel had never been his horse but he was as good as. He’d loved him like he was. When he walked home from school and saw an empty field, he’d kicked at the fence until the wood cracked in the middle and Farmer Bill had called on his dad. Gordon Woodrow had marched down the lane, grabbed Ace by the scruff of his collar and yelled at him hell for leather when he got him home. 

When he’d gone to bed that night, red-faced and devastated, Gordy had been sitting on the bottom bunk. He was reading one of his fancy college brochures. When he heard all the commotion Ace was making coming into their shared room, he looked up.

“This about the horse?” he asked. 

“Shut up,” Ace sniffed. He wasn’t in the mood for Gordy to act all adult and mature on him. Not when he had a damn right to cry. And the way he’d said it made Ace feel dumb. Nickel wasn’t just some field horse. He knew Ace just as much as Ace knew him and now he’d think Ace had abandoned him or something.

“You need to let it go. It’s just a horse,” Gordy had said, barely flinching when Ace angrily drove his cowboy boot into the bottom rung of the ladder that took him to the top bunk.

“You don’t know shit, Gordy,” he’d said, climbing up to his bunk so he could cry himself to sleep.

If Ace’s first heartbreak was a horse, maybe his parents would have been doggone relieved to know that his next one was a girl. A human girl and everything.

He’d talked to Ella about his folks. Told her how much his mom would have liked her. She seemed to have taken that in her stride, appreciated it even. And then the baby had come along and Ace had argued with Gordy about being a dad at the age of twenty and then soon enough it hadn’t mattered anyway. It wasn’t his and when she’d moved one state over it’s not like she gave him any real thought anyway. 

The night he found out, he crawled into bed beside Goose, slinging an arm around his little brother from behind. 

“I’d have kept it anyway. Even though it wasn’t mine,” he’d confided, knowing that there was some stuff in the world he could always tell Goose over Gordy. Not ‘cause he loved Gordy any less, but his big brother had the weight of the world on his shoulders these days. He’d dropped out of college and everything to come home and look after him and Goose and keep the house running now that their folks were gone. He didn’t need Ace’s lovelorn woes on top of all of this - and, maybe kinda secretly, Ace wanted Gordy to think that he could bounce back from things as easily as he could. That Ella was long gone in his head, even though the truth of the matter was she’d wrapped herself around his heart like barbed wire and he didn’t think he’d ever come unstuck from the memory of her. 

He remembered the way that Goose had shifted around in the bed for a minute, contemplating. Gordy did that too, even though these days it was like shooting a loaded gun whenever he tried to draw up comparisons between his big and little brother. Goose would screw up his face and Gordy would ignore him. But while Ace blurted out the first thing he thought of, Goose and Gordy had a whole goddamn world of thoughts going on in those brains of theirs. He thought back to when their dad had driven them to the Grand Canyon one summer (they’d broken down twice and had laughed the whole way) and how Ace had stood at the edge and felt dizzy from how deep the whole thing was. It was how he pictured Gordy and Goose’s heads. So damn deep.

“I think you’d have made a good dad,” Goose said, eventually. He rolled back over and Ace had waited until he was sure his little brother was asleep before hugging him closer and pressing his face into the back of his neck.

He loved Goose something fierce, always had ever since he’d clambered up onto the hospital bed, checking first on his mom and noting that even after pushing a whole baby out of her tummy her hair was still perfectly permed as usual. And then he’d laid eyes on Goose. He was still called Harry at the time ‘cause he hadn’t gotten his hand stuck in that damn animal trap yet. But to be honest, to Ace he’d always been “the baby”.

Soon enough, “when will the baby arrive?” and “will the baby like me most?” turned into “can I hold the baby?” and “don’t worry, Momma, I can make the baby stop crying”. He’d doted on Goose as soon as he’d first been allowed to hold that stupid mess of brown-red hair.

Then Cole died and Ace felt like he lost two little brothers that day. One, ‘cause Cole had always been a part of the family and sometimes he thought his mom secretly wished they were all a smidge more like him. Two, ‘cause Goose retreated into himself. Damn near stopped talking to Gordy completely and only ever let Ace coax him into conversation if he started talking first. He realised maybe Goose was as bad at letting go of things as he was. ‘Specially when the news broke about the beating one of the rich kids across town took. In the days following, it became clear why the guy had been landed on his ass, but that also meant everyone knew it was Goose.

Gordy went crazy, practically tearing Tulsa in two trying to find Goose. And Ace? He walked the streets until dark and was right back out as soon as dawn broke. But they never found Goose. It got to the point where they were both sure he wasn’t even in Oklahoma anymore. He and Gordy went all the way from Guyman to Idabel, but there was no trace of their little brother. Like he’d vanished into thin air or something.

There was nothing Ace could do to take his mind off it. Not boxing, not fixing cars with Barney, not any of it. He’d never touched a lick of alcohol in his life but he could see the appeal now, watching the way Gordy would sit by the phone every night with a beer in his hand just waiting for it to ring. For any kind of news.

One day he came home, knuckles cracked from pounding the bag so hard he burst through his gloves, and found Gordy in Goose’s room, their brother’s journal in his hand.

“C’mon, Gordy,” he winced, wondering if that was going too far. He was reminded of Goose’s deep, deep thoughts. Maybe a canyon wasn’t enough. It made sense he’d have to spill them out somewhere, but Ace wasn’t so sure those thoughts were for Gordy’s and his eyes. Goose could be real private when he wanted to be and… well, Ace knew how he felt about Cole. Loved him something fierce. In a way that Ace wasn’t sure Goose had really worked out for himself yet.

“I know,” Gordy said, voice deep. He said it in a way that Ace knew his big brother had his own ideas about Goose and Cole as well. “But it’s the only way we might find him.”

And amongst the scribbles that must have felt like getting a switchblade to the heart if you were Gordy, and the drawings of Cole, there was a clue. Of sorts. Goose and Cole talked about running off to New York together. It struck Ace as odd, trying to picture his dishevelled little brother and his messy hair living it up in the middle of all those sleek skyscrapers and bright lights you saw on TV. But as much as he loved Goose with all his heart, he never pretended to understand him.

“He’s there,” Gordy had said with certainty. ‘Cause maybe Gordy knew Goose best, even if neither of them would admit it.

Ace grabbed his boxing gloves, the last sweater his mom had crocheted, and an old photo booth strip of him and Ella. Gordy frowned at him as he packed and Ace quickly realised that it hadn’t really occurred to Gordy to pack anything. He’d just moved straight to the door and stood there. Holding on tight to Goose’s journal.

He didn’t tell his big brother why he strode forwards and wrapped him in a bear hug, Maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe Gordy thought Ace reckoned he needed one at that moment.

But really, it was ‘cause Ace had figured something out.

He was no good at letting go of anything. Gordy didn’t have that problem, not so much. Gordy could let go of anything.

Except Goose.