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skelswritingcorner · 15 days ago

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Whenever You Need Somebody (March x Farmer)

(This wasn't showing in the tags when I first posted this so I'm reposting it... FOR THE THIRD GOD DAMN TIME)

Kaltain, the new farmer that arrived the previous season, has been running around ragged for as long as the residents have known her. Elsie and Juniper decide to pry into who Kallie might pursue. Also, mild implied Ryis x Farmer.

Warnings: March challenges the farmer to a fight, March being a tsundere as per usual, mild vulgar language

Word Count: 1,044

A/N: Ah yes, my first fanfic for Fields of Mistria. Surprisingly, doesn't include any form of endometriosis! Also I accidentally wrote this in 3rd person and not 2nd person, so the farmer is less of a reader insert and more of her own character this time 'round. Enjoy :3

Ever since Kaltain moved to Mistria, she has been busy every single day. Tending to crops, contributing to the museum, mining, and so many other things that many of the townsfolk wonder how she is able to get everything done within all days she's lived in the town.

"Kallie's such a busybody, isn't she?" Juniper swirled her glass, looking over at the periwinkle-haired farmer. She was discussing something with Olric, who was holding a dagger in his hands.

Elsie nodded, "I've never seen her talk to people that often either," she looked to where Juniper was observing the farmer and Olric, "is she secretly seeing someone?"

Hemlock chuckled from the counter, "Talking about her again?"

Juniper took a sip of her wine, "What's wrong with that? Kallie's quite the enigma, we're just trying to figure things out. Elsie, you're the love expert, why don't you try asking Kallie if she has anyone in mind?"

Elsie smiled, getting up from her seat at the bar to walk over to the farmer and blacksmith. When she tapped Kallie's shoulder, the young woman stopped talking to Olric and turned to Elsie. "Oh, is there anything you need, Miss Elsie?"

"Just call me Elsie, you don't need to be so formal. I saw that blade in Olric's hands, those gemstones inside have such luster! Tell me, how did you get your hands on such a thing?"

Kallie grabbed the dagger from Olric, cautiously showing the gem-studded hilt. "This? Something I was gifted back in my adventuring days. It's an ornamental dagger given to me by some noble I guarded on a route one time. I don't know much about it, so I wanted to ask Olric if he had an inkling of what it's made of."

Olric rubbed the back of his neck, "I've never seen anything like this before. If this was something March made, I would've recognized it. However, all I can tell is that the gemstone over here is Rhondite," he pointed to the center red gem, "and the ones next to it are moonstone! The blade seems to be made with silver, but that's all I could figure out."

Elsie hummed, "That's quite a beautiful thing, and so are those gems! Anyway, I have a question for our dear Kallie, if you have the time."

"Go ahead." Kallie sheathed the dagger before putting it in her bag.

Elsie placed a hand on Kallie's shoulder, "Have you ever been in love before?" The question baffled the farmer, as it was something she never considered. She often kept herself busy enough that love wasn't something actively on her mind.

"I'm no stranger to it, why do you ask?" Kallie raised a brow at the question. Is Elsie plotting something? Trying to play matchmaker?

"Oh, no real reason. Well, I lied," Elsie smiled, "the Shooting Star Festival is in a little more than a week, and I wanted to see if you have anyone in mind to watch the stars with."

Kallie groaned, "You should know my rules by now, I'm not going to romantically pursue anyone until most of the damage from the earthquake is taken care of."

Juniper cackled, "So do all of us here. I know what you're thinking with that, you're thinking of making a full commitment to a partner when you're able to have the time to pursue them."

Taking a sip of her wine, Juniper continued, "You spend a lot of time with March and Ryis. They're both quite strong, I'm sure at least one of them is interested in you."

Kallie growled, "I don't plan on dating someone right now unless they can defeat me in a fight."

"A fight, eh?" And the grumpy blacksmith is here, and so is Ryis. Ryis waved at Kallie with a smile, walking up to her.

"I doubt you'd get that from any other guy than March, if we're going to be honest here." Ryis chuckled, fully knowing of Kallie's notorious reputation back at the Capital. He chose not to tell anyone else, since Kallie likely wanted to put her old life behind her.

March walked up to Kallie as well, "Just to tell you how I'm feeling, I'd fight you even if it was for any other reason. Something for you to understand. I've gotten quite strong over the years, I can take you on."

"You're never gonna give up on trying to be better than me, aren't you?" Kallie's mouth curled into a shit-eating grin, "Well, I hope I don't let you down by saying that adventurers are better combatants than blacksmiths. I'm not letting you run around thinking you're so smug about thinking you can take me on, then desert me when you realize that you're over your head."

Hemlock shouted from the bar, "Don't start fighting in the Inn, you two!"

"NOT PLANNING TO!"

Kallie stretched her arms above her head, shoulders popping and neck cracking. She was done here, and needed to go back to the farm to go take care of things. "I'm gonna take my leave now. Olric," she patted Olric's shoulder, "thanks for helping me identify the materials of the dagger. Sorry to say goodbye and desert the place, but I have to do stuff at the farm now. See you later!"

With that, she speedwalked to the door, leaving the Inn to go to the farm. March looked over at Juniper and Elsie, who were giving him knowing looks.

"What are you two plotting?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Oh, nothing!" Elsie waved her hand, "We were just thinking of who Kallie would be with for her first Shooting Star Festival. I think she matches your energy quite nicely, March. Maybe she'll ask you?"

Ryis shook his head, "After all that? She's never been interested in dating anyway. Told me several times."

Juniper smirked, "And how do you that?"

"Oh, just something that came up once." Ryis answered, a bead of sweat on the side of his forehead. There's another reason, but that isn't anyone's business but Kallie, him, and March.

Eventually, the Inn went back to its usual chatter, the earlier conversations easily forgotten. The people of Mistria will eventually find out who Kallie ends up dating anyway. For now though, they won't know.

That's right y'all, this fic was simply an elaborate rickroll. Why did I do this? I was tempted while streaming to do this. Why this fandom specifically? Blame the clown man.

#march fields of mistria #march x farmer #fields of mistria x farmer #fom march #fom ryis #fom elsie #fom juniper #fom hemlock #fom olric #this better show up in the tags because this is the THIRD GODDAMN TIME I'M REPOSTING THIS FIC

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yeehawbvby · 2 months ago

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When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 11 (FINAL)

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: Another rowdy Friday night at the inn leads into a cozy, domestic morning.

Author's Note: This is the longest fic I've written and actually finished. Ty for reading it, and I hope you enjoyed :3 <3

(Also. At the time I post this, it seems like Trump is gonna win the US election.. fellow Americans, please stay safe, please keep pushing on, and please take care of yourself. Ily)

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

“Alright, ready?”

“No.”

“Come on,” March drew out the last word, wiggling his fingers.

“I am not doing this again.”

“You don’t want some finger action?” Ryis butted in from beside December. The table was formed in the same way as March and December’s previous arm wrestle.

“Ha!” the farmer barked, nudging the carpenter while March groaned.

Ryis nudged back, forgetting that drunken December excused nobody from her antics. She hopped up from her seat, a little wobbly before catching her balance, and began to noogie him.

“Uncle! Uncle!” he cried through his laughter, frantically patting his assailant’s arms.

“Yeah? What?” Landen called from the bar.

“No, not literally—“ The nephew heard an Oof! as December’s knuckles disappeared from his scalp, and turned around to see March trying to wrangle the squirmy farmer back into her seat. ”Huh?!” Ryis reacted, thoroughly amused.

“Arm wrestle me, coward!”

“Why? What are you trying to prove?!”

“I just like winning,” March boasted, lifting her up over his shoulders like a damn sack of potatoes during the last word. “C’mere.”

Immediately at the bar, Hemlock, Terithia, Errol and Landen held their breath and winced, hoping someone was ready to catch the farmer should March drop her. They all recognized his strength, but had yet to see him lift someone — and this was with alcohol in him, no less.

“Unhand me, you cretin!”

“Hey, is that a good workout?” Olric asked his brother.

Immediately distracted by the question, March unceremoniously plopped back into his own spot, transitioning December into a bridal carry before setting her down in his lap in one fluid motion. The onlookers let out a sigh of relief before getting back to their conversation.

December, whose heart raced at her partner’s show of strength, absentmindedly fidgeted with the pendant he wore around his neck while he responded, “Eh, I guess.”

“I should lift Merri.”

“What if you lift Merri,” December paused to swallow back what was either a hiccup or a burp — she couldn’t say which, “while Merri lifts something else? Like, a chair, or something.”

“Oh!” Olric snapped, wagging an approving finger towards the farmer. “I like that.”

December tapped her head and winked in response. March tapped her head too, and knowing she’d attempt to bite his finger, retracted it before she could get the chance. She pouted and slumped herself against him.

“Comfy?” Balor asked December.

Yes. She could’ve fallen asleep right there, in spite of the inn’s volume; and March was much less hellbent on defeating his nemesis now, as he was more focused on how warm she was, how soft her hair felt as it brushed his bare bicep, and how adorable she looked curled up atop him with her cheek against his collar, so he wouldn’t be opposed to it.

She nodded confidently, her smile dopey and dreamy as she began shimmying further inward to lessen the space where her body ended and March’s started. Once she was situated, March reached around to the table and grabbed his beer. Just as he was about to take a sip, though, December stole it and took her own.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, ‘cause you’re being a real shit head right now.”

“Hm?” December feigned innocence, “What do you mean?”

“Sharing is caring, bro,” Olric flicked March’s closest arm.

December happily hummed while swallowing another swig, “Mhm!” It was after this that March put a stop to her thievery.

“You two should drink some water,” Ryis suggested into a sip of his own.

”You should drink—“

“My balls,” December cut March off.

She really was on another level that night. Perhaps the sickly sweet desserts she shared with Celine and Eiland earlier, paired with the sugary drinks Hemlock had served them, wasn’t the best combination in the world.

Regardless, it had been fun, and it made December funny, thus leading to March nearly spitting his beer onto her after hearing her disruptive words.

“Do you even have balls?” Ryis asked, hesitating halfway through the sentence, but finishing it nonetheless.

“Gigantic ones.”

Dell overheard this from near the cauldron, and immediately began to plan a new heist with the Dragonguard: one in which they’d sneak onto December’s farm to steal her gigantic balls, as Dell could only assume at her young age that December meant the beach balls her cows and sheep played with. She’d never seen them herself, but Celine had mentioned them in passing.

The three agreed this would put their failed mission to snoop through Balor’s room to shame.

Olric was closest to them, and burst out laughing in the wake of their clumsy whispers. Balor patted him on the back when it turned into a cough, his own beer having mixed with his air.

“Is this true?” Balor mused to March, giving Olric’s back one last hearty rub for good measure.

“They’re like boulders,” he nodded, “Never seen anything like ‘em.”

December snorted, hiding her face in the crook of March’s neck. He instinctively leaned his head atop hers.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Ryis admitted through his laughter, his eyebrows upturned, “You can never know for sure!”

“Why do you wanna know so much about my girl’s huge balls?” March accused, jabbing the air in the carpenter’s direction.

December nuzzled him a bit to cope with being called his girl, as though it would rid her belly of its fluttering.

“Morbid curiosity.”

Balor nodded in agreement with Ryis.

Olric nodded too, but he didn’t care all that much. He was more interested in learning something new about his brother by proxy of this. Love is love, he figured, and whether or not December had colossal nuts didn’t matter to him as long as March was happy.

“Alright, alright,” December giggled into her hand before lifting her face again to diffuse any potential genitalia allegations, “I don’t have balls.”

“Aw, crap!” Dell — who had begun eavesdropping again upon hearing Ryis’ speculations — whisper-yelled.

“Dell!” Maple gasped, “You can’t just say that!”

“Gods, help me,” Olric doubled over, hearing the Dragonguard once again. He crossed his arms on the table and dipped his face into them, muffling his laughter.

This time, March and December both heard the kids and reacted similarly, folding in on each other as they often seemed to during nights like these. They didn’t even know the context — the pair simply thought that the interaction was silly. Balor, as usual, maintained a lopsided grin, his cool demeanor masking how hard he was struggling to not crack up.

Ryis couldn’t hear Dell, therefore he had no idea what was going on. He tilted his head at Balor in hopes for context, but the merchant simply shook his head.

Damn.

He used whatever the distraction was as an opportunity to go grab some glasses and a water pitcher from Hemlock, determined to look out for his friends.

The couple went on with their usual routine to get a head-start on sobering up — junk food and lots of water — before they both headed to December’s. It was a Friday, so they’d stayed out a bit later than they would on any other night at the inn, as most of the town tended to; regardless, they had no intention to separate, March happily following the farmer inside her home the moment she suggested he hang out for a while longer.

Upon being greeted by Goose, December scooped him up and patted a few kisses to his head. Then, she held the cat out slightly, giving March a blank look until he caved and did the same — first to Goose, and then, to her surprise, to her. Still tipsy and overall just teaching himself to loosen up a bit around her, March didn’t care much about how grossly cute the action was. It felt strange, sure, but as December smiled up at him — Goose observing him too, with those buggy eyes of his, and still cradled in her arms — and tip-toed to give his cheek a kiss, he couldn’t help but be happy he did it.

He noticed in that moment how often something like that happened… him acting on impulse around her, and being rewarded for it, in a way. He didn’t know what to make of it.

They proceeded to sit on the couch with some more water, chatting for a while. December yapped about a cool moth she’d found the other night. If Errol’s enclosures weren’t so humane, she wouldn’t have had the heart to donate it, she admitted. Luckily, he makes them with the bugs‘ comfort in mind, so she knew it would be happy and that she could go see it whenever she wanted to.

March all but melted while he listened to December continue to ramble on about bugs — something he never thought would happen, especially given how genuinely annoyed he was when Errol began accepting her critters as donations. Feeling the need to one-up her accomplishment in practically filling the entire museum all by herself, he bragged about an order he got from Dell to make a dragon-shaped belt buckle, and how well that was going in spite of the challenge.

Similarly to March, December couldn’t help but swoon a little. When he got fired up, his eyes would twinkle like stars and his brows would furrow, like he was as determined as he was excited to simply dump all his knowledge about his craft onto whoever would listen. His passion was palpable.

The two momentarily wondered, though, how he was going to get paid for this particular project. He’d cut Holt some slack if Dell didn’t contribute, but came to the conclusion that he really should’ve asked about that first.

December, while grabbing a much-needed pain killer, talked about how it took her far too long to realize that the best way to fight those rock-spewing assholes in the mines was to parry them, which is why she always had such scuffed swords. March, inviting her to lean against him when she arrived back, explained how upset Olric was that he got hit by those during his and December’s trip down there. He made it a point to lightly scold her too, for not being more careful with the fruits of her labor.

He knew she didn’t enjoy forging her own equipment. He also knew she’d be damned if she ever purchased anything he made.

As they grew more weary, they’d begun to rely on one another to support each other’s weight, similarly to the last time they’d found themselves in this situation. Luckily, they had much less to worry about now, given how much closer they’d gotten from that night-onward. The lack of uncertainty was nothing short of a gift.

December’s body dragged lower and lower until she eventually had her head on the smith’s tummy. His own form had sunk far enough that his legs were barely even on the furniture anymore, so this was her best resting spot at the moment, really. March was also at an awkward angle, now, where he was half-laying back and half-leaning his weight onto his side, allowing them to easily look at each other while they tangled together.

He watched fondly as December fought sleep, doing her best to listen to his stories and stay coherent with her responses. He was convinced he was hiding his own weariness well, but December could see through the facade even in her barely-there state.

“Stay over?” she eventually mumbled, beginning to worry about his walk home.

“Mmhn—“ he tried to answer — with what words, he had no clue — his head failing to stay entirely upright and his grip on December's thigh loosening.

She huffed a laugh through her nose, unable to help how cute she thought he was like this.

She reluctantly straightened before tugging his hand. “C’mon,” she insisted.

With a groan, March leaned up, and with some effort, they both stood tall. Goose had been on the cat tree beside them and got up as well, stretching and readying himself to follow them to bed.

December barely had it in her to change into pajamas, thus simply stripping herself of her bra and jeans before clamoring onto the mattress. March had no pajamas. Aside from a few baggy sweaters that it was far too warm for, none of the farmer’s clothes would fit him, so he found himself beside her in nothing but his boxer-briefs.

This was their first sleepover, the two simultaneously realized as Goose settled in with them. They’d had accidental naps together a small handful of times, but had yet to wake up side-by-side after a full night of rest. As December scooted back to be spooned, and March readily engulfed her in his arms, she smiled to herself, excited for how domestic this felt. How right it felt.

And as they woke up about eight hours later, having slept in until ten with their legs tied and heads foggy; as they took turns using December’s toothbrush, and then took an innocent shower together, washing their grogginess away; as March helped December harvest and water her crops, before getting started on breakfast while she released her animals to graze and frolic; March realized that this was exactly what he’d daydreamed of the last time he lingered here after a rowdy night at the inn.

Back then, he was worried by those thoughts.

Back then, December rarely even had them — albeit, in her case, it was only because she never thought this would be possible, and didn’t want to get her hopes up for a future that didn’t exist. Her lacking daydreams about March were a defense mechanism, in a way.

Now, March welcomed his hopes and feelings, just as he welcomed his partner back inside, tugging her to stand between his arms as he topped their bowls of rice and greens with an egg each.

Now, December welcomed such thoughts in the first place, especially as they sat on the bench she kept near Caldarus, sharing their meal and each other’s company beneath her fruit trees. She thought of what the future could bring. How many times they’d come to spend their earliest hours of the day together. Maybe they’d be each other’s people until the day they died, and grow old together, and make a routine of mornings just like this one.

She peeked up at March at that thought and was temporarily stunned, as though she’d looked at the sun itself. The rays that seeped through their leafy shade framed him perfectly, accentuating his warm undertones with a soft, welcoming light, similar to that of his forge’s fire.

Feeling eyes on him, March reciprocated. On the opposite end of the spectrum entirely, he noticed how even in the shade, December seemed to glow. She was the moon, his beacon of light in the dark, with each smile and laugh that graced her face being a new phase in its cycle. She shifted phases then and there, and the tenderness in her eyes paired with the curve of her lips flustered March.

“What are you looking at?” he deflected, his cheeks warm.

“Nothing much.”

“Oi,” he nudged her with a light elbow before scruffing up her hair.

“Oi yourself!” December laughed, lightly slapping his hand until he stopped.

She promptly leaned against him once he’d settled down. March didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around her shoulders and rest his cheek into her scalp, his thumb rubbing circles on her shoulder in the meantime.

Happily existing in silence, they took in nature’s song while they watched the distant river flow, December’s animals play, and the pink petals that wafted over from the cherry blossoms around town dancing in the breeze. They were cozy like this, but more importantly, they were cozy together.

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ecureuildramatique · 4 months ago

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just started fields of mistria and i may have a crush on hemlock cause he kinda looks like my bf~

#fields of mistria #fom #hemlock #fom hemlock

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trashy-corvian · 3 months ago

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Heard there's new farmer in Mistria. With some -intresting- herbs growing in his garden

#fields of mistria #fom farmer #hemlock oc #corvianart #pixel art has no right to be this fun #tempted to do the same for lilith and zahar

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netscapenavigator-official · 3 months ago

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Fields of Mistria's biggest mistake was choosing an art style that makes all the characters extremely fuckable...

and then not making all of the character's fuckable.

#yes even the married ones #im tryna be a homewrecker #a side piece #what have you #you can't tell me that Holt- Landen- and Hemlock don't have that dick of death #also my heart goes out the queer women who play the game #i know y'all wanna smash Elsie and Terithia so bad #i see you i hear you #hashtag justice for the lessies #| | |#fields of mistria #fom

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molluskmirage · 6 months ago

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My experience with playing the demo of: Fields of Mistria today

The adventures of Jello of Jackle Farm

Yes that is me, Jello!

I met a guy…

He’s Perfect in every way. Just has a wife and 3 kids. Josephine is there room for one more? I can provide fresh produce and a farm the kids can play on. I can improve the town. Pretty please Josephine. Josephine he’s pretty Josephine. 3 kids 3 adults? Please Josephine. Even his name is wonderful. Josephine you did so well, I don’t want to intrude but can I add?? Josephine???

My last hurrah as the sunsets on the last demo day lobster in hand. Hemlock Ill be back my love.

Thus concludes Jello’s final days.

(Actual thoughts-very cute game Im obsessed with the bugs! Cant wait to cook and decorate and explore when the official release is out. Those mushroom monsters in the cave are so stinking adorable! Impossible to fight there so cute. Dozy is absolutely charming as well. So many cute features)

((was in a lot of pain today and this was such a welcomed distraction, the sfx noises are a tad harsh for me but there was an option to turn that off which I did and was nice, always appreciate the accessibility features. Another thing I really love is how bright it is, I have light sensitivity and dark games are soo difficult to see, zero issues for me here even when its night time! Very lovely :D))

#fields of mistria #hemlock fom

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kitsuga · 2 months ago

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Daily. {March (FOM) x Reader/Farmer}

Description:

A fic in which March doesn’t like changes to his daily routine.

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Tags: fluff, a swear word or two (or three), drinking, alcohol mention, hemlock spotted!!! Being a dad!!!, CLINGY and PATHETIC march agenda, not betad, not edited, gender neutral reader, fields of mistria/fom x reader/farmer, march x reader, march (fields of mistria)/(FOM) x reader/farmer, whatever tag you want i guess go crazy with ur imagination,

Word Count: 2,879

A/N: Written on: October 7, 2024

I wonder if i love march because i usually AM the march. Self-conscious. Angry. Unapproachable. Dyed hair. Likes to hit things with hammers and gets way too happy when drunk. Anyway, LKSJDFHIUE fields of mistria helped me through terrible time recently; i scooped up its early access almost IMMEDIATELY and have been so in love with it since!!

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He hadn’t realized it, but March grew fairly used to seeing that new farmer pass by the forge day after day. It became almost... routine, to see them from his peripheral and feel the twitch of his brow, ignoring the sudden increase of heat against his face that was surely from the forge he busied himself with.

Some days they’d stop to annoy him, while he’d spare a few words out of the kindness of his heart, other days they’d simply throw him a smile and a wave, continuing their walk to wherever it was they’d decide to go that time. There were days they even ignored his presence and hurried on by—those were the days March liked the most, he was unbothered and uninterrupted—coincidentally, they were also the days he had the most trouble trying to fall asleep. Whatever.

It was a constant, something expected, he would see them walk by his forge at least once a day. They’d dance along the path—hopping, skipping—frolicking through flower petals that danced in the wind alongside them in the crisp, spring air. They’d have days where they would practically sprint by and rush their hellos to make it to the beach, and others where they’d drag their feet and loudly bark up the wrong tree about the heat in the harsh summer sun. Fallen leaves would make constant crunching sounds as they’d make sure to find and step on every damn one just to get on March’s nerves with a giant smile on their face when autumn would roll around. He did get a laugh or two in when hidden ice had made them fall as they goofed around during the winter—he'd be oh-so-kind and let them warm up by the forge for a minute before they went about their day.

Even through the seasons, this daily greeting was a constant. March hadn’t realized just how much of an impact this would have on his day-to-day schedule—or maybe he had and pushed away the thought—regardless of the true reasoning, it only donned on him when he found himself fidgeting and attempting to keep busy one day, to stay outside just a bit longer to catch sight of them, only to be graced by the lonely presence of the moon instead.

Where were they today? Not that it mattered to him. They were probably out doing God knows what, making everyone in the town love them even more. Gross. March shook his head, trying to dispel the images of the farmer that continued to pop up in his mind. He didn’t want to see them. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t come by to annoy him. It didn’t bother him.

But where in the world were they? He stepped onto the road, looking as far along the horizon as he could every which way. Had he just missed them? Maybe they snuck by him earlier, deciding that they’d leave him alone—maybe he’d just gotten so good at tuning them out that he never noticed them go by. Did they make it home alright? Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. He’d go inside and wash the day from him, relax, have a nice dinner with his brother, and get some sleep.

He thought it’d be so simple. March felt as though his night passed him by—like he was looking at it through a stack of different paintings rather than living it first-hand. He couldn’t get that damn newcomer out of his head! Every waking thought was either accompanied by their face, their voice, or events including them replaying in his head. Now he lay in bed, looking up at his ceiling as the moonlight poured through the window, unable to get his mind to stay still.

Did they go to the mines today? If they did, were they alright? Did something happen? Were they hurt? Had they exhausted themselves and passed out somewhere? Were they home? Had they eaten, washed up, tucked themselves into bed? March held his head in his hands, hoping if he squeezed it hard enough, he’d shut off his brain. It was driving him crazy! Why was he even thinking any of this—he didn’t care about them, he didn’t like them one bit! They were an annoyance, a pain in his ass, some... outsider! Why couldn’t he just go to sleep!

The break of dawn welcomed him far too quickly, dragging him out of bed without a wink of sleep. Fine, whatever. He’d see them come by today and he’d just ask what their problem was. Maybe they were just home sick yesterday; sucks for them—maybe they should get better. No, not in a caring way! March rubbed at his face, smacking his cheeks lightly to snap himself out of it. He had things to do, he was going to do them. He was going to set his mind straight, focus, and go about his own day.

Why weren’t they walking by! March held the hammer in his hand so tightly he started to shake, his teeth would shatter if he kept grinding them as hard as he was. The sun was setting and he still hadn’t seen them—not even a glimpse! He only got a fraction of his tasks done today; constantly looking over his shoulder to check if they had gone by, or standing out in the middle of the road to stare in all directions for a while to see if he could catch them coming. That makes two days now, don’t they know they were ruining his schedule? He found himself tossing and turning again that night, hardly getting any sleep as worry started to creep into his chest.

Another day, then another, and another after that. Each day that had gone by without so much as a glimpse of them had now made his chest heavy—he didn’t like it. He didn’t know why it was bothering him so much. He entertained the thought of going to their home once or twice just to check in on them—yell at them for ruining his work—but something gnawed at him each time. What if they were avoiding him?

Yeah, he wasn’t the nicest to them. He didn’t care that he wasn’t. Maybe they DID start avoiding him—that was their choice. It’d be good for him, after all! He wouldn’t have to deal with them distracting him, or... trying to be his friend. Maybe it did bother him that he wasn’t very nice to them. Maybe he did care, just a little bit.

When Friday rolled around, he ended up at the tavern early, and drinking heavy. He just wanted to rid himself of these feelings, these thoughts. If he couldn’t work as a distraction or sleep them away, maybe drinking them away would work instead. It usually didn’t take much for his head to get lighter, to shed all his worries and let himself be all smiles and laughter, but he was desperate to keep his thoughts at bay. What if they were avoiding him so much that they’d even stop showing up to tavern nights? He knocked back another drink and laid his head on the bar’s counter.

“You doing alright there, March?”

March turned so he could face the voice, closing his eyes once his cheek touched the cool counter.

“I’m FINE, Hemlock...” Was that voice coming from him? Which way was the room spinning? “Just fine...”

“I’m thinking you’ve had enough for tonight,” Hemlock shook his head and tried taking March’s half-empty glass, “but you can talk about what’s wrong if you want. No pressure.”

“Nooo,” March drew out his protest, not bothering to raise his head as he grabbed onto his glass, “don’t take that.”

“Fine, alright. It’s the last one though, alright?”

Hemlock leaned against the counter in front of him, staring at the young disheveled boy in front of him. He cocked an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before his eyes lit up in realization. Mischievously, he leaned even closer to the faux red-head and called out just loud enough for him to hear, while keeping his plan believable.

“Oh, hey (Y/n)!”

“WHERE?”

March sat straight up, unsure if the deep red creeping over his features was from being drunk, thinking about seeing them, or if all the blood rushed to his head at once from how quickly he moved. He did not last very long before laying his head back on the counter, a fist crashing down beside it.

“Spinning, spinning, should NOT have done that...”

“Ah, I had a feeling that was the root of your little problem.” Hemlock teased, once he caught his breath after laughing at the poor boy’s expense. “What issue do you have with them now?”

“No... no issue,” March had to calm his breathing. Was he flustered? Oh, no, just trying not to throw up. Wait, was he sure? “Maybe an issue. I don’t know. Why are they avoiding me?”

“Could be because you aren’t very nice to them.”

“I’m sooo super nice to them.”

“Uh-huh...” Hemlock pushed a glass of water onto the counter, trying to slowly switch out March’s two drinks. “Have you tried going to see them?”

“...I don’t want to find out it’s because they hate me.”

“Oh, so that’s the real reason.”

March lifted his head enough to peek up at the older man before turning his gaze to the hand beside him, now dragging his finger along the counter in circles to distract him.

“I don’t get it. Why haven’t they been by all week? Why... does it bother me so much in the first place?” March closed his eyes again, trying to steady the room. “I like to come here and have some fun; why am I still all upset?”

Hemlock pushed the water glass further towards March, slowly bringing his glass of beer closer to the back of the bar counter, stopping whenever March stirred slightly. It was a pity, really; Hemlock was well aware of what (Y/n) had been up to—if they were purposefully avoiding March, then they certainly never expressed it. If he remembered correctly, he questioned why they were walking so painfully slow from the tavern the other night, almost comically dragging out each step as they looked up the road behind them.

‘Should I book you for your new comedy routine?’

‘I’m just... takin’ my time, Hemlock! Nothing odd about it.’

He remembered watching as they drug their shoe against the road to make their next step, slow as a snail.

‘Uh... yup, nothing odd about it all right. Everything alright, (Y/n)?’

They had given him a sigh then, their body almost melting to the ground as they voiced their woes—too busy to make it anywhere but their farm and the tavern for some dinner at the end of the day, something about cleaning up the old place. It was almost killing them having to stay there instead of running off—or rather, running by the blacksmith.

‘Isn’t March always giving you a hard time, anyway?’ He remembered asking, putting the back of his hand on his hip and smiling—he already knew the answer.

‘That won’t stop me!’ They stood triumphantly then, stomping their foot on the ground. ‘I WILL get that boy to be my friend, whether he likes it or not!’

Hemlock remembered the shy heat that crept up their neck, touching their ears first before it reached their smile and they had to turn away from him before getting embarrassed further.

‘Besides...’ their voice was soft, he thought, ‘when you get into a routine, the withdrawals... suck.’

Hemlock was brought back to the present by March blindly dragging his drink back to him, reversing all of his hard, secret work. He sighed, a smile on his face as he gave up and picked up an empty glass to start washing it.

“Well,” he put on his wise father voice, “’when you get into a routine, the withdrawals... suck.’”

Silent hung above both men a moment before March lifted his head with a confused glare.

“Huh?”

“Huh. I thought that would’ve been much cooler than it was. Context was probably better, in hindsight.”

Both turned their attention to the opening tavern doors, a familiar figure now gracing the open room. A few others called out to them first, receiving a smile, a wave, and a short conversation in return. March sat up straight, ignoring how light headed it made him feel this time.

“(Y/N)! Heyyy!" He practically drawled out his greetings. “C’mere, c’mere!”

The heat from his blush was intermingling with the heat from being drunker than Hell, so he no longer paid it any attention. March eagerly patted the counter next to him, practically begging for them to come sit with him. If he were a dog, his tail would have wagged so intensely as the wide smile on his face mirrored theirs as they made their way over.

“Uh, hi there March! Had enough to drink already?”

“You’re here!” March let a genuine, heartfelt giggle bubble up from his chest at how light their presence alone made him feel.

“I am—oh! Okay--”

March practically threw himself against them, his head against their shoulder while they tried to hold onto the drink Hemlock has just offered them. His bottom lip jutted out, a very prominent pout, as he started to drag his finger along their extended arm now, drawing little shapes like he had done previously to the counter.

“...Where were you?” His voice grew oddly quiet. “You haven’t been by in days.”

“Well, I--” (Y/n) tried to explain. A heavy wave of guilt washed over them, a huge pang of pain shooting through their heart at how March looked up at them—sad, puppy dog eyes, his metaphorical ears and tail drooping as though he were sopping wet from the rain. They had to grip at their heart, almost comically, dramatically, throwing their head back in despair at just how evil they had been!

“I’m sorry! I had a lot of work on the farm, you know? There’s a lot of cleaning up to do there before I can think about maybe expanding my crops, or working on a barn, you know?” They stuck their lips out into a pout of their own, gently patting March’s exposed cheek with their other hand. “Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

March looked back down at their arm again, now dragging his finger up and down it, quietly mumbling, hoping that they wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Wasn’t worried...” he started, mumbling even softer, “Just... missed you.”

Though he thought it were quiet enough, a drunk person’s reality never seems to match; (Y/n) stared down at him, almost dumbstruck at how loudly he had professed his feelings—they weren’t much, but those words alone proved to (Y/n) that there really WAS some sort of fire in that frozen heart of his! Their gaze softened as they slowly turned their arm over, opening and closing their palm a few times to signal an offer.

March almost immediately, willingly, took their hand and interlaced their fingers. He kept his eyes trained on their hands, studying the way their fingers seemed to fit perfectly between his. After they gently leaned their head against his, he spoke again—a little more clearly this time.

“So... you don’t hate me?” It sounded pained.

“No, I don’t hate you in the slightest, March.”

“...You weren’t avoiding me?”

“Not at all.” They gave his hand a little squeeze. “Is that what you thought this whole time? Is that why you’re so clingy tonight?”

“...No.” March huffed, closing his eyes and turning his face away, though he doesn’t dare take his head off of their shoulder. Their soft laugh surrounded him like a soft melody, and he relished in it a moment before speaking up again. “Don’t ruin my daily schedule. Come by at least once a day.”

“Alright,” they laughed again, “Demanding, much?”

“You’re making it difficult to get my work done. To sleep. Just—come by at least once so I can see you and have a good day.”

(Y/n) nuzzled against the top of his head slightly, a smile hidden from his view as they agreed, choosing to ignore the nervous way March started to fidget, and ignoring the way butterflies flew rampantly in their stomach. With their free hand, they brought the glass of water Hemlock had been trying to push on him all night up to his lips, encouraging him to drink at least a bit.

At least for the night, tension between them had settled—whatever tension they chose to believe there was. March’s chest felt lighter, a weight lifted off his shoulders, as he basked in their glow rather than the cold, lonely moon’s, just for tonight. A goofy, genuine smile made its way up to his eyes, watching as he messed with (Y/n)’s hand and easily accepted any time they gave him water.

“You’ll forget all this tomorrow, huh?”

“Yup.” He smiled, giving their hand a squeeze and slightly cuddling further into their shoulder.

“You’ll go back to hating me tomorrow too, then?”

“As long as you remember to come by, absolutely.”

#fields of mistria x reader #fom x reader #fields of mistria #fom march #fields of mistria march #fom march x reader #kitsu.writes #kitsu.fom #kitsu.fom march

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