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Negative prompt: (female, girl:1.9), worst quality, lowres, low quality, bad quality, bad male anatomy, bad female anatomy, bad explicit, poorly drawn face, bad face, bad facial expression, ugly, bad hands, morbid, deformed, disfigured, mutilated, malformed, missing body part, malformed hands, bad feet, fused legs, broken legs, bad body proportions, gross proportions, disappearing hands, fused hands, fused body part, fused legs, (fused digits, missing digit, extra digit), bad artist, bad background, cropped, watermark, username, signature, not in perspective, error, jpeg artifacts, squares, blurry image, not in perspective, plain pose, plain figure, old, oldest, chubby, (human ears, human, claws, fingernails),
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Img2Img (after correcting errors in the image editor):
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Negative prompt: (female, girl:1.9), worst quality, lowres, low quality, bad quality, bad male anatomy, bad female anatomy, bad explicit, poorly drawn face, bad face, bad facial expression, ugly, bad hands, morbid, deformed, disfigured, mutilated, malformed, missing body part, malformed hands, bad feet, fused legs, broken legs, bad body proportions, gross proportions, disappearing hands, fused hands, fused body part, fused legs, (fused digits, missing digit, extra digit), bad artist, bad background, cropped, watermark, username, signature, not in perspective, error, jpeg artifacts, squares, blurry image, not in perspective, plain pose, plain figure, old, oldest, chubby, (human ears, human, claws, fingernails),
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Minor corrections made in the image editor

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inkbunny.net · 3707077:5717761

[b]If you like my content and would like more of it, check out my website, which contains up-to-date links to all of my content (not just what I post here), plus all the social media I am active on - https://dainendog.com.[/b]

Today’s image comes from a very special request sent by pawsockies. Through the request form, they asked me to bring to life Malt Marzipan from Fuga: Melodies of Steel—a character they clearly have a soft spot (or should I say, a big crush) for. I thought it was such a fun and heartfelt idea that I couldn’t resist giving it a try. So here it is—Malt, just as requested, ready to make someone’s day a little brighter!

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Life out on the farm has its own rhythm—the creak of the windmill, the cicadas humming, and the wide-open fields stretching until they meet the mountains. It’s a world far removed from crowded streets and city lights, a place where days are measured in chores and sunsets rather than calendars. For Malt, that rhythm has been all he’s ever known, and while it made him strong and dependable, it also meant he never had much chance to look beyond his own fencelines.

You hadn’t seen Malt in years—not since family gatherings when he was still lanky and shy, following his parents’ instructions more than his own heart. But when you arrived at the farm this summer, the sight that greeted you was something entirely different. The young dog who opened the door had golden-brown fur kissed by the sun, broad shoulders hidden beneath rolled-up sleeves, suspenders cutting sharp lines across his shirt, and a brown cap on his head. His yellow eyes lit up the moment they landed on you, and for a second you forgot what you were supposed to say.

The two of you slipped into old familiarity quickly, though. He was curious—insatiably so—about city life, about how people dressed, what they did for fun, and what “going out” even meant. And as the evening stretched, you noticed how close he leaned when you spoke and how often he glanced away blushing when the conversation strayed toward dating or relationships. He wasn’t clueless—the internet had given him ideas—but he was inexperienced, and that honesty was written all over his awkward little smiles.

One afternoon, sitting together on the porch, the fields rolling out in front of you, Malt finally blurted a question that turned your stomach upside down. [i]“So… What’s it really like between two guys?”[/i] His ears twitched, his cheeks flared pink under his fur, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he wanted to take the words back. You could have laughed, but the vulnerability in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t teasing. He really wanted to know.

You answered carefully, but his curiosity only grew. He shifted in his seat, glancing at you, then at the empty yard, then back at you again. At last, with a sheepish grin, he tugged his suspenders, muttering something about [i]“not really knowing if I’m built as other guys.”[/i] Before you could stop him, he fumbled with his trousers, lowering them just enough to show you. It wasn’t brazen, it wasn’t lustful—it was clumsy and bashful, a boy who’d spent too long without anyone to talk to, trusting you to be kind.

You caught yourself staring, and when your gaze finally lifted back to his, Malt was waiting—ears high, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as though holding his breath for your reaction. He was blushing furiously, but there was no fear there, just the hope that you might tell him something, anything.

And that’s where the moment hung, warm and tense on the porch under the late sun. What would you do if you were sitting there with Malt, with that shy, curious look fixed on you?

[center][b]See more images like this here:[/b]
[smallpool]94680[/smallpool][/center]
Requested and suggested content will be placed here, regardless of whether it is made by members of this site or others where I publish content.

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