#Acreage Holdings

[hier--soir]

heart to heart

john price x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: john takes you away for the weekend, and nestled in a cottage on the countryside, you show him just how much you've been missing him. warnings/tags: long term boyfriend!john, john price never finishes his cigars, explicit smut, a little body worship, oral [m receiving], fingering [f], unprotected piv sex, multiple orgasms [m], some overstim [m], come eating x2, brief cock warming, idiots in love, porn with minimal plot. word count: 4.4k masterlist a/n: this was born out of me being physically unable to stop thinking about that middle picture being john price, so here we go follow @hier--soirupdates if you’d like to be notified when i share my writing

It hasn’t rained in six days.

Late autumn spins the countryside in its grasp; a warm cloak that sends the leaves golden and the grass dewy. In a small, unfamiliar kitchen you drop teabags into mugs and gaze out the window. Admire the vast acreage that surrounds the cottage, and the marshland beyond that.

The early morning rays are bright and cool, turning the cabinets a washy yellow colour around you as you wait for the kettle to boil.

Everything is quiet, calm. If you listen closely, past the sound of birds chirping and water bubbling, you can hear John’s heavy snores down the hall; still catching up on sleep after a long few weeks away.

When he came through the front door two nights ago, you’d been quietly surprised to see him home so soon. After not hearing much for almost a month, you’d resigned yourself to getting on with things in his absence. A fairly covert operation, you knew, so you’d spent your days waking to an empty house. Working and eating and showering alone and never exceeding the appropriate number of messages you could send him in one day without stirring worry. Little Angus with his long orange tail and his soft whiskers your only company in John’s stead.

Home at last, he’d wrestled out of his heavy boots and draped himself over where you lay on the couch. Soap opera long forgotten on the tele, he’d slipped an arm around the back of your head, held you to his chest and said, Let me take you somewhere.

The kettle whistles and you pluck it from the stove, still smiling at the memory. Douse the teabags in boiled water and watch as the windows cloud with steam. You leave his black, just the way he likes it, but soften your own with sugar and milk. Your toes are numb against the cool tile, and you rub them against your calf in search of warmth. Inside, your body is at sleepy old war with itself. One half longing to be back in bed, or perhaps to have not gotten up at all yet; the other half taking great pleasure in the mundanity of doing things like this for him again, after so long of not. Tap tap tap of an impatient finger against the counter until his tea turns the perfect colour, and then you’re on your way back to the room.

Leant amongst paisley patterned pillows and white linens, John looks a little out of place knuckling sleep from the corner of his eyes. A little too rough around the edges, too big, too hardened for such soft surroundings. In your brief absence, he’s drawn the curtains and nudged the window beside the bed open a crack. A long arm stretches out toward the sill, ashing a cigar onto the small dish he’s balanced there.

Naked as the day he was born, he lifts the cigar to his lips and blinks drowsily at you. Stretches his legs out, the muscles in his thighs straining, curled toes skimming the end of the bed. Eyes wandering, you kick the door shut with your foot and slink to the end of the bed, holding out his mug.

“’Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. Accepts the tea with a soft smile, the skin beside his eyes crinkling as he watches you crawl in beside him. Hands full, he twists an ankle around yours, face pulling up at the feel of your cold skin against his. “Jesus, you’re like ice. I’ll shut the window.”

“Don’t move,” you hush, nestling your head against his shoulder. “You’re right where I want you.”

John laughs softly, warm body vibrating against yours. “Is that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You watch him tap his cigar against the dish, sipping your tea and trailing fingers through the dark hairs on his stomach. Enjoy the way his body draws tense beneath your cool touch, goose flesh sprouting across his skin. “Middle of nowhere… unfamiliar town… no one will ever find you. You’re all mine out here, Price.”  

“M’all yours everywhere,” he says, abandoning his cigar in the dish so he can tug on the neckline of your—his—t-shirt. “This proves it, yeah?”

“I suppose,” you smile, lifting your mug to hide behind a sip. He watches you move, calculating and quiet as he sips his own tea. You fidget beneath the intensity of his stare, painfully aware of how well he knows you. That your want, your need, must be painted across every inch of your face.

“Love you in my clothes, sweetheart, I do.” John’s fingers curl beneath the hem of the shirt then, rough callouses tickling over your collarbones. “But you’re makin’ me feel awful naked.”

Heat flares in the base of your stomach and you chuckle, matching smirks splashed across your faces as you sit up and drag the shirt over your head. He watches as you flick it to the floor, gaze darkening as he looks over your body, focusing on the thin grey panties that cover the skin between your thighs. A thick arm curls around your waist, tugging you back onto him, and as you settle there his fingers slip down to fiddle with the band of your underwear.

“Cute,” he comments airily, middle finger dropping under the band to caress the skin beneath it.

Mug discarded off the side of the bed, you put both hands to his stomach now. Tickling his soft skin, playing with the hair there as you lean in and press a kiss to the centre of his chest. And then another, and another, with John simply humming, palm flattening against the small of your back to hold you against his side.

Your lips part, tongue dancing lazily against his nipple. Soft strokes until the flesh is stiffening and you’re practically purring against his skin, drifting across to the other one. You hear the soft clink of his mug hitting the side table, and then John’s hand falls against the back of your head. Thick fingers twist through your hair, playing as you kiss and lick over his collarbones, and the little tugs he gives have a low throb starting up between your legs.

“Feelin’ needy this mornin’, hey lovey?” John asks. His fingers come to the front of your face, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. Big blue eyes watch you pout, cheeks squished between his fingers as you nod.

“I missed you,” you say, turning to press your nose into his palm and inhale the smell of him.

His eyes soften, and all sense of teasing seems to slip out the window. “I know, sweetheart, m’sorry. Come here’n give us a kiss.”

His lips are soft against yours. Warm, and familiar, with a hint of Darjeeling. Pulling you up to straddle his waist, he coaxes your chest down against his and huffs into your mouth at the feel of your nipples against his skin, teeth sneaking out to smart at your bottom lip.

“Thought about you every day,” he mumbles against your lips. “Missed you every second, love, always do.”

You feel something hot and sharp spark behind your eyelids at those words, and flick your tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing it away, not now not now. You go soft and pliant against him; let him guide you through the kiss, coaxing your mouth open with his long tongue as his fingers dance down your spine. When his hand reaches the round of your ass he grips your flesh there, kneading it between his fingers and pushing down so your clothed cunt comes flush with his cock.

“Feel that?” John says, pulling away an inch to nose at your cheek. His cock is heavy between your legs, thick and stiff where it presses against the gusset of your panties. You gasp as he rocks his hips up, grinding against you until the damp fabric slips between your slick folds and rubs over your clit. “That’s how much I missed you, sweetheart.”

As he talks, the hairs on his moustache prickle against your lips, and you find yourself opening your mouth. Breathy moans spill as you roll your hips against his, lathing hot opened mouthed kisses over his jaw.

“Looked at your picture every night,” he continues raggedly, breath hitching as you suck at the hollow of his throat. His cock twitches against you, the slide only getting smoother as more slick spills into your panties. “Thought about comin’ home ‘n’ never leavin’ again, just so I could play with this pretty little cunt whenever I like.”

Your hips stutter into his and you whine, a tiny glimpse of an orgasm fluttering through you just from those words.

“S’yours,” you whisper against his skin, the words he spoke moments before dancing through your mind. “All yours everywhere.”

Faster than he can stop you, you’re slipping off his lap and settling beside him on the bed. Continuing the onslaught, you lick hot, messy kisses over the skin of his neck, across the broad span of his shoulders.

“My big man,” you say tenderly, fingers itching their way across his chest. You skirt your teeth down the middle of his sternum, squeaking a little when he murmurs in enjoyment and presses a hand to your ass again. “I missed your body so much.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me then,” he goads lightly, grunting around a smirk when you sink your teeth into the soft flesh over his ribs in response.

His fingers toy with the material of your panties as you drag your tongue over the dip of his belly button, and when you kiss the soft curve of his lower stomach, nose buried in the dark hairs above it, you feel him grip the fabric tight. You can see his cock in your peripheral vision. Swollen and heavy against his hip now. The tip has turned a pretty shade of dark pink, accented by little streaks of white where pre-come oozes from his slit and glides down his throbbing shaft. With your mouth on his belly, you reach out and wrap your fingers around him.

“Fuck,” John grunts, head lolling back against the pillows.

You smile, stroking him slowly as you drag your nose through his thick happy trail, all the way down to nuzzle against the dark thatch of curls above his base. Insistent now, his fingers push beneath the edge of your panties and drag through your slick seam.

You whimper, forehead resting heavily against his skin as he slides two fingers through the wet mess of you. Lewd sounds of your arousal fill the room as John traces featherlight circles around your clit, and your face heats against his stomach, fingers returning to their lazy pace around his length.

The throb between your legs has become a second heartbeat now, so strong that you’re sure he must feel it beneath his fingertips. If he does, he just sighs softly. Lets the thrumming of your cunt sync with the pulse in his fingertips, heart to heart, and murmurs low encouragements as you tilt your head to the side and begin mouthing at his cock.

“Missed my cock.” Your voice is low and unfamiliar in your ears, mouth overrun with desire and spilling your guts before you can stop it. “So pretty, John…”

Circling your entrance with a thick finger, he just says, “I know, love, s’yours. Go on.”

As slow as you can bring yourself to be, you lay gentle kisses down the entire length of him. Wetting your lips and gliding them over his warm, silken skin, before dipping lower and sucking his balls between your lips. A harsh grunt sounds behind you, and, as if in retaliation, he sinks two thick fingers inside you. You moan around his sensitive skin, holding his balls in your mouth and jerking him off until he’s trembling beneath you, broad thighs straining as he tries to hold himself together.

“That’s good, love,” he murmurs softly, almost speaking to himself as he curls his fingers inside you, humming when you grind into his hand. “Need ta get my fuckin’ mouth on you.”

But you just shake your head. Let his balls slip from your mouth with a soft pop before sticking out your tongue and guiding the weeping tip of his cock towards your mouth. Hasty, too needy for your own good, you slip your lips around him and try to take him deep on the first pass. Out of practice after weeks away, your throat constricts and you choke a little around him. So big, so overbearing, you’re too eager to be filled by him that you push and push until you’re gagging and sputtering. Cheeks hot and eyes downturned, you draw back, skin prickling as you hear him say something past the rushing in your ears. Take a moment to catch your breath and ground yourself, fingers tight on his thigh as your tongue swirls around his tip.

“This what you missed then?” he’s saying, collecting your hair in his fist to keep it off your face. “Hm, missed bein’ all full of me?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, pulling back with a gasp only to press his head against your cheek. Eyes closed, you rub his ruddy tip against your chin, your lips, painting your skin with his precome. Feel the weight of him warm your skin and sigh in quiet delight. And when he groans, exhaling a heavy, ragged breath, you press your mouth around him again, desperate to hear him make that sound over and over again.

“Easy, darlin’, lemme see you,” John chokes out, thumbing sliding over the apple of your cheek. “So pretty with your lips around my cock.”

Heat floods your chest, and you drool around him. The words seem to trigger something in your mind, some insatiable desire to please, to make him feel good, because you’re relaxing, sinking your mouth down further on him. A low, drawn-out curse falls from his lips, fingers curling in the hair behind your ear.

Gaudy sounds of sucking and slurping fill your ears, and you would be self-conscious if it weren’t for the way John’s growls met them in the air. Wordlessly, he slips a third digit inside and the stretch brings a dull burn that has your mouth slowing against him.

Your eyelids flutter as his thick fingers stroke at your walls, searching for the spot that makes you spill every time, but your wanton cries of desperation are muffled by the heavy weight of him on your tongue. In slow, measured movements, he begins to shift his hips in time with your head. Feeding his cock to you and grunting when he feels your throat go soft and easy around him, letting him slip further in until your nose buries in the hair at his base.

John watches you, the blue in his eyes almost entirely swallowed by desire fattened pupils. Rakes his gaze over the way your lips stretch around his thick cock, tears dancing on your lashes as you take him in your throat. The heady taste of him is intoxicating, and you can only hold his gaze for so long before your eyes are rolling back, stomach pulling tight as you swallow around him.

Stuffed to the brim with John, John, John. He’s everywhere, filling your mouth, your aching cunt; it sends your heart racing, thighs trembling as your orgasm begins to crest.

Molten heats swims in the base of your stomach, curling and bubbling there as he you ride his long fingers, moaning his name around his cock. But just as you feel everything begin to go tight and tingly, John’s pulling on your hair and dragging you off him.

A thin strand of spit dangles between his tip and your mouth and he snarls at the sight, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Fuck, c’mere,” he huffs, squeezing insistently at your shoulders. “Wanna feel you on my cock when you come for me, yeah?”

Mind a hazy blur, you let the weight of him fall from your mouth, the hinge of your jaw still burning as you peel your underwear down your legs and spread yourself over his lap. John doesn’t pull his hand away though. No, he keeps his fingers between your legs, pumping them in and out, slowly, as you hover over his cock.

“My girl,” he says, eyes focusing on where the puffy lips of your cunt almost touch his cock. “My filthy, sweet girl.”

“John,” you puff his name, abdomen tensing when he rubs his thumb against your clit. Balanced on your knees and the tips of your toes, your legs shake a bit. Fingers dance forward to touch his shoulder, desperate for an anchor.

You frown a little, swollen lips parted in a torturous mix of desire and confusion, but he just offers a filthy grin and says, “Tell me you missed me again.”   

“Oh, fuck off,” you smart instinctually, lips twitching when he barks a laugh and slips his fingers from your wet clutch, grasp drifting to your waist. “Please.”  

“There she is,” he rumbles, jaw tensing as you glide his tip through your folds, coating him in your slick. A heavy rush of air spills from his nose. “My impatient girl.”

Once he’s got you on his cock, it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart.  

He lets you keep having it your way for a bit. Watches, gaze heavy, as you bounce on his cock, hands gripping his shoulders for leverage. You squirm on him, face twisted up as you adjust to the thick stretch of him after so long. It burns and aches between your thighs, but you can’t help but keep coming back for more, sinking down on his length faster each time. He tilts his head forward to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, moaning against the plush of your breast when you arch your back, crying out at the feeling of his teeth on the sensitive bud.

After a while he slots his greedy lips against yours. Presses hot, sucking kisses to your mouth, swallowing down every gasp and moan that crawls its way up your chest. The bristles of his facial hair scratch at your cheeks, your nose, and you love it. Have desperately missed the way it warms your skin as he presses his tongue inside your mouth and tastes behind your teeth.

Using his hold on your hips, he rolls you against his lap. Meets you thrust for thrust until you start to soak his length, jaw going slack as he growls into your open mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love, that’s it,” John groans, fingers tightening on your waist as your cunt pulls tight and hot around him. Thighs shaking, you let your forehead fall against his chest and ride out the flood of your orgasm. “I know, darlin’, I know, I’ve got you.”

Fingers fly up to grip the back of your neck, his other arm snaking around your waist as he continues fucking up into you. His cock presses hot and heavy into that soft, gushy spot deep inside you and you shudder against him, helpless little moans slipping from your parted lips. Face smushed against his hairy chest, you drool a little. Feel it pool between his pecs and smear across your cheek as your eyes roll back, dopamine pounding in your veins as he pushes you relentlessly through the high.

“Gonna let me fill you up?” he’s panting, feet planted on the bed now as he bucks into you, hips stuttering as he sinks closer and closer to his end. “Fuck, I’m gonna make a right mess of you, darlin’. That’s it, lovey, show me that pretty face.”

“John,” you mewl, toes curling against the sheets. “Shit, oh shit.”   

“Christ,” he grunts when you meet his eyes, jaw pulled tight. “So tight, m’ gonna come—”

“Wait,” you mumble suddenly, senses sharpening despite the way your thighs still shake against his hips. John stills immediately, grip tightening on your waist. “In my mouth, I want you in my mouth.”

His face crumples at that, a guttural noise sputtering from his lips as you lift off him and slip down to rest between his legs. He nods, brushing hair back off your face as you sink your mouth down on him, slick tongue hungry on the underside of his pulsing cock. He mutters your name, tells you how perfect you feel as he rocks his hips forward, tip nudging the back of your throat with every careful thrust.

“My sweet girl, doing so good for me,” he breathes, a coy grin on his face and a firm hand at the base of your skull. He holds your head in place as he fucks your mouth with slow, steady strokes. Groans every time you swallow, warm wet throat drawing tight around his swollen head.

“Look at me, let me see those eyes,” he mutters urgently, tugging on your hair until you’re blinking, focusing blurry eyes on his face. He thumbs at the teary streaks on your cheeks and gives a rough, prolonged groan as he begins to spill down your throat. “Fuck, fuck.”

You bob your head as his cock twitches and jerks against your tongue, sucking until he’s filled your mouth with warm come and it starts seeping from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down his shaft. You catch the spill with your fingers, swallowing his thick spend down and then licking what’s left from your trembling hands.

John watches on, chest heaving, and tuts fondly when you whimper, head spinning with the salty taste of him on your tongue.

“Bloody hell,” he exhales after a moment, dragging his knuckles over his face. “We’re never goin’ home.”  

You laugh, drowsily nuzzling your cheek against the inside of his thigh as his cock softens against his stomach. John cards his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, legs still twitching and eyes drifting closed as he tries to catch his breath. Lips slick with spit and come, you lay soft pecks along his sweaty skin. Smile when he shudders, fingers tightening against your scalp, but doesn’t pull you off.

There’s a hot flush of red splashed across the skin of his neck, his cheekbones, and his stomach is still warm to the touch when you reach out to graze his soft flesh. Sated and sleepy, he wets his lips and continues to play with your hair. Lovingly curls strands of it around his fingers and tugs gently before letting go, only to pick a new strand and do it again.

Overcome with emotion, and unable to stop yourself, you lean forward and take his soft cock back into your mouth.

John hisses through his teeth in surprise, eyes flashing open.

You don’t do anything crazy yet. Just let him feel the warmth of your mouth around him, the soft glide of your tongue against the ridge around his head. When he doesn’t pull you off after a second, you give him a little suck. Not hard—just enough to make his hips flinch down into the mattress and his legs pull tight at your sides.  

“Fuck,” he exhales, face pinched. His hand trembles against your head. “Fu—hang on, fuckin’ hell, love.”

You peer up past his stomach to where his mouth hangs open and his eyes are shiny and wide. His nails scratch against your scalp. Needy little nudges that blur the line between too much and not enough. You hum in pleasure around him when a choked sound falls from his mouth. Feeling a little mean, though, you pull back, licking your lips and smiling apologetically.

“Sorry,” you murmur, face hot as you squeeze his thigh. “Just want to love on you a little longer, that’s all.”

He hums deep in his chest, brow creasing a little as he brings his big hands to cup your face. His thumb swipes at your chin, smearing the saliva there, and you part your lips for him. He makes a sort of pained sound as he slots the digit into your mouth and watches you hollow out your cheeks out around it, swirling your tongue and sucking like you’d done to his cock just moments ago.

“Christ,” John breathes. Something needy and desperate glints in his eye, and he slips his finger from your mouth. Grips the back of your neck and gives a short nod. “Gonna be the death of me, ain’tcha?”

Guided by his hand, you take him back in your mouth and sigh in relief. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you rest your face against his hip, taking deep breaths through your nose and just holding him like that for a while. You can hear the way his breathing goes haggard above your head; short sharp bursts of air huffing from his nostrils. Sensitive as he must be, John lets you have your fun, shivering and spiting low curses as your touches get increasingly needier. And when you begin to suck softly at his length again, he seems unable to help the way his strong legs writhe against the mattress.

He says your name, rough and urgent, when you pull back only to snake your tongue out against his slit. Eyes fluttering open, you look up at him as you lathe your tongue down his length, smiling at how red his face has gotten, at how he seems to be holding his breath. John’s cock starts to swell and stiffen beneath your touch.  

“D’you want me to stop?” you whisper, tracing the blue vein that pulses down the side of his length with your tongue.

“No,” he pants, head lolling from side to side. “Fuck no, gorgeous. Just go easy on me, yeah? It’s ohh—” he winces “—s’a lot.”

You nod understandingly and press a kiss to his tip, smearing the fresh pearl of precome there against your lips. He’s fully hard now, throbbing when you wrap your fingers around his thick base and wrap your lips around his head. A guttural sound rips from his chest and he’s tugging at your hair. For a moment you pause, unsure, but then he’s pushing a little on you. Nudging you closer, further, so you take him deeper and deeper until his tip is nudging against your throat.

“Fuck,” John gasps, hips stuttering against your palms, sensitive cock twitching against your tongue. “S’too much, love, it’s—oh fuck.”

With a ragged grunt his cock pulses in your mouth, and a little spurt of come dribbles from his head. You moan, eyes closed, and swallow tight around him, milking every last drop of spend from his cock until he’s winded and clumsily pushing you off of him.

Breathless, you fall flat on the mattress beside him, feet dangling off the end of the bed. John’s broad palm cradles the back of your head still, a comforting weight as you wipe your face against the sheets.

Ears pricking, you realise it’s begun to rain outside. Soft patters of liquid that knock against the window, thin rivulets that drip down to splash and splutter against the sill. Long forgotten, his cigar sizzles and dies beneath the spray.

“Another tea?” you murmur finally, pushing up onto your elbows.

But with a soft, startled laugh, you find that John’s eyes are closed, chest rising with steady breaths; already back to sleep. Shaking your head a little, you smile fondly at his lax form, and consider closing the window. You settle instead for pulling the duvet from the corner of the bed. Curled against his thick side, you settle the blanket over the two of you and lay an arm over his stomach, content to have a proper lie in after such a busy morning.

thanks for reading, i'd love to hear what you thought x

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[thought--bubble]

The Monster in Your Fairytale

Old South AU Aemond X (Southern Belle Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 2,330

Modern Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

A/N: I'm grouping this with Modern Aemond because i don't want to create anymore masterlists and it isn't canon Aemond haha.

Warnings:: manipulation, dubcon, Breeding kink, smut, virginity loss, attempt at baby trapping.

Aemond Targaryen was sought after in your small rural town. The only single man left of the Targaryens other than his young brother Daeron, who was too young to marry.

The Targaryens were the most well-off family in the area. They came from old money. Their sprawling mansion and vast acreage of land showcased their wealth.

Aemond, being a young Batchelor who stood to inherit a third of his fathers wealth, was viewed as a great prize for many of the young, unmarried woman in your small town. The accident he suffered as a child leaving him with only one eye did nothing to dampen the flames of his popularity. After all, out here money was king.

Yet somehow, even with a plethora of young unmarried women swirling around him. That one beautiful eye set its sights on you

You were your fathers pride and joy. His sunshine he called you. You weren't the smartest girl around, but gosh, were you sweet. If anyone were to ask around, your small rural community, they would say your giggle was contagious and your smile even more so.

Your innocence and your trusting nature are exactly what reeled him in. What a pretty little silly wife you would make him. He imagined you popping out, baby, after silver haired baby laughing and giggling, never a care in the world, and in him, it awoke a hunger, a gnawing need to have you.

So Aemond decided he would do this the right way. Get to know you and make you fall in love with him. Who wouldn't fall in love with him? Every single girl in town wanted him, why wouldn't you?

So he approached you at the local farmers market. A place he would usually never be. The Targaryens had house servants for that kind of thing. Yet he came knowing you would be there, selling your father's wares. A bright smile on your face and that perfectly plump bosom pressing tightly against the fabric of your cheaply made dress.

He looked sharp. A nice pair of trousers with a fitted top, the two highest buttons left open.

"Give her something to gawk at," he thinks to himself as he fixes his shirt. He spots you at your usual table, pointing at various fruits and vegetables, trying to make a sale. Not that making a sale was difficult for you. You could sell someone air with just a smile and a suggestion.

He walks up to your fruit stand cockily, quickly snatching an apple from one of the baskets and tossing it in the air.

"Macintosh. Best you'll find for a long ways" You smile at him with that perfect little smile, your eyes wrinkling around the corners.

"Hmmmm." He gently places the apple back in the basket. "I'm looking for..... something sweeter"

"Oh! Well, we have strawberries! Those are mighty sweet. " You lower your voice to a near whisper." I could even let ya try one if you promise not to tell Daddy." You wink at him and hold up the smallest of strawberries in your delicate hand.

Aemond can feel a stirring in his pants he tries very hard to ignore. "Love to" instead of taking the strawberry from you, he leans forward and bites into it while it is snuggled in tight between your fingers. His lips graze your fingertips, and then you do it. You giggle. That addicting giggle.

What went from a gentle stirring in his trousers had now evolved into a throbbing as he wiped the juices from the strawberry off his chin.

You lean forward towards him. "juicey nough for ya?"

"Hmmmm" Aemond chuckles. "Always like the ones that gush"

"Then perfect! How much do you wanna buy?" You take out one of your tiny baskets ready to fill it with strawberries.

"Fill the basket," he says nonchalantly.

"Oh! That's an awful lot of strawberries, sir. That could get quite pricey. " You giggle again, causing the throbbing in his trousers to intensify.

He smiles at you and laughs while shaking his head, "As if she doesn't know who I am," he thinks to himself.

You fill the basket completely. Pride swells in your chest, knowing you just sold a good chunk of the strawberries you had brought to market, your daddy will be so proud, and the money will help.

You hand him his basket of strawberries and give him your best smile.

"A pretty girl like you should be married at this age..... yet from what I understand you are not." Aemond muses biting into another strawberry.

"Oh, Daddy has turned down all suitors. Doesn't think I'm ready." You blush slightly in embarrassment. Your father loved you. So much in fact that he was afraid that with your simple and caring persona, you would be easily controlled and abused. A thought that terrified him.

Hearing that your father has turned down, all suitors thus far does not deter Aemond in the slightest. He is a Targaryen. Your father would beg for him to court you sooner than he would turn him down.

So the next morning, he does what any good gentleman should do and goes to your father requesting permission to court you and is absolutely shocked when your father declines.

"My sunshine is a special girl," he had said. " She isn't ready for that kind of thing, but I am flattered by your interest"

Aemond leaves the small farmhouse baffled but ultimately decides that your father will not stop him from having what he wants. You are indeed a special girl and you will be his special girl whatever the cost.

So, he returns to the farmers market every week. Sometimes with flowers, other times a small gift, a necklace, a bracelet every time trying to interest you in joining him for a walk.

Each time, you turn him down.

"Daddy wouldn't like that." Your sweet voice invades his senses, but after six weeks of being denied, Aemond has decided he will no longer take no for answer, so he presses on.

"Your father doesn't need to know sweetness. I will not be untoward. I only wish to know you more. All the town talks of your sweet smile, but what of what's behind that smile? That is what I wish to know. " Aemond gives you his best look of caring and gentleness. "I will not lie. My feelings have been hurt by this constant declination of simple friendship"

Aemond has gotten to know you so well. You are sweet to a fault, and the only way he can get you to go against your father's wishes is to make you believe that you are being cruel.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Aemond! I'm not trying to hurt you! Of course I'm not. " Your eyes are glassy as you look at him with sympathy.

"Got her," he thinks to himself.

"I guess one simple friendly walk won't hurt."

So after you pack up your wares for the day, he takes you on a walk. He asks you questions while he pretends to listen to the answers, the buzzing inside his head, making it hard to concentrate.

The walk is exactly as he described it. A friendly walk where you chat and enjoy the scenery, and every week that walk gets just a bit longer and a bit deeper into the woods.

You become more and more comfortable with the man you now consider to be one of your closest friends, and on a warm summer evening, he walks you into the woods the furthest he has walked you yet.

When the two of you stumble upon a meadow, he feigns surprise.

"Well, isn't this beautiful?" He looks down at you, watching you look around the meadow in wide-eyed wonder.

"Oh, Aemond, It's beautiful!" You happily exclaim, throwing your arms around him excitedly.

"Come." He takes your hand and leads you out into the tall grass of the meadow before he drops down to lay in the grass.

You watch him laying for a minute quizzically. "Aemond! What are you doing? You will get your clothes all dirty!" You reach for his hand to yank him up, but instead, he yanks you down on top of him.

"The view is so pretty from here." He looks up at you, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Oh gosh, I'm squishing you!" You attempt to get up, but Aemond sits up quickly, pulling you completely in his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips.

"A little thing like you? Squishing me? Preposterous. " He nuzzles his nose into your chin, eliciting a giggle.

"You're not so big yourself." You grip his waist and squeeze to accentuate your case.

"You'd be surprised, sweetness." He places gentle kisses along your jaw. "At how big I can get," He wraps his arms around your back, pulling your chest flush to his.

"Oh, Aemond......" Your voice is unsteady. "I don't think Daddy would like this"

"He doesn't need to know.." He trails kisses down your neck."Besides, every once in a while, you should do something you like. No matter what others think"

He watches your face contort in thought as you think over his words. His patience growing thinner and thinner. He grips your hips, gently grinding your heat on his lap.

"Indulge me," He whispers, "For just a little while"

You feel a build-up of heat curling up in your lower stomach and find it hard to say no to that eye that looks at you pleading.

"Just a little while longer, sweetness," Aemond pants heavily into the crevice of your neck.

Your hips start to grind against him, putting more pressure on that sweet nerve between your legs.

"Such a bad girl for me," Aemond growls as he nips at your bottom lip, gently pulling at it.

"I'm still a good girl, aren't i?" You worriedly ask. It's so important to you that you are a good girl.

"Mmmm.. yes, of course. " Aemond huffs between labored breathes. He leans back from you slightly to unbutton his trousers.

"Aemond?" You watch as his hands move beneath you, making quick work of the fabric as he pulls his hardened cock out and into his hand.

"Shhhh sweetness." He pumps himself with one hand as he cups your cheek in the other. "I've got you, I'll take care of you"

Aemond pushes up your dress and pushes open the split between your drawers, his breathing getting heavier with each touch. He runs his hand along your slick folds and smiles.

"You're all ready for me, sweetness." He gently bites at your chin, and a rush of warmth swirls in your stomach as he brings his finger to rub at your pearl in quick circles.

"A-Aemond!" You feel completely overwhelmed as that warmth in your stomach seems to be building, Your jaw is slack, and your breathing is forced.

"I've got you. Shhhhh... I've got you, " Aemond whispers to you as he continues to rub on your nub. As the pressure in your stomach continues to build, you can feel Aemonds' other hand on your hip, pushing you down as you feel immense pressure.

"Ah, Aemond!" You squeal the feeling of being split open is intense, and you now know what is happening.

"It's ok, sweetness, it's ok." He continues to rub your nub with his thumb as he pushes you further and further down his shaft.

"Fuck..." Aemond groans and closes his eye. "Oh sweetness, you're so perfect"

"Ahh, ahh." You hiss, the stretching is erotic and uncomfortable at the same time. A fullness that feels good and a stinging that hurts.

"Just a little further... Oh yes, " He groans loudly as your ass is flush against his thighs. "There you are." He pulls your face down towards him and kisses you with a passion you had only read about in stories.

you kiss him back while intermittently panting into his mouth. This sensation, this mix of pain and pleasure, was like nothing you had ever experienced.

He grasps at your hips and guides you to grind against his lap.

"See? You're still a good girl." He pants,"My good girl"

"Your good girl, Your good girl." You chant like a prayer as his movements intensify.

Aemond buries his face in your chest as he maneuvers you on his lap. Like a rag doll he fucks into you taking what he has long desired.

"Cum for me pretty girl" He begs as he grinds you against him faster his thighs shaking with the intensity.

You moan and pant loudly that feeling in your bottom stomach rising like it is going to spill over and when it does and your eyes roll back into your head Aemond loses all control.

He tightly squeezes your hips, bringing you down upon him with force. "Gonna fill you up." He grunts."Make you mine, " he slams you down harder and tilts his head back. "I want you full of me." He loudly makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper.

"Ask me for it," he demands

Your brain is so foggy from your orgasm and the momentum of his thrusts that you stare at him blankly.

"Ask me to fill you." He grunts, and his face contorts. He looks almost like he is in pain. "Please, sweetness,"

"Oh please fill me Aemond Please" You coo.

He pulls you down roughly twice more before spilling into you with a loud groan, laying his back down on the grass as he slowly continues to push himself into you, riding out his orgasm.

Aemond lays back with a smile on his face. Your father would have no choice but to marry you to him now. The shame of being an unwed mother in a town like this would be unbearable, and if somehow he didn't get you pregnant this time?

Well, there was always next time.

To be added to taglist click here

[mooncalfed]

Thinking about shepherd!Ghost and landowner!reader (à la Far From the Madding Crowd)

You inherited the land after your parents passed away several months ago. They had sent you away for private tuition and in the wake of the mess that was their passing, you had returned to the manor to take over your inherited farm.

Simon’s land is next to yours but the acreage makes him a scarce figure. You see him once or twice a week, following after his sheep on the occasions that they stray near your boundary

Dressed in worn linen and dark leather, Simon is also never without the cloth that covers the lower half of his face. His wide-brimmed hat is the same colour as his eyes, a molten brown that you have only seen up close a handful of times

He never fails to address you formally when you do cross paths, and always pairs his greeting with a respectful head nod and a flick of those dark eyes

The first time you saw him was at the village market when you walked into the livestock pen and your gaze snagged upon his strapping figure. Seeing only his back you had expected him to be a local farm hand, but when he turned and addressed you, you realized that he was the neighbouring shepherd that you remember from your mother's correspondence

There's something about his gaze... deep and serene and still. It makes your stomach clench and your mouth dry. Suddenly conscious of every breath you take and the way your corset presses into your waist

The small talk you make is polite and inconsequential, but you do notice his hands… warm and dry when you clasp them, his nails are clipped but surprisingly clean

You don’t forget them, and neither you do forget the way his eyes flash when you hold on to his hand for a moment too long and the way your stomach clenches when he tells you it was his pleasure to finally meet you

[bellaxgiornata]

Break the Tension [Chapter One "The Arrival"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: When Marci first asked you to be the Maid of Honor at her and Foggy’s wedding, you'd already been forewarned that your old college rival from Columbia, Matthew Murdock, would be Foggy’s Best Man. And while you'd expected a long weekend filled with tension between the pair of you, you hadn't anticipated all of the sexual tension–or the sex.

Warnings/tags: 18+; Enemies to lovers, sexual tension, smut, semi-public sex, light angst

a/n: This is a short series (planned for seven parts) and I just really needed to get the idea out of my head. This is definitely not my usual Matt x Reader dynamic nor the usual cocky Matt in an enemies to lovers fic; you'll see why even more in chapter two. Let's just say Matt needs the smug wiped off his face and I wanted to see him desperate. Feedback is always appreciated! The chapter list can be found here!

Tag list: @mattkinsella @danzer8705

The taxi driver hefted your suitcase out of the trunk of his car, setting it onto the circular gravel driveway beside you with an audible huff of exertion. You watched as he wiped a hand across his forehead, one hand still holding the hanger of your dress high above your head so the white garment bag wouldn't drag along the ground. 

“Thank you,” you said, arm already growing tired from holding up your dress.

The man closed the trunk of the taxi, turning around and sending you a friendly smile. “Of course, miss,” he replied. “I hope you have a lovely weekend. Certainly looks like a nice place you’re staying at.”

You laughed lightly in return, wishing the man a good day before he turned and headed back to the driver’s side of the car. Lifting up the handle of your suitcase that you'd brought for the weekend, you turned and focused on the grand building before you. It was easily two levels tall with trails of ivy growing along most of the stone exterior between the numerous large windows. The manor itself was impressive with two wings branching off either side of the main building. The front driveway you were currently standing on led up to a walkway that wound between an impressive garden of hedges and flowers. In the center was a large fountain, and the peaceful sound of the water spewing forth met your ears once the taxi had finally driven off behind you.

The venue was massive, boasting quite an expansive plot of acreage that it was nestled inside–or so Marci had told you during all the wedding planning. A long, winding road encompassed by trees on either side had led up to Fairfield Manor, and not too far behind the manor you'd spotted what looked like a forest when the taxi had pulled up. You were positive if you consumed too much alcohol this weekend and wandered outside past sunset, you'd surely end up lost.

As much as Marci had shown you photos of the place, gushing over it repeatedly to you about how perfect it was for her and Foggy’s wedding, the photos certainly hadn’t done it justice. 

Beginning to make your way up to the entrance of the manor, you walked towards the winding path which led through the stunning garden out front, carrying your dress and toting your luggage behind you. Seeing the place in person had left you wondering how Foggy and Marci had afforded this venue for an entire three days. You figured Foggy’s firm must’ve been doing well because Marci’s salary alone couldn't possibly have paid for everything. Though with how extravagant it was, it most certainly screamed Marci.

This weekend the entire bridal party, along with Marci and Foggy’s immediate family, were staying here for the duration of the wedding festivities. Tonight you were practicing the rehearsal for the wedding ceremony here at the venue before heading to a nearby restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. Tomorrow was the big wedding day itself, which meant an early morning start for hair and makeup during breakfast, followed by an incredibly long day and probably a drunken evening. Then on Sunday Marci had scheduled a late morning brunch before everyone departed the manor, allowing a bit more time to visit before the newlyweds left for their honeymoon.

Coming to a stop before the large, ornate wooden door that seemed to tower over you, you released the handle of your luggage long enough to push it open. Immediately you were met with the sound of voices and loud, boisterous laughter coming from a hall to your right as the door swung wide into the foyer. Though as you began to pull your suitcase into the building, still juggling your garment bag in your other hand, your ears picked up on the sound of a familiar voice. One you hadn't heard in a long time.

One that instantly set you on edge.

It was annoying that he was here. Of course you'd expected it–Marci had warned you ahead of time–but actually seeing him again this weekend was going to be another story. 

Matthew Murdock. The cocky fuck boy of Columbia who thought he was smarter than you, always going out of his way to show you up and point out your every mistake because one time you had embarrassed him by correcting him in class. He was an asshole, always so irritatingly ethical for a man who slept around without a care for anyone's feelings. Though of course he'd never flirted with you , always choosing to argue with you instead. And when graduation day had come, he'd certainly rubbed it in your face that he'd been top of the class. 

Though what he hadn't known was that you'd spent most of your time busting your ass working at a coffee shop just to try to pay what the scholarships wouldn't cover of your tuition while your mother was struggling with a cancer diagnosis. Thankfully she'd gone into remission not long after you'd graduated, but still, Matthew Murdock had made college miserable for you on top of everything you’d had going on. And you'd despised him for it.

So you certainly weren't excited to see him this weekend.

Setting your luggage down and turning back around to close the heavy door after yourself, you forced yourself to take a deep breath and remain calm. You were here for Marci, after all. This weekend was a big moment for her and you were excited and grateful to be a part of everything. She was one of your best friends. And truthfully you'd never had issues with Franklin Nelson. He had at least always been cordial and friendly to you. 

So you weren’t going to think about him .

The moment you’d shut the door with a solid thud , you heard your name being excitedly called from behind you. Spinning around with a smile already plastered across your face, you spotted Marci with outstretched arms racing towards you across the foyer. Her short, flowy white dress fluttered around her legs as she nearly jumped on you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“You’re finally here!” she exclaimed. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”

"Sorry, I got caught up at work," you told her, squeezing her just as tightly back the best you could with your dress still in hand. "Had some details to finalize before I was gone for the weekend and you know how Sheridan gets."

Marci pulled away from you, rolling her eyes at the mention of your boss. 

"I do, in fact," she answered. "But you're here now so let's not talk about work! Come on, let's get your things to your room. It's almost time for the rehearsal."

Grabbing your luggage handle you followed Marci down the hallway, wheeling your bag behind you in one hand and now no longer as concerned about the garment bag dragging along the floor in your other, your arm tired from holding it above your head for so long already. As the pair of you walked, you could see a group of others that you assumed were the bridal party already congregating about midway down the hall, drinks in their hands and dress clothes on. The sight was a reminder that you’d still have to change quickly before the events of the evening because you hadn’t wanted to stay in the dress slacks and blouse you had worn to work earlier for the duration of the evening. 

"I take it I'm the last one to arrive then?" you asked Marci.

The sound of both of your heels clicking along the marble floor echoed around the elaborate hallway as the pair of you walked. Your eyes scanned each painting lining the walls that you passed, noticing each one was a beautiful watercolor of a picturesque scene. Overhead you noticed the ornate chandeliers hanging down, the crystal glinting in the light. Truthfully this place was stunning. 

"Yes, but that's alright," Marci answered, waving a hand. "I appreciate that you sent a text as a forewarning though. But," she continued, glancing at you over her shoulder and wincing before she leaned in to whisper, "that also means you're the last to pick a room. So you sort of…don't get to pick."

Shoulders sagging, you shot Marci a flat look. "What's that supposed to mean? Is the heat not working in it or something? Or it's haunted by a hundred year old ghost?"

Marci shook her head, a sheepish smile on her face. "No, it just means the only room left is the one…next to Matt’s," she answered softly. 

You came to an abrupt halt, stopping dead in your tracks and closing your eyes. Your first instinct was to turn around and call that taxi back to see if you could catch a ride back to the city. It was bad enough you'd have to be cordial to Matt this weekend, but you certainly did not want to interact with him more than necessary. 

But you were here for Marci this weekend, you reminded yourself again. It was only for a few days that you’d be staying here and having to run into him, and then you'd go back to never running into him again in the city. And it would be heaven. Inhaling a deep breath, you forced a smile onto your face as you focused back on Marci.

“I know you both never really got along but–”

"It’s okay," you replied slowly, shaking your head. "So our rooms are next to each other for a few days? Not a big deal," you said, trying to convince yourself just as much as Marci. "Doesn't mean I'll have to talk to him. Or see him. Or anything more than necessary."

"Right," Marci agreed, nodding quickly. "Exactly. You two only need to interact for the wedding and the rehearsal a bit.” 

With a sigh you grabbed your luggage, continuing to make your way back down the hall with Marci at your side. But as the pair of you began to pass the group of bridal party members already loudly conversing with Foggy, you heard them call out to Marci, begging her to stay and join them. Attention shifting to the group, your eyes almost instantly landed on Matt standing just beside Foggy. Your jaw clenched at the sight of him, your hand tightening around the handle of your luggage as your back stiffened.

He was dressed in a nice pair of slacks, a white dress shirt with a dark red tie, and a dark suit coat. He'd apparently switched out those black rectangular glasses he always wore in college, exchanging them for some round ones with red lenses. Admittedly they looked good on him, which only annoyed you further. Because of course he'd grown more attractive in the years since you'd last seen him–he even seemed broader and somehow more muscular under that fitted suit coat with the buttons of his dress shirt straining at the seams. Though you had a strong feeling he was probably still the same flirty asshole you remembered him as, maybe even worse now since he could throw around that he had his own law firm. And the stupid smile on his face as his head turned in your direction only irritated you.

"I'll be back in a minute," Marci told the group. She said your name, telling them you'd just arrived. "I was going to show her to her room. Help her get settled first."

"No, that's alright. Go on," you assured her, gesturing your head to the group. "I can find the room on my own. I need to change anyway and then I can join everyone."

"You sure?" Marci asked carefully, focusing back on you.

"Yeah, don't worry about me," you replied.

And that’s when you heard it. Matt saying your name, the sound of it on his lips causing your eyes to narrow as your head turned slowly back towards him. It had been so long since you’d heard him say it, yet it still had your blood boiling almost instantly. The smug smirk that quickly grew on his mouth wasn't helping, either.

"Showing up late?” Matt teased you. “Even after all these years, you still need to make everyone wait on you?”

You bit back the comment forming on your tongue. This was not the time nor the place and you certainly weren’t going to let him openly get a rise out of you in front of everyone. Though it didn’t escape your notice when Foggy nudged Matt’s shoulder, leaning in and whispering something to him.

“Some of us had work to finish, Murdock ,” you countered briskly. Turning your attention back to Marci, you told her, “I’ll get changed fast and be right out. I won’t keep you waiting on me.”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand,” Marci told you, shooting Matt a glare that you know Foggy saw. “We’ll be here a bit longer before we head down to the ceremony location out in the courtyard. And your room is just at the end of the hall,” she continued, pointing down the hallway. “Room twelve. On the right.”

You thanked her before continuing the rest of the way towards your room, fuming internally because you’d been here a matter of minutes and Matt was already getting under your skin. It didn’t bode well for the rest of this weekend.

You stood with your arms crossed over your chest and your focus fixed straight ahead on the wedding coordinator who was currently running over details about tomorrow’s ceremony with Foggy and Marci. The rest of the bridal party had been paired and lined up at the back of the courtyard behind you, all of you patiently awaiting instructions on what to do next. 

There was a lot of chatter coming from the group behind you, too. All of the other bridal party members were taking the time to get to know their partners, animatedly talking to each other. Unfortunately you being the Maid of Honor when Matt was the Best Man meant you two were stuck together for the wedding events this weekend. Currently you were doing your best to ignore his irksome presence beside you as he continued to tap his cane against the stone pavement, the repetitive sound causing you to grind your teeth back and forth. It didn’t help that you were forced to stand so close to him that you could feel the warmth of his body along your bare right arm, the heat of it raising goosebumps. But it was only because it was early fall and a little chilly outside; you couldn’t help it that the bit of warmth happened to feel good.

“So are you just planning to ignore me the entire weekend?” Matt asked softly, leaning slightly towards you as he spoke.

“I would prefer to, yes,” you answered simply.

Matt laughed bitterly, shaking his head. The gesture caught your attention and you glanced at him beside you through narrowed eyes.

“What?” you asked him.

“Just can’t believe you haven’t changed after all these years,” he replied.

Eyebrows shooting up onto your forehead at his comment, you gaped at him. Was he serious ?

“That’s funny coming from the self-important asshole who upon hearing I’m here decides to immediately make a rude comment,” you shot back. “Pretty sure you haven’t changed one bit, Murdock.”

“And you’re apparently still stuck on using my last name,” he quipped back, his head turning towards you as that smirk you hated tugged at his lips. “Why is that, I wonder?” 

He leaned over just a bit, his mouth gradually lowering beside your ear. You felt a shiver run up your spine when his warm breath grazed your neck. You told yourself it was due to the chill of the evening and not whatever effect he thought he had on you.

“Is it because you’ve always been afraid that you might actually enjoy saying my name? That you might like the taste of it on your tongue, sweetheart?” he purred in your ear. 

“Don’t call me that,” you hissed back, your hard stare focused ahead of you once again. “I’m not like those other women, Murdock. Don’t use that patronizing pet name of yours to lump me in with everyone else that bullshit works on. Because your so-called ‘charm’ doesn’t work on me.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, straightening back up beside you. “You sure it doesn’t?”

A second later you felt his fingertips lightly brush against your thigh, grazing your skin just beneath the hem of your dress. You sucked in a breath and held it, your eyes falling shut at the warmth of his calloused touch. Matt had never flirted with you before–and he’d certainly never touched you before. You’d only ever seen him try to work his charm on other women, so what the hell was he doing right now? Was he actually interested in you?

Though when he chuckled softly beside you, your eyes immediately flew open again. Your heart began to pound hard in agitation as opposed to whatever it was that had sped it up a moment ago. Because the cocky asshole had done that on purpose . He was fucking with you, just like he’d always done in college. Except this time it felt significantly more embarrassing because, for the briefest of moments, it had felt good when he’d touched you.

“Seems like it might, sweetheart,” he whispered back. 

“Use my name if you have a need to speak with me, Murdock,” you ground out between clenched teeth, your cheeks heating. “Though I’d prefer if we kept our interactions limited this weekend so we don’t ruin things for Marci and Foggy.”

“Oh you’ve grown so much more bossy ,” Matt teased in delight. “That makes ignoring what you want that much more fun, sweetheart.”

As the wedding coordinator began to make her way back towards the bridal party still lined up, you expelled a sharp breath from your nose. Your hands balled into fists as you hugged your arms tighter over your chest, your nails biting into your palms. This weekend was going to be far worse than you’d imagined. Initially you’d hoped that Matt had grown up since graduation, willing to let whatever it was that made him a prick to you go for a few days for the sake of his best friend’s wedding.

But instead he was still so… Matthew Murdock . Had he really not grown since college? Matured into an actual adult? Why the hell was he like this? Because you’d only ever seen him treat you this way, and it was infuriating. 

“Alright ladies and gentleman,” the wedding coordinator announced.

Stopping just a few feet before you and Matt, she clapped her hands together to quiet the group. A smile spread across her mouth when the chatter came to a stop and you placed all of your focus on her and not Matt, though you could see that smug smile on his lips out of the corner of your eye.

“You’ll be starting the processional inside, just past those doors behind you, for the actual ceremony tomorrow,” she continued, gesturing to the French doors you’d all come out of a few minutes ago before lining up. “But for the sake of time we’ll start out here. You’ll be paired up with whomever you’re walking down the aisle with, moving one at a time down the aisle that’ll be here tomorrow when the chairs are set up. Then the pair of you part before the stone steps for the ceremony just there,” she said, turning at the waist and pointing to where Foggy was already standing and looking nervous. “Once the couple before you parts, the next one proceeds down the aisle. So let’s practice that for now, shall we?”

The woman had turned, making to get out of the way of the line for the processional, but then her eyes caught you and Matt standing beside each other. Her brows creased as she abruptly came to a stop, turning back around and pointing a finger between the pair of you.

“You two–Best Man and Maid of Honor–you need to link arms while you walk down the aisle,” she said. “Go on, just like the others behind you.”

At her comment, Matt’s arm rose up beside you, brushing against your own arm as he offered it out to you. You looked over at it, your lip pulling back in slight distaste. You did not want to have him escort you down the aisle now or tomorrow. And that sentiment was made all the more true when your gaze slid up, noticing Matt was smiling down at you in sheer amusement. He was clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Matt urged. “Let me escort you.”

Rolling your eyes in annoyance, you slipped your arm through his before grabbing onto his bicep. But as soon as your fingers lightly curled around his suit coat, you could feel the thick muscle of his arm beneath your hand. Swallowing hard, you pushed that observation as far from your mind as you could. It wasn’t a fact you needed to remember about him.

But as the pair of you began to make your way towards the stone steps where the ceremony would take place tomorrow, Matt’s cane lightly tapping along the stone as you led him there, you couldn’t help but notice his head had turned a bit towards you. And unless your eyes were deceiving you, it looked like he was focused on you behind his red lenses.

[the-hinky-panda]

War of the Roses Series: Part II

Warning: Mention of miscarriages

Next time ends up being a couple weeks later when Bill and his crew arrive in Tulsa to survey the land that’s going to be turned into a weed farm. Bill had been trying to come up with an excuse to show up at Thresher’s door, asking if you happen to be around, just so he could see you again. That accidental kiss in the coatroom has left his world slightly askew. He isn’t sure if seeing you again is going to put it right again or tilt it even more off-balance. So when Carl suggested they pay a visit to Thresher to make sure he really was set up to start the business, Bill jumped on the idea. 

When they arrive at the house, Bill is constantly searching the background for you, or any sign of you. The house is massive, all dark wood, dim lighting, and expensive art work. There’s a gigantic medieval tapestry that hangs behind the large mahogany desk in Cal’s office. There’s no warmth to the belongings, no family history. Everything in here is a showcase of trophies, expensive baubles collected to show wealth. 

He thinks of the hundred year old bronze of a cowboy on a bucking bronco that his grandfather bought after making his first million dollars. The Toulouse-Lautrec painting his grandmother bought to hang in the dining room so guests could converse over the subject matter of a young woman seated at a table. There were silver trophies, cups, and punch bowls his father had won on reining horses. Hell, sitting on his desk at the autoparts warehouse was a signed baseball from Mickey Mantle that his father had secured for him. 

The difference between generational wealth and new money. 

Cal spreads out a map on the desk and shows where the fields are going to be located. There are places marked for where the greenhouses are currently being built and he’ll show them the progress in that construction that is almost complete. Bill has to give it to him, he’s thorough and organized in the approach. That’s a good sign. What’s not that great of a sign is that there’s no personal pictures of you in the office. There’s framed portraits of Cal and what look to be his relatives but not one picture of you. It irks Bill. 

He doesn’t see you, or any presence of you, in the house. He knows he’s not going to see you out on the land and greenhouse tour. It does make it easier to concentrate on Cal and his development plans. Bill has to admit, this may just be the top producing weed farm out of all the ones he has growing. The one to beat would be in Texas but Texas is prone to drought and that could be an issue in another year or two. Cal has had the foresight to acknowledge drought as a problem and has a mobile irrigation system that will cover most of the acreage. They’re riding back from the demo of the irrigation system when Cal invites Bill and his guys to stay for dinner. It gives Bill the opportunity he’s been waiting for. 

“Is your wife going to mind having to feed all of us?” 

Cal shakes his head. “No, she likes cooking. At least that’s what she said this morning when I told her you were coming today to have a look around.” 

So you are around, know he’s here, and offer to make food for everyone. He takes it as a positive sign, shaky as it is, that perhaps that kiss has had lingering effects on you as well. He uses this time, just the two of them in the four wheel drive UTV, to try to get more information out of Cal. 

“How long have you two been married?” 

“Six years.” Cal frowns. “That might be it though.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Let’s just say she’s not exactly holding up her end of the bargain.” He sighs. “Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. You ever been married?” 

“Once upon a time,” Bill looks out over the gently rolling hills and wonders what exactly is the bargain between you and Cal. “She was from California and thought she’d give farm life a try. She didn’t care for it or me. Moved back to San Franscisco and married some silicon valley fucker.” 

“You would think with the lives we provide them, scenery like this, homes like ours, never wanting for anything, they would be motivated to do their actual fucking jobs. But they’re never satisfied are they?” 

Bill bites his tongue because he doesn’t know the details of what Cal is talking about and it causes him hesitation to agree with anything when he doesn’t know both sides of the story. 

***

As soon as the meal is over, when the last dessert fork has been laid on the table, you excuse yourself from the table. It’s not the first time that you’ve attended a business dinner at the house and your presence is never welcome past the completion of the meal. The house staff clear the dishes and set everything back to its pristine condition while the men find some appropriate spot either inside or outside to smoke their cigars, sip their whiskey, and talk about their interests.  

You remove yourself from the gathering and head down to the small barn that Cal built for you and your four horses. He refuses to have any more than that because the horses you have don’t make money, not real money at least. There’s really only one horse that has a six figure value but he’s a retired reining horse. Two are classified as therapy horses and the other one is just a sedate trail horse. You’re thankful Cal allows them on his property at all but you’re not sure for how much longer they’ll be there. 

After your return from Kansas City, Cal gave you an ultimatum. You had one more chance to deliver a healthy baby before divorce papers were drawn up. Your parents have already told you that if a divorce occurs, you would not be welcome back to Texas. Your sister has already had three children in the last six years so infertility shouldn’t be an issue for you. Therefore, you must be doing something on purpose to cause the trio of miscarriages. But you don’t know if you can handle another pregnancy, another loss. Every time you lose a baby, a piece of your soul goes with them. Maybe if Cal showed some sympathy towards you it would be worth another risk but you doubt he’s going to change his ways now. 

You like being in the barn at this time of the day. The stable manager is gone for the evening and it’s just you and the horses. You put the halter on one of the therapy horses and tie him to the cross ties so you can brush him down. There’s a couple students from a school program that are coming out tomorrow to ride and you want the horses to be clean and ready for the appointment. 

The truth of the matter is, you needed to get out of the house, away from Bill specifically. You had spent the last two weeks replaying that kiss in the coat room in your head on a constant loop, trying to remember the exact feel of his lips on yours, the sharpness of his cologne, the gentleness of his hands. You were ashamed to admit that there were times when your daydreaming was so immersive that when you came back to reality you’re startled by seeing ice blue eyes instead of whiskey brown. 

Now, he was sitting directly across the dining table from you, the candlelight dancing across his tanned skin and highlighting the flecks of green in his eyes. You hadn’t seen those before in the dim light of the coat room. His smile is different when Cal says something humorous and then when he makes eye contact with you. It’s more subtle, more personal in a way that made your face heat up and you had to concentrate on the feel of the linen napkin in your lap. But then your mind drifted from the napkin to what it would feel like to run your fingers over his stubbled jaw, into his dark hair. The way he held his wine glass, the round bowl sitting perfectly in the wide expanse of his hand, was practically obscene. You were afraid to stand up when dinner was over because your knees were so fucking weak. 

You take a deep breath and lean your forehead against the sinews in the horse’s neck. You had never believed just sitting across from someone could create such want. That is the part you struggle with, you want Bill in a way that you have never experienced before. You’ve tried to feel that way with Cal, tried to feel the passion and desire but it was never there. Your wedding night had been spent on your back, tense, and staring at the ceiling. You were too afraid to engage and Cal never did anything to encourage you otherwise. So even though you had that desire for Bill, you don’t know what to do with it. It’s frustrating on multiple levels and that’s why you sought out the horses. 

“Hello?” 

Your eyes fly open and your breath catches in your throat. “Fuck.” 

Bill is standing in the doorway of the barn. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was down here. Cal said I could check out the horses.” 

He doesn’t realize it’s you. You’re too far away and most likely backlit. Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the rush of nerves that cause goosebumps to race across your skin, you step around the horse. 

“That’s fine, Bill. It’s just me.” 

The problem is, Bill is not backlit. You can see his facial expression perfectly. And when he starts to move towards you, with dark eyes and clear intent in his step, you realize it is not fine. There is no hesitation when he reaches you, when his palms cover your cheeks and he kisses you with such force you have no choice but to hold onto him. You feel his fingers apply pressure on your jaw, permission to deepen the kiss, and you grant it immediately. Whiskey and raspberries, that’s what he tastes like and you’re becoming lightheaded. When he finally releases you, it’s to rest his forehead against yours, both of you trying to catch your breath. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re even sweeter than I remember.” 

You smile at that, your fingers doing what you had wanted to do at dinner and skate across the scruff on his cheeks. “I can’t stop remembering.” 

He kisses you again, moving you until your back is against a stall door. His one hand rests at the back of your head to make sure you have a buffer between your skull and the metal bars. The other moves slowly from your waist, rising up your rib cage until he cradles your breast the same way he held the wine glass. You gasp when his thumb drags over your nipple, even through your shirt and bra, a moan coming from him when you arch your back. He takes the opportunity to slide his knee between your thighs and you grab fistfuls of his shirt to hold yourself upright. 

“You like that,” he whispers in a rough voice. 

You can’t even form words right now. Everything about this is new to you. The desire for this man, to give yourself to him and whatever he wants to do to you, is more intoxicating than the entire wine cellar in the house. You grind down on his thigh and your wontoness surprises you. 

“I need to hear you say it.” 

Your mind is completely shrouded in want you have no idea what he wants you to say. “Wha…what?” 

His cheeks are flushed, his pupils blown completely black. “Do you want to do this?” 

You nod your head immediately. “Yes, please.” 

He groans as he kisses you again, nipping at your lower lip. He moves his thigh up higher and you move against it. The seam of your jeans with the flex of his muscle provides the perfect pressure on your clit. Your fingers dig into the sinews of his shoulders. 

“Fu…fuck…”

He leans back to watch your face. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come for me. I want to see you come.” 

Your head tips back as you shake when the release breaks over you. You bite your lip so hard to keep from making noise that you taste the tang of copper. You’re sweating and panting, still holding onto Bill because you’re shaking so hard, you can’t stand. You’re surprised at the gentleness he shows in just holding you, gently running his hands over your back and shoulders. 

When you get partial functionality back in your hands, you reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. You found your release, he didn’t find his. You need to fix that, even the score. He reaches down and takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. “Next time.” 

You struggle with that mindset, where your pleasure comes first. You touch his face, trying to memorize all the details from the colors in his eyes, to the rasp of his scruff, to the shape of his mouth. “Next time, huh?” 

He gives you a quick smile before turning very serious again. “He doesn’t love you.” His lips skim across your cheekbone, your jawline, and he presses his face in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. His hands curl around your waist and shoulder blades, pressing you tightly against him. “I can’t imagine why.” 

Tears prick the back of your eyes as you lean into the embrace. “I can show you why he doesn’t.” 

[alexiela73]

Hi!!!! <3 Is it possible to get another Ramattra headcanon, maybe a little angsty? Like...what are his final days with human s/o like?

Absolutely!

Ramattra

The life the two of you lived together had so many beautiful moments

Ramattra was the first omnic to get married- something the two of you decided to pursue a few years after getting together

While the two of you never had kids, you both travelled all over the world helping to repair omnics and try to make peace between the omnic and human societies

The two of you spent the last fifteen years in a house on a small acreage, as you started to get older. It was your first house together, and holds so much love

Despite how the years wore on, and how you continued to age, it never mattered to Ramattra how many gray hairs or wrinkles you had. He loved you, intensely

He was used to now helping you up and down the stairs, letting you nap and cleaning the house or taking care of the property. Your favorite thing to do together was to look through the albums you'd made of all the places the two of you had gone together

Ramattra knew your time was coming. You'd reached the ripe old age of 86, and while humans could have lived longer, Ramattra felt it- the shift in your life force

It was like watching the dying embers of a fire trying to stay alive

You had very little energy left

Ramattra would sit in the bed with you, a tray in your lap, and feed you while crooning soft words

You slept more often now, and Ramattra would gently stroke your hair and hum to you

Seeing you so fragile and small broke his omnic heart

The two of you had talked about this many times- Ramattra had felt like the years were passing far too fast. For him...he would never age or die like you.

You had held him at the time, as he struggled with the reality of knowing someday you would be gone...and he'd be all alone

Now he held you. It felt selfish, the way he held so tight to you, praying that you'd live another day

Each breath though clearly caused you discomfort, and he could only gently press a damp cloth to your head and hold your hand

It felt like the both of you knew when the moment came

"Ramattra," you had rasped, looking at him with half lidded eyes. As he leaned his face into your soft, delicate hand, he watched as the corners of your eyes scrunched as you smiled. "I want you to remember that I love you. So much...and that the world...is not a evil place."

"Shhh, y/n," Ramattra had said softly. "Save your strength."

A low chuckle had left you. "My darling...I have no strength left to save. You know...as well...as I that...this is it," you choked, coughing a bit.

Ramattra smoothed your hair, leaning in to press his forehead to yours. "I'm not ready yet," he said softly. "Please."

"No one... is ever ready, Ramattra. This is part...of humanity. And this...is why I have appreciated....everything I've had with you. When I'm dead...I will live on...in your memories," you said, voice weakening with every word, your breaths drawing out. "And carry... your love with me...always."

A part of him knew you were right, though that made accepting this no easier. Ramattra was scared of you going though, without knowing how much you meant to him. But what words could describe enough how you meant to him?

His voice sounded choked, even as you closed your eyes. "I love you, y/n...thank you. Thank you for being...my home," he said softly.

The way your lips pulled, eyelashes fluttering...your smile, no matter how small, was so beautiful to him.

"Thank you...for being...mine....." you whispered.

It was minutes before your heart gave way. Ramattra knew the moment it stopped beating.

For him, it was impossible to understand the kind of anguish he felt, the loss and grief, the love...

After all, he had never expected to fall in love with a human

And yet...given the chance to repeat it all... Ramattra knew he'd fall in love with you all over again, if only to hold your hand one more time

He ended up burying you beneath your favorite tree

Even years later, he visits it every day, and leaves flowers on your birthday and anniversary

[fromasgardandback]

meadow picnic

•

masterlist | stranger things summer

it was a typical lazy day for Eddie and i. we decided to take a packed picnic and head out for a drive. no matter where we went or what we do, adventure was certain to be there. there wasn’t much around Hawkins. we lived in Indiana, farms were almost all we saw. however, there was a small meadow close to Lover’s Lake. wildflowers, poppies, and daisies littered the acreage of land before you. Eddie, not so legally, parked on the patch of dirt next to the meadow and climbed into the back to set up the pillows for our lunch. i grabbed the basket walking to the back of the van. we made tea sandwiches, fruit salad, and brought chips along with stopping by quick-mart for some iced tea.

“Sit, darling. I’ll plate you up.” Eddie smiled at me before grabbing a paper plate and adding things to my plate. i blushed in response. we sat for a while talking about nothing. random things that popped into our head, something we heard on the radio or saw in a magazine, or nothing in general. the sound of a breeze whistling in the trees and birds chirping were our music. nature’s music with a sweet melody of being with Eddie. somehow he could make any day a thousand times better by just being there. all the worries in the world had gone away. we got out of the van a little later and picked the flowers. different colors were mixed in the bouquets we were holding. i gently placed them in the basket with some water before Eddie pulled me to dance. we goofed off and danced around like no one was watching before he twirled me, pulling me down into the grass with him laughing manically. i added more photos to the book yesterday. 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

17th Century Cornish Hall in the village of Hold, UK is for sale for $1,604,812 / € 1,250M. It has 6bd and is on 3 acres of land.

The living room has an old brick feature wall (do you love the contrast of the big flatscreen?). There seems to be a door in the wall that they blocked off.

I like the look of this room, better- that single tree down the middle of the ceiling, plus the roughly hewn beams give it the 17th cent. look. Plus, I think that the floor is original.

What a great office- love the painted old plaster and fireplace.

Love the ancient look- notice the patina on the stairs. Old plaster painted red, a giant tree down the middle of the ceiling, and an original stone floor.

The kitchen has a vintage look and where the wood burning stove is, looks like the original cooking hearth.

This railing was intricately carved.

The current owners have elegantly dressed the rustic main bedroom.

This is cool- they kept the original brick wall, and put up a glass shower so you can see it.

In these 2 bds the walls & ceilings were redone, but they left some of the original wood beams and floors.

Modern bath with vintage look elements, plus original architectural features.

Modern finished attic bedroom.

Large patio at the back of the house.

You can see the acreage in these photos.

[butcherlarry]

Kent farm and country Clark Headcanons

Some headcanons about the Kent family farm that @januariat requested I post about :) 

I grew up on a farm and at our peak we had a couple hundred head of beef cattle (we’ve had registered angus cattle for about 100 years, and have been farming since the family settled in that area in the mid 1800s I think?  We’re no longer at that farm, the parents moved themselves and the cattle to another one in the state, so they’re still farming).  We also did a lot of crop farming, mostly corn, wheat, and soybeans.  Dad had some hay fields that he would mow and bale multiple times throughout throughout the summer/fall to make bales as some of the food to feed our cattle throughout the year.  My siblings and I were involved in 4H/FFA growing up (my sister and I were in 4H, my brother did 4H and then FFA when he got to high school).  We always raised two steers to take to our county fair as projects (and maybe some breeding and open class projects on the side), and my brother did shop/metal working projects as well.  Needless to say, I have a lot of THOUGHTS and FEELINGS about Clark growing up on a farm in a small rural community.

I don’t read the comics (except WFA), and most of my interaction with the Superman/Clark Kent fandom has been through watching the newer movies, being in fandom discords, reading Tumblr posts, and fanfic that I’ve read.  This was just something fun for me to ponder about based on my life experiences (I also work in the ag industry, specifically the meats industry if you couldn’t tell from my username, lol)

For the type of farm, I think the Kents would have a lot of acreage do crop farming. I'm not as familiar with any specialty crops grown in Kansas, but as I stated before, the big three that were grown on my farm growing up were corn, wheat, and soybeans.  Those are pretty popular crops to grow in the midwest, so I could see the Kents growing those too. Not sure how viable it would be, but sunflowers can also grown as a crop.  I like the thought of the Kents maybe growing that because, you know, Kansas. 

If they had any livestock, it would be a small amount.  I’m not 100% sure on Clark’s current age in the comics, but if he was around before the 1980s, he might remember his parents raising some cattle or hogs as an extra way to get cash.  Unfortunately, there was a farm crisis that hit the Midwest in the 80s, and it hurt a lot of small farms.  Now a days, you have to to be raising a lot of one animal to make any kind of profit (if any).  If you’re raising hogs, you need a barn that holds 2000+ head finishing hogs to make money (I worked in one of these barns and a hog nursey that held 5000+ during covid when I got laid off from my job.  It SUCKS.  I developed a new fear in life of being eaten alive by 300+ lb pigs, but that’s a story for another day).  It’s the same with chicken and turkey as well, but I’m not as sure on the barn size.  If the Kents do have any livestock, it would be animals that would be used to supplement their diet, like a small flock of chickens for eggs, and a dairy animal (goat or cow?  Maybe goat since they’re smaller and don’t take up as much space as a cow.  Might also be easier to handle for the Kent parents as they get older, but I’ve never owned a goat before, so don’t quote me on that.  Goats are smart and are pretty good at getting in trouble, lol).  

If the Kents have any large meat livestock, like cattle, it would only be one or two, which leads me to my next headcanon, that Clark was in 4H/FFA growing up!  I love, love, LOVE the idea of Clark being in 4H or FFA while in school at Smallville, and having a beef or dairy beef steer(s) as a livestock project.  Also, Clark would show his project animals at his county fair!  I don't think he would win or do well in the main classes.  From my experience, usually it's families that are big into showing cattle, and you need a lot of money for that for all the equipment and supplies that goes with it. They also tend to travel a lot with those animals, and show them in other contests as well (maybe state fair.  If you want to hear a rant about how much I don’t like show cattle and the show cattle industry, hmu). If anything, Clark would probably do well in the showmanship shows. That's more dependent on the trust between you and your animal, and how much you've worked with them.  I can definitely see Clark working with his animals everyday, cleaning, feeding, and leading them.  You know someone has really worked with there animal if they can lead and stop them so the animal’s feet are positioned correctly without having to use a show stick to move the feet (yes, there is a correct way cattle need to stand when showing.  A lot of terminology describing the feet positions too.  Again, if you want more details, hmu).

On top of showing cattle, I also love the thought of Clark taking a shop project through FFA/4H, especially if it's welding. He could use it as a way to practice with his laser vision!  You can definitely tell a good weld from a bad weld, and I can see Clark working on his laser vision skills to improve.  My brother and Dad would work on, fix and build equipment and fences with welding, so I can also see Clark learning how to do that to help out on the farm!  And I'm sure Jonathan Kent would appreciate it since he wouldn't have to spend as much money on the welding and torch gasses and the equipment that goes with it.

Welp, those are my headcanons for Clark, the Kents, and farming.  I’m sure if you poke me, I could go into more detail on somethings, or think of more headcanons about those topics.  Most of my ag experience has been in raising beef cattle, so that shaped most of these headcanons that I have.   If you or someone else in the Superman fandom have a farming background, please tell me what your headcanons are!!  I would love to hear them!  Growing up on a farm was a big part of Clark’s life, so we need more country Clark stories!

[chemicalarospec]

okay so! I have some relatives who own a winery and I’ve visited a few times. Here’s some general facts and observations regarding Dawn Winery in Genshin Impact that may help fic writers or just be interesting to fans:

The Location

you need a LOT of acreage to have enough grapes to run a self-sustaining winery. My dad likes to point out that any cutesy wineries in our area (not a grape climate) must import their grapes, and their small fields are just for show/to supplement it. The Dawn Winery has a frankly PITIFUL amount of vineyards for “Mondstadt’s biggest winemaker”. One relative has a vanity/personal vineyard at their house and it's the same size or slightly bigger than Dawn Winery's vineyards. I think it’d be cool if you mentally sized up the vineyards, and tbh I see this less “missing” and more like… just done by the nature of Genshin being a video game, if you know what I mean. Like the same way the Dawn Winery is the ONLY Winery in Mondstadt, and Springville is the only town.

apparently my family has a website and theirs is 95 hectares (235.5 acres). Here is a picture:

the next thing missing is vats: the wine needs to be stored somewhere. My tours of the winery mainly consisted of looking at many giant metal vats. Genshin obviously has a historical aesthetic that these don’t match, so I think there would be rows of big Oak barrels (think a little bit taller than a tall man — my relatives had a few for fun). You are NOT making wine or even storing long-term in those tiny barrels outside -- those are probably holding wine to export, if they're holding wine.

I think Diluc’s house is canonically the winery… which… just… where is the wine being made? The basement? The family winery has a hole in the ground for drainage. Diluc has a carpet. You just don’t make massive quantities of wine in well-decorated cozy house. Maybe he has a REALLY big cellar.

A funny idea I got due to the lack of grapes and lack of fermentation equipment is that the Dawn Winery is just a "display" place to be like, the image of their brand and all the winemaking is done elsewhere.

I didn't know this but Germany apparently produces a sizable amount of wine. According to Wikipedia, they are more acidic, as grapes ripen less in Germany's colder climate. Due to my connection to the French, I personally like Mondstadt to have a Mediterranean-like climate, with mild winters and rare snow, but do what you like.

More information about the harvest/winemaking process under the cut!

The Process

Making wine actually requires a lot of chemistry knowledge. When I first drafted this post, the wiki said Diluc’s not interested in the wine-making side of things (but is assumed to have aptitude in it) and some NPCs run that side of the business. I can't find complete evidence of that now, but it's still implied Elzer actually runs the place. Given that Diluc bartends and fights crime, he probably doesn't have a lot of time to devote to the winery.

Harvest season (about 6 weeks, around September) is VERY busy because you must get all the grapes off the vines quickly, before they rot.

Before harvesting tractors, people would be seasonally hired to collect them using wooden sticks & baskets. In Genshin, there's probably creative ways for Ameno, Dendro, and other Visions to be useful here.

In the fields and the winery itself, my dad would work a lot during this time. I'm not 100% sure what he did during 16 hour work days, but I do know the general idea was “processing tons and tons of grapes,” so lots of manual labor. There were also lots of pumps and valves involved.

Okay I asked my dad and this is the winemaking process: the grapes are dumped in this corkscrew machine that remove leafs and twigs, and then a cylindrical de-stemmer (this is part of a "modern reception" my relatives brag about on their webpage, so in Genshin they'd probably do it by hand?)… I think the juice drainage goes to making white wine (I just searched that up and it’s true??? go me).

(Wikipedia has an article that's both helpful and confusing if you want to know more.)

Red wine gets its color from the skins, so they're pressed and filtered after fermentation, while it's the other way around for white. That process is to remove all the seeds and skin, which you then must dispose of. In Genshin, a Geo vision could help with the crushing.

The grapes go into massive open-air containers to ferment. The fermentation containers CANNOT be inside, because they release a lot of CO2 so you would straight up die. After fermentation, the wine is moved to sealed off vats/barrels for aging and storage. (So my earlier bullet point about vats & barrels... keep this in mind; you couldn't just put raw grape juice in a barrel in the basement and except to run the business next year.)

did a quick search and whites are fermented chill (helps them to smell nice), reds warmer, whites take longer than reds, and while it takes a few weeks to ferment a wine, it's usually sold at least a year after harvest to age it a little.

Other

My dad noted that the winery is very seasonal -- there is equipment that is not used at all for part of the year, and then very frequently at another time.

The Ragnvindr "Family" business would be on the other side of this than my family, but smaller wineries will produce "generic" reds and whites and sell them in bulk to bigger companies, which will apply their own label to them (I think they usually mix them with the "genuine").

My relatives named a bottling of wine after their grandson. I just think that's cute.

I read an article once about vineyard falcons -- they are used to protect the grapes from smaller birds. So Diluc's bird has a purpose!

(tagging @blooming-cecilia @valberryventi and @autumnpens because you were interested!)

[scotianostra]

September 6th 1826 saw the birth of Alison “Eilley” Oram Bowers at a farm near Forfar.

I learned about this extraordinary lady a few years ago, what a life she had, after marrying the first of her three husbands at aged just 15, she emigrated to America at 17 and during the next 60 years she became one of the richest, and most talked about women in the US, outlived three husbands and her children and reinvent herself, after becoming bankrupt as a fortune teller they called The “Seeress of Washoe”.

It is said Alison joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints as means to get across the Atlantic, and so it was after marrying the first of her three husbands, Stephen Hunter at aged just 15, she emigrated to America at 17. Other sources say she never became an actual follower of the Mormons, as they are generally known nowadays, but her Husband was baptised into the faith. I admit a lot of her life story is conjecture and on every occasion I have researched her new information arises.

Following the Mormon custom of her day, her husband, Stephen Hunter, took several wives after they had settled in Utah. Eilley, however, did not enjoy the polygamous lifestyle and soon divorced Hunter. In 1853, she married Alexander Cowan.

The two moved to the Carson Valley where they purchased 300 acres in Washoe Valley. In 1857, Cowan, who was also Mormon, returned to Salt Lake City during troubles between the church and the U.S. government.

Eilley chose to divorce Cowan rather than return to Utah and moved to Johntown, a mining camp below Virginia City, where she opened a boardinghouse.

During this time, she acquired a handful of mining claims from boarders unable to pay their debts and met a Comstock miner, Lemuel “Sandy” Bowers, who would become her third husband.

The two combined their mining holdings and, as luck would have it, ended up owning one of the Comstock’s earliest major silver strikes. Within a short time, the Bowers were among Nevada’s first mining millionaires.

Deciding to spend their seemingly limitless wealth, in 1864, the Bowers’ began building the huge stone mansion on Eilley’s acreage in Washoe Valley. While the home was under construction, they traveled to Europe to purchase furnishings. When it was completed, the mansion was one of the most magnificent homes in the state and the Bowers were willing party hosts. During the next four years, they indulged themselves on the finest clothing, furniture, and collectables.

In 1868, however, Sandy Bowers suddenly died of silicosis at the age of 35. By then, the original mine had become tapped out and he had invested much of their money in several unprofitable mining ventures.

After the estate was finally settled, Eilley found herself penniless. Despite her best efforts to hold on to the mansion, she was unable to keep it. Her misfortune continued when, in 1874, her adopted daughter, Persia, died at the age of 12. Since her days in Salt Lake City, Eilley had been intrigued by the occult.

Apparently during that time she acquired a crystal ball for fortune telling and had prognosticated for friends, although other sources say she brought the “Seer Stone” from her home in Scotland.

In 1875, following her many financial and personal setbacks, Eilley set up shop in Virginia City as the “Washoe Seeress.” Despite skeptics, she practiced her arcane arts for nearly a decade, until the decline of the Comstock.

In the 1880s, she moved to San Francisco, where she worked in various jobs, including–as she had so many years before operating a small boardinghouse. In 1898, she was placed in a rest home in Oakland, where she died in 1903 at the age of 77.

The Bowers Mansion survives and in 1946, it was purchased by Washoe County with the assistance of the Reno Women’s Civic Club and public donations; 20 years later, the property was updated and renovated. Today, it’s Bowers Mansion Regional Park. The home has been restored and refurbished with historic pieces donated by Nevada residents. The grounds contain hiking trails, picnic areas, spring-fed swimming pools, a playground, an amphitheater, and more.

Read more about this Eilley’s story here https://www.nevadawomen.org/research-center/biographies-alphabetical/alison-eilley-oram-bowers/

[cowboyjen68]

how do you size men’s jeans? i always feel like they fit weird because i’m plus size and i wear almost exclusively womens pants

It has honestly been so long I don't remember how women's sizes translated.

Men's pants have clear measurements. The first number is your waist size, where the band of the pants wrap and the second number is then inseam. From your crotch to the where you want the cuff to land on your ankle. It looks like 32 (waist) x 30 (inseam).

When I weighed around `180 I wore 36 x 30. Your inseam does not change. Right now at about 150 34 x 30 are loose. But all that can depend on your body size, shape, height etc.

Loose fit or casual fit are better than those that say "tapered". Wrangler cargo pants are cheap for the regular wear pants and come in a loose fit and boot cut (wider cuff). Farm Supply stores are great places to start. They sell their own brands and a fair amount of farmers are stocky and short so they tend to carry a wide range of sizes. Off brands like Tractor Supply brand are cheaper, sometimes less than 15 bucks a pair.

The common styles are cargo, painter, and casual. Cargo have the wider thigh pockets, painter have narrower "tool" side pockets and casual are like regular jeans with the two front and two back pockets. I love cargo for the room and pockets but everyone likes different things.

There is denim (jeans) , cotton (casual or daily work/dress pants) and canvas (sturdy work pants) in most brands. Canvas can be heavier but very sturdy. Jeans can be heavy but depends on the finish and cotton can be versatile and cheap.

Don't be afraid to shop in the big and tall men's section. They sometimes have lots of sizes you can try on for fit. Wrangler pants go as large as a 60 waist on their website. Jeans up to 66. Tractor Supplies website has casual style work pants for 15.00 and they go to a waist of 44. A very affordable option to try out.

There are more companies coming out with pants made for women that are formed for active (work or play) women. Many of these specialized pants are really expensive (150.00 or more) and are way out of my budget. But for women who need very protective gear and maybe have a "work wear budget you can check places like https://redantspants.com/ https://sheflyapparel.com/ https://dovetailworkwear.com/

For me a pair of Wrangler (flannel lined in winter) cargo pants and a P-Style in the pocket is cheaper and works fine for me. AND i am ROUGH on pants between my three jobs and my acreage. I would love to test drive and support these companies products but my budget says "NO".

I hope some of this helps. Thrift stores are an option once you know what to look for but you can waste a lot of time searching until you've pinpointed what you like and what fits. I strictly wear Wrangler (this is not an endorsement of the company in any way ) because they are widely available locally, affordable, fit comfortably and hold up reasonably well to my life for the money.

[umbreonix]

I didnt realize you have a tumblr thats amazing!! I just wanted to say beating about the bush is one of my most favorite fics ever and thank you for writing it!!!! I reread it constantly and the writing is soooooo funny and i think that fic is what truly got me into revalink. Ince again, ty for writing and if you ever continue it i can die happy

THANK YOU SO MUCH I'M SO SORRY I'VE BEEN SO LATE AT REPLYING. T_T ao3 and tumblr messages all mean a ton to me but then I get so paralyzed at responding because I wanna craft the perfect reply that expresses how thankful I am that you took time out of your day to tell me you liked something I made T_T Especially when people tell me they REGUALRILY REREAD MY STUFF??? THAT'S SO COOL AND HUMBLING. My ao3 inbox is sitting at 343 comments though and I'm overwhelmed and ridden with guilt that I snubbed people with my perfectionist procrastination at crafting 'the perfect reply' when any reply is better than none. I will try to at least be much faster if not instantanous about tumblr inbox messages though! I'm actually really interested in rejoining revalink fandom and I want to... idk feel like I have a relationship with you all, (revalink producers, consumers, enjoyers, EVERYONE. If you are reading this and like revalink I mean YOU) I'm rambling XD I'm so excited to be off twitter and somewhere where I can type without word limits that I am ABUSING IT. Anywhoo yeah! I've been having a LOT of beating about the bush and youtubers au thoughts recently. I think about them every night when I go to bed. I really want to get back into writing BATB but I'm so rusty, but I have serious plans to!

BATB was always very special to me because I usually try to write stuff I think people 'want to read' but BATB was something that started off being 'I'm doing this for me. I'm not holding myself to standards of quality, I'm just going to have fun' and then people ended up really vibing with it!

It was definitely also my 'wish fufillment fic' Escapism into a small town surrounded by nature, being friends with all your neighbours that are so close you can just walk over to their house. I'm a geoscientist and I LOVE feildwork. A lot of my friends go off every summer in small Revali-type private planes to work in the Northern Canadian wilderness and I'm GREEN with envy so a bit of that is in there too fkjgn.

PLUS REVALI's ACREAGE. UG. My prof had an acreage he filled with all of his favourite things. a house for cats, a house for dogs, a-barn-renovated-into-a-home-gym. I thought 'that is the LIFE' and immediately took inspo giving revali an acreage to fill with all his fav things.

so tl:dr uh.. THANK YOU. I APPRECIATE YOU. AND I HOPE TO UPDATE EVENTUALLY! WHOOT!

[kcvulpinestudios]

Pri wanted some adventure, and I would be lying to say that I didn't. I too can't stand the small town vibes that we were all living in for so long. It was too much. A while ago in the apartment, Pri and Kendall were discussing landscapes for art pieces as I was writing down my fantasy stories. He mentioned the desert is a great place for exploring wide open spaces, especially in art. He even showed her some pieces he did and pics he took. It was there that she decided we should head out there to see for ourselves, and we invited Kendall along to help out.

So, after getting ahold of my uncle's old camper, we made the trek from Puttnamville down through Bakersfield, through the Tehachapi's, and into the Mojave Desert until we got into the area of this weird place called California City. From what Kendall has told me, this is the 5th largest city in California...by land acreage. It was just a small city with a lot of empty home lots. It was there (away from the OHV trails) that we made camp.

For the next few days, the two of them were busy with art and stuff. I used the time to write out ideas I will put into my novel, doing some exercise, and some exploration around the camp. This was a place much different than the Valley. After a while, I got to know this spot well. Warm in the mornings, blazing hot in the afternoon, and calmly cold in the evenings.

At night, we would gather around the fire to just hang out. On the second night, Pri was extra tired and head to bed early. So it was just me and Kendall out there. This was a great opportunity to just hang out as guy friends. I don't have many guy friends, which is why I appreciate his company. Eventually, we discussed the stars that were above us. I even pointed out a couple of planets, though Kendall had to sit close to me so I could help him. Eventually, he got tired and was about to fall into the dirt when I rested my arm on his shoulder and pulled him in. The last thing I want is to see him face plant into the ground next to a fire. Soon, he fell asleep on my chest. This isn't too bad, though it felt awkward that this was happening. Dude's a friend, and yet this felt wrong. I just sat there holding him until I was too tired to stay outside. I picked him up and got ourselves into the camper, rested him on the couch, and made my way to the bedroom where Pri was sleeping. I then simply changed into my sleep pants and just went to bed, kissing her as she slept. We had a good trip overall. I guess it was an adventure after all. One that was definitely...full of warm memories.

[kilmerhq]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 … van doren manor, est. in 1675.

one  of  the  structures  that  predate  the  creation  of  the  town  itself,  the  van  doren  manor  has  been  steeped  in  macabre  lore  ever  since  kilmer's  inception.  said  to  have  housed  an  old  banking  family  searching  looking  for  anew  in  the  state  of  rhode  island,  the  van  dorens,  tales  of  their  reclusive  nature  have  always  puzzled  local  citizens.  deep  into  the  inland  forests  on  the  edge  of  kilmer's  cove's  city  lines,  one  must  follow  a  long  dirt  pathway  to  finally  meet  the  sprawling,  dilapidated  gates  and  now  broken  through  brick  walls  that  encompass  the  entire  acreage  of  the  property.  the  last  living  van  dorens  who  inhabited  the  home  were  said  to  have  passed  in  the  1950s,  leaving  the  structure  abandoned  and  reclaimed  by  the  earth.  it  has  since  become  a  high  traffic  area  for  urban  explorers,  calling  upon  famous  bloggers  and  ghost  hunters  to  traverse  its  winding  halls.  an  architectural  mix  of  baroque  and  renaissance  influences,  the  grand  staircases  and  three  stories  are  said  to  hold  the  souls  of  the  old  van  doren  family  who  inhabited  it,  all  of  whom  died  by  completely  external,  fluke  causes.  notable  haunts  heard  are  the  wails  of  the  youngest  van  doren  girl,  crying  out  for  her  lost  ancestors,  the  faint  tapping  of  out-of-tune  piano  keys,  specters  passing  through  its  many  windows.  there's  talk  of  the  family's  personal  catacombs  to  be  underneath  the  home,  but  its  entrance  still  has  yet  to  be  found. abandon all hope, all ye enter here.