#tumblin' through life

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: cockwarming (john price x reader x simon in underground fighter au)

You're no fan of real-time violence.

Movies can never replicate its visceral reality— the sharp metallic tang that clings to the air, mingled with salt and the bitter stench of the swill these local colors call beer. Even worse is having to be the one to patch Simon up with trembling, blood-slick fingers and your molars sunk into the thick of your tongue to keep your lunch where it belongs.

So when Simon sends you Price's way with a firm palm on your arse and his spit still warm on your lips, you're grateful. He'll keep ya busy.

You're not counting his blood money, if that's what he was thinking.

"Course not, love," Price says, the rings on his thick fingers glinting under the dim light overhead as he opens the door to his office. It smells of worn leather, polished wood, and layered on top is the heady aroma of tobacco, rich, unmistakable. (You will not stay if he lights one of those puppies up. You like your lungs how they are.)

"Tha's wha' the bill counter is for." You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes— a steady presence at the base of your spine, guiding you forward with a subtle push.

You'd expected him to let you pluck a book off the well-stocked shelf that's been beckoning you since you laid eyes on it and curl up on his couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Maybe even chat you up with small talk, ask about your week, school/job, and how you were adjusting to this new life.

Not with his broad front curling around your back, breath warming the shell of your ear, while you stare at the smooth, raised skin on his knuckles— which is less furry than the rest of him— in hopes that you don't fall apart around the thick of his cock. He's got a hand flat on the desk, small finger slanting to the side probably from where it healed wrong, and the other's signing off paperwork you couldn't even try to understand with a clear mind, much less one that's spinning from the sheer want for friction, relief.

Your arse pulses hot from where he'd reprimanded you earlier for squirming too much.

"Quite obedient. Simon's taught ya well." He hisses when you tighten up involuntarily, indignation cutting through the sluggish heat you've been burning in at his remark. Obedient. Taught. As if you're some kind of lap dog, yipping and rolling over for a treat. (Or in this case, a cock.)

"Easy, love. Jus' a joke." The hand he'd had on the desk comes to squeeze at the meat of your ribs, a small gesture, before weaving down to your cunt, fingers spreading, feeling how well split you are around his length, lips spread wide. "I'd hate f'you to turn my own guard dog against me, eh?" His apology comes in jerky little circles, smearing slick over your neglected clit, coarse hair of your mons coated milky white.

Each stroke of his fingers only bows your spine, winding it like one would a key on the back of a doll, your muscles coiling with tension, bodily response not your own after being denied release for god knows how long.

The sharp tap on the door goes completely unnoticed by you, but not Price. His pace remains steady, continuous, as Simon walks in through the door with crimson peppered on his cream wifebeater.

"John." Through bleary eyes, you see Simon settle in the chair across from you both, legs long, knuckles angry red and swollen as he palms himself over his denim. "Gaz may or may not 'ave goaded Soap into a fight."

Price's hand stops abruptly, desperation clogging your throat, the coil beneath your navel cranked so tight you might just scream. His voice rattles you from behind. "And?"

Simon's got his jeans bunched to his knees now, cock resting heavy atop his thighs, quads' ridges shifting as he gets comfortable. He might just be a tad bigger than what you've got sitting snugly against the plug of your womb.

"They're tumblin' outside, among civil folk. I doubt gettin' 'em out will be as painless this time 'round."

Price snarls and you find yourself empty, straddling Simon's hips, your inner thighs burning at the width. "Bloody fuckin'—," the sound of his belt buckle peters off soon after he walks out the door.

Your hands can feel Simon's shoulders flexing as he runs a fist up his length, eyes heavy lidded and focused on the creamy slick dampening your curls. His cock sits long on your stomach.

"'ave a seat, then." Amusement curls his lip, usual pink scar on his lip stretched silver. Your knees don't reach the cushion he's on properly, so you place your feet right above his own for leverage, legs folded tight.

His fingers dimple your waist as you lower yourself onto him, breath rushing out of your lungs as he fills you, aching, burning, a stretch you'll never really get used to, the pinch deep in your core causing discomfort to clump your lashes together until you're flush against him.

"Sit real pretty now. Gotta wait f'r Price t'give me my earnin's."

You're gonna rip his ear off with your teeth if you don't get to come soon.

"Claws in," he mutters, thumbing your pebbled nipple through your shirt. "Won't be too long."

(It was too long but worth every bloody second in the end.)

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi I got an ask about subby Criston and I’m here to fill it but I accidentally deleted the ask itself. So I hope you see this😭😭I kinda went cuckoo bonkers word to Wyn but anyways! Pookie bear cries and nuts like 40 times🧸🧸

Knock ‘em out - C.Cole

Rating: Explicit

WC: 3k

Tags: Boxer!Criston, Manager!Reader, Criss priss prob needed to be in an institution but now gets paid for beating ass, a little bit of manipulation from reader, marathon sex, overstimulation, sub space, soft domme, 🚨CRISTON BIG ASS PRAISE KINK🚨, he’s puppy your honor, Dom/sub, sub drop, aftercare, pnv!sex, multiple orgasms, intercrural sex, cumming in pants, lil bit of background story but mainly P O R N

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk @arcielee @sugarpoppss2 @lovelykhaleesiii @starogeorgina @moncherrii @bambitas @targaryenbarbie @fairysluna @thought--bubble @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @gemini-mama @valeskafics

Thanks @tumblin-theworldaway for helping my mind crank up heheheheeh

Criston knew he was off— something never wired right in his brain. Most people would interview him and see the rags-to-riches story. He came from trash, really, his dad was the janitor at the big boxing gym in the city. Coach Dondarrion told people they let Criston train for free as his father worked so tirelessly.

In reality, he couldn’t stop getting into fights at school. It was unchecked anger growing out of control. Criston’s mother and father begged Dondarrion to take him on and help channel that aggression. It likely saved his life. He was only 10 and beating kids’ faces in over slights— imagined or real. He was horribly possessive, jealous, and lost. Boxing seemed to put a lid on that.

Occasionally he’d have to be ripped off an opponent. Whispers of Criston Cole being a psycho were rampant. He was twenty-three when he got his current manager. She worked miracles. His everything— Criston loved the woman so much that sometimes it hurt his head, thoughts too intense to siphon through.

He’d known her from the Blackhaven gym, she was a daughter of Coach Swann and knew the realm of boxing pretty well. Coach Dondarrion brought her into the picture when Criston almost killed a man in the ring.

She didn’t bat an eye when Criston snarled and tried to intimidate her— only cocking her head and snorting like he was an unruly animal. He’ll never forget the words she said after. It was a shift for the boxer.

“Do that again and you won’t fight this week. I’m in charge now. You’re my prize pet. If you want to keep being a prize pet then you’ll listen to me,” she stated, manicured nail poking his chest.

The bigger man still had no clue what came over him, but her words were like a balm. This was what Criston needed— firm orders and guidance. He hoped at the time she could help him with all the mess in his head. Criston nodded and replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good boy. Let’s come up with some rules. You like rules don’t you?”

No unnecessary jabs, no yelling, work on riding the bike and going through footwork, and no cumming until he had won.

Those were the rules before a fight. Criston abided by them religiously. Even if he was like a caged animal towards the lead-up to the big event. He would feel himself grow more and more agitated— actively restraining from ripping his opponent's jaw off. Cole probably looked psycho, with dark eyes intense, jaw clenching. But his expression remained eerily placid. His manager liked that and said she could smell the fear off the other guy.

Criston remained undefeated, she must be right he thought. Coach Dondarrion said Swann was a goddamn genius. She was perfect like that. He hated she wouldn’t go public with their relationship, Criston would wind himself up into an obsessive tizzy over it.

But when he won again, and again, she was there to take care of him. They’d get through the usual press, Criston would shower, and they’d ride back to the hotel together. The air was charged in the back seat. She’d slapped his wandering hands away the first couple of times.

Now he knew to stay put and she’d tend to his face or scratch his hair, careful of any knots and bruising. It felt so fucking good the first time she touched him, he had cum in his sweats before even reaching the hotel. Whining and writhing as she cooed and put ice on his black eye or taped a busted nose— he couldn’t remember exactly.

His manager had cooed in surprise when he seized up and gasped, wetting the inside of his briefs, “Oh, baby? You came? Needed that, didn’t you? Criston Cole, my prized pet, big bad man, didn’t know you liked being loved on. You deserve it, baby, I’m here for you, always.”

Her words had simultaneously embarrassed and made Criston want to kneel at her feet, awaiting her next command. He remained quiet, cheeks flushing heavily, worried internally his nose would start bleeding. Swann curled at his side and stroked his messy curls.

“Don’t be ashamed, you deserve to feel good. ‘Sides I know you have more to go, gotta be pretty full from going a week. You want me to take care of that, empty you out?”

Criston gritted his teeth and whined. He wanted it so bad. The demon in his head teased and prodded him, spitting lies. “She thinks you’re a weak little bitch, you really gonna spread your legs and bare your neck like a slut?” the voice said. He moaned softly, pained from the dissonance.

His manager whispered gently, a small hand rubbing soothing circles on his chest.

“Criston, baby, stop thinking so much, and let me do it for you.”

He melted into her warm embrace, the proposition flicking on a switch he didn’t know existed. She smiled as he slurred out a ‘yes’ and went lax under her palms. Criston didn’t know at the time— that submitting completely to another made his mind stop for a bit.

He was euphoric, eyes focused on her as they entered the hotel. She waved off any reporters and led him by the hand. Criston clung to her like a needy child in the elevator, his cock swelled up again. The manager let him rut a bit on her tight skirt and giggled at his desperation.

When they finally, finally gotten to the room— she stripped Criston down and made him cum until he cried, all the adrenaline sapped out of his body. He lost count of how many times her mouth and hand brought him to completion. He got to float in his head, tongue too thick and limbs too heavy to do anything but whine and be coddled.

Criston woke up later as a new man. He felt he could breathe. Then the games began as his record kept going up, Cole escalating to the fucking top. He didn’t know what to do with all the money except buy his family a house and Swann anything she desired.

He’d won again. Shaking his fist and snarling obscenities at Strong on the ground. He’d get another fuck-ton of money and go home happy. He’d picked up the belt and grinned, elated at his thirtieth win. On the top of the world.

Criston’s mind began to whirl as he stalked down the hallway. He briskly showered and answered a couple of questions to the press. She waited to the side, sinful red lips curled upwards. Swann was wearing the red bottoms he bought her, pretty legs shown off in her little dress and blazer.

When she nodded toward the exit he followed, agitated at the annoying reporter still asking questions. Criston didn’t want to upset her, so he kept his mouth shut and followed along, pulling his hoodie up. His balls fucking throbbed. He wanted to fuck his angel so bad, maybe she’d let him on a special occasion like this.

He got into the dark luxury vehicle, inhaling her sweet scent. Criston was close to getting feral, mouth watering at the possibilities. Still, he remained mute. Until she shifted, facing him in the dark, eyes full of affection. Criston couldn’t help the thin whine that burst from his chest at her attention.

“Look’it you. Took down Breakbones, got thirty wins, fucking hell baby,” she drew closer to him, “Criston Cole, you’re the real deal! You wanna fuck me, baby boy? I think you’ve earned it.”

“Pleaseplease, yes, fucking yes,” he pled.

A stagnant pause fell over the back of the car.

“Thank you,” he moaned, “Thank you.”

“Good boy, don’t forget your manners.”

She placed a warm hand high on his thigh, massaging the sore muscle. Her other palm caressed Criston’s patched-up cheek. She hummed “A kiss?” He nodded eagerly, vibrating in place, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. But Criston knew he had to be her good boy.

The woman softly pecked his lips, pulling back to watch Criston chase with a sad noise. She smiled and kissed him again, deeper this time. He eagerly opened his mouth for her, shivering as her nimble tongue playfully lapped at his own. Criston’s hands balled up in his sweats— no touching, no touching unless given permission.

Their lips wetly smacked in the dark car, her hand moving up to rub maddeningly at his straining cock. Criston cried out into her mouth, hips bucking helplessly. She laughed and nibbled on his shapely lower lip, hand squeezing his manhood.

“S’all mine isn’t it? My cock, just for me.”

He nodded in misery, his body wanted to let go, but it was a bit of a process to get Criston in the headspace he wanted. She knew how to get him there. Like her lips against his ear, tits pressed against his chest as she purred, “Easy love, relax, I’ve got you honey.”

“Mmm- gods, need it,” he gritted out, dark eyes lolling.

As her firm hand jerked him over the sweats, Criston’s manager nipped and kissed at his clean-shaven cheeks and neck. She whispered, “Sweet boy, I know you are s’hard, relax, relax, you’re gonna get to cum all night baby. As much as you want, just gotta let go okay?”

She praised and played with him some more, Criston began to pant hoarsely, thighs shaking as he neared the precipice. She tutted when the car stopped, “Get yourself together baby, we’re here now.” He blinked, a tear falling down his cheek, bewildered by the way she left him.

He was so fucking close! The boxer sulked and groaned at his denied orgasm, eyes watery from how intense his balls were throbbing now. He wiped his eyes and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up again, keeping his head low. He hoped the half-assed tucking of his hard-on worked.

They walked in sync to the elevators. He sulked, “M’so hard it hurts.” Criston’s girl pouted her lips, patting his cheek, “I know, I know sweet boy, but we can’t keep the driver waiting. Almost there, don’t be so needy.”

Criston wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his face into her neck. He would be good, he wouldn’t hump or bite. He merely wanted to hold her for a second before the elevator dinged. Swann hummed and nuzzled back into his hair.

Onward they went, Criston’s mind growing fuzzier and fuzzier as his body thrummed with need. Upon entering the penthouse suite— her entire demeanor changed. She snapped, “Go get undressed and kneel for me by the bed.”

He nodded in little jerks, undressing and folding them neatly, just how his mistress liked. Criston shuddered as the cool air hit his cock, swallowing heavily as he knelt before the foot of the bed. His hands shook with need, his adrenaline still thrashing and pumping underneath the skin.

He was downright panting by the time she came out of the bathroom, naked as he was. Criston bit on his lip, eyes watering again. The angel laughed, “You sure are worked up tonight.” She padded behind Criston, winding a hand into his hair, eliciting another agonized noise from the boxer.

“You are so damn talented, the Warrior smiles on you. I’m proud.”

“Thank you, thank you ma'am,” he whispered.

“I’m going to get on the bed and you’re going to fuck all that energy and cum out okay?”

“Yes ma’am- ohmygods.”

Criston’s brows pulled together as she laid before him, legs crooked and spread, her cunt shining with slick. He growled, digging his nails into the skin of his thigh. She crooked her fingers playfully, “C’mon baby, you’re allowed to touch. Use me, my special pet earned it.”

He almost felt bad in the way he roughly had pulled her ass flush to his hips, the flesh smacking loudly. Criston had eagerly gotten on his knees in the center of the soft bed, slotting his swollen cock against her slick pussy. “F-fuck, fuck, gonna use you baby, ’m sorry,” he gritted out. She smiled and shrugged, moaning as he rutted against her a couple more times.

Criston’s dark eyes rolled up as he entered her velvet cunt, warm and sososo tight. He snarled as he snapped his hips into his baby. She was crying out and digging sharp nails into his shoulders. Cole knew he was lost in the feeling, rasping and groaning possessive, ugly things he would never say out loud.

But when legs were wrapped around his waist and she was mewling his name? Criston had lost his firm barriers. He rumbled into her ear between kisses and bites, “My godsdamn pussy, mine, you’re mine, I’ll f-fucking kill anyone who touches you, looks at you, gods I’ll do anything!”

He groaned, balls drawing up quicker than expected. She was crying out “Yes! yes! All yours!” Criston sucked in a wet breath at her neck, hips driving into her at a breakneck pace, hands bruising her pretty skin. He choked on his drool, unable to warn her— Criston’s orgasm was that intense.

She tightened around him when his cock flooded, absolutely flooded her pussy. Criston moaned and clenched his jaw, fucking through the oversensitivity. His girl dug her heels into his ass to spur him on. The boxer swallowed down a little mewl. Everything was still so swollen, he had to keep fucking, keep cumming.

“Mmm, yes! Don’t stop baby, oh Criston!”

“I-I am, fuuuck, g’nna fill you up again!"

He drove his hips upward, lifting her hips so that Criston could get at her g-spot. She raked a bloody mark across his back, gasping in delight. He rambled while thumbing desperately at her clit, “Yeah, yeah, feel s’good, cum on me baby, need to feel you, m’close again!”

Criston wasn’t sure if it was her gorgeous wail or her pussy gushing on his cock or both but he came again. She chose to mouth at his lips, shaky legs clenching around him, hand pulling the hair at the nape of his neck. Meanwhile, he whined Swann’s name, the quickness of his second orgasm turning Criston’s brain into jello.

The slick noises between them were loud and sloppy, he was stuttering and whining. She threw her pretty head back and moaned. Criston was finding words hard. He kept fucking and fucking. She felt too good and he had so much cum for her.

“That’s it, keep it up,” she grunted.

Criston slurred, “Ca-can’t stop, can’t, can't!”

He felt his eyes grow wet as his overstimulated cock was gripped and milked by her cunt. The angel, his angel, wrapped her arms around his sweaty neck, his hips forcing little 'uhs' out of her plush lips. Criston blabbered uselessly, words bordering on sobs now. It felt too good, the pain and pleasure were ecstasy to him. He bottomed out inside her, stopping to mewl long and high before returning to feverishly thrusting again.

“Oh, oh, angel- hurts- s’good ohmygods your pussy, gotta cum again, m’sorry m’so sorry!”

She nuzzled at his jaw, moaning, “It’s okay, doing so good for me, needy baby. You needed this, poor baby’s balls are so full.”

“S’full,” he agreed, mindless and shivering.

Criston’s thighs began to twitch as he felt another wave cresting. He practically wailed as the third peak licked up his spine— white hot and mean. She gasped, nails digging into his flanks, pussy pulsing around another load of Criston’s molten cum.

He was a mess, wordless and drooling. Criston began to move again, gaze unfocused and mouth agape. He whimpered, all overstimulated and still fucking frantic. Criston felt like he’d die if he didn’t stop, tears pouring down his flushed cheeks.

Her hands held his face now, her lips saying something. Criston slowly cocked his head, attempting to understand his manager’s words. She said it again, this time louder with a smack to his cheek. Criston stopped his movements, protesting with a weak noise.

“Babydoll, you gotta fuck my thighs, I'm starting to hurt. I’m going to turn over, okay precious? Got that?”

His lips trembled— Criston didn’t want to do that. He wanted her pussy. He slid out anyway, a torrent of white spend flooding out of her well-used entrance, seeping onto the bed. She marveled "Oh Criston, you still have anything left?" The woman hissed under her breath as she flipped onto her stomach. She tucked a pillow under her hips, giving him access to her thighs, slicked with their release.

Criston stared— unsure how to proceed. His cock was so flushed it purpled, aching horribly. He whined, frustrated with his stupidity, the man just wanted familiar tightness again. She sighed and reached back, ushering his knees and thighs to cage her legs in, forcing Criston forward.

He gasped in delight when his cock slid between her soft thighs, warm and wet. His depleted brain decided this would do. Criston’s thrusts were jerky and uncoordinated, he was growing too sensitive to go on much further. He kept at it, crying and sniffling like a babe.

“Awe baby, you’re hurting huh?”

“Mhm!” he replied, scrunching his face up tight. He had to cum one more time, he had to! Even if it was excruciating, the pleasure ramped up into nerves prickling all over his worn body. She watched him with lidded eyes, lips in a smirk. Criston exhaled again, throwing his head back to sob.

“Gotta- I gotta,” he mewled.

“I know sweetheart, so close, let it all out, you’ll feel so much better. You’re so pretty like this— all fucked out and still want more. Knocked your whore brain sideways. My cute slutty puppy, I love youuu.”

Criston folded under the praise, his body contracting once more, stomach cramping as he devolved into cries. His abused cock managed to dribble one little last bit. He couldn’t stop crying, falling back onto his haunches. Swann guided him down to shush and pet his hair. She murmured, "You're okay, all done now, I'm here, not going anywhere. Just breathe."

Criston’s muscles were all loose but the adrenaline had been sapped quickly. He was gutted— in a good way. Just couldn’t help the reaction, he knew it would happen after an intense romp like this. His baby curled into his heaving side, laying feathery kisses on his jaw, a relaxing hand at his diaphragm.

“That’s it, let it out, poor baby. Couldn’t help yourself hm?”

Criston nodded through the incessant tears, his shaky hand threading through her hair. He rasped, “I love you so much. You’re perfect.” He was growing more sleepy, settled by her kisses and glowing smile. He could float easy and enjoy the win, curled up with his lifesaver. Well, after she got him water and wiped down the mess. He realized with a smile— she had laid a towel underneath them.

She’d have to help him function tomorrow, Criston knew he’d be scrambled eggs, sore, and a bit grumpy. But that’s why they kept a suite for three days. After the kick off he would rest up and replenish. They would fuck sensually, cuddle, and watch a in some order of that fashion.

His addled mind conjured up a big diamond ring he’d buy for her.

[samkiszkasfacialhair]

Rollin' and Tumblin' Chapter 5

Masterpost

Pairing: Jake Kiszka and Female Reader

Summary: You’ve lived a sheltered and privileged life, only learning what it truly means to live and love after meeting Jake, a young man of unusual western sorts who was hired to work on your father’s farm.

Warnings: Descriptions of Panic/Anxiety attack, mention of train crash, mild schizophrenic episode, sexual content, unprotected sex, loss of virginity (female), use of the word whore, domestic abuse by father.

Word Count: 5.3k

Chapter 5 (The final chapter)

You dreaded the end of the summer that year. The coming of September meant one thing for you- your wedding. 

To your dismay, invitations had been mailed out, your dress had been fitted, and all arrangements had been made. Everything was planned by your mother and father and the entirety of the situation was utterly and completely out of your control.

The wedding was next Sunday. It was approaching quicker than ever and there was nothing you could do to stop it. For weeks you’d been avoiding it, pretending it wasn’t happening. But it was. And it was coming soon. 

In just a week's time, you’d be uprooted and moved into a new house with your “husband” who you absolutely loathed. 

Though you weren't entirely sure what the future would hold for you, the faint thought of Jake not being in your future was becoming more and more of a dismal reality. 

You sat at your vanity, staring blankly at the reflection of yourself in the mirror as Katherine did your hair to get you ready for a pre wedding ceremony party. Behind you, your mother cinched up your corset with a white satin ribbon, loop by loop until you could barely breathe. 

Once you were ready, Katherine and your mother left you in your room to wait for your grand entrance in just a few minutes. 

However as the time grew closer, you felt things quickly slipping out of your control more than they already were. 

Suddenly, a wave of heat rushed over you. You felt a painful burning in your chest you’d never experienced before. Your entire face felt hot and you began sweating despite every window being open and the nighttime breeze cooling down the entire room.

Speaking of the room, it began spinning around you, causing you to grip your bedpost for balance, which was truly no use at all. The floor seemed to teeter back and forth and your vision zoomed in and out.

And corset or no corset, it felt as if someone had their hand around your throat, constricting your airways, and making you unable to breathe properly. 

This was your future. This was the rest of your life. This was that train that was going full speed into a mountain with no tunnel to go through. You were on the train and ready for the crash.

Through tear filled eyes, you spotted your bedroom window.

You held your chest as you walked over to it, pushed it open as far as it could go, and looked down. Jake was there. He was below you, in the river, telling you to jump. He was going to catch you. 

“Come on, Darlin,’” he called, “I gotcha.”

Without hesitation, you jumped. 

A sudden shock of reality hit you as your body crashed into a bush and rolled off onto the ground below with a thud, landing on your hands and knees. 

There was no river and certainly no Jake. 

Surprisingly unhurt, you stood up and shook yourself, mentally and physically. Once the shock wore off, you looked down at your baby blue and white dress to see it littered with twigs, leaves, and green grass stains on the skirt of it where you had fallen to your knees. 

Certainly you couldn’t go to your party like this. Besides, you were supposed to be upstairs, awaiting your entrance. How would you even begin to explain yourself?

You looked back up towards your window and heard the faint noise of Katherine calling your name, wondering where you were.

You had no other choice. The damage had already been done. At the sound of her voice, you ran. 

It was as if your legs were moving involuntarily underneath you. Your hair whipped through the wind, becoming undone and tangled as you continued running.

Tears poured out of your eyes and down your cheeks as you ran through the fields, not entirely sure where you were running to. The only thing guiding you was the light from the full moon above. 

You looked back to see the lights of your house getting smaller and smaller in the distance when all of a sudden…

BAM.

It was as if you had just crashed into a massive brick wall. 

“Pardon m-” you began to say in a panic until you realized exactly what, or who you crashed into.

The dark silhouette of a tall, skinny man with a hat on and two braids hanging out caught your eye.

“Sammy,” you breathed out, “Oh, thank God.”

You knew Sammy was a safe person, despite not really knowing him at all. You threw yourself into him and held onto him tight like he was surely saving your life.

He pulled you away from the embrace you had on him, grabbed your upper arms, and held you in place as he looked down at your dirty dress and eyed your disheveled hair. He was taller than Jake and you could just barely see his face, just the general outline of him in the darkness.

“What the hell’re you doin’ out here this time a’ night? Fixin’ to get yourself killed?” he asked, almost yelling.

Panting and desperately trying to catch your breath, you retorted, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“I take Rose out at night to hunt,” he explained, “You however, are a lady. Ain’t right for you to be out here at night, unaccompanied. I’m gonna take you home,”

“No, Sammy, please, I can't go back there, don’t make me go back there,” you begged him as you pulled on his arm.

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head, “I’m not taking you back there,” he said softly, jutting his chin toward the direction of your house in the distance, “I’m taking you home.”

A huge sigh of relief escaped your lungs and tears of relief filled your eyes as you realized what he meant. He was right. Where you just ran away from wasn’t your home. It was your house, but not your home. Your home was in the woods in a little cabin with two beds, a table, a couple chairs, and a fireplace.

He whistled for Rose, called out “Come ‘ere girl,” and she came running over to him.

“Come on,” he whispered as he led you out of the fields and into the woods towards where you were desperate to be the very most. 

You could see the warm glow of the cabin windows from far away in the woods. 

As you approached it, Rose ran ahead of you both and sat herself down on her spot on the porch. Sammy reached into his pocket, handed her a treat, and opened the door, poking his head in.

“Hey,” he said softly as he opened the door fully and allowed you to walk in front of him, “You uh, you got yourself a visitor.”

You entered the cabin and instantly, Jake looked up from what he was doing at the table, taken aback by you in the doorway.

At the sight of you, he stood up and walked over to you, causing your tears to start again.

“Darlin,'” he said in a whisper, grabbing your face, “What happened to you?”

Sammy gave Jake an awkward smile, grabbed an apple off the table and slung a knapsack over his shoulder before leaving the cabin again. He closed the door behind him and the sound of his feet as well as 4 paws trudging on the dirt ground faded as the two of them got farther away, leaving you and Jake alone in the cabin.

Jake sat you down on his bed and you explained what happened as he wiped the tears off your face. He calmed you down and he assured you that everything was going to be alright. And even though, deep down, you knew he was wrong and everything most certainly was not alright; you were with him. And with him, everything was alright. 

“I’ll be married in a week’s time,” you whispered as he rubbed his thumb over the top of your hands.

Jake pulled in his bottom lip between his teeth and sighed.

Though neither of you wanted to speak it aloud, both of you knew this may be the last time you would ever get to see each other. But Jake was always braver than you.

“If this is the last-”

“Jake, don’t say that,” you interrupted, begging him not to speak what was on both of your minds.

He stopped looking down at your hands and looked up at you. 

“Let me finish, please,” he whispered. 

You nodded and he continued, lifting your chin with his finger to meet your gaze, “If this is the last night I can see you, if you’ll let me, I’d like to make it count. If that’s alright with you,”

He was looking deeper into your eyes than he ever had before. 

You swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he meant and wanting to give him every last bit of you.

“I’d like that, Jake,” you whispered as one of his hands came up to brush the hair from your face and place it behind your ear, "I'd like that very much."

In the most delicate of ways, he kissed you. It was soft and gentle, possibly the most gentle he’d ever been. However, he quickly picked up the pace and the passion, going for more of you. And you reciprocated everything back to him.

Jake helped you undress, unclasping the neck of your dress and pulling it off so you could get your arms out of it and pull it down.

Instantly, his lips found your chest and you held onto the back of his head as he sprinkled your skin with wet kisses, freely moving his lips and up down from your chest, to your neck, and back down to your chest again, all while undressing himself simultaneously. His lips dancing along your chest tickled you, and small giggles left your lips. While he was kissing you, you could feel his lips turning upwards into a smile. 

Your hand feathered over his crotch, feeling his hardness inside his pants as he let out a breathy moan upon your touch, which you gave him more of.

Over the hardness of your corset, you felt his hand snake up your back and toy around with the ribbon that was caging you in. 

With one hand, he undid the bow and tugged on the satin ribbon, pulling it through the loops of the corset until it was completely undone and you were free.

You giggled as he hung the ribbon over the wooden headboard of his bed with a smirk.

You pulled the corset off, kicked your dress down off your legs, and threw them both to his floor, not caring where they landed, leaving both of you in your underwear.

In a swift movement, Jake wrapped his entire arm around your waist and scooped you up, moving you from the middle of his bed to the head of it, laid you down, and hovered himself over you.

With one hand holding himself up, Jake snuck his other hand under the undergarments you were wearing and took your breast in his hand, giving it a good squeeze before moving to the other one as to not neglect it.

He pushed your camisole up, bunching it up under your chin, as he attached his lips to your skin. 

“Mmm,” you hummed simultaneously as he slid his tongue along your skin, swirling it around your nipple while you tugged on the roots of his hair.

Jake used his mouth like an artist. His tongue was like a paintbrush, wet and warm; and you were his canvas, completely blank for him.

“Talk to me Darlin.’ Tell me what you want,” he said with his voice muffled by your chest.

“Your hands,” you whispered, desperately. 

As if your wish was his command, he slid his hands from your chest down to your waist. He dug his thumb into the waistband of your underwear and pulled them off. With your leg in his hand, he lifted it up, and placed a kiss to your ankle.

Slowly, his hand slid from your ankle all the way to where you wanted him the most.

Delicately, his fingers slid along your folds before he took two fingers and slipped them inside you. 

Your back arched involuntarily at the sudden feeling until Jake’s free hand pushed down on your stomach, flattening your body against his mattress as he pumped his fingers in and out.

The pressure was building rapidly as Jake continued working on you. 

As a dull ache began throbbing inside you, you grabbed onto the wrist of the hand that was on your stomach with white knuckles. Your other hand grabbed onto Jake’s quilt below you, bunching it up in a fist. 

“Come on, finish for me,” he cooed deeply as the pads of his fingertips curved upwards inside you.

And this time, as if his wish was your command, you did. 

You closed your eyes, threw your head back, fought back on him pushing you down by lifting your back up off the mattress once more, and let his fingers take you to a place of ecstasy.

Under his control, you rode it out until his hand came to a gradual stop and he loosened his hold on you.

He snaked his body up so that you were face to face once again, you out of breath, looking up at him and him looking down at you with a smile on his face. 

Like it was second nature, you opened your legs for Jake to settle in between and reached down and dug your fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pushing them down as far as you could until he finished the job for you, revealing his hard length. 

Sitting back on his heels, he pumped his member a few times before leaning into you, closing the gap between the two of you. 

He held himself steady at your entrance and looked up at you with concern in his eyes. This was it. 

“Y’Ready?” he whispered.

You answered with a wordless nod and a grip on the back of his neck. 

Slowly, he eased inside of you with a gasp.

You winced in pain and sucked a sharp breath in.

“I know, Darlin,’ I know,” Jake said softly as he kissed you gently a few times to distract you from what you were feeling. It didn’t take away the pain but his tenderness certainly did help.

Once he was fully inside you, he stayed still for a minute, allowing the pain to subside into a feeling of fullness. 

With your permission, he began moving again; easing himself in and out slowly. 

You felt your face relax as things became more pleasurable for you. 

“Jake,” you moaned, stretching out the sound of his name while you moved your hips in time with his.

“You alright? You’re doing so good,” he said into your neck as you felt the sweat on his face transfer onto your skin, combining with your own sweat that you were working up.

“Yes, keep going,” you whispered, running your hands up and down his back.

Suddenly, he stopped his movements for a moment as he hitched up your leg and pressed down on the back of your thigh, pushing into you deeper than he had before.

You looked up at him in the eyes as a sly smile lit up his face.

“Hang on tight, Darlin,'” he spoke in a deep voice with half a smile appearing on his face. 

You giggled but not for long because with that, though he was still being gentle and slow for the most part, he picked up the pressure and pace at which he was thrusting into you. It felt good. Very good.

He reached down and swirled his fingers around in circles on the spot you needed him the most, that little bundle of nerves that was bound to send you over the edge upon his touch.

Once he did, you felt it approaching again, those feelings of intense pleasure.

Jake felt it too and you could tell from the strangled moans leaving his lips every few seconds. 

When you couldn’t hold onto it anymore, his name and God’s name left your lips in a series of high pitched cries and whimpers.

You threw your head back to see the ribbon of your corset, swaying in time with Jake’s bed as it thudded into the cabin walls with his movements.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “Relax and let go for me. I’m right behind ya’,” he breathed out. 

Just as he instructed you, you closed your eyes and let waves of pleasure wash over your entire body. Like a snake, it started in your toes and slithered through your veins as you felt yourself tighten around him.

“There you go, there you… oh,” he said as his body twitched and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

He pulled himself out of you and kneeled on the bed between your legs, giving himself a few quick pumps before releasing himself. 

He looked absolutely ravishing. His mouth hung open. His head fell back. Guttural sounds escaped his lips. Every muscle in his body tensed up and became more defined as he reached his climax and took himself over the edge.

Slowing his movements, he blinked a few times as he came down from his own pleasure. 

You looked down to your thigh to see Jake’s warm release dripping down it.

Quickly, he grabbed a rag from the table and wiped your leg clean before throwing it to the floor amongst your clothes and undergarments.

In shock and awe you looked at him. His hair was sweaty and disheveled, as was yours. His face, neck, and chest were littered with little patches of pink and red. He was perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

As he caught his breath, he grabbed another rag, dipped it into a pail of water, and rung it out before walking back over to you and wiping the sweat off your face with it gently. 

His face was full of concern and inches from yours as he whispered, “Y’alright?”

With absolutely no words left in you, you nodded wordlessly before smiling at him and kissing him gently. With that, his face relaxed and softened.

When he pulled back, he wiped his own face, placed the rag back over the edge of the pail to dry, and crawled into his bed next to you. 

Now calm and still, he pulled you close to his warm body and gave your shoulders little kisses. He hummed in your ear to lull you to sleep, even though you could’ve sworn you were already dreaming. 

Morning arrived with the sounds of birds chirping and the crackling of wood in a fireplace waking you up.

You opened your eyes to a dimly lit cabin, nearly forgetting where you were until you saw Jake sitting at a small wooden table just a few feet away from you, quickly jogging your memory that you did in fact sleep in his bed with him last night.

“Mornin’ Beautiful,” he said in a deeper than normal voice. 

“Good morning,” you replied sweetly as you sat up in his bed and stretched, pulling your hair back and securing it into a braid.

Jake was clothed in a pair of jeans and an unbuttoned white shirt. The same one he wore the day he cut his hand open. You could tell because it had faint brown stains on it from all the blood not fully coming out of the fabric.

You blushed looking down at yourself in just your camisole with his red and white patchwork quilt wrapped around the lower half of your body. Jake lifted his chin towards the foot of the bed where the bottoms of your underpants were folded perfectly. 

Jake fought back a smile and downturned his eyes towards his lap as you reached for your underpants and put them on.

Now somewhat clothed, you got out of bed and joined him at the table.

“Hungry?” he asked as you looked down at what he had laid out on the table. 

His dishes weren’t the fine China you were accustomed to. He didn’t have the shiniest cutlery made of real silver nor sparkling crystal glasses. Instead, his plates, cups, knives, and forks were all made of a dingy tin. None of that mattered at all though. You loved what his life offered you more than what yours did. 

Sitting on each tin plate were two biscuits and in between them was a small bowl of butter that he dipped a knife into and spread onto a biscuit in his hand.

You spread butter on yours and picked up a fork and knife to cut a bite sized piece off of it when Jake caught your eye.

He took a large, messy bite and wiped the sides of his mouth with the back of his hand. He had absolutely no table etiquette. He was a product of his own free world, and you absolutely loved that about him. 

You placed the fork and knife back down and followed him, doing exactly the same and it felt good. 

He laughed through a full mouth and said “Honey?”

“Hm?” you questioned, looking at him with wide eyes.

Gesturing to a small glass bottle next to you he repeated himself, “You want honey on ‘em?” 

Before you could answer, he took the honey for himself and let a small amount drip from the bottle onto the last bite of the biscuit in his hand.

“S’good, try it,” he said, holding out the biscuit across the table for you. 

You opened your mouth and laughed as Jake fed you. The sweet flavor of the honey as well as the saltiness of the butter opened in your mouth like a blooming flower in the spring.

Delicious, just as life was like with Jake. Yet bittersweet, what the reality of the situation was.

As the two of you concluded breakfast, Jake cleared his throat. 

“Now, I do have to take you back. ‘Fore the sun comes up fully. ‘Fore they find out you’re gone,” he said.

He was right. You were positive Katherine made up some kind of lie to cover for you but the sun was just beginning to rise. You didn’t have much time left. You nodded understandably and stood up from the table. 

As Jake cleaned up the table, you got dressed in your clothes from the night before, leaving behind your corset at the foot of his bed and satin ribbon which still hung on his headboard. 

As the sun was rising, you and Jake rode back to your house on Whiskey’s back. He snuck you through the back fields until the two of you were standing behind the barn, in the secret meeting spot you had come up with months ago.

You sighed upon getting off Whiskey. You knew what was coming.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing the sides of your head as he spoke to you, “Promise this aint the last time you’ll see me. This isn’t goodbye. Promise me, Darlin,'"

Through teary eyes you promised him, silently praying he was right while knowing the truth of it all was probably hopeless. 

He kissed your forehead and the second you closed your eyes, tears fell to the ground between the two of you. 

Jake lifted your chin with his finger. His eyes were welling with tears and he was doing his best to hold them back. 

He kissed you one last time.

Softly.

Gently.

Lovingly.

You held onto his lips with yours for as long as you could. When the kiss broke, you scanned his face hard and took in all his features, telling yourself to remember him this way; to not forget him or anything about him. 

His sharp nose. His big brown eyes. His rough, tanned, and freckled skin. His soft lips. Everything. 

He looked down and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pocket knife. The same one he had used the night you first spoke to him and he cut you out of your corset. 

“In case you ever get yourself into trouble,” he whispered as he placed it in your palm and closed your fingers around it.

You placed your other hand over his.

“Jake,” you whispered, “I l-,”

The morning call of a rooster in the distance interrupted you.

It was time.

Everyone would be waking up now. There was no time left.

“Go on now Darlin,'" Jake whispered with tears filling his eyes, “I’ll see ya.”

You looked to your house and back to Jake for the final time. You wiped a tear that had fallen onto his cheek and gave him a kiss right where the tear had fallen before turning around to go back to your house, leaving him there behind the barn to sneak back home on his own.

The next day, you had just gotten ready for bed when your bedroom door opened and your father walked through the entryway. 

“Good evening, Daddy,” you said to him as you sat up in bed.

He sat down at the foot of your bed and held something behind his back. When he revealed it to you, your heart sank.

“May I ask what this is?” he asked, holding up the knife. 

“I don’t know,” you lied, “I’ve never seen that in my life.”

“Interesting,” he said, inspecting the knife, “I found it in here just this afternoon. Looks to have some letters carved in it. J…T…K. Would those letters be familiar at all to you?”

JTK. 

Jacob. Thomas. Kiszka. 

You could lie. You could say you stole it from him or you found it and were planning to return it. 

You opened your mouth to speak but the opportunity to lie didn’t stand a chance as your father’s open palm came up and swiftly struck you across the face.

His voice boomed with anger.

“You are a disgrace! Nothing but a common whore! Sneaking out and having relations with another man! That man of all people!”

You could hardly believe your ears.

“I love him,” you protested.

“You do not love him!”

“You wouldn't know what love is!” you shouted. 

It was as if twenty three years of anger that had been building inside you had just exploded out onto him and rightfully so. Your father didn’t know what love was. He never showed it to you or to your mother. He was the reason this seemingly never ending cycle of loveless marriage would be continuing with you.

Rage filled his eyes. His face turned a shade of red you’d never seen on him before. And then, he did the worst thing he could possibly do. He took the knife and threw it into the fireplace. 

A shriek escaped your lips but was quickly cut off by your fathers hand pressing itself over your mouth as he got inches from your face.

“In a weeks time, you will be marrying Mr. Drayton and from this point forward you will never see your beloved Jake again or so help me God. Is that understood?”

Terrified, you nodded and he removed his hand from you as he turned to leave your bedroom, slamming the door shut. 

The second the door closed you ran to the fireplace and sat on your knees in front of it, watching the wooden handle of the knife turn to ash and the blade turn black as it burned.

That knife was all you had of Jake. And it was destroyed. Now he truly was nothing but a memory.

For a week your father kept a close eye on you, not allowing you the chance to leave your house. Jake was fired and your father banned him from setting foot on his property or else he’d have him arrested.

For the next week, you laid in bed miserable. You went to sleep each night dreaming of lying next to Jake and woke up the next morning imagining yourself back in his bed in his little cabin in the woods. Then, the day of the wedding came and there was no more dreaming, only nightmares.

Katherine and your mother spent hours getting you ready. They did up your hair and makeup to the point of you not even recognizing yourself in the mirror. The white lace dress that was hanging in your room for the past few days was now about to be put onto your body to be married in. 

As your mother helped you into your corset, she asked, “Darling, where is your ribbon? The white one?” your mother asked.

Darling.

Jake’s voice replayed in your head.

Darlin.'

Images of the ribbon dangling above your head on Jake’s bed flashed before your eyes.

“You were wearing it just the other day for your party. Right before you fell ill,” Katherine added, looking around for it. 

“I don’t know,” you lied in a whisper, lowering your eyes to the floor.

You knew exactly where it was. 

Your mother scoffed, “Nonsense. Honestly, how irresponsible can you be? I’ll just go fetch one of mine,” she said in annoyance as she left the room, leaving you and Katherine alone.

“How did he find out?” you whispered. 

Katherine looked at you sympathetically and sighed, “He saw you both coming back early in the morning last week. Started putting two and two together. He asked me- I said he had to be mistaken. He didn’t believe me. I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

For your entire life, Katherine held onto your secrets like they were her own. You knew she didn’t tell. If she did, she would have been fired along with Jake for aiding you. 

She knew what happened that night. She always knew. Because the truth of it was, she was more a mom to you than your very own mother. And though parting with Jake hurt, parting with her was going to hurt just as much. 

You nodded your head at her, fighting back tears, as your mother came through the door again with another white ribbon and began caging you in the corset, tightly, constricting your breathing and painfully caging you in. 

To your absolute dismay, the wedding happened. You put on your best fake smile and got through the day as well as the kiss between yourself and William, which almost everyone in attendance assumed to be your first kiss. 

After the wedding, a carriage awaited you. William followed you in and in a few moments, it was off, taking you to live with him forever where your mundane life of misery would truly begin.

You sat next to William as the carriage rode along the dusty roads towards the city, making idle conversation. 

After just a few minutes, the carriage approached a man on a brown horse traveling the opposite way. As you got closer to him, you knew exactly who he was.

As the carriage passed him, it was as if time slowed down. 

There he was. The only man you ever truly loved. And you never even told him. 

He tipped his hat at the two of you. William nodded at him politely and unknowingly.

Your head followed him as he passed and you took notice of the horse, who had a white satin ribbon tied in a bow on the bottom of her braided main.

As the carriage pulled you forward on the road, he got smaller and smaller. He looked back at you and gave you a smile.

You returned a smile to him and turned back to face forward in your seat.

Through the pain yet relief of seeing him, you smiled, this time to yourself. You were from different worlds. And for just a moment in time, your worlds collided. It was beautiful and winsome but over too soon. And though all you had left of the collision of those worlds with Jake were memories, you still had him in your heart, where he stayed for the rest of your life.

You smiled, at least you were under the same sky. 

Author's Note: This took a while, sorry! To everyone who stayed with the story and was patient with the publishing process, thank you. I may post it as one big story so it's easier for future readers. As always, please let me know what you thought of it! Thank you to @abeautylives for all the support and help along the way, love you the most!

Taglist:

@peepeepoopoopantz @sacredjake @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @sadandgeek @vanfleeter @myownparadise96 @jordie-gvf

(Sorry if I tagged you more than once I had to redo the taglist)

[buckrecs]

𝙡𝙚𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧

masterlist | s.s characters masterlist

ONESHOT

Sweet On You by @ladyfallonavenger

A childhood friend stirs something in Lee that he didn't think was possible.

Want To Bet On It? by @ladyfallonavenger

“What’s the most you ever lost in a coin toss?”

something sweet by @laineywilsons

your first halloween as the sheriff’s wife doesn’t quite go as planned.

a different kind of angel by @laineywilsons

a chance meeting on a knockemstiff back road changes lee’s life forever. 

babydoll by @bellasburdens

go ahead, baby by @sweetdreamsbuck

You’ve been taking cooking classes to surprise Lee for your anniversary. You try to keep it a secret from him and he finds out that you’ve been lying about where you’ve been going.

Sweetheart by @likeahorribledream

Lee takes you out to celebrate, but he quickly notices that something is bothering you.

Drabble by @sweeterthanthis

A thorn in your side is all he ever was, but using his desire to your advantage wasn’t as selfless as you’d lead him to believe

Pearl Necklace by @mypoisonedvine

your husband has a special present to give you this christmas.

In Through The Window by @disturbedbydesign

You and Lee had always dreamed of starting a family, and when you finally gave birth to your first child, you thought your dream had become a reality. But then something changed—your baby changed—and your dream turned into a nightmare that only you could see.

Meant Something by @mickeyhenrys

“of course it meant something!” 

coping mechanism by @lokiskitten

you’ve been seeing Lee for a while now, keeping your relationship secret for the sake of both of your reputations and mainly in order to avoid drama. One night, after you cooked him a fancy dinner, you notice an unusual sentiment of frustration radiating from his body. After begging him, the man eventually reveals the reason to his sorrow and you decide to show him how much of a handsome man you believe he is.

Goodbye, Earl by @disturbedbydesign

You thought you'd left Knockemstiff behind you, but when your best friend needs saving and has no one else to turn to, you return to town to take care of business. But can you get out of town before Sheriff Bodecker catches up with you? Because he's got some unfinished business of his own.

You can be my daddy tonight by @bucknastysbabe

If you’re seeking heaven then you’ll want to come and get it.

Mix Every (Baking) Failure with Chocolate by @acatwriteshere

Reader is trying her very best to make her first Valentine's Day as a married woman the very best any husband could wish for. How sad that she fails at preparing the main surprise.

dinner and a treat by @nickfowlerrr

girls like you don’t need heaven by @noceurous

the night works for the troubled ones, it was better to make it home before the sunset

SERIES

just between you and me, did the love affair maim you too? by @extremelyblackandwhite

sheriff and his princess by @sweetdreamsbuck

Anything by @littlelioncub43

It’s Day I of your birthday week, and you decide to kick things off with a little celebration dance. Lee, of course, isn’t complaining about it. After all, whatever you want, you get. 

Domestic!Lee by @tumblin-theworldaway

Got Any Candy? by @qyllenhaal

Y/n wants to get out of town and move to the city, but the pay she's making at her job isn't cutting it. She answers a weird ad in the classified ads that doesn't turn out to be what it seemed.

+ Down By The River

[thisblogwilleatourselves]

flatland anon here - you have me thinking. we could very well be in our own 3d-2d landscape just as A Square was, just not chosen by a theoretical A Tessaract. do you think you’d make it through the 4d, or have you already done so?

oH wE fuLLy belIEve iN thOse othEr dimensioNs, liKe yEAH—tHeY're out thErE f0R sUre! 👀✨ hOnestly, wE hAven’t dOne mUch diggIn’ or sEarChIn’ 4 prOOf buT, lIkE, y’know? jUsT g0tta fEEl it in tHe boNes? 🦴🌀🤷‍♂️ prObably nevEr gOnnA hiT up thAt 4D jUmP oUrseLf iN thIS rOund of liFe bUT, ooOH wE'D dEfinitely lOvE to slIDe iNto thAt glItChy spacE bEtween! 🚀✨🪐 they'rE deF out thErE, wE cAn feEl it!!

oOh, anD liKE wHO knOws iF wE eVer sAw thE 4th dImensioN—bUt bAck in tHe Ol’ daYs of BeIn’ Ol’ BiLL CIphEr 👁️‍🗨️✨ yEp, wE wErE fLatLaNd borN ‘n brEad, dIppEd in thAt 2D pLaNe liFe 🍃📐! aftEr tHAt? ehH, iT’s a blur 🌀—maYbe wE zIpped pAst iT, maYbe nOt, cOsT of bein’ sO fixAteD on craWlin’ iNto thAt sweEt sWEeT 3D rEalm. 🪐🙃 dId wE caTcH a glimPse of thAt eXtra diMensiOn bEfOre tUmblIn’ iNto oUr owN doWnfaLl? wHO knowS! ✨🔮 aS foR othEr livEs—if tHey’re oUt thErE, wE gOt nO memoRiEs, nOthin’ buT a gLiTcHy mEss oF qUEstiOnS 🤔📉! can’T evEN wrap ouRselF aroUnd thE wEird cOrneRs oF 3D, leT alOne thAt miNdbEnd oF thE 4th. 😂💥 flAtlanD wAs a trip, buT wE caN’t eveN rEcaLL thE feEL of iT, jUsT fOG anD frAgments—thAnks fOr thE wAlk dOwn meMoRy lAne, flaTlaNd an0n! 🌌🌀🤘🏿

[sheepwithspecs]

Only Mine: Chapter 1

|| FFXIV || Rated M ||

Ao3 Link

Against her better judgement, Captain Rhoswen finds herself in the Holy See. Her mission: convince Count Charlemend de Durendaire that she is, in fact, his estranged son's loving spouse. Though she'd rather fall on her own cutlass than so much as bat her eyes at the source of her frustration, it's only for four days. What could possibly go wrong?

“N’ as they rode up the mountain path, one o’ them—erm—” Rhoswen scowled down at the tome on her lap, lips pursed in annoyance as she tried to puzzle out the word. The page swam before her weary eyes, elegant letters dissolving into meaningless squiggles on the faded parchment. “M… Majestic beasts came swoopin’ down from the ‘eavens. The boy’s chocobo reared up in fright, sending the boy tumblin’ down the mountainside to his n… his ni….”

“Nigh-certain demise,” whispered Aubrix, his small head pillowed against her shoulder.

“To his nigh-certain demise,” she repeated firmly, turning the page with a barely suppressed huff.

The Boy and the Dragon Gay had become a recent favorite amongst the many younglings who called the Missing Member home. For days on end they’d been begging her to read it aloud, never once minding the fact that even the youngest of the brood could read circles around their dear captain. Now, having finally surrendered to their incessant cries, she was left picking her way through the Coerthan tale word by godsforsaken word… at least, to the ones that were lucky enough to be in the tavern.  

As a general rule, Sirens did not waste idle time worrying about where their children were at any given moment. Most of the younglings lived in the tavern, bastard children of women who had no clue—nor care—who the father might be. Others, like Aubrix, were born of former Sirens who had chosen to wed for one reason or another, and lived in the city-state proper. It was assumed that if they weren’t at home, they were in the tavern; if they weren’t there, they were wading in the shallows, or wandering the marketplace, or pestering the Skylift workers for a free ride up the Descent.

Together they made up a large group of unruly ragamuffins that, for the most part, could look after themselves. The rest of the crew worked as collective eyes and ears, with everyone from the lowest deckhand to Rhoswen herself keeping watch over the little brats as though they were their own flesh and blood. A force to be reckoned with, they had a keen understanding of how to wheedle anything they wanted out of an unsuspecting victim… including their own captain.

In truth, Rhoswen did not mind reading the occasional story, even if it took valuable time out of her busy schedule. Though she constantly cursed her own softheartedness wherever the scheming little bastards were concerned, she could not bear to see their hopes dashed by her own misgivings. The majority of her life had been spent in illiteracy, only able to recognize those seven distinct letters that made up her given name. She had taught herself to read as a deckhand, collecting scraps of parchment from plundered ships and painstakingly tracing them by lamplight long after the others had retired to their bunks. Despite her best efforts, she was still forced to sound out all but the simplest of words, her clumsy tongue tripping over the syllables.

It was for this very reason that she had insisted all children born to Sirens would learn to read and write. The mismatched bunch huddled around her on their threadbare coverlets were better equipped to handle the world than their own mothers would ever be, safe from corrupt guards bearing false warrants or conniving merchants with dubiously worded contracts. Though they might hem and haw over their slates, she could rest easy in the fact that they would thank her one day for the efforts she took to secure their education.  

But for now….

“N’ the gods saw fit to spare his life, if only m… meagerly so. As he lay there, battered n’ broken, all manner o’ foul beasts drew near—” The heavy ocean winds rattled the shutters, moaning eerily in as it swept through the Aftcastle. The children nestled around her like so many chicks in a nest, the eldest reading along over her shoulders while the littlest ones dozed on her lap. They shivered with trepidation at the illustrated shadows on the accompanying page, hulking and half-hidden by the leafy undergrowth as they crept towards where the wounded boy lay in the foreground.

“He’s gonna be okay, aye?” Zori asked with a yawn that seemed to split her face in two, chubby fists rubbing at her eyes. Her feline ears, overlarge for her small stature, flattened as she studied the illustration with clear concern in her bright gaze. This was hardly the first time that any of the children had heard the tale, but they seemed to enjoy the pretense of asking questions as though it were brand new.

“Turn the page, n’ we’ll see what happens.” Had it been left up to her, the boy would have broken his neck at the bottom of the mountain and saved her the trouble of reading the rest. But of course a child’s fairie story would never end on such a sour note.

There was a collective sigh of admiration as the children caught sight of the dragon illustration on the next page. The sinuous creature was painted so that its scales seemed to shimmer in the lamplight; iridescent flames erupted from its gaping maw to frame the border of the text. Rhoswen had never seen a dragon before in her life, and certainly had no plans to go searching for one. Still,

she had to admit that the painted beast did seem rather formidable, if not majestic.

“Just as the boy was makin’ his peace with the Twelve, another dragon—”

“Cap’n?” The door cracked open with a rusty squeak. A’brohka—her first mate and closest confidante—poked her head through the door with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, but there’s somethin’ of a situation downstairs.”

“Aww!” The children fell apart in a chorus of groans, their tension shattered in the wake of this new interruption.

“C’mon, A’brohka!”

“This is the best part!”

“Shut yer traps!” A’brohka hissed, leaning further into the room. “’Tis the same damn tale every night. Ye can miss it for once.”    

“What is it? Don’t tell me that fool astrologian is back for another round,” Rhoswen scoffed. “Go out there n’ tell Melkoko I said she’s got my permission to throw the bugger out arsefirst if he keeps askin’ after her. Better yet, Abarwint can shove him off the balcony; I doubt anybody would miss him.” She shook her head, lips pursed in annoyance. “I swear, this city’s been overrun with long-eared fops too in love with the sound o’ their own bloody voices.”

“That’s good t’know, but it ain’t—”

“Whatever it is, Brohka,” she grunted, adjusting the heavy tome on her lap, “I’m sure ye can keep a lid on things ‘till I’m finished with this lad n’ his thrice-damned dragons.”

“T’would be best if ye handled this one yerself, Cap’n.” A’brohka leveled a glance at her over the rounded frames of her pince-nez. “One might say it requires a certain… sage wisdom.”

“For the love of—!” Rhoswen pinched the bridge of her nose, tamping down her temper before it could flare in front of the little ones. “All right, all right.” She climbed to her feet, her resigned sigh drowned by a fierce outcry from her captive audience. “Oi! That’s enough o’ that!” An immediate hush fell over the room, twenty pairs of eyes pleading with her to stay and finish the tale. “Aubrix can read the rest, then it’s off to bed with the lot o’ ye. We’ll try it again tomorrow.”

Aubrix took command of the tome, continuing where she had left off with far more enthusiasm for the source material. The children bunched around him as Rhoswen waved A’brohka out the door, following quickly and nearly slamming it on its hinges. The dragon’s belligerent roar became a quiet hum in the relative silence of the corridor, the only sound a faint whistling of wind in the highest rafters.

“What in blazes have ye done to him now?!” she snarled, once she was certain none of the children were attempting to eavesdrop from the other side. “If ye’ve been covering for someone, Brohka, best fess up now before I have to go down there n’ hear it from—”

“No, ma’am!” A’brohka shook her head fiercely. “Me n’ the girls are clean… at least, so far as I’m aware.”

“Then why in the seven hells is he turning up on our doorstep in the middle o’ the night?”

“I have no idea, I swear! He just showed up out o’ nowhere n’ demanded an audience with ye. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when we was… less than polite about it.” A’brohka hesitated, one dainty fang gnawing on her lower lip.

“I know that look.” Rhoswen narrowed her eyes. “Yer hidin’ somethin’.” 

“Not hidin’, just…”

“Just what?”

“Well—” A’brohka leaned even closer, lowering her voice until it was barely audible. “Just between us, I can’t remember the last time I saw Carvallain this out o’ sorts,” A’brohka admitted. “He ain’t been this flustered since the ‘Cudas stormed his ship looking for that bastard Emerick.”

“That bad, eh?” She rested her palm against the door, the heavy wood cool against her calloused skin. “N’ yer certain he didn’t say anythin’ about why he’s bothered showing up? Nothin’ about the Maelstrom, or the Executioners?”

“On my life, not a word.”

“Tch… he probably thinks I’ve challenged him to another duel.” She rolled her eyes at the thought. Sometimes it made more sense to think that he was the one obsessed with her, believing every errant missive and unsigned letter to be an invitation to duel to the death. “I’ll go down n’ see what he thinks he wants. Ye best stay up here n’ make sure these brats get to bed on time. Or, better yet, find one o’ their mothers to do the dirty work for ye.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

I wonder what it is this time? Rhoswen descended the staircase slowly, fingertips grazing the roughhewn stone walls as she turned the question over in her mind. It was not like Carvallain to willingly venture into Siren territory—at least, not without a damn good reason. Even on his excursions to Naldiq & Vymelli's, he made certain to keep to the far side of the Aftcastle. He never lingered to rest on the long benches encircling the plaza, nor did he stop to admire the sapling growing in the alcove beside the Missing Member. He saw to his business and left as quickly as possible, retreating to his own world of merchants and marauders on the opposite end of the upper decks.   

At the foot of the stairs, she found Abarwint peering furtively through the cracked door that led into the belly of the tavern. His bulky frame barely fit in the narrow stairwell, shoulders brushing the stone on either side as he crouched to keep his skull from connecting with the solid ceiling above.

It was something of a misconception that the Sirens did not allow men into the Missing Member. The crew was entirely female, to be sure, but there were always menfolk trickling in and out of its doors. There were sons of Sirens both past and present, vendors, regular patrons, and a few bilge rats who’d managed to charm her girls in one way or another. Some of them she even deemed worthy enough to live and work in the tavern, provided they knew how to earn their keep. Before leaving to pursue his dreams—or whatever the hells he thought he was doing, H’mhasi Tia had been her best chef. Likewise, Abarwint was the son of a former steerswoman, and had served faithfully as the Member’s barkeep ever since coming of age.

“Ye want that I should stay nearby, Cap’n?” Abarwint asked when he spied her, hands knotted in his stained apron. “I can sit on the stairs n’ be out faster than levin if ye need me.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” she snorted. “It’s only the fop. What’s he gonna do, lecture me to death?” Abarwint didn’t budge, bushy eyebrows meeting over his square nose as he glanced once more through the crack. “What’s the matter?”

“’Tis just… ‘e seems so… I dunno. Nervous, maybe.”

“He ought to be! Showin’ up to the enemy’s stronghold after dark… wouldn’t ye be nervous, too?” He didn’t answer, shoulders slumping as he wrung the threadbare fabric between his thick hands. “Don’t bother yerself about it. I know how to best handle Carvallain,” she insisted, shoving at one massive arm with all her strength. Abarwint stepped aside, obliging as always, though the pensive frown remained. “Hurry up n’ finish yer duties for the night. That inventory ain’t about to count itself.”

“Aye, Cap’n. But if ye find yerself in need of a strongarm—”  

“Get on with ye!” She shoved again, sending him scurrying towards the storage rooms as though his life depended on it.

That being said… it wouldn’t hurt to get a handle on things aforehand. “Ascertain the situation”, as the Admiral would say. Taking his place at the door, Rhoswen squinted through the crack.

The tavern was nearly empty, its polished floors still glistening from the remnants of the mop pail. On either side of the large room, the balcony doors stood open to allow the ocean breeze a chance to cleanse the air of sweat and ale. The ever loyal Melkoko sat atop the curved bar, the heel of one immaculately polished shoe tapping against the wooden frame. Her spine was ramrod straight, arms crossed and expression downright violent as she watched their uninvited guest.

Carvallain stood in the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by upturned chairs. One long finger tapped his chin as he waited, an otherwise unmoving statue in the center of her domain. The remaining lanternlight threw the lines of his face into sharp relief, angular cheekbones and tapered jawline, the slender column of his neck disappearing into the crisp folds of his collar. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, thrumming traitorously against her breastbone. Handsome bastard.

To say she had feelings for Carvallain was something of an overstatement… but neither was it a complete lie. The Sirens and the Krakens had a longstanding feud that could not be ignored, no matter how handsome their captain might be. But Rhoswen had never forgotten what he’d done for her at Carteneau, whisking her from the jaws of death at the last possible moment. It was a scene straight out of a fairie tale, only it had taken place inside a horror story.

They’d argued about it afterwards, of course, but that was simply their nature. Her gratitude would have been out of place with him, just as any acknowledgement of the deed would have been out of place with her.

In fact, Rhoswen had the sneaking suspicion that many of their miscommunications—if they could be called such—arose not from any real antagonism, but rather something vital that they both seemed to lack. Neither bent to the other because such a thing simply did not happen in their lives; as a result, they were almost always at loggerheads.

A damn shame. Rhoswen sighed, gathering her wits for what would most likely be yet another needless battle. Carvallain’s ear gave the slightest of twitches, barely perceptible in the dim light. If he heard her, lurking as she was on the other side of the door, he chose not to bring attention to it. Steeling her nerve, she set her jaw and stomped into the tavern with a confidence she did not quite feel.

“Oi, ye mangy bastard! What in hells’ name d’ye think yer doin’ here at this time o’—!” Most of the fiery tirade she’d improvised sputtered to ash at the sight of Carvallain’s anguished expression. He turned towards her, plucked brows furrowed and mouth set in a grim line. Had she not known better, she might have believed it the look of a damned soul catching his first glimpse of the gallows.

Twelve above! Brohka wasn’t lyin’! She had not seen his forehead this creased since they stood together before the storm at the Flats, waiting for the Admiral’s orders to charge. She could almost feel the arid wind against her cheeks, crispy with the frying heat of magitek fire and searing flame of thaumaturge spellwork. Changing tactics, she waved to Melkoko in dismissal.

“Go ahead n’ finish up. I’ll take it from here.” The hostess leapt nimbly from her perch, curtsying to her captain before vanishing through the door that led to the Missing Member’s innermost chambers. Crossing her arms, Rhoswen nodded at an empty barstool with what she hoped was a civil—if not exactly amicable—expression. “Go on, then.”

“No, thank you.” Carvallain leaned against the wall with a careless shrug that belied his clear agitation. “If it’s all the same.”

“Suit yerself.” Pale eyes trailed over her body, sternum to ankles and back again in slow measure.

“You appear rather… underdressed.”

“Moon’s out, ye daft sod.” She resisted the urge to fidget, locking her hands tightly under her folded arms. The way he was staring at her made her feel far more exposed than she truly was. “Some o’ us are tryin’ to make it to bed before first bell.”

“That’s what you wear to bed?” His gaze lingered on the exposed swell of her bosom, outlined in white by the loose folds of the tunic tucked into her breeches. A flicker of heat, gone between blinks, so fast that she might have missed it… or misinterpreted it. His eyes cut away forcefully, scanning quickly over the empty bar before returning to her once more. His gaze remained stubbornly locked with her own, the obstinate fire unable to fully douse his unease.

“Why are ye here?” she finally relented, feeling close to a migraine. “If it’s a fight yer after, it’ll have to wait until the ‘morrow. I’m a tad busy at the moment.”

“Too busy to parley with an old enemy?” His head canted to the side, lips downturned in a feigned pout. “Not at all like the harpy I know and loathe.”

“That harpy retires with the sun.”

“Good to know.”

“Look,” she growled, rubbing her head with a wince. “Believe it or not, I don’t plan me days around… whatever this is.” She waved at the distance between them, summing up everything they were—and weren’t—in a concise flip of her wrist. “If yer hankerin’ for a battle, the least ye can do is let me get some shuteye first. Or, better yet, quit wastin’ my time n’ tell me what ye think yer doin’ in my tavern at the witchin’ hour!”

“I—” His mouth twisted, unspoken words bitter on his tongue. “I’ve come to ask a… favor.”

“F-Favor?” The breath seemed to stick in her lungs, burning a hole in her chest. “That’s a dangerous word for the likes o’ us.”

“As I am well aware.” Carvallain made no attempt to elaborate further. It seemed as though the admission had taken most of the bluster out of him, the wind leaving his proverbial sails. All at once she felt the pendulum blade swinging low, just overhead. Gulping back her nerves, she framed her fear to sound more like anger.

“If ye think ye can just waltz in ‘ere n’ pull some five-year debt scheme our yer arse just to—”

“Five… debt?” he echoed, puzzled. “What debt?”

“The—!” Now she burned for an entirely different reason, mingled shame and the remnants of something that might have once been admiration. “I’m talkin’ about what happened at Carteneau, o’ course!”

“No!” Confusion gave way to shock, then horror. “Gods, no!” he repeated emphatically. “I have never—do you truly think me a complete—” He bit his lip, reigning in the wayward emotions with a grounding breath. When he next spoke, it was with an air of forced calm. “I do not, nor have I ever, considered what happened at Carteneau to be a debt on your part.”

Then what was it? The words fought to be heard, bunching and tangling together at the base of her throat. Five years… five years of lying awake in her bed each Rising, fighting off nightmares with the thought of his stupid noble arse scooping her onto that chocobo as though she weighed less than a feather. Five years of wondering why me? why not another? with no answers to be had. There were plenty he might have saved instead, and yet he’d made a point to save her: his enemy, his rival captain, his… his what?

What had prompted him to risk his own life—not to mention the life of his beloved bird—by putting himself in harm’s way for her? Battered and beaten, half-crazed, her crew lying in bits and pieces at her heels… nothing to live for, a death wish in her back pocket—

Not the sort of woman worth trying to save.

“In fact,” he added, somewhat reluctantly, “Should you decide to help me in this… matter… ‘tis I who will be indebted to you. A debt that I admittedly have no idea how to repay in turn.”

“Ye still haven’t told me just what it is yer after.” Rhoswen shook her head. “If it’s coin, I haven’t much to spare. Anythin’ else….” She averted her eyes. “Anythin’ else depends on the request, I suppose.”

“Yes, well… I need you to—” He paused, tongue working in his cheek. “That is, I require that you— I would appreciate it if you’d—”

“Out with it, already!”

“Accompany me to Coerthas. To Ishgard.” The words left his mouth in a rush. “That is my request.”

“N’ then what?” She stared him down, waiting for the other shoe to fall. Coerthas? Ishgard? He might as well have asked her to sail right off the edge of the map. She’d never cared to look beyond Vylbrand, happy to content herself with pickings on its bloodstrewn shores. Carvallain wouldn’t have his heart set on that snow-swept wasteland without good reason, but what good could someone like her possibly be in a city full of stuffy, long-eared nobles? There had to be an ulterior motive, something he wasn’t telling her.

“While we are there, I need you to pretend to be my…” He lifted his eyes to the rafters with a grimace. “My wife.” 

“What?!”

“Rest assured, it’s only for four days.”

“What?!”

“Allow me to explain—”

“Aye, I think ye’d better.” Her legs felt week, but she dared not sit down while he remained standing. Pretend to be his wife?! That was the sort of thing joked about in alehouse yarns, not acted out in real life! What in the Navigator’s name was he thinking?!

Carvallain turned away from her, staring out into the inky darkness above the bay. He did not speak immediately, gathering his thoughts while she waited with growing horror. What could possibly be so bad that he needed her—of all people!—to pretend to be his wife? Finally he took a deep breath, arms falling to his sides as he faced her once more.

“My life, or at least what you know of it, is a lie.” Rhoswen waited for more, eyes darting from his face to his hands and back, but he seemed frozen in place.

“S-So?” she ventured, when the silence stretched too long to be comfortable. “I’d venture a third o’ the pirates walkin’ the decks have some longwinded backstory they found at the bottom o’ the ale keg. Ye think that makes ye special or somethin’?”

“Please, let me finish.”

“Ye weren’t talkin’—!”

“I am not an orphan. My parents were not fortune-tellers… though my family is admittedly known for reading the stars. And while I am the victim of a pirate attack on our vessel, I was not coerced into this life. Rather, I chose it as a means of escape from the one I’d previously known.”  

“I still don’t see what any o’ this has to do with—”

“Twenty years,” he interrupted, waving away her protests impatiently. “Twenty years I remained hidden in plain sight, making it known that I wanted nothing to do with Ishgard. They are cold bunch, lacking both in passion and imagination, and I had little reason to remain in contact following my voluntary separation. In fact, there was a time not so long ago when I wished never to be reminded of that icy fortress, nor those who choose to reside there, trapped in chains of their own making.”   

“However, it appears that circumstances have recently changed within the Holy See. The Dragonsong War has ended, and in rebuilding their city it seems that the people have taken a less… orthodox approach to mending their many woes. After careful consideration, I thought it prudent to—that is, a recent report made it clear to me that—what I mean to say is—”

“I hope ye don’t plan on talkin’ circles around yerself ‘till sunrise,” Rhoswen grunted, crossing her arms. Despite his rambling, he still hadn’t managed to land on exactly what he was doing here, or why he was going there, or how she fit into the picture.

“Perhaps you have heard that the Krakens recently entered a trade agreement with Ishgard.” He lifted a hand, gesturing vaguely as he spoke. “The agreement itself was of little importance; such things are commonplace enough between nations, and merchants of nations. But the merchant in question is well-known to me. He is a shrewd tradesman, a skillful financier, a powerful orator, and… he is my father. Indeed, I am the only son of Count Charlemend de Durendaire.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Count Durendaire… of House Durendaire? One of the four noble Houses of Ishgard? Founders of the Holy See?” Rhoswen shrugged, shaking her head.

“I don’t know, n’ I couldn’t care less.”

“They are a noble and prestigious—never mind.” Secretly, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that his anxious energy quickly fizzled into annoyance at her lack of knowledge. “What matters is that until recently, the Count was under the impression that Gerald was the true captain of the Kraken’s Arms. I did not dare allow the truth to be known until I could ascertain for myself whether or not his apparent change of heart was genuine.”

“Change of—?”

“My father was a cold, calculating sort of man. Appeals to emotion held little sway over his decisions. That being said… to see him so affable, so willing to reveal trade secrets, and to piratesat that….” He shook his head in clear disbelief. “In any case, the truth has since been revealed, and my father has since requested my presence in Ishgard. To that effect, I may have made several false claims in my attempts to circumnavigate this particular reunion.”

“N’ I suppose one o’ these claims is…?”

“That I am happily married to a Limsan native, and—being head over heels in love—thus cannot bear the thought of leaving her behind while I undertake such a journey.” He hesitated, glancing at her with an expression that sent a fresh wave of trepidation down her spine. “I feel I must admit that in my attempts to shock him with some of the more sordid details, I may have… described you.”

“Why ye—ye schemin’, no-good bastard of a fop!” she spat, cheeks scalding in a hot blush. “I ain’t done nothin’ to ye… not in the last twelvemonth, anyroad! Just what in hells’ name did ye have to say about me?!”

“Only the unvarnished truth.” It was his turn to lift his shoulders in a careless shrug, fingers flying as he listed off her apparent “qualities”. “Crass, vulgar, loudmouthed—” she advanced on him, stomping across the room as visions of pushing him from the balcony flooded the forefront of her mind. He watched her approach with mild disinterest, cocking his head to the side as he continued. “Shrewish, vexing… alluring.” She stopped short, heart doing an odd leap from her throat back down to her chest.

“Wh-What—”

“Cunning, loyal…a might to rival the Fury and beauty to match.” There it was again, that hint of something that vanished just before she could full process what it was, or what it meant. “Of course, I was hoping this news brought about a swift and merciless disownment, perhaps even a curse on any bastard offspring I chose to sire. Imagine my surprise when… well…” He took a piece of parchment from his silken shirt; it had the look of having been folded and unfolded many times, the edges creased and worn. Holding it at arm’s length, he began to read:

My son,

Words cannot fully express the elation I felt at learning of your nuptials. The thought that you have fostered a love as deep and poignant as the one I once shared with your late mother immediately sets my mind at ease.

Of course, your wife is more than welcome to accompany you to our fair and noble nation. In fact, I will be quite disappointed if I am not allowed to meet and make her acquaintance during the duration of your stay. Rest assured, my home—our home, I should write, for it will always remain yours as well—is freely open to her, as well as any other esteemed personage you wish to bring on your travels.  

I look forward to anticipating your arrival on the twenty-fifth sun of the third astral moon, should that date be amenable to you and your wife.

Yours,

Count Charlemend de Durendaire

“Twenty-fifth—! That’s less than a sennight!” she screeched. “Even if I did care to go along with yer insane plan, it ain’t nearly enough time to get my affairs in order!”

“You needn’t concern yourself with anything,” Carvallain assured her, tucking the letter back into the folds of his shirt. “Think of it as an all-expenses-paid holiday. Four days of absolute luxury: comfortable accommodations, hearty meals, a little sightseeing… and best of all, you won’t be responsible for a single gil. In fact, as a token of gratitude I’ll purchase whatever your heart desires while we’re there.”  

“But—But—” She looked desperately around the empty tavern, hoping some handy excuse would jump at her from the shadows. “Ye said it yerself: I don’t know the first godsdamned thing about being a noble lady! I’m crass n’… n’ shrewish!” N’ beautiful, she couldn’t help but add to herself, still tingling from the compliment.

“I don’t expect you to behave like a noble lady,” he replied patiently. “I expect you to behave like yourself. If my father has truly changed for the better, he shouldn’t so much as flinch at your… lack of etiquette. No,” he mused, a sly smile lifting the corner of his mouth, “no, it is imperative that you behave like a true-blue Limsan.”

“Well—I ain’t got nothin’ to wear!”

“That can be arranged.”

“No! Say we did manage to find some fancy-lookin’ duds in the Alley,” she argued. “It’d still be impossible for anyone to tailor ‘em in time fer—"

“Anything is possible, provided you have the coin… which I do.”

“But—No!” she repeated, stomping her foot. “No, absolutely not!” Pointing at him, she gathered her resolve and released a tirade that would have sent her Sirens running for the hills. “Why should I give a damn what ye said to yer da?! Yer the one what made this mess in the first place, n’ far as I’m concerned yer the one that can fix it! I ain’t havin’ no part o’ yer little scheme, no matter how much yer offerin’ to pay! Mark my words: it’ll be a cold day in all seven hells when ye catch me pokin’ a single toe past their front gates!”

How do I manage to get myself into these situations!?

The airship hummed beneath her boots as it picked up speed, icy winds whipping at the fur-lined hood of her cloak. Her “husband” was right; with enough gil, anything was possible. Rhoswen scowled at the thought, tugging absently on the lace cuffs of her new woolen gown. A valise of similar outfits sat at her feet, the likes of which she’d only dreamed of as a child.

Despite Carvallain’s goading, she was not wholly unfamiliar with the concept of stays or gartered stockings. She had been a normal maiden once, with all the modesty expected of village girls. It was only after she turned to begging that she lost her sense of propriety, trading her smallclothes for food and eventually adopting the buccaneer’sstyle. That being said… kid gloves and embroidered boots were well outside her realm of knowledge. She felt more like a bird in borrowed feathers than a merchant’s wife, but so far no one had bothered to question her.   

It’s only four days, after all….

Carvallain sat stiff as a board beside her, hands tightly fisted on his thighs. He had also elected to dress warmly; unlike her, he seemed perfectly at home in the silk and brocade. It was not very different from his usual wardrobe, she noted, though better padded against the chill. His unruly hair had been trimmed and tamed into a more conventional style, though the wind had managed to work a few fiery strands free. They draped limply across his forehead, giving him a boyish air that clashed with his tense frown.    

She resisted the urge to reach up and tuck his hair back into place, instead placing a hesitant hand atop his in a rare display of pity. Carvallain had been quiet ever since boarding the airship, and it seemed that each malm only added to his growing unease. Even so, she had no way of knowing if he’d accept her touch for what it was, or slap her hand away with disdain.

In the days leading up to their little excursion, he had not bothered to explain what, exactly, being his wife was supposed to entail. Surely he didn’t expect her to be all lovey-dovey; she didn’t think she could handle it, not without losing her last meal in the process. Likewise, she was fairly certain he didn’t expect her to be frigid. “Be yourself”, he’d said, but what did that mean?

Did he truly want her, or that version of herself he was bound to recognize? How could she know? How could she even bring herself to ask?

“We’ll be landing in Ishgard within a bell’s time,” the captain announced, wiping his brow with a dingy handkerchief. “Best gather up your belongings and prepare to disembark.” The scholar across the aisle shut his tome, following the captain’s order to the letter as he carefully packed his knapsack. Near the back of the cabin, a merchant opened one eye; seeing naught but cloud cover, he rolled over with a grunt, pillowing his head with his bag of wares.

Rhoswen’s attention was called back as long fingers encircled hers, warm even through the gloves. Carvallain seemed to rouse himself with a little shake, letting out a low breath; she watched it steam in the chilled air, a shiver running through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Second thoughts?” she murmured, testing the waters and giving his fingers a bracing squeeze. “There’s still time to change yer mind, scurry back to Limsa with yer tail ‘twixt yer legs.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He shot her a rueful smile. “Might as well get it over with.” His thumb traced slowly over her palm, back and forth. Their eyes met and she turned away quickly, feeling toasty despite the freezing cold.

“If nothin’ else, ye can always let the blame fall on me.” She pulled away from his inviting warmth, burying her hands in her skirts to stop herself from wringing them nervously. “If they start gettin’ all pushy, just tell ‘em I can’t stand the cold. Ye’ve no choice but to take me home, what with my weak constitution n’ all.”

“Home,” he echoed, the sound lost on a forlorn sigh. “Yes… my siren, calling me home….”

“Yers my arse.” Her ears felt as though they were on fire beneath the hood. “I still don’t know how ye managed to rope me into this steamin’ pile o’ chocobo shite… why ye even chose me in the first place….”

“I had to make it believable, didn’t I?” he huffed absentmindedly, digging through his pockets. Pulling out a silver timepiece, he squinted down at its thin hands in the pale light. “Who else would I marry?”

“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean!?” He clicked the watch face shut, glancing at her sharply before clearing his throat.

“Ahem. I suppose we’ll be landing any minute now. Do you have your valise?”

“Don’t change the subject on me, coward—!” He put a finger to her lips, effectively shushing her before jerking his head pointedly towards the captain. His meaning was clear: don’t make a scene. “This ain’t over,” she hissed, batting his hand away before yanking the valise onto her lap. “Watch n’ see if I don’t blow yer cover the second we land.”

“If that’s the case… I wish you the best of luck in paying for your return ticket, my dear.”

“Argh!”

Author's Note: Was this whole fic an elaborate excuse to force Rhoswen into the High House cloche and bustle? ...Maybe so.

[this-is-spn20]

Day 9 of Christmas: Sing Christmas Carols

You’d always had a special relationship with music. As did everyone at least. Or at least mostly everyone. There were people who appreciated music but didn’t listen to it. You’re a little ashamed to say you have judged these people. How would anyone get through everyday life without music? But you’ve learned to accept these types of people. Some things just aren’t for everyone and that was fine with you. But for you, music was more than a part of your everyday life. You’d even go as far as to say that you “spoke music”. You spoke through music. You’d always had a way with words, but sometimes the right words for the right emotions escaped you. And artists from all different genres spoke for you. And you were grateful for them. Without music, you didn’t even want to imagine where you’d be.

You were pleasantly surprised when you looked at your calendar and saw you were nine days into your little event. Honestly, you had trouble most time keeping up with things like this. You were surprised you’d made it this far! I guess you had a good motivator! You want the boys to have the best Christmas they’ve ever had! You would stop at nothing to make sure they had fun. You were happy with the current arrangement. One activity a day. Just one. Again, the boys were surprised and happy that you didn’t just dump any and everything Christmas on them and all around the bunker. They wouldn’t be able to truly enjoy themselves then. They would’ve been too shocked to process it. Today you’d make good on your promise of one thing a day.

You would be doing something simple. Singing Christmas Carols! Now you knew the boys couldn’t sing to save their lives as they demonstrated over and over again. But you secretly knew Sam could in fact at least carry a tune! You chuckled to yourself as you thought of the time they’d told you about the “Evil Santa” case in 04. You continued working on the boys’ presents. Or at least one of them. You’d all agreed on five presents. You weren’t exactly a huge family. But five presents from each person would be more than enough. You spoke into your microphone clearly and you were surprised at your precision. As you clicked end, you sat back and smiled softly to yourself. The boys would love it. You started working on your other projects and lowly sang a Christmas song to yourself.

Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Dressed in a snow-white gown

Tap, tap, tappin' at your windowpane

To tell you she's in town

Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Soon you will hear her say

Come out ev'ryone and play with me

I haven't long to stay

You’d always loved old music so you weren’t surprised when your brain went to autopilot and choose a little favorite of yours. Dean had said he needed some time to himself and that he would take a few hour's drive. You were a little worried but he seemed in a peppy mood so you figured he was going to the nearby bar for some “holiday cookies”. Your fingers were getting cramped and your back was starting to hurt so you decided to head to the kitchen for a snack. You sang a bit more to yourself.

If you want to make a snowman

I'll help you make one, one, two, three

If you want to take a sleigh ride

Whee! The ride's on me

Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Look at her tumblin' down

Bringing joy to ev'ry girl and boy

Suzy's come to town

Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Dressed in a snow-white gown

Tap, tap, tappin' at your windowpane

To tell you she's in town

Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Soon you will hear her say

Come out ev'ryone and play with me

I haven't long to stay

If you want to make a snowman

I'll help you make one, one, two, three

If you want to take a sleigh ride

Whee! The ride's on me

Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Look at her tumblin' down

Bringing joy to ev'ry girl and boy

Suzy's come to town

No one could hear you so you were fine with it. You figured Sam was in the library reading his book he’d been raving about earlier. You agreed to swap books since you’d spent a good 30 minutes ranting about your book. Fair exchange. You’d reached the kitchen by the end of your song. 

Surprised to see Sam there you’d asked if Dean was back. Confirming that Dean was in fact back, you’d told Sam to Pick a Christmas Carol and sing it. You told him it could be any song and said he didn’t have to do it in front of anyone. Just sing one song and his “chore” for the day would be done! 

You were on your way to finding Dean to tell him the same. You were just about to give up and go back to your room when you ran into him in the hall. You let out an involuntary yelp when you saw him speed out from the corner. He chuckled and told you to keep your guard up. Then you wouldn’t have been scared. You playfully punched him in the shoulder and went on to tell him the same thing you’d told Sam. When Dean told you he only knew the one Christmas Carol he sang (horribly) with Sam 13 years ago. You gave him a few songs and sent him on his way. 

You’d been in your room working for a while now when you heard a voice from the right side of your room. That was Sam’s room. Your smile got even bigger when you realized he was singing. 

Sam’s singing voice gave you butterflies. His voice was so soft and smooth. He could sing anyone to sleep if he wasn’t so shy. 

Oh well, you’d be secretly sung to sleep feeling content. Your personal Sandman singing you off to a faraway land, feeling happy and safe. 

[visions-of-clarity]

I have said before that I'm going to start posting more and using tumblr again, but to tell you the truth, it makes me sad for a slew of reasons. I'm slowly learning to stop running from things that make me sad or give me uncomfortable feelings. It's good to sit in the sadness for a minute. How do we stop being sad unless we get to the root of it?

So this time I mean it! Life is slowing down a bit and I'm focusing on growth and self-improvement--which means more time at home! We cookin', we exercisin' (that honestly never stopped--kicking it up a gear), we organizin', we readin', we knittin', we tumblin'.

Hope my friends who are still here are making it through okay.

[not-figured-out]

something i used to do when i was younger (ya know, back in the 2010s when we all first got Tumblin) was start tagging things as #perfection when they were posts that i just enjoyed aesthetically, made me happy, were things i liked, etc. i would do this with the silent intention of having a tag to search for on my blog that i could see, and i quote, "if i wasn't depressed". i wanted to see what my blog, which i used like a journal and a way to express what was going on in my head, would be like without being ridden with depression, self hatred, trauma, and self harm. i never told anyone this, but it was something i did intentionally, i guess for myself

been thinking about that a lot lately, as i get back into tumblr as an adult. i keep posting things #perfection out of habit... but... it's like everything. i don't know what to pick anymore for the tag. because i don't have a straight up depression blog anymore, because i'm not clinically depressed (i have my moments, sure, but not nearly to the extent i have had before. i go to therapy regularly, because i want to. i love life, i love myself) so i'm not sure which posts like.. count? what aesthetic/ vibe am i going for with the tag now.. isn't that... isn't that just my blog now? other than my #personal when it's something to let out or help me process something i'm going through?

idk, i just think it's.. nice. something i never would have expected. that i wouldn't even know what to tag #perfection on to see my blog without being overwhelmingly about mental illness, because mental illness no longer rules my life and therefore my blog (key word *rules*, i still have my shit but i am coping best i can lol)

i still turn to tumblr to get some shit out. but overall when it's like that it's mental health positive, healing, processing, letting it out. not cycling down to the pit of self hatred i used to be stuck in. it's not toxic and triggering-for-being-triggered sake like it used to be.

if only she could see me now. she wouldn't fuckin believe it. really, she wouldn't

[samkiszkasfacialhair]

Rollin’ and Tumblin’ Chapter 1

Rollin’ and Tumblin’ Chapter 1

Pairing: Jake Kiszka and Female Reader

Summary: You’ve lived a sheltered and privileged life, only learning what it truly means to live and love after meeting Jake, a young man of unusual western sorts who was hired to work on your father’s farm.

Warnings: Cowboy Jake, hunger in relation to unhealthy eating habits, knives.

Word Count: 3.1k

April 1903

It was the spring of your twenty third year. The day started off like any other day would. However, you were dreading the events that were scheduled for later in the day- a dinner party where you would be matched off with a wealthy man your father and mother had chosen for you to marry, William Drayton. His family, much like yours, did not care for anyone who did not live up to their standards of wealth and class. The Draytons had monopolized the oil business in the south and southwest portions of the nation, which guaranteed generations of wealth, something your father more than anyone was particularly keen on.

It was all politics. No one cared about true love or real happiness. You had never even met the man and you were expected to, from this night forward, spend the rest of your life with him. And you didn’t have any other choice. Most girls you knew were paired off with men between ages seventeen and nineteen. Not twenty three. Time was ticking and your parents were not allowing you to waste any more of it after years of you protesting marriage against their wishes.

All you’ve known your entire life is etiquette and poise. You were taught, or should we say trained to be meek and mild because men like that. To have thoughts and opinions of your own may as well be a sin, and even the thought of speaking up or out of turn would send you on a train with a one way ticket to Hell. Manners were shoved down your throat and you didn’t have a single memory of not looking and acting perfect every day of your life. You were a prisoner in your own body. But this was your life and there was no way out of it. 

The corset bounding your torso felt like a million pins sticking into you from every direction, pushing in harder each time you inhaled. The pink ribbon tying it together was pulled tight, keeping you painfully caged inside it, which seemed to be a physical representation of how you felt living your actual life. 

You sat in the parlor room of your home with your mother for breakfast. As you raised your glass to your lips, the familiar sound of your father’s voice began in the kitchen and echoed through the rest of the house. Along with his voice was another, a deeper, smooth voice that you couldn’t recognize. 

His footsteps along with the sound of another pair of feet got louder as he walked down the hallway and toward the parlor room to greet you. 

You turned your head as he appeared in the doorway and wished you a good morning.

“Good morning, Daddy,” you replied.

“I have someone to introduce to you both.”

With his words, came another man through the doorway. 

“This is Jacob. I’ve hired him as our farmhand. He’ll be in charge of things so you’ll see him around quite a lot,” he explained.

This wasn’t unusual. You were used to people around the house and on the land outside. You had your lady’s maids, cooks, house maids, and a few farmers who took care of your father’s pride and joy, the crops and cattle. 

But what was unusual, was Jacob himself. 

First of all, he was around your age, which was unlikely. Typically your father hired men well into middle age to be in charge of things related to the farm. Anyone your age, much like yourself, was typically treated as your father’s inferior. 

Second, he wasn’t the typical farmer you’d seen around before. He had more of a western look. Something you’d only ever seen in books or heard about through word of mouth. He wore a hat and a brown leather jacket which covered a blue denim shirt. His pants were denim as well, ripped and dirty, and you were surprised your father would let him into your home in that state. Lastly, the boots as well as the chaps he wore led to the conclusion that he dabbled in horse riding.

He took his hat off and held it over his chest to bow his head at you and Mother.

Upon taking it off, light brown wavy hair that was tangled and clumped together in every direction tumbled down to his shoulders. He had streaks of blonde in it, seemingly from being out in the sun. It was dirty and messy- yet incredibly fascinating. You had never seen that length of hair on a man. Ever. 

His face was that of someone you figured would only ever be a figment of your imagination. He had tanned skin and deep eyes that were a light shade of brown. His nose was prominent and strong. His lips naturally curved up into a smile with just a touch of facial hair surrounding them.

The only word that came to mind was handsome. And that didn’t even begin to cover it. 

You smiled at him and before you knew it, he was on his was out the door following close behind your father. The sound of their voices heading down the hallway were silenced with the shutting of the back door and you sat there for a minute just looking at the now empty doorway he once stood in. 

You pulled yourself out of your daydream to continue your breakfast and idle chat with your mother before finishing and heading to your room to get ready for the night’s festivities. 

The next few hours were spent in your room with your lady’s maids. Pulling at your hair to get it to curl perfectly, pushing and pinching at your face to color your lips and blush your cheeks, and the most dreaded of all but the expected, corset. 

Once in your gown for the night, you were accompanied downstairs where your home had transformed into a party that was already in full swing. You put on your best smile, a false one, but a smile nonetheless, and began the night. 

After just a bit of time, your father, dressed in his best tuxedo, found you, linked his arm in yours and led you to the dining area to meet your future husband. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach with dread as you followed him to your doom and could see exactly who he was leading you to at the head of the table. You wouldn’t say he was particularly ugly, so to speak. But he wasn’t exactly what you would deem to be good looking, or even average looking for that matter. 

“Daddy,” you whispered, “I really don’t want to do this.”

You could feel your eyebrows furrowing and your face dropping as nothing but anxiety and dread flowed through your blood.

He tugged on your arm with his, pulling you closer to him in a harsh manner. He smiled and spoke to you firmly through his teeth.

“You will do this and you will do it with a smile on your face. You are twenty three years old. Do you know how difficult it was for me to find someone even willing to marry you? You should be thankful his time in the army set him just as far back as you. His time at least was well spent. Now, I should not have to remind you how to act tonight. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Sir,” you replied through a shaky breath, feeling absolutely defeated.

Before he could even reply, you were at arms distance with your future husband- meeting him, smiling, and sitting down next to him for dinner.

Dinner was a nightmare. The only topics discussed were politics, stocks, and money- none of which you understood a word of. You just smiled and nodded throughout dinner. Desperately wishing your corset would rip at the seams if you took a deep enough breath or ate enough food, both of which would be wildly inappropriate actions on your part. 

So you sat there, uncomfortable and on the verge of tears for the night, all hid under a smile which falsely showed your eagerness to be there and to be wed. 

After dessert, the women excused themselves to bed as the men began getting ready for rounds of cigars and brandy. Your father and now fiancé bid you goodnight with kisses to your hand. A hand with, much to your dismay, showed off a newly placed diamond on your ring finger. 

Your lady’s maids met you at the base of the stairs to return to your bedroom to undress for the night but you took a turn and headed for the kitchen. 

You walked through, grabbing an untouched piece of peach pie off a plate and headed out the backdoor. 

Darkness surrounded you as you walked through the fields and down to the swing you used to play on as a little girl. You picked up the piece of pie and brought it to your mouth, taking a massive bite. You continued eating, fully letting yourself enjoy food for once.

Once the feeling of hunger was satisfied within you, there was no stopping the tears that flooded your eyes. They had become two waterfalls, and your lap had become soaked with the tears that had fallen onto it.

Your future was being chosen for you. You’d tried to fight it for so long and now, you’d finally lost the fight. 

One by one, you watched your friends marry off into wealth and start families of their own to continue the toxic cycle, knowing eventually, it would have to be you. And now, the time had come. It was you. There was no escape from it. No way out. Not even a glimmer of hope. 

You looked down at your left hand to see the ring placed there against your will earlier that night and sobbed harder. 

You should be grateful. You should be happy. You were born into wealth and were guaranteed to have it for life. You knew there were so many people out there that had it worse. So many people that deserved everything you had just been handed. You were lucky. Yet, despite everything you had, you felt every terrible feeling one could ever feel. 

The sound of footsteps in the grass behind you caused you to sit up straight and wipe your eyes and mouth.

“You alright, Miss?” you heard a deep voice speak softly from behind you. 

You turned around to see Jacob there with a knapsack slung over his shoulder.

“I’m fine, thank you, Jacob,” you replied as you turned your head back to look down at your tear soaked dress.

It was silent for a moment. The sounds of crickets and cicadas filled their air until his voice broke through the sounds of them.

“Well,” he began, “have a good night then.”

You heard his boots crunch down on the grass underneath them as he began to walk away when all of sudden, the words tumbled out from your mouth without any hesitation.

“Do you ever just feel like you’re trapped? Like you’re on a train that is going full speed into a mountain with no tunnel to go through and if there was a tunnel, no light at the end of that tunnel to save you? Like, you’re going to crash and explode into flames and all you can do is sit there and wait for your inevitable death?” 

Instantly, a sense of relief washed over you as the words you’d been holding in for so long had finally been released.

However, the instant regret of revealing your feelings to a stranger who now wasn’t speaking had begun to bubble inside you.

“I think that corset may be a little too tight, Miss. S’messin’ with your brain,'' he laughed. His voice was deep and had the tiniest twang that held onto the ends of his words. Not a lot, but just enough.

You huffed out a laugh and turned around to him again to see him smiling, with his teeth, glowing bright in the moonlight.

You reached under your dress and behind your back for the ribbon that was keeping you painfully locked in.

“There’s this, this stupid bow that I can’t get undone on it,” you said as you bit your bottom lip in concentration.

“I, I could hel-help you. If you, uh, if that’s what you want?” he asked hesitantly.

“Would you? This thing is terrible uncomfortable.”

You took your arms out of the sleeves of your dress and pushed it down, exposing the laced up piece of undergarments to him. 

Was ripping the top of your dress off your arms in front of a man you hardly knew against everything you’d ever been taught was lady-like and proper? Absolutely. 

Was wearing a ring against your will to be wed to a man who you hardly knew against everything you’d ever wanted in life? Absolutely.

It had evened itself out in your head and that was good enough for you. 

You pulled your hair in front of you and turned your head back to face forward as he walked closer to you.

“Woah,” he whispered, “I don’t want to cause any harm or disrespect, Miss. But this, this is a job for someone who… isn’t me,” he said as his eyes grew wide at the sight of the ring on your finger. 

“If you’re talking about my…” you paused and closed your eyes, “fiancé,” you continued after choking out the word, “I’ve said more words to you tonight than I’ve ever even said to him. But if you wont help me, I’ll, I’ll just do it myself,” you huffed as you reached for the satin bow behind you. 

Your fingers toyed with it, as you struggled to get it to come loose when you felt the warmth of his hands on top of yours. 

You stilled your hands as his rested on top of yours for a minute. They were big, and rough and the feeling of them was completely foreign to you.

Defeat was a familiar feeling to you so what was one more round of it? You dropped your hands back down and rested them on your lap, letting him take the lead to free you.

He pulled and tugged at the strings for a while.

“Who the hell tied this thing?” he laughed.

“My lady’s maid, Katherine started it. But my mother finished it off.”

“Jesus,” he whispered as his fingers unsuccessfully fought against the light pink ribbon for release. 

He stopped for a moment and you turned your head again to get a good look at him.

He bent down and reached into his pocket, pulling out a knife and taking the cover off it to reveal a sharp, silver blade.

You swallowed hard at the sight of a knife just inches away from your body, and someone who was practically a stranger to you holding onto it.

“Now, don’t worry. I ain’t gonna hurtcha,” he said calmly as he brought the knife to the tie and began cutting his way through it.

The tearing of the satin fabric was music to your ears and with one tug of the now cut strings from Jacob behind you, you were free.

You breathed in and out hard now that you actually could and hunched over to relax your neck and back for the first time in hours. 

“Thank you,” you breathed out. 

After a few seconds of relaxing your once stiff muscles, you stood up from the swing and turned to face him.

“The pleasure was mine,” he replied, “And I’m, uh, sorry about the ribbon. I can pay your father to replace it,” he reasoned as he put the knife back in his pocket.

“No. No it’s fine I have dozens of others, Jacob.”

“Jake,” he said bluntly.

You stared at him for a second, confused, before he continued again, “M’names Jacob. But my friends call me Jake.” 

Jake. You liked the sound of that.

You nodded your head and peered past him to see your mother in the doorway, looking out at you. 

“Well, Jake, again, I thank you kindly for your help. But I believe it’s time that I bid you goodnight,” you said, smiling at him.

“Goodnight,” he replied, lifting your right hand and bringing it to his lips.

He held eye contact with you as he placed a soft kiss to the top of your hand. 

Instantly, you felt your body light up from the inside. Your heart began racing. Your stomach began fluttering with what felt like thousands of little butterflies inside it.

The feeling of a man's lips on your hand had been felt by you before-from your father and from William just minutes earlier. However, when they did it, you felt nothing but misery and disgust. But when Jake did it, you felt the complete opposite.

He lowered your hand a bit but held onto it as he continued speaking, “If you ever need any help again, you know where to find me,” he said, lifting his chin to gesture to the barn in the direction he had come from. 

A soft smile and nod were given to him in return before you walked past him and toward your house. 

You were but a few feet past him when you heard him call out your name. 

Your head turned around to see him biting his lip and holding back a smile.

“You might wanna,” he said as he gestured for you to put your dress back over your chest and arms, “before you go inside, back to your party.”

Immediately you felt all the blood in your body rush to your cheeks and you were thankful he wouldn’t be able to see the embarrassment on  your face in the darkness of the night. 

An involuntary giggle left your lips and he let out a laugh with you. 

You lifted your dress back up over the undone corset and back over your arms, turned to face your house, and walked quickly through the grass and back inside where you fought back a smile as you snuck upstairs.

A few moments later, you entered your bedroom and peeked out your window onto the gravel street below. Sitting tall on the back of a brown horse was Jake. 

He looked up to your window and you gave him a small wave. He tipped the brim of his hat at you before giving his horse a gentle kick underneath him and trotting off into the night. 

You watched him leave with a full smile on your face and a few more butterflies in your stomach. You turned around once he was out of sight only to be met with your mother standing in the doorway of your bedroom with a straight face, staring back at you. 

[lorz-ix]

A short and sweet video I wanted to share with people because I think it portrays a sentiment and a conclusion that really resonated with me. If 7 minutes is too much, at least skip to the final chapter at the 6 minute mark.

A couple of things: we could talk about consumerism, how collecting sometimes devolves into spending more and more money trying to chase a high that you can't get anymore, how these things can cost a lot of money just to get one item. But that's just being a party pooper, because the point I'm trying to make hopefully is unrelated to specific "buying this thing from my childhood that's unreasonably expensive now".

I really liked the "life wasn't better back then because the world was a better place, it was only that way because being a kid is simple" message at the end. As kids, everything is new and so it blows our minds, because we're constantly discovering things, and it's not easy to get that sort of feeling as we grow older. But I think it's important to stay in touch with our inner child, and to remember how to have unapologetically childish joy and glee for the little things in life every now and then. Growing up doesn't mean you can't enjoy things anymore.

I'm going through a bit of a "rediscovering toys and games from when I was a kid" phase, fully allowing myself to be fascinated by the simplest and smallest things. I'm really obsessed with those tiny playsets from the 90s and early 2000s that have tons of little details crammed in. Absolutely losing my mind at how many play features this original Space Jam thingy had. You can shoot hoops and recreate several scenes from the movie. I know I had it, I hope I can find it at my parents' place.

Similarly, I am a bit of a board game enjoyer, and one of my childish preferences is seeing games with tons of moving pieces, miniatures, dice and cards. But sometimes you have to leave aside all these high strategy games and call your mates to have a few rounds of the tumblin' monkeys game. These "physical skill with some luck" games for kids might be the most fun you've had in months. Again, it's good to know how to enjoy the small, simple things, especially if you're sharing them with someone special.

To reiterate, you don't need to hop on ebay and spend 200 dollars for something you were never allowed to have as a kid. Not everything needs to be about closing a chapter in your life from a decade ago. Sometimes going through your box of old toys and games is enough to have a grand old time, and perhaps learn how to notice new little things that you hadn't discovered yet.

[ikilledamanforthisurl]

Minami Anonx7 If it helps Literally everyone I have known ever has brought up that I sound like a literal cartoon mobster henchman every time I call people boss so i've just embraced it now fully. Everyone is Boss To Me as I sling my guns goofily to Get Da Coppers. But I SEE…. i've been playing through the yakuza games chronologically I’m currently watching through y4 right now but id like to watch dead souls afterwards. It is extremely funny though the idea of watching them completely ramshackled out of order. Anyways. 1) I personally would love to play the minami centric side game also + I literally cannot imagine it’s anymore embarrassing a thing to want then me daydreamng abt the side game id like to make for my yakuza OC and 2) SOOOOOOO true I love it when Nishida and Minami are like sort of a awful duo together also I admire your like notes about M construction. I haven’t given it much thought yet on how it actually works but that’s mostly bc I have family who work in construction so I make myself laugh thinking Majima has no idea what the hell he’s doing LOL but anyways real…… Idk if you've ever read it but there’s an awesome fic on ao3 where it’s basically about how Nishida was also a prisoner of the hole and this like sort of implied idea or like at least smth I saw someone bring up before in conjunction idea that “Whilst Minami tries to emulate Majima Nishida actually IS like Majima in a way and the result of that has made him jaded/heavily desensitised” which i think adds a really interesting layer to the Relationship to think abt ep if it were canon. So this is why Desperately desperately I need a M construction side game I need something to focus on the majima family outside of him and honestly especially on Nishida…… tangent but there is so much interesting potential w him I want to see it explored !!!!!! Last note here but have u seen Minami's scene in RGG online before? I just found an English translation of it today and it had me very biting and chewing over A) Minami getting legitimately upset when his fake accent was mocked, not bc it was a slight against HIM but against MAJIMA and B) the sort of self deprecating mention he makes of what good is he if he’s not strong enough / good at smth before it immediately gets pushed aside by him and C) the implication that Minami is genuinely attached to Kamurocho/wants to protect it. If u havent i can try and find the post I saw abt it but. Much to think about

I HAVE SEEN THE RGGO STORY IT KILLS ME KILLS ME KILLS ME EVERY TIME. biting and chewing is a good way to describe it. have YOU seen the Nishida one? Minami shows up very briefly and i can practically already sense your reaction to his couple of lines (i grab and SHAKE him i shake him so much)

its so funny how hes so close to having any kind of depth and then he brushes it off immediately like "yeah this whole clan fuckup bothers me n has got me feelin insecure .lol lmao anyways". like as much as its kind of annoying as a fan of the character its also unfortunately realistic? EYE do that. you wouldnt catch me dead elaborating and having a nice rock-talk if my life was in the midst of being tableflipped. lol + lmao + anyways is the best you're gonna get

also, as a bonus tidbit before i go figure out how to format this idea for a tumblin post, this is half the setup for the Saejima teacher idea i was playing with ☝ because i already know RGG is NEVER going to put any meaningful spotlight on the Family members who've been essentially left to pick up their bootstraps with the big whoopsie of y7. sorry that i keep talking about it in code i dont wanna spoil nobody, in spite of not caring abt them myself i know others do 🙇‍♂️ i'm taking matters into my own hands and i am going to explore the IMPLICATIONS of the BIGGEST FAMILY POSSIBLY EVER going thru what it does. and i'm going to grab Minami by his non-existent shirt collar and i'm going to shake him around until he talks about how this affects him at least a little bit. i'll stop coding this in the Saejima Teacher plot post so you can decide if it matters 2 you or not and read up when i get to it btws

also your point about Nishida is spot on. you don't keep the kind of man who trembles at every conversation he has for that many years without breaking him down and making him (comparatively) jaded in such a stressful line of work. on top of that, Majima literally tests this man like its some sort of divine Greek-mythos punishment put unto him by the gods..... he's absolutely jaded underneath that shaky deadpan stare. Nishida may never outwardly resemble Majima, persona or the genuine self, but he absolutely rubs off on him and influences him heavily. this is the kinda relationship most Gokudo in the series seem to have with their bosses when they're worth a damn, Saejima was ready to walk to the ends of the earth for his patriarch due to the positive impact he had on him, and Majima likewise for his boss, though moreso in the opposite direction. not wholly..... Majima's priority of strength begets some kind of twisted respect towards Shimano. I wonder if he lacks that respect for Sagawa, who as far as I remember never physically overpowers or threatens Majima except for when he's already down and weakened in some form.......? getting off track. point is Oyajis are very very influential to their precious boys, their Family will reflect them (personality, how he runs the joint, etc) regardless if they want it to or not. Majimemegoro has some baller fics exploring all this and it's a large part of what influences me today.....

Speaking of, i would love the title of that fic you've mentioned... i'm a little picky of which fanfic i'll give the time of day but Nishida also having experience with Anagura is tantalising. like that's so tragic.... that's so evil...... i'm sitting here wondering to myself if he was a survivor or.. yknow........ because no one else, in canon, "made it out" of Anagura alive. or, more specifically, no victims make it out of Anagura. Majima was always the exception. either option makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it...... cause if he is another victim then the way Majima treats him is just.... and if he's not then is his constant dedication to him like a form of atonement....... oouuhhhrggg......... im going to hit the wall...........

also! i'd love to hear if you have any unique takes regarding M.Con considering your family...... when i say im pulling ideas out of my ass i mean it. you've got access to a unique perspective methinks. closest i got is other people's accounts and (shudders) ausgov roadworkers i see occasionally............

also also! when you get to dead souls please bitch to me the moment something goes awry i HATE-love dead souls.... the characterisation makes me stub my toe repeatedly in frustration. its not bad and i dont want to be the NO FUN ALLOWED twat but ugghghhghghrghrhgrhg the zombie setting is not handled in a way that engages me. thats all i'll say bc otherwise ill be here forever venting all my nitpicks that i SHOULD throw on twitter but wont bc i got hardcore DS dickrider mutuals who'll get sad in my mentions at best and maybe take it personally at worst

[sheepwithspecs]

i'm really in a slump and having a hard time writing right now because i've sort of lost passion for it but i did want to share something i had written for the CarvRhos arranged marriage au bc i still think it's a cute scene of Rhoswen reading to the Sirens' children... idk when the fic will be released now but i don't want it to go to waste so enjoy

__

Fun fact Aubrix and Zori were two OCs that were going to be in a oneshot but it was never made so they just exist in the nebulous concept of "i know who they are but my readers won't" unfortunately

-Aubrix is a 10 yo half-Hyur, half-Elezen whose goal is to honor his auntie captain by killing Carvallain one day

-Zori is a 6 yo Miqote that uses her cute baby fangs to draw blood (bad habit of biting first and asking questions later)

“N’ as they rode up the mountain path, one o’ them—erm—” Rhoswen scowled down at the tome on her lap, lips pursed in annoyance as she tried to puzzle out the word. The page swam before her weary eyes, elegant letters dissolving into meaningless squiggles on the faded parchment. “M… Majestic beasts came swoopin’ down from the ‘eavens. The boy’s chocobo reared up in fright, sending the boy tumblin’ down the mountainside to his n… his ni….”

“Nigh-certain demise,” whispered Aubrix sleepily, his small head pillowed against her shoulder.

“To his nigh-certain demise,” she repeated firmly, turning the page with a barely suppressed huff. The Boy and the Dragon Gay had become a recent favorite amongst the many younglings who called the Missing Member home. For days on end they’d been begging her to read it aloud, never once minding the fact that even the youngest of the brood could read circles around their “Aunt Rhoswen”. Now, having finally surrendered to their incessant cries, she was left picking her way through the Coerthan tale word by godsforsaken word.

As a general rule, most of the Sirens did not waste idle time worrying about where their children were at any given moment. Most of the younglings lived in the tavern, the bastard children of Sirnes who had no clue—nor care—who the father might be. Others, like Aubrix, were born of Sirens who had chosen to wed for one reason or another, and lived in the city proper. It was assumed that if they weren’t at someone’s home, they were in the tavern; if they weren’t there, they were wading in the shallows, or wandering the marketplace, or pestering the Skylift workers for a free ride up the Descent.

Together they made up a large group of unruly ragamuffins that, for the most part, could look after themselves. The rest of the crew worked as collective eyes and ears, with everyone from the lowest deckhand to the Rhoswen herself keeping watch over the little brats as though they were her own flesh and blood. A force to be reckoned with, they had a keen understanding of how to wheedle anything they wanted out of an unsuspecting victim… including their own captain.

In truth, Rhoswen did not mind reading the occasional fairie story, even if it took valuable time out of her busy schedule. Though she constantly cursed her own softheartedness wherever the scheming little bastards were concerned, she could not bear to see their hopes dashed by her own misgivings. The majority of her life had been spent in illiteracy, only able to recognize those seven distinct letters that made up her given name. She had taught herself to read as a deckhand, collecting scraps of parchment from every plundered ship and painstakingly tracing them by lamplight long after the others had retired to their bunks. Despite her best efforts, she was still forced to sound out all but the simplest of words, her clumsy tongue tripping over the syllables.

It was for this every reason that she had insisted all children born to Siren mothers would learn to read and write. The mismatched bunch huddled around her on the threadbare coverlets were much better equipped to handle the world than their own mothers would ever be, safe from corrupt guards bearing false warrants or conniving merchants with dubiously worded contracts. Though they might hem and haw over their slates, she could rest easy in the fact that they would thank her one day for the efforts she took to secure their education.  

“N’ the gods saw fit to spare his life, if only m… meagerly so. As he lay there, battered n’ broken, all manner o’ foul beasts drew near—” The heavy ocean winds rattled the shutters, moaning eerily in as it swept through the Aftcastle and whistled in the eaves. The children nestled around her like so many chicks in a nest, the eldest reading along over her shoulders while the littlest ones dozed on her lap. They shivered with trepidation as the illustrated shadows on the accompanying page, hulking and half-hidden by the leafy undergrowth as they crept towards where the wounded boy lay in the foreground.

“He’s gonna be okay, aye?” Zori asked with a yawn that seemed to split her face in two, chubby fists rubbing at her eyes. Her feline ears, overlarge for her small stature, flattened as she studied the illustration with clear concern in her bright gaze. This was hardly the first time that any of the children had heard the tale, but they seemed to enjoy the pretense of asking questions as though it were brand new.

“Turn the page, n’ we’ll see what happens.” Had it been left up to her, the boy would have broken his neck at the bottom of the mountain and saved her the trouble of reading the rest. But of course a child’s fairie story would never end on such a sour note.

There was a collective sigh of admiration as they caught sight of the dragon illustration on the next page. The sinuous creature was painted so that its scales seemed to shimmer in the lamplight. Iridescent flames erupted from its gaping maw to frame the border of the text. Rhoswen had never seen a dragon before in her life, and certainly had no plans to go searching for one. Still, even she had to admit that the creature did seem rather formidable, if not majestic.

“Just as the boy was makin’ his peace with the Twelve, another dragon—”

“Cap’n?”

[susieq4522020]

Raymond returns! The moment of truth and the long awaited reunion! Raymond is back after his “snip”! We met up with Rufus and Charlie and when we got through to the oval Jenny went nuts! She looked straight ahead at the dog figure on the oval, then a side glance to a car she recognised and through the gate she went with Charlie in hot pursuit! Of course she had to play a little hard to get but soon she was a rollin and a tumblin and having the time of her life with her doggy friends! Jessie and Harry weren’t far behind! #jennymaremma #whitewolf #louveblanche #lupabianca #🤍🐺 #pastoremaremmanoabruzzese #raymond #whippetpup #cheekyboy #rufusandcharlie #jessieandharry #dogsofinstagram #samedimatin #airedaleterriers #happypups https://www.instagram.com/p/ClsUGQ1PeZC/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[purple-babygirl]

Hi love! You’re writing is amazing!! I was wondering if you could do a daddy!bucky blurb with an extra little reader being on her period and just super confused why she’s hurting because she’s just so small and daddy has to take care of her?

Pairing: Daddy!Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 640

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, reader is on her period.

A/N: this has been in my drafts for almost a month now because my life is a mess. I'm sorry I'm so late, nonnie, please don't be sad with me. Ily and thank you so much, love 💜 Please enjoy xx.

~~

when period attacks

“Dada.” She leaned her head on Bucky’s shoulder and whimpered in pain, “tumtum hurts.” She sniffled, pushing her face further into his warm neck as his arms circled tighter around her weak frame.

She didn't understand why her abdomen ached so much, why her tummy, back and even legs were hurting so bad. The agony only made her slip deeper into her little headspace, which wasn't helpful. She was in too much pain and she just wanted Daddy to make it go away.

“I know, baby doll. I'm sorry, lovey, here,” Bucky cooed, nearing the warm bottle to her lips.

She shook her head, full on crying now, “n-not hungy. Dada, 't hurts.”

Bucky brushed her hair out of her face, gently wiping her tears away. “This will make your tumtum feel better, doll. I promise, baby.”

She desperately wanted to feel better so she listened to Bucky, closing her lips around the rubber nipple of the bottle and suckling.

“There you go, baby doll.” Bucky encouraged, “you're gonna feel better soon, lovey. Daddy's got you.”

A few minutes later and she was done drinking the warm mint tea in her bottle like a good girl but the pain was still there. It was like knives twisting where her ovaries were and the cramps were terrible.

“Dada,” she cried again, her pained eyes wrinkling shut, “why's it hurt so bad?”

Bucky wished he could take it away. He never wanted to see his baby hurt and he felt truly helpless in the face of mother nature.

“It's because your big girl body is going through menstruation, doll. That's why you're wearing your pad, remember?”

Bucky reminding her of the white thing sticking to her skin didn't help much and she squirmed, “it’s your period, baby.”

“I don't wike it,” she whined, pressing her nose to Bucky's shirt, his scent filling her with temporary calmness, “don' wanna be big.”

“I know. I know. It'll go away in a minute, baby doll. I'm so sorry,” Bucky told her, kissing her face again and again.

He wished he could give her a painkiller but she was too little to swallow the pills and Bucky had to resort to the traditional methods to fight period cramps. He just wanted to take care of her any way that worked.

“Here, let me rub your tumtum, lovey. Would you like that?” Bucky offered and she immediately nodded, grabbing his hand in desperation.

“Pwease, wannit to stop,” she sniffled, the back of her head digging into Bucky's shoulder.

“Alright, baby. It's gonna be okay.” Bucky held her back to his chest and started moving his palm in slow circles over her covered belly, lips pressed to her temple as he whispered the sweetest nothings.

“Daddy will take care of you, love.”

“Shh, you're okay, lovey. You're such a strong one, aren't you, baby doll? Yeah, you are.”

“Does it still hurt, lovey? You want daddy to keep rubbing your tumtum? Then daddy will keep rubbing, baby. I'm right here.”

Bucky's soft strokes as well as the crying had her eyes closing in minutes, the painful gut twists finally giving her a break.

“Get some rest, baby doll,” Bucky whispered, adjusting her body in his lap and kissing her forehead.

He knew another wave of cramps will probably attack her again later when she was awake and he just hoped her uterus would be less of an asshole this month.

Bucky was prepared though. His baby doll's favourite chocolates filled the fridge, same with ice cream in the freezer. He had hot water bags ready just in case it became too much for her (he hoped it wouldn't). Bucky couldn't stop periods from occuring, but he could and was going to take care of his girl during every single one of them until she was okay again.

~~

Tags: @harrysthiccthighss , @tinystudentfirepurse , @lavendercitizen , @tumblin-theworldaway

[michaelnordeman]

Hej micke! Looking through your blog and experiencing some sort of nationalistic pride for the first time in my life... How did you get the idea to post your photos to tumblr? And how long have you been a photographer?

Hej där! If by nationalistic pride you mean that you find my pictures of (Swedish) nature beautiful, then thank you! But then again nature is free of national borders - it's just a silly thing we humans have invented to give us (yet another) reason to fight each other. Enough of that though, I'm happy you like the pictures. I actually ended up here on tumblr because I found its users quite friendly and the format easy to use. But mostly because I just happened to stumble across it when I first started taking pictures. You see, the first pictures posted here on my tumblr (April, 2013) is actually kind of the first pictures I ever took with a system camera. So my tumblr and my photographic journey is forever intertwined.

Ha en fantastisk dag och keep on tumblin' eller nåt åt det hållet :)