!! MINORS PLEASE DNI. THIS IS A HORNY ENVIRONMENT. !!
| 24 yrs | writer | english and dutch speaking | ask box is closed atm! will be open again soon <3
All my writings, one-shots, drabbles, playlists, ocs and mood boards are here.
Requests are closed for the time being!
This is an 18+ environment. This means NO MINORS. If you are a minor, remove yourself from this page and do not interact with me.
Most of my writings contain heavy subjects that may be triggering to some. I've tried to put TWs in my newest works but my older ones may lack them. TAKE THIS AS A WARNING.
Please reblog, like or comment to support my work! Or don't.
I write for multiple fandoms - Fantasic 4, No, I'm not a Human, Creepypasta, Mandalorian, Gladiator 2, Assassins Creed.
theres someone going around in the ac3 and connor hashtag just commenting on blogs for the main purpose of creating drama and bullying. just a heads up. if they comment some wack ass shit on your post or accuse you of something you aren't, just block.
I want to start this by saying this is a very heavy vent writing. I'll be open and say I'm struggling with my mental health lately which has put me in a dark hole where I feel I cannot create as freely as I wished - especially where I'm happy with the end result.
anyway, this is a reminder you aren't alone and if you do feel sad, just imagine your comfort character being there for you.
if you are struggling, please reach out.
https://findahelpline.com/
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ⊱ suffering from melancholy, Connor finds a way to help you discover that life truly is worth living.
ᴡᴄ ⊱ 4.4k.
Warning(s) ⊱ dead dove; do not eat, 18+, MDNI, heavy themes of depression, mentions of self harm, implications of self harm, suicide, attempting suicide, mentions of blood.
Reader (aka, you!) is mad.
highly recommend this song to this <3
The Homestead was a warm welcome, a nice change to your life that you needed. The people were kind, a kindness you felt you had not seen in years, one that helped soothe the ache in your mind. Ever since finding Connor, ever since he stopped you from wasting away, you found sanctuary here. The trees swayed to welcome you, the breeze carried a hint of the sea - salty, like cured venison. The Inn was always busy, but subconsciously, you fund yourself avoiding it.
Melancholy. That's what they called it, and the word felt right for how you felt. A melancholy feeling that would leave you aching for something in its replacement, to smile with minimal effort, to find a purpose in your life that wasn't just the simple act of trying to survive. For weeks, sleep granted momentary comfort - allowing you to forget your troubles, allowing you to forget the ache that settled in the pit of your chest. It was a sickness, to put it plain, like a seed that had laid itself within your body and no matter how hard you clawed at your skin - you were unable to remove it. It was odd, for your body did not feel weak, only your mind as you tried each day to battle an illness that left you almost paralysed.
The people here on the Homestead tried their best to help, to bring you distractions that did little to provide. It was nice though, to leave your home, to speak to people that wasn't your own reckless mind. Prudence let you herd the pigs, which was more humiliating than fun. Seeing her was a stark reminder of the life you could have. How unfair it felt, that she lived with a beautiful child, a caring husband. You were old enough now, you should be in the same situation as her, no?
Then Ellen allowed you to pay her a visit. Teaching you how to measure, how to sew, she allowed you to sweep at her porch while she spoke. That provided a good distraction, better than pig herding. Ellen had a knack for talking, about everything and anything. The woman consumed gossip like her mind and body relied on it. How could one have such patience?
Then, Father Timofey insisted you come to church. In his words, 'what could cure melancholy better, than a little faith?' If faith could've cured you years ago, it would've. The nights you begged, dropped down on your knees before your bed and prayed. Prayed to whoever would listen, whether it be God himself or an evil spirit that wished to fester and use your corrupt mind to its own sinful goods. Being at Church did not help much, but the song did, just a little.
Then there was the Inn, but you tried to avoid that. Losing yourself to drink would be going deeper down a dark hole you could barely climb yourself out of and the idea of everyone witnessing that in itself was shameful.
Myriam suggested you go hunting with her, but each time you met eyes with a dead rabbit or deer, you'd break down in tears that, frankly? Left Myriam uncomfortable. She'd never been able to comfort, just linger close by while you sobbed incoherent words about how unfair this life was, how they probably had a family waiting for them. Though, as you looked back on it; death seemed a kinder result to life.
Death had been something you considered a lot. Like sleep, really. Just close your eyes and rest, eternally, in a bed of flowers maybe? The appeal of being buried underground never suited your fancy, no. You wanted to pass in the comfort of your home, snuggled in blankets, with a cat on your chest perhaps? While the beast purred you to your eternal bed, to be welcomed by whatever entity was on the other side. Death had been a visible, knowing spirit in your life. Losing people you cherished most, and thus, losing yourself.
The night Connor found you, you were balancing and weighing your options. Between life and death. He found you on a cliffside, mumbling something incoherent that he couldn't understand. He stood by cautiously, hands held outward as he tried to coerce you into stepping back; into finding the beauty this life offered. He must've spoke to you for what.. felt like hours, though could have easily been mere minutes as you looked at the sea below. The ocean waved at you, lulling your name in a gentle song. It showed you how beautiful death could be, how you could diminish this sickness within mere seconds of free falling. You had always imagined what it felt like to fly, had always shown jealously to birds. Did they choose their own sense of direction? Or did it come naturally? Like for people born in a trade that would set them up for life. Or the people who had the energy to fight, like Connor was doing now.
If Connor hadn't had been there, on that cloudy and rainy afternoon, you would be certain that you would be dead. That the ocean would greet you with warm, welcome arms, that your body would simply drift out to sea to never be found again. It sounded.. a little romantic, but then again, so did the idea of Connor dragging you away from the cliffside with such ferocity that the two of you fall backwards. He cradled you in a way that you never had been, allowing you to wet his robes further with tears and snot.
Since that day, Connor had been a figure in your life that you felt you needed. He did not share your business, though insisted you stay and allow Lyle to treat you. Treat you how, you weren't sure, but staying on the Homestead helped a lot. Most, if not everyone, kept a watchful eye on you, though most days you remained in bed; unable to find anything to do with yourself. The cliffside by the docks called your name like a siren in the night and at some point, you became fearful that in your sleep, you'd walk there in nothing but your nightdress and allow yourself to fall the great height; this time without Connor being there to rescue you.
"Doctor, will I ever be freed of this? Will I ever find a love for life again? Had I been soured in the womb of my mother, oh, doctor, please.. please give me some answers, please put my mind at ease before I find unsanitary ways to do so myself." And while you begged at Lyle, with palms clasped together, he could only purse his lips. If only the answers he could provide you with be written down, if only he could soothe you at once with some calming remedy that did not consist of you sleeping and wasting such youth away.
"You must distract yourself with something," Lyle encouraged, peeling the last leech from your arm and dapping the blood that began to clot from the wound with a little piece of cotton. "There are many ways, for a young lady like yourself-" he would've continued, if only it weren't for your sour expression. Was that all you were worth? Being a young lady? To be pushed to a man for marriage, to birth children where they may have the same seed of rot and sick planted within them? That was cruelty, something only someone wicked would ever do. Were you wicked? Were you capable of holding that same wickedness?
And when Lyle left you, stepping out the room, he discovered Connor lingering nearby. His hands were held together, a motion to subconsciously comfort himself as he pushed himself up and out the chair that sat in the hallway just beside the room.
"How is she?" he pried the words out, though kept his voice a respectful tone as to not allow you to overhear.
"Sick, Connor. Utterly mad, honestly."
Only, with those words, Connor could not find himself understanding. Why such disdain? Why such a.. disliking to people such as yourself? Was there not a way to help, like the same herbs that Clan Mother could provide?
"And what do you propose we do?" his remark held the distaste on the tip of his tongue as he jerked his chin up, looking at Lyle from the bottom of his nose. He wasn't sure how it began, the overwhelming urge to protect you, on the cliffside perhaps? Either way, the idea of your mere suffering effected him too in ways he could not comprehend, in ways that felt suffocatingly overwhelming. At Connors sudden attitude, Lyle found himself cringing a little, not finding the confidence he once had to say what he wished to say.
"You, see, Connor.. with women like that.." Lyle stepped closer, dipped his head and lowered his voice. "They are utterly useless. If she wished to die, truly, then you'd be better at locking her in that room. Perhaps, such an act, would make her feel a small ounce of happiness. In the cities, women like her would get locked up and forgotten about."
His words disgusted Connor beyond belief. This is how colonial people treated one of their own? The mere idea of such.. such atrocities happening back in his own village, it sickened him. The support system he fought so hard here felt as if it were crumbling, merely because you were 'uncontrollable,' which they both knew wasn't the case. Connor recoiled a little, hands flexing in some attempt to feel something before clasping them together again. Despite the bluntness of Lyle's words, he couldn't help but feel thankful for them. That he laid it out straight rather than avoided the issue at hand; but would that mean you would feel this way for the rest of your life? That you would be stuck eternally lost?
"And so you wish to forget about her?" Connor shook his head in disbelief. "That she cannot be cured, that allowing her to remain in that room would somehow benefit her? No, it is wrong, and I will not stand by and allow it to happen." He waved a hand, dismissing the doctor entirely with a heavy sigh. Of course, he never meant to show such conviction, never wanted to show disrespect; only your troubled life indirectly troubled him. Seeing people suffer hurt, it hurt him so much that Lyle's words angered him beyond belief. If Connor had to show you how to love and cherish life again, then he would; even if it meant juggling other responsibilities.
So, with the next couple days, he went against Lyle's orders. It started with chats. How at first he would awkwardly linger by the door, so then seating himself in the chair beside your bed before sitting on the mattress entirely. The space between the two of you becoming thinner as he pried your worries, your concerns and took them upon himself. Why your own melancholy seemed to attract him, Connor did not know. Maybe because he had never been so hell-bent on wanting to fix something, that maybe, the way you spoke lured him in. Each word that wagged from your tongue making it sound like mere poetry.
The four walls of your room seemed to bother him more than you. The way each day would repeat itself, him sitting in your room while the two of you would talk about anything that came up - or you two would settle in silence and enjoy the soft creak or groan the manor would provide around the two of you. It's just, it grew tiresome, especially for Connor, a man who moved around a lot. How could this help anyone?
"Have you ever gone out to sea?"
Was that a touchy topic? He wasn't sure, but he regretted ever mentioning it. Only, the way you perked up a little and offered a small smile seemed to sway him into speaking more.
"Would you like to?"
"Oh, Connor, you would take me, you really would? You do not think I am too poorly, too sick? Would you look after me, Connor, would you?"
Prying the sheets off your frame, you found yourself crawling over to where he sat on all fours. Your nightgown hugged at parts he shouldn't look, forcing his gaze to meet your own as you came to kneel back on your calves just beside him.
Connor was so big. He filled the entirety of this room. A manor they said, it was humorous. There was nothing manor-like at all, not with Connor in its space. How those robes fit him was beyond disbelief, the very threads and seams looked stretched, trying to hold themselves together around his biceps and muscle. Reaching out, your fingertips touched lightly against the feather that hang from the decorative band around his bicep. The touch was so featherlight, you almost didn't seem like a human; like some angel instead.
"Would you take me, Connor, would you?"
Now he wasn't too sure. The sudden switch of your attitude made him almost writhe, the way you looked up at him from beneath lashes, the way you looked.. not like yourself at all. It was a good thing though, wasn't it? To perk up, to move around, to look at him like there was still some hope and life behind your iris'.
"If you would like to, it does not look so-"
You cut him off, lifting the feather up.
"Where did this feather come from? Did you kill the bird yourself, Connor? What did it feel like, to wrap your.. your hands around its throat, to squeeze with no life left, did it feel strange.. did the bird look upon you with remorse?" Allowing the feather to drop from your fingertips, you moved your hand to ghost a finger gingerly over the back of his hand. The gloves that covered his skin - up until his fingers - created a barrier, a barrier that felt intimate.
Your sudden change in topic made him bristle a little and his hand twitched beneath your touch. He wanted to reach out, to feel your featherlight touch against skin - to really feel it.
"Is it an answer you seek? Or something else?"
His gaze that had once been lowered down to your finger now slowly trailed up until he met your features. Your skin looked soft, though the heaviness of dark circles beneath your eyes carried your exhaustion. He wasn't sure when it was since you last ate a proper meal, but you were tiny in comparison to him, cheeks a little sunken in like a corpse and what he should've felt was remorse - or maybe disgust - was disguised in nothing but concern. The bluntness of his question made you grin, top teeth catching your bottom lip and for once, this grin did not hurt. It did not disturb that seed of hatred within you, nor make you lash out in violence. For the way Connor approached you, with how honest and blunt he was; it made you feel more welcomed than you ever had been, made you feel more human.
"Take me to sea, Connor."
-
And by the next morning, you found yourself on the Aquila. A proud ship that sailed beautifully in the wind, sails catching each breeze, allowing it to move with efficiency. The sea and ocean was better up close, though this time - you were alive. Your body, a living one, being carried by the wind rather than the sea on a journey that you had never set out before. The wind brushed your hair like a mother before you were sent off to bed, the saltiness reminding you of dinner, making you crave the human touch and the mere human way someone could pour love into their food. It was no wonder Connor enjoyed being out here, that men would disappear for months at a time, because being out here was oddly human, it was freeing. The Aquila sailed proudly as as you reached the broadside to glance down, you saw waves hit against the hull as you soured through the ocean like a horse with wings. Could it be like this forever? And was this the same freedom birds felt when souring through the sky? Though, this was nothing in comparison and the ache you had felt before - the urge to fly - it simmered into something else entirely. The urge to swim, to be taken not by the sea, but by the wind, by the sail of the Aquila.
And while the sea captivated you, so did the Aquila itself. Your hands found refuge in the hull, in the wood of the mast, running around it until you grew endlessly dizzy - only to then do it again. You pranced around on deck until you floated up by the quarter decking - where Connor manned the ship and the views there made your mind only spin more.
"It's nothing like I have ever seen before," you sighed out, joining his side to watch as he turned the wheel silently - giving you the space to talk freely. Connor had always been good at that, the only judgement he would give you, would be that in silence. By the way his eyes would narrow, the way his chin would tilt up as he observed you from the end of his nose. Oh, it was so Connor, it was so him, that you wished to have that own trait yourself. "It's so.. the sea is so large, like a blanket. I am sure it would swallow me up if I were to fall," you pranced around him on tiptoes, lifting your skirts as you hummed a jolly tune; just the first one that came to your head.
"And I am sure if I extend my arms," you did just that, holding them out like a bird. "I am certain I would fly," but then quickly you dropped them. "Though, I am rather happy here, to be flying through the sea, parting it with little harm. It would not harm, would it?"
Honestly, you could talk his ear off forever and Connor would do nothing but comply and listen. He enjoyed hearing the excitement in your tone, enjoyed watching you move like you had just found the meaning of life again - found how to control your body without letting your sickness stand in the way. It was hard to believe that Lyle wished to lock you up, that you deserved to be forgotten about.
"Harm?" he repeated cautiously, turning his head your way. Being a Captain suited him, and the clothes looked as if they fit better too.
"Why, yes! The sea! We do not intrude, do we?" you tiptoed over in a dancy fashion before plucking the hat from his head and placing it on your own. It was big, but smelt oddly just like him - of pine. Connor savoured your words, tried to find some answer that made sense but most times; you were like a book of riddles. Full of questions that wanted no answers.
"No, we do not," he settled on that simply, watching as you spun around with the hat atop your head. The hat swallowed your head as a whole. He looked so beautiful here, out at sea. The color blue complimented him, his skin, his freckles. Every part of you ached to touch him, to just feel his hand in your own while you span him around and giggled endlessly. Is this what it felt to be alive? The way you were essentially dancing on the decking made Faulkner shoot Connor a side-eye, not a judgemental one, just more a questioning one. Faulkner had an inkling there was something wrong with you, as did everyone, but nobody made it obvious - Connor didn't, he never did.
"We can stay out here, forever? Sail off until we find the end of the sea? Where it meets the sky, and then perhaps, we can sail amongst the clouds! To feel how soft they are between my fingertips, oh, like cotton!" Then with that remark, you shot your hands out; almost as if you were trying to pluck little parts of the cloud yourself. The way you looked upon the sky, it gave Connor hope, that instead of feeling so down, you were for once feeling a high that he could offer you. Even if it were as simple as sailing the Aquila. He pondered your words before glancing up himself, reminding him of the countless, endless days he looked upon the clouds, to read what secret messages they offered him. Fluffy, yes, he could see that. His eyes befell upon you once again before he exchanged a look toward Faulkner.
"Have you ever sailed a ship?" he asked, half stepping to allow you to look upon the wheel. It was large, beautifully colored and yet, such responsibility weighed upon it. Connor suited the wheel better than you - simply because he was better at control than you ever had been, though his question plucked your interest away from the clouds. The layer of trust he revealed to you did not feel heavy, no, a soft responsibility that settled on your shoulders. After all, what could go wrong? You could not crash, for there was nothing to crash into!
"You would allow me to?" you asked, taking a cautious step closer toward where Connor stood. You reached out reverently, hand lingering between you and the wheel before you retracted it in a sharp motion. Acting as if the wheel itself had burned you. "I do not think it would be wise," you were swaying, not because of the ship, but more so because you were weighing your options.
It was there Connor's lips pursed and he lifted his shoulders, almost as if he were shrugging.
"I care little about wisdom." Yet, he sounded so wise? And with that, you couldn't help but grin, slowly stepping toward the wheel until your fingers wrapped around the handles. The wheel in its entirety only showed how important it felt, to control ones life with nothing but a simple turn and it dawned upon you that - maybe - it had been part of Connor's intentions to bring you here. To allow you this slice of life, to show you life was worth living and as you took in the roundness of the wheel, as you felt the oak beneath your fingers; a spark of that melancholy began to arise. It wasn't unwelcoming, the opposite in face as you found yourself smiling through its sharp pains.
"Tell, me Connor," for a beat, you hesitated, trying to find the rights and trying to force the courage to come up with them. "Was this your intention? To bring me here?" Only, your question met with a confused look. Well, he wasn't going to lie to you, he had every intention to bring you here but the undertone of your question fell on deaf ears. Were you implying something else entirely?
"I would not lie to you. I asked if you wished to sail," his innocence was sweet and you couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head as you finally turned to face him. The blue of his uniform really suited him, the blue sky above and below, it really did compliment him. Honestly, you itched to reach out, to touch him the same way you had done a couple hours ago - though he seemed the kind of person who would not appreciate such unwanted touches.
With a soft hum, you shook your head and dismissed the mere thought and question; letting it out at sea with full intentions of never returning it again.
"No, no, you are quite right." Then a silence settled, the only noise was scurrying feet below deck as his crew adjusted sails, moved around each other with ease; the sway of the ship almost made it look as if they were dancing. The crew would speak to each other over yells, others enjoying the wind as much as you had, while some others gathered and began a hearty song. It was a simple melody, carried by men of the sea as they united in song. Being out here really had healing properties, not just for you, but everyone around you. A simple cheer, a heel of a foot tapped on decking below. It was so human and yet, such a reminder of how much you had truly lost yourself. That you had forgotten the simplicities in life.
"Connor, if I may?" you asked. His own gaze had been fixated on the small group of men himself before he turned to face you once again, one hand of his on the other side of the wheel and holding the handle; just wanting to ensure it were secure while you held the other end. His chin jerked, prompting you to continue.
"I never thanked you those many months ago. When you saved my life and I find it quite fitting to thank you again, here and now. Only because.. well, being here, it showed me that there truly is more to discover. That, I may not be completely lost. So, what I am trying to say is.. well, I'm just thanking you again, for saving my life a second time."
The raw honesty in your words took him aback as he savoured them, wanting to never forget this moment himself. He strived to much to help people and seeing the effects of what he could've done only encouraged him further. A tug of a smile emerged at the corner of his lips before his other hand raised to pat you gently on the shoulder. It was awkward, but ever so Connor.
"You mustn't thank me, only yourself. It was you that brought you here."
And he was right. You were living and surviving at the same time and the only person who was capable of doing that, was someone who had the strength to do it themselves. Honestly, you felt your eyesight become hazy with tears and for once, the overwhelming urge to sob because of your sadness felt a thing of the past. You were happy, you truly were, even if it were as simple as sailing a ship - with a man who showed you so much kindness that it felt hard to believe.
Each day was just another day and it didn't have to be consumed by darkness. Not always.
Some portraits !! Haven’t done ac in a while and started with Edward bc of the new game, but it didn’t feel right not drawing Ratonhnhaké:ton too (the best)
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hi guys... how we doin.....
im very aware its been awhile since i've written anything and please know i am working on my requests, i have a lot of unfinished stuff and dealing with stuff outside of tumblr sigh..
i wanted to write something about modern connor and it started off cute but then i was lowkey implementing some of my vent into it and yeah !
anyway this isn't anything serious, figured i might as well post something ...
also there might be mistakes. i dont rlly care LOL. also the ending is rushed and feels unfinished, because it is, i didn't want to end it there but just thought ahh im bored lets post something at least.
connor might be out of character. everyones alive though, yay!
WC ⊱ 6.4k
Warning(s) ⊱ 18+, MDNI, mentions of post partum depression, heavy themes including depression, labour, childbirth, being a mom, marriage, money problems, sexual themes, mentions of miscarriages, taking anti-depressants, therapists.
Bzz!..... Bzz!.... Bzz!....
"Raton.." you pried the words from your throat, voice hoarse from disuse.
Bzz!..... Bzz!.... Bzz!....
"Raton.." you cleared your throat this time, hoping that raising it just a little would wake him. But when the large man beside you did little but hum in response, you quickly nudged your elbow into his bicep; which was bulky and ever so inviting.
"Raton, your phone." For a man who slept so lightly, he sure was frustrating at this current moment. In fact, the increasing urge to just chuck a pillow at your husband just to wake him up became overwhelming, more so because nothing annoyed you most when someone else's' alarm woke you up instead of them. With a huff, you pushed yourself up on your elbow. The groggy feeling hit you instantly, along with the migraine that must've been festering from last night. Peering over the lug of a man, you glanced at his bedside table. It was relatively neat, a glass of water that was half empty (or half full), his watch, some hair ties and then his phone; which surprisingly wasn't on charge. The phone continued to vibrate against the wooden sideboard, each vibration only bothering you further. From where you were peering over, you noticed a familiar contact and picture on the lock screen.
Labelled as Ista, with a photo of him, his mother, you and your daughter in his arms. It was the only photo where Raton's smile didn't look like he was in pain.
"Shit," you uttered under your breath. Ziio had agreed to take your daughter, Terés - Theresa, off your hands overnight while the two of you celebrated your wedding anniversary. She was probably calling to get a time estimate on when you could take Terés off her hands, or worse, if she could be let inside. The panic that shot through you retorted in you quickly shaking at Raton's arm, the panic that his mom was outside while the both of you were somewhat hung over and naked didn't bode well at all. Not that Ziio would care, but you wanted some dignity with your mother-in-law at least!
"Mmh?" Raton stirred, his eyes fluttering open for mere seconds before they closed. It was almost the same amount of effort waking him up like it was with your daughter. No wonder where she got that from.
"Raton," you hissed again, giving his shoulder another sharp nudge and with that he shot up. He was just as bleary eyed as you, his hair a mop of mess on his head as he blinked the space of the room in. Nothing unusual, well, besides the trail of clothes that led from the hallway into the bedroom.
"Mmh - what?"
"Your phone," the amount of energy you put into waking this man up was too much, and you knew you'd be running on little to no sleep today. So, with a rather frustrated huff, you flopped back down in the bundle of pillows.
From beside you, you heard Raton spend some extra minutes waking himself up - trying to make it sound as if he'd been awake for hours. He cleared his throat, rubbed at his eyes again before quickly scooped his phone up and off the bedside table. His finger hovered over the accept button as he cleared his throat one more time - just for good measure - before answering the phone.
"Ista," he began, putting it on speaker so he could haul himself out of bed and begin the process of rushing on some clothes. "Hi, sorry, I-"
"Was you still sleeping?" she remarked, the judgement was not in her tone of voice, but her words instead. It almost sounded like the last time she had to deal with an oversleeping Raton was when he was still at school.
"No," his answer came out too quick and from the other end of the phone you could've sworn you heard Ziio almost scoff.
"Right," she mumbled, giving Raton the silence to regret his little lie. "I was wondering when you were both coming over. I have some things to do over at the hall. I'm going to bring Terés otherwise."
Ah, that was right. It was Saturday. There was a market Ziio organised in the hall, with markets from sellers - things like trinkets, or decorative items for the house, or even bracelets made by other members of Ratons tribe. All the proceedings usually went to the sellers, but the sellers would share half of their proceedings toward Ziio so she could continue funding and fighting for their reserve. Even after so many years, the repression against Native people and their land was a constant struggle. Terés usually enjoyed being there, but you knew that even she was a handful, something Ziio didn't need for today.
With that knowledge alone, you sighed gently and pushed yourself up lazily to lean on your elbow. You caught Ratons gaze in the mirror, the look of; 'What do I say? What are we doing?'
With a soft sigh, you only gave him a nod and quickly, he answered;
"We can pick her up before you go," he answered, moving off to find his pants he'd left by the bedroom door before tugging them on.
"Then be quick, Ratonhnhaké:ton, I don't have all day."
"Yes, Ista, I know."
Then the phone call ended and you gave a soft sigh. As thankful as you were that you had Ziio to look after Terés, you just ached for a little more time with your husband - a little less time without a child being in the way. Raton caught the look on your face, noticed the ache and acknowledged it, more so because the feeling was mutual. "I know," he responded, plopping himself down onto the bed to rub his head. That ache was there, which was a surprise. He wasn't a drinker at all.
"Maybe we should've asked her to take Terés on another day, I forgot all about the market.." you mumbled, feeling so stupid. Of course, you were thankful for Ziios help, she'd been there to help you after the labour, she stayed for a couple days while Raton worked and while you struggled with some postpartum depression. She'd done a lot more than Haytham, who'd sent a card all the way from England; only for it to arrive 3 months after the birth of your daughter. Grandparent of the year award should go to him, clearly. Raton's face contorted as he turned to glace at you from over his freckled shoulder, displeased in your deprecating tone.
"She agreed to this months ago," he leant back, the large palm of his hand engulfing the entirety of your thigh. "She isn't upset. You would know if she was." He trailed off, he spoke with experience, he'd been on the receiving end of her anger way too much as a kid. He was reckless and stupid, got in trouble a lot which was something a single mom like Ziio did not need.
With a defeated sigh, you could only nod. He was right after all, like always.
"Let's not waste time." With that, you began the day begrudgingly. A part of you just wished for more time, perhaps with Ratons lips attached to your clit - or for him to rock his hips steadily into yours as he blessed your morning with lazy sex. Pushing yourself up and out of bed, you trudged to the bathroom. Even that was a mess, honestly, the whole house was. Just below the mirror, by the sink, was your makeup and perfume; strewn around carelessly while you dressed yourself during the night before. Not only wished you for more time with Raton, but just to clean this house. The mere idea of Terés coming home to a messy house bothered you more than it should've. There was nothing stopping you from not going, of course. You could stay at home while Raton went out to fetch Terés, but the ache to see Ziio and receive one of those mama bear hugs she so kindly squeezes into you, how could you miss that?
Shooting a glance, you took a cautious look at yourself in the mirror. That was risky. You looked awful. Lipstick smudged down to your jawline, onto your neck which was peppered with little bite marks. Your mascara had also smudged, creating dark circles under your eyes. What a look.
"Raton?" you called out, peering out from the bathroom.
"Yeah?" he asked, stepping out from your bedroom. His hair looked a little better now, he must've been brushing it. But it wasn't his hair you wanted to look at. Slowly, you trailed your gaze down to his lips - which were red. Quickly, you had to purse your lips to not giggle at the sight of him. It didn't stop there, no, it wasn't just his lips. A scatter of lipstick marks covered the extent of his chest, a sloppy, smudged mark on his bicep, another just under his nipple, then a trail that ran further... and further.. until it stopped just at the hem of his pants. It was an explanation of how last night ended for you. The way your eyes glazed over them made him follow, glancing down at himself with arms extended.
"Oh," was all he could physically muster up before meeting your gaze. Those freckled cheeks were a shade of red, which was adorable.
"Mmh, not just there," you hummed before motioning him over. Raton padded over to your side, exchanging a glance with himself in the mirror that the two of you now stood opposite. He looked at his lips before giving a soft shrug. Raton would never care, he wouldn't care that much if you 'forgot' to tell him and he went out in public like that.
Reaching out, Raton turned on the tap to wet his fingers before using the water as some messy attempt to wipe his lips clean. You could've handed him a makeup wipe, but then that would've been easy and you quite fancied him leaning down over the sink like that; with muscles flexing as he moved his lips rapidly back and forth between his lips. After some casual scrubbing, he stood straight. It was a little better, not perfect, but enough to look responsible.
"You aren't going to bother with the rest?" you pointed out, taking another quick glance down at his body. Having a man that took such care of himself in such a way was like a blessing. His body was truly designed to be some kind of Greek God. Reaching out, he took a hold of his toothbrush and applied some toothpaste to the brush.
"Should I?" he questioned back and.. well, you weren't opposed to the marks either. He wasn't the only one marked up. The state of your thighs and hips, some might suspect that Raton hits you.
"No, I guess not.." you hummed, leaning your hip against the sink while you watched him; just appreciating how he moved. How perfect his freckles were, how long his hair had gotten too. As he got closer to the mirror to begin brushing his teeth, you watched how he kept looking up at you through the reflection of the mirror. He took up the whole length of the thing with his sheer size, you felt nothing but a spec in comparison to him alone.
"Are you.." he paused, leaning down to spit before rinsing his mouth out. "Are you going to get dressed? We don't have much time."
Right.
"Ah, right, sorry. Got distracted." The simplicity of your words earnt a hum of what sounded like a chuckle from him. Oh, how your heart soured at just hearing or prying a laugh or chuckle from him. You wished to pluck the soundwave of his laugh from thin air, to frame it and put it on the wall - with a button where you could replay it over and over until your ears rang.
With that thought in mind, you were quick to get dressed. You wiped off the remains of your makeup, brushed your teeth and then dressed down in something casual. It was a nice day - for a change. Raton did the same after he 'freshened' up in the bathroom. What that consisted of? It was a mystery. At least he came out smelling nice, that's all that mattered, though you weren't too opposed with his after gym smell. You awaited for him downstairs, eating something light in the kitchen as he stepped down the stairs.
"Well, hello biceps."
Wait, had this shirt he was wearing shrunk? Or had Raton been lifting some extra weights - that weren't your legs.
"Isn't that a.. little small?" you observed, though shamelessly you were more admiring. Especially with how the fabric stretched over his torso.. his abs.. his biceps..
Just as he were about to reach for the keys, he paused at your remark and took a glance down at himself.
"Small?" he repeated in disbelief and his disbelief made you shake your head. Could he not see that he was dressed like a complete man slut? "What?" Raton tried to pry some more information out of you, almost feeling that he should change.
"No, I'm just.. it.. never mind, we should go."
With that interaction shoved aside, the two of you finally set out toward Ziios house. Thankfully, you did not live too far from her, which was a relief; especially for her as she got to see Terés often. It was - once again - another reason as to why you were so thankful to have Ziio close, especially given your own family was further away. Raton took the drivers seat, which was a good idea considering he drank less than you. He'd always looked so hot driving, in a way that was unexplainable. The way he checked his rear-view mirror, from the way he kept a hand on your thigh, to the way his eyes glazed over the road. It was like family life suited Raton. Just being a dad, being a husband, it was the kind of life that was right for him. And to that, you were happy to share that with him. You were happy than he were happy.
It reminded you of the day that Raton clumsily proposed to you. He'd offered you out on a trail ride to enjoy some views, borrowing the horses from Kanen'tó:kon's ranch. You'd never ridden a horse before and Raton had some more experience while you clung onto the reigns for dear life. He took you out somewhere quiet, took his time to take some pictures of the beautiful landscape before just dropping the question right there and then. Yeah, he didn't drop down on one knee. He was too awkward for that.
"Would you ever consider.. marriage?" he mumbled, avoiding your gaze completely while he continued snapping photos of the landscape before the two of you - using his phone as some kind of excuse to will away the tremble in his hands. The question made you pause, eyes narrowing slowly as you turned to face him. He refused to look at you still, pretending to look off in the distance; some animal catching his attention more than this.
"I mean.." you trailed off, unsure if that was him directly asking you, or if he were simply just asking out of curiosity. "I would like that, yes. Are you..."
"Yes," he cut you off and finally, he shoved his phone into his pocket, along with his hands. Despite the cool, evening air - he was sweating. A part of you couldn't blame him at all.
"You're asking me to marry you?" you asked cautiously. The last thing you wanted to do was jump to conclusions and start prancing around like some kind of deer.
"You don't want to?"
It seemed you weren't the only one jumping to conclusions. His rapid fire caused you to chuckle gently.
"I didn't say that," now you leant forward a little, trying to catch his gaze, or even trying to focus on what he was looking at instead. The horses whinnied behind you, grazing quietly and their whine almost felt as if they were trying to encourage Raton to say something - or do something. The sunset sat between the two mountain peaks, creating a beautiful orange hue to settle across the land. It was beautiful, an open space between the woodland that felt private; a space that you realised later on he took you to on purpose. It was just his execution on it.. was rather unexperienced. "So..." you probed once again and Raton licked at his lips, trying to wrack his brain to say something - anything!
"Would you... marry me?"
Finally, finally, he met your gaze. He turned his head, the beautiful orange hue settling over the two of you like some blanket complimented his tanned skin beautifully. You could've sworn his eyes twinkled as soon as he looked upon you, but then again, they always did. From the very day you met him - when he was still a little shit getting in trouble.
It was hard to not laugh and you did. The chuckles spilled out of you without processing them, more so because you were just as nervous as he was. There was something about this whole interaction that.. almost didn't feel real. That it'd be some prank, ones he used to pull on you when you guys were teenagers. This was different though, his expression - which now dropped at the mere idea of your chuckles alone - it said something else, that this was dangerously serious and those chuckles quickly ceased to be as you stared upon his hurt expression.
"Oh, Raton, I'm sorry, I- I just.. I thought that," you were spluttering, shit, you still hadn't answered him, had you? How could you assume that this was some prank. Raton had changed.. A LOT since school. He'd grown, not just physically, but emotionally too.
"It's okay," he forced a smile, but it was only to hide his pain.
"Wait, so you're serious?!"
"Uh.. yes?"
"Then yes, yes, yes, a million times yes-" you spluttered endlessly and this time, Raton was chuckling. Maybe out of relief.
That memory alone was so fresh in your mind. The wedding band around your finger only further proved how long ago that really felt. The wedding in general, where Kanen'tó:kon spent about seven minutes with his speech - having to bring up every embarrassing moment Raton had done - from the birth of your beautiful daughter. Having Raton, his friends, his family, it was a blessing that you felt could never give back.
The drive to Ziios wasn't long, give or take, about twenty minutes. It was out of town, out in the countryside where Raton grew up - his tree climbing skills he has yet to teach you, though those were put aside after the birth. Living in the city worked both for you and Raton. The jobs were close, so was Terés' school. Only, the rent was awful, most times the two of you had to shamefully ask Haytham for money - which he would give with no issue. It's just, you despised the man. You despised how he felt that money could fix things - which annoyingly, they fucking did. His money would never fix lost time for Raton, would never fix the lost time with Terés. The amount of forgiveness Raton gave to this man, it was a fucking miracle. Raton had a heart of gold and Haytham? He didn't deserve it.
Ziios house was covered in a shroud of trees, making her house look cosy. You spent many nights on the porch there, talking with Raton, hands interlinked, or crying into his or Ziios arms. The memories here were endless and you so wished that perhaps the two of you could escape the city to live out here too, to find peace. Maybe when Terés is older, maybe you could even home-school her. A blanket of grey clouds loomed over the woodland while the two of you got out, your head still aching, but not stopping you from following Raton up the porch stairs.
The door was pushed open, it was always open and welcome to anyone who lived on the reserve; Ziio had a lot of faith in her neighbours. Raton had already spent countless hours reminding her to at least lock it when she went to bed, though you were sure the woman could handle herself.
"Ista!" Raton called out, not bothering to kick off his shoes, after all the two of you had no intentions of staying; despite how cosy her house was. You had come to realise, after years of dating Raton, that the reason he smelt so good was because of Ziio. She'd always have some herbs cooking by the door or incense in one room and another. Her house was the dream house and you wanted so badly for your house to carry the same vibe.
"Rake'ni!" a little voice called out just down the hall, followed by little feet and soon enough Terés came running down to throw herself in Ratons arms. He caught her with little to no effort, lifting her and swinging her around - completely careless of the various items stacked on a bookshelf nearby, which were in the 'flight zone' of Terés' toes.
The relationship between the two of them was endearing. One that made your heart melt effortlessly. Raton had always craved to be a father, even down to the first night of marriage. He'd drop hints here and there, speaking about how he'd love to have a little girl, a little girl whose hair he could braid, who he could cuddle on stormy nights. You'd made some dry remark about how you were his little girl, to which was received badly. Raton was serious abut this, as serious as he was with his fatherly duties. It was nothing compared to Haytham, that was for sure. As much as you loved watching the two, it was bittersweet. Maybe because, deep down, you ached to have that kind of relationship with Terés. That she favoured him more than you purely because you couldn't live up to the parent expectations. Raton called you mindless for thinking such things, but as you stood off to the side to watch, that feeling of jealously bubbled up within you once again.
"I missed you," Raton finally exclaimed with a subtle sigh, lifting little Terés up to bury his nose into her hair. Her hair was braided into two little braids, not doubt she wanted to match with Ziio. "Did you have a nice night with Ónenhste?"
Terés grinned, accepting the warm embrace from her father with open arms. Her little arms hooked around his neck before she nodded so frantically that it almost looked her head would drop off.
"Yes! A really nice night, we watched a movie together and then we played some games and then we also made a fort! We made them with blankets that her Ista made for her when she was a little girl! She said they were the same blankets you slept in, is that true, Rake'ni? Did you sleep in those blankets?" God, could that girl talk. She must've caught that little knack from you.
Raton just offered her a smile before pressing a kiss on her forehead, one that lingered.
"Mmh, yes, I did. When I was just as little as you. You haven't said hello to Ista yet," Raton glanced over at you. He noticed your solemn look, flashing you an apologetic look himself before lowering Terés so that she could welcome you.
"Hi, sweet thing." Dropping to your knees, you pulled her into a hug. She smelt just like those same blankets, the same blankets you and Raton would sleep in yourselves. Those blankets were ancient, like they were from the 1700s or something. "I'm so happy to see you again, I hate being away from you for so long, but I'm also happy you enjoyed yourself." Urgh, she was so cute, you wanted to squeeze her little freckled cheeks and just eat her up.
"I missed you too! Rake'ni more!" Ouch. You forced a smile and chuckle.
"Sure you did, bug."
Finally, Ziio rounded the corner and made an appearance. She looked a little flustered, albeit it well, offering both you and Raton a smile, though it faded as soon as she looked upon her son.
"You look awful," she remarked to him, which made Raton's brows crinkle a little.
"So do you, you look old." They had a nice relationship, one that consisted of dry sarcasm and humour. "You're greying." As Ziio passed Raton, pushing a bag of Terés' into his arms, she gave him a smile and gave his shoulder a pat.
"Well, after all the years of having a son like you, it's no surprise." Honestly, you would've laughed, if it wasn't for the whole range of emotions, thoughts and feelings that suddenly consumed you right there by the front door. "Anyway, I have to go, I'm going to be late."
Ziio passed him to reach out by you, reaching for a jacket that hung by the door. She exchanged a look with you, gave a wink before pausing, noticing the look across your expression. It was no surprise Raton could read you like a book, Ziio was the same. She saw the worry, could feel the pulses of anxiety radiating off you as you pushed yourself up and allowed Terés to find sanctuary in Raton's arm again.
"I think the grey hair suits you." Wow, you cringed and now, you were forcing a laugh.
"You okay?" Ziio confronted you right there and then, direct, as she always had been. Raton was distracted with Terés, no surprise considering she was chewing his ear off with something you couldn't focus on right now.
"Yeah, yeah," you waved off her concern with a hand and smile, but when she placed a hand on your shoulder, you could've very well crumbled right there and then. Ziio gave you a look. Not a 'mother-in-law' look, just a 'mother' look. One you couldn't replicate - maybe it was her years of experience.
"Do you think I'm a good mom?" The voice of concern came out in a whisper. Partly because you daren't Raton to hear and that if you said it any louder, your voice would crackle and tremble, then you'd be a sobbing mess once again. Your question made Ziio's shoulders drop, almost as if hearing you utter those words to her made her heart completely crack, maybe because she spent countless nights herself asking the same question. With a weary sigh, she placed a hand on your cheek and almost instinctively, you nuzzled into her touch.
"I think you're the best mom. That's better than just good, right?" There was no arguing that, you couldn't, otherwise you would cry. So, you swallowed back the lump and just gave a nod. You told yourself that she was right, she was always right!
"Yeah, yeah," you mindlessly agreed before she retracted her hand to shuffle her arms into her jackets armholes.
"You going to drive me there?" Ziio then asked, turning her head around to Raton; who was currently getting his cheeks squeezed by Terés.
"I can dmrive you, mmnsure."
Her gaze narrowed toward the two of then, then she turned to fetch her shoulder bag off the hook.
"You can still take back wedding vows." Another one of her dry remarks, but it was enough to make you laugh at least and with that, she took pride in.
The drive to and from the hall wasn't long. It was just on the outskirts of the city. Ziio had insisted we just head off home, which frankly was a relief to you. With how dark the skies look, it just looked perfect weather with a blanket and a good film; plus, you knew how these kinds of things catered to kids and you really wanted to avoid the face paint for today. Ziio said she'd find her own way home and you knew she'd be able to, so soon enough the three of you were home.
Honestly, every part of you wanted to just slither your way back into bed. To dwell back on those thoughts, endlessly questioning whether you were a good parent, wondering why you weren't a favourite, but the duties of being a mom called and the time for it was little to none. At times, the depression snaked its way back inside your mind. You'd never been the same after Terés' birth, suffering greatly with a depression that honestly? Made you neglect her. Not entirely of course, she was still your daughter after all, but you couldn't look at her and each time you did, there was a great pain, a great sense of anger that bubbled up inside you. In fact, you couldn't bear to look back at the photos of you in that hospital bed with a small, new-born Terés on your chest, mostly because in the photos you looked so.. zoned out. Cheeks tear stained, staring off into the distance, unable to even look upon her. It was an awful time, one that swallowed you up and spat you back out; leaving you with a disgusting feeling that you couldn't wash off. Wasn't parenthood supposed to be the best thing ever? So, why did you struggle so much?
It was normal, that's what the doctors told you, but when Raton found you one night standing above Terés' crib while she screamed for some attention, he knew then that you needed some form of help. Himself and Ziio not just looked after Terés, but you too. Ensuring you attended therapy for your own unresolved issues, putting you on meds that numbed you more than anything. But after the years, that feeling subsided.. until now.
The depression wasn't as heavy as it used to be. You learnt to tolerate it, but each time you saw Terés and Raton together, it lingered there in the back of your mind; a constant reminder of your grief, your illness, your jealously. It made you feel as if you were unworthy to be a mother in the first place, that Raton deserved better.
As soon as you stepped inside, you headed upstairs to raid the cabinet for your pills. It had been awhile since you took them, so as soon as you found the capsule, you took two for extra measure.
It's a temporary feeling, every mother experiences this. It's what your doctors told you, it's what your therapist told you. But why was that the case? Why was that the risk you took? And not every mother suffered with this immense heaviness, you know this because of your late night trips over on the Reddit thread for new moms! Maybe Raton was right, you should limit your phone time; he was better at that than you, though occasionally he fell down the loop of a doom scroll if the two of you did it together.
As soon as you necked back some water from the tap, Raton's large frame appeared by the doorway. He wasn't hard to miss, not when he was built like a fucking brick wall.
"Are you okay?" the same question as before, was it obvious you were spiralling?
"God, why? Do I look like shit? Is it obvious? Is that why she can't even see me, her own mother?" the words hissed from your mouth and you regretted them as soon as they spilled out, so much so, that you clamped a hand over your mouth. You hadn't even meant to snap at Raton, not your lifeline. "I'm sorry.." you croaked out, but he understood - he always did.
"We can contact that therapist again," he offered gently, tone nothing but kind as he reached out to touch you reverently on your waist.
"No, no, no," you couldn't accept that, going back there was like some kind of defeat, that you were 'sick' again. "No.."
"It's okay to reach out for help," he grounded you with his gaze while you fumbled for some kind of excuse, but with how beautiful his brown eyes looked, it was hard to say no again.
With furrowed brows, you could only muster up a weak smile. How did you get so lucky? A man with patience such as him? A man with a big cock that could make your worries diminish if you allowed him to. You gave a sigh, shook your head and turned your chin to glance at yourself in the mirror. You had looked worse before, this feeling would pass - as it always had done. The last thing you wanted to do was cause another strain, to beg Haytham for money so you could speak to a therapist, who honestly? Didn't provide as much comfort as Raton could.
"I know. But really - I'm fine. I have these," you fumbled for the capsule of pills, but that revelation did not make Raton smile, the opposite actually. "Anyway!" you pushed them back in the cabinet and closed it hastily. "What are the plans for today, Captain? Let's do something fun." Your hands took his and shook them, almost as if you were physically trying to shake the worry out of him.
Raton looked at you - really looked at you. Oh, no, no, not with those puppy eyes. His jaw tensed as he thought between wanting to confront you and your emotions, while also giving you space and a distraction. He turned his chin over his shoulder. Terés was downstairs playing with some toys Ziio had given her, gosh, you were thankful that you and Raton were strict with her screen time.
"Why don't we go for a walk?" he suggest, not feeling too confident with the words yet offering a smile with them. That had always been Raton's backup plan whenever anything happened. You remembered feeling crazy when he suggested a walk after your first miscarriage. A walk. Two words that held such.. what felt like, hostility, but you knew that wasn't his intentions at all.
On instinct, your lips pursed, forcing back memories, bottling up feelings before exhaling almost painfully.
"Yeah, let's do that."
If it helped him, it had to help you.
-
It seemed the looming clouds overhead were nothing but a weak attempt at some warning, for they passed by and revealed beautiful sunny skies. It was the kind of weather were you weren't sure whether you should bring a jacket or not, though you were thankful to have one in the end, for there was a soft nip in the air each time a breeze ran up the expanse of your spine. It prickled your skin and left you yearning for some warmth, whether that be from the sun or Raton's arms themselves; either were fine.
In some sense, the walk helped a little. A nice little park full of other children, which allowed Terés to go off and play while you sat on a small bench not far off. Raton went off to find a stick, not just any stick, a stick worth hunting for while Terés buried sand in her pockets to 'show Rake'ni when he was back.' It didn't make much sense, but you daren't ponder on it for too long. Sitting here, with fresh air, it did help clear your mind and gosh, did watching Terés play with other children make you ever so broody.
Terés had only recently turned seven, which seemed more than acceptable time to have another, wasn't it? You and Raton had both agreed that safe sex wasn't needed, if you were going to get pregnant, you'd be more than happy to keep it - or not, which he made clear during your mental health episode. Honestly, the idea of having another child, of suffering with depression as great as you had, AND the idea of not being so financially stable right now was enough to deter you. It's just.. sitting here, watching Raton be a dad, watching Terés giggle with other children and run around, helping the younger children climb up to slide down the slide with them, how could you deny her a little brother or sister? Or Raton another chance to have a child?
Just the thought alone of how much that man sobbed when Terés was born melted your heart. The soft words of encouragement, kissing your forehead and telling you that, 'you can, you can do this,' after each time you told him you couldn't. The way he felt as if he stood in the way of the Doctors and Nurses, yet his hand remained firmly in yours. The birth was quick, lord, it hurt and you weren't looking to suffer for any longer than you already were. Ziio mentioned that Raton's birth had equally been as fast as yours with Terés.
With how lost you were in your thoughts, you hadn't noticed Raton collapse beside you, a little breathless yet rather triumphant with the stick he had found on the forest clearing. He lifted it up and turned it over in the palm of his hand.
"Looks like a weapon, wouldn't you think?" His choice of words almost, just almost, made you laugh. Raton wasn't a violent man, well, apart from the time he broke some guys nose for pushing you in that carpark once. He wouldn't have done it, if you weren't pregnant that was.
"Mmh, a little," you agreed, almost in the same tone of voice you would offer that to Terés. "You know.." you trailed off, glancing up at him. Your choice of words made him meet your gaze, lowering his stick momentarily. "I think.. Terés deserves a sibling, at some point.." you trailed off, honestly bracing yourself for his reaction. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, especially given how only mere hours ago, you were ranting about how much of an awful mother you must be. Raton savoured your words with a heavy sigh before leaning back, stick placed across his lap.
"Are you ready for that..?" he worded it slowly, looking off at Terés. He loved her with his whole heart, you knew that by how he watched her.
It was a good question, were you ready for that? For those long, drawn-out months? To go through a labour again? Honestly, maybe you were just thinking this way because you were in some desperate need for some dick; you wouldn't word that out loud here though.
"It was just a thought," you bluffed, only because you didn't know the answer to that just yet, maybe you shouldn't had suggested it at all.
