#...tagged mostly for filtering purposes

[cj-the-random-artist]

I kept debating how to end this short little mini comic. In the original script, they were gonna hold hands (scandalous, I know lmfao), but I didn't think it hit quite right in comic format when I tried to make it longer. Hence why it ends... like that.

Anyways I wrote like a ton of comic scripts for COTL comics that just didn't hit right / I couldn't commit to making and then when driving home from work last week in the pitch darkness I thought about how nice it is to see like actual stars. And I feel like with the cult grounds being kind of among a lot of trees and all that it might take a short hike to get a really, really, really good view of the night sky and stuff. Thus. This.

It's arguably not my best work (I'm out of practice drawing good night skies and all that) but I'm happy with it. Enjoy this thing I made

[aris-has-a-paracosm]

The first chapter of my sci-fi dystopian Team Rancher au, Finality’s Fault, is here! I worked really hard on this first chapter and am very proud of it, so comments and rbs (feedback in general) would be greatly welcomed!

Also, asks are always open if you wanna ask me about it, theorize, or just chat in general :)

[skyburger]

venn diagram of these guys

[saltyoaktree]

honestly I might make theories and joke around, but at this point the thing I want the most from Ted Lasso regarding relationships isn't even tedtrent. It's platonic tedbecca! Like I respect the ship, but I think they work so much better as besties. I can't see a semblance of romantic chemistry

[girlmetalsonic]

genuinely issue 65 the first story is like. I LOOOOOVE the way they kinda like push the proportions and give more cartoony expressions/poses? it looks so good.

im sure theres more examples but this is just what i found quickly

[gothamurbanist]

no and I mean the whole business with this being pretty much the most literal work about joker's love for bats. it literally is. I thought the indirect quotations were exaggerated but bruce literally thinks to himself "if I look into his pupils long enough I'll see them expand with love". it's that love of his taken to its most sick twisted and possessive.

the court jester and the king. "you've grown too soft". it's literally a story about jealousy.

[insomnia-and-caffeine]

the number of times i've written out a long and personal post before having a "yk sam, you don't actually have to post everything you think" moment is truly shocking. The posts you see are like the tip of the iceberg of posts i write.

[elfwreck]

I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

PINNED POST, FAQ, INFORMATION

Hi, I'm TBSkyen. I make videos on YouTube sometimes. This is my main tumblr blog, the "brand" blog as it were, where I maintain my Social Media Presence™ on this site.

I use the ironic ™ to signal my personal discomfort with the work of being a minor media personality even while I still do that work and make a living off it.

I have a sideblog called @tbposting, mostly for shitposts and reblogs, and in my opinion I have pretty darn good taste in reblogs, so you can follow that if you want. It's also where I'll do random personal posting, microblogging, etc.

This main blog is primarily for 1) answering asks, and 2) posting my Original Content™, usually my main channel videos, as well as the occasional longer essay or critique. Sometimes I'll reblog an interesting or useful thing, or boost a friend's work, but I try to keep the spam to a minimum.

---

About Me

I am a thirtysomething content creator whose primary expertise is character design.

I have a bachelor's degree in English, never finished my master's, did most of a bachelor's degree in history, and that's it. These are my academic qualifications, no more and no less.

My professional experience is primarily being a freelancer and self-employed creator. I spent the better part of a decade working as a commission artist, running webcomics, drawing fanart, and the occasional animation work and not safe for work commissions, and I have at this point a decade of experience and self-study in the subjects I cover. I have also done online community management for, god help me, almost twenty years, so that's a part of my skillset I'll never escape.

I do not have any particular professional creative industry experience, although given what I hear from my professional friends, sometimes that seems like a blessing.

Please maintain a critical distance when engaging with my work. I am a critic. My work is very rarely meant to be taken as authoritative or didactic, and when it is, I will make it clear in my writing. Just because I speak with confidence doesn't mean I am trying to assert objective truth.

---

TAGS (to follow, or filter)

#tbanswers is the tag for every single ask I answer on this blog

#tb reblog is the tag for reblogs

#tb essay is for the occasional longer essay or critical writing

#tbvideos is for my videos and Content™

#tb recommends is for the occasional recommendation of a video essay or other creator

Yes, I know the spaces are inconsistent. It's not on purpose, I just typed them in haphazardly when I started using them and it's stuck.

---

FAQ (before you ask)

Q: Will you ever do a video about ____ ? A: The answer to this question is almost universally "maybe someday, if I have time, and if I feel I have anything worthwhile to say." And the more realistic answer is "no, because I already have far too much on my plate and I have burned myself out too many times." In general, please don't ask me this question, I will most likely not answer it because I have given the same answer a thousand times, but I still feel guilty about not answering them.

Q: Will you continue your series of videos about ____ ? A: Yes! I will continue the let's plays I started, I will finish the Boss Designs series, I will do another What's the Deal With, I will do more shorts about the subjects I've got going on. The main obstacle is, again, my tendency to overload myself.

Q: Do you have a PO box? Can I send you something? A: Not yet, but I'm looking into it. It may be a while before I get it set up.

Q: Do you have merchandise? A: A little bit, yes, at tbskyen.redbubble.com.

Q: What's your opinion on [game/movie/comic/book/etc]? A: I struggle to answer very open, broad questions like this. Most things I have opinions about, I have multiple opinions, and different ones depending on the perspective and specific element in question. I'm much more likely to answer specific, bounded questions.

Q: Can I send you fanart? A: PLEASE. Askbox, tag me on bluesky, send it to my email! I love seeing every piece of it!

Q: Why do you never appear on camera? A: A forest witch cursed me to look not quite but ALMOST like Paul Giamatti in all photos and videos ever taken of me, and his laywers sent me a cease-and-desist.

Q: Are you gay/straight/bi/other? A: The decision I've made for myself, at least for this period of my life, is that privacy is precious, and once given up can never be reclaimed on the internet. I am open about being aromantic (not asexual), because it's a sometimes invisible and underdiscussed identity, and I know it would have helped me a lot to see someone speak about it when I was younger.

The rest of it is for me to know, and for you to speculate about, although preferably somewhere I can't see it. I accept that this is a part of being a Personality, but it still feels weird, y'know?

Q: Is it weird if I find your voice kinda hot? A: I've put a lot of work into developing this voice and making it nice to listen to, so that's not weird at all and I find it quite complimentary, thank you.

I generally don't mind people doing flirty/thirsty posting about or at me, just so long as we all understand that 1) you should never give a stranger like me information which could be used to harm you. Nicer-seeming YouTubers than me have turned out to be monsters.

And 2) it will never go beyond playful online flirtiness. I like to fluster my live chat, I'll flirt back in an ask or a post maybe, but I am not flirting with you, or inviting any kind of closer intimacy with you, the person I responded to.

Think of me like a comedian doing crowd-work at a show - you can chat to me in the bar after the show, but when I asked you what you do for work I wasn't looking for a personal connection, I was doing my work as an entertainer. Please no sending me nudes, or propositions, or confession letters in my email inbox. We are strangers, and I am always performing a persona in public.

[big-tiddy-bi]

Without ao3 I became inspired. Ok so being tired of the justice league not helping/believing brakes into the tower while a meeting is taking place to show one of the heroes what is happening I.E. you failed and don’t come here we don’t want you, we don’t need you. You come here and you will be treated as a super villain and dealt with as such.

—————

Danny was sick, tired and powerful. A dangerous combination for most peoples. Myths and legends written throughout every religion every people every and every world based on gods feeling those exact things, and that is the thing Danny closest too, not ghost, not human, but a god. Even if he does not himself as such.

Today was the justice league’s last chance, Walker had decided to change up his tactics. Instead of going after Danny directly he was going to play dirty. Imprisoning 300 living for ”harboring a fugitive”. The justice league was called, one last chance before thing got out of hand. 300 people held captive in another dimension should be a priority for a group called the justice league.

Their response “the justice league contact system should only be used for emergencies, pranks will not be tolerated”. a simple response. directed and to the point. A metaphorical death sentence for the justice league and the people of amity’s faith in them.

No one died, thank the ancients, but blood was spilled. Red and green fell to the floor like water from the large cuts on Danny’s arms and the side of his torso, he was mostly fine, a couple stitches, about a gallon of filtered ectoplasm and a trip to the nasty burger had fixed him up. Meaning that every time he tried to move his arms he felt like he was being stabbed and he could not breathe without pain, which in all fairness was kind of normal for him, it sucked but it was normal.

The real problem was the 300 people I’m the hospital, ecto contamination, not to the extent of being fatal but extremely painful. That could have been avoided if Danny had more help than just his team of 4 other teenage vigilantes and his adult sister.

So after that fiasco Danny did something, else, something more political, he mad deals. With permission from the most important people in town the ones who keeps everything running, IE Mr lancer and Jazz. He also got permission from the mayor, bribed with Danny going to a Green Bay packers game with him.

Johnny 13 and kitty could joy ride before 12 am and after 9am as long as property damage stays at a minimum, a couple smashed mailboxes, broken windows and spray painted cars/buildings paid for by the mayors office was better than bad luck to the entire town and people disappearing.

Skulked got to hunt Danny in a building made for that purpose, Spector-cameras installed in it so people could stream it live to “witness the greatest hunter of the ghost zone”.

Ember got to play her music and travel on tour as she pleased as long as she didn’t mind control people.

Some wouldn’t take the deals but most of the heavy hitters did, it calmed down a lot, but as they say it the calm before the storm.

With the viewers of the “ghost battles” (it was basically a game of extreme tag) and embers fans talking, the ghost situation became a known thing

And again the justice league responded. “we will be there in a month”

No apologies for not believing them no apologies for not helping, just a we are on our way 8 months after the incident and they were going to be there 9 months after. All the people where health again, Walker was punished, locked in his haunt for the next 100 years. The justice league has nothing to do. They have no point in coming to amity. Where they just going to show up, say “sorry for not helping you, welp peace” and then just leave.

Maybe that was the point, that though crossed Danny’s mind as he read the message out loud to his team. They didn’t have any to do, a vanity project, help the small community that they abandoned so that the people don’t go blabbing to the papers, a pr move.

Sam and Valerie had voiced the same opinions on what the justice league was doing. The rest of the team agreed after a short conversation.

This led to Tucker hacking the league computer system to find the next meeting date and we’re it would be held. “Unhackabal my ass” and a plan was made.

So here he is, invisible, intangible and floating above the justice league. Batman walked up to the podium and began to present.

“8 and a half months ago the league got a report of 300 people being kidnapped and sent to the ghost dimension, this was believed to be a prank and filled as such, we were wrong” he said while clicking through slides, some of medical reports of the victims, some of the photos taken of him helping people out of the portal next to the hospital he mad to help the victims faster. Then he said “ this is the city’s resident hero team” the next slide showing the picture of Danny, Sam , Wes, Valerie, tucker and jazz receiving the key to the city. 

“We one know of this misstep because of videos posted online of phantom pictured here” he pointed an Danny receiving the key, another picture of him helping a man to the hospital appeared “and here”

“Do we know who trained them they don’t look older than sixteen” Wonder Woman asked. Before batman could answer Danny revealed himself, though he made his skin slightly translucent to show his bones, it was all part of the plan.

He floated down to the floor and looked directly at her “we trained ourselves”

He turned to face the whole room. “ I am not here to fight you” he said as a couple of hero quickly moved from their seats. “ I came to warn you”

He took in a breath “ I came to warn you, stay out of amity and stay in your lane.” He put a small amount of his ghostly wale into his voice, just enough to shake up their hearts. “ we don’t need you. We don’t WANT you” he cold the room slowly a couple degrees a word. “ do not ask around for us ghosts, do not look for us, if you find one of us. RUN.” He dropped his voice louder as emphasis. “ if you find one of us causing trouble, send us a message, but otherwise don’t acknowledge us or amity, the dead have nothing to give to you” his eyes became fussy staring at nothing green tears fell out of his eyes,and his Lichtenberg scars began to glow Ice blue, but his voice did not waver,.“ you may not have killed us yourself but you signed our death warrant long ago, you have ignored us far to long” is voice soften at the last word.

Then his eyes turns red, as fast as he could he pulled Superman out of his chair and pushed him to the wall. Danny’s hand went intangible as he pushed in into Superman’s chest. His hand wrapped around Superman’s heart, Danny soften the intangibility so Superman could fell the hand but not get hurt. “I can rip your heart out without a single fight” his skin became entirely invisible to show his skeleton. “To all of amity” Superman’s breathing quickened “to me” he move close to Superman’s ear “you are villains, and will be treated as such” he dropped Superman to the floor.

“Stay in your domain and I’ll stay in mine” ice began to form at his feet, looking mor like crystals than ice. “Come to us with please of forgiveness is as pointless as asking of it from your god” ectoplasm dripped from his mouth onto the floor. “Do not come to amity” and with that he went invisible again and watched the room in amusement. He was kinda freaking out at how awesome he sounded.

A couple minutes of silence followed. As John Constantine entered the room, “what did I miss?”

———————-

Hope y’all like it <3 Sorry for spelling mistakes. I don’t think this need trigger warnings but if you think so please comment so I can add them. I started writing this and I couldn’t stop. If only I had that energy for the original story’s I want to write lol Have a nice day/night and drink some liquids that aren’t caffeinated and/or poisonous <3

[blackreaderfics]

Pinky Promises | Clark Kent x Reader

↳ Pairing : MAWS Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

↳ Rating :  PG

↳ Summary : childhood friends meet again under unlikely circumstances

↳ W.C : ~1.3k

↳ Tags: fluff, mild language, flashback, childhood friends, extrovert!reader x introvert!clark, reader giving manic pixie dream girl vibes, heat vision when excited/agitated/stressed, mixed in some MoS backstory 

“Give them back!” Clark swiped at the older boy who was now dangling his glasses high above his head. 

“Or what, four eyes?” His bully since the first day of middle school, Billy sneered. “I just wanna see ’em.”

Clark knew that wasn’t true. Every time Billy wanted to “see” something he’d just outright take it without giving it back. It started with his pencils, which was innocuous enough, until it moved on to the lunches his mom packed, and even his new sneakers at one point. 

Clark was okay with losing those things. He had plenty of pencils, and he was never really that hungry. He could try and fly home if worst came to worst too, but his glasses were the one thing he couldn’t give up to Billy.

The first time his heat vision had flared up, Billy had spilled his carton of milk in his lap on purpose, making it look like Clark had peed himself in front of half the school. He’d almost burned a hole into the school lunch table out of embarrassment. The second time happened on that same day, after school when he’d snapped at his mother for prying too much, singeing the doorframe. 

A few days later Martha Kent would give him a special pair of glasses that she’d made herself using the glass of the spaceship he landed in. And upon seeing her gift, he’d bury his face into his mother’s arms as an apology and a ‘thank you’.

“How the hell are you even seeing through these?” Billy inspected the glasses, all the while avoiding Clark’s reach. “They don’t even work. Just a piece of garbage.”

Clark could feel his anger rising and a prickling heat behind his eyes. Reflexively he squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled, tripping backward from Billy’s rough shove.

“What? You crying, loser?” He taunted. “Don’t worry I’ll take out the trash for you.” Billy wound up, preparing to throw the glasses like a baseball.

“Hey! Leave him alone you big bully!” 

Clark peeked his eyes open to see you barreling down the road wielding a baseball bat and already swinging wildly. 

Clark had heard about you offhandedly from his peers. You were like a Smallville Middle School urban legend mostly for your weird outfits and lack of filter. Unlike Clark, no one dared to bully you for fear of your unpredictable nature. Even Billy, big as he was, knew better than to stick around to test it.

“That’s right! You better run!” You shouted as Billy escaped. 

Clark blinked dumbly back at you, and even more dumbly when he felt his glasses being placed back on his face. Your face was close, and your mouth was moving but he could only hear the sound of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Your tugging him to his feet was what finally pulled him back to reality.

“—and if any one bothers you again they’re gonna have to go through me! And if I’m not there you better fight back and kick his butt, Clark!”

You held out a pinky, the look on your face leaving no room for Clark to refuse it. He linked his pinky with your own, marking the beginning of your friendship along with the unofficial beginning of Clark’s crush on you. The next day you would sit next to him at lunch, naturally, as if you had always been friends.

The Kents began to notice that their usually quiet son was visibly happier and becoming much more talkative. Imagine Martha Kent’s surprise when a phone call for Clark came into the house phone, and a female voice was on the other end.

Jonathan Kent would be equally surprised when he accidentally picked up the house phone and overheard Clark talking to you excitedly about his favorite book series. Needless to say, they would hint incessantly to Clark that he should invite his new “friend” over for dinner.

It wasn’t long before you were inseparable; and for all of middle school everywhere he was, you were not far off. Until one day you told him you were moving away, 100 miles away to be exact, to Metropolis.

You would pinky promise each other to keep in touch but as you both got busier and Clark discovered more about his own origins, the letters and phone calls became more sparse until communication stopped entirely.

10 years later

The one day you decided to get your hair done was the day some eldritch abomination decided to descend upon the city of Metropolis. 

You were used to it by now; you had your fair share of close calls. Most people would hole themselves up in their apartments and never come out with all the intermittent attacks lately, but you weren’t most people and in your opinion, living in fear was not living at all.

So when you found yourself falling to your death from a building, you accepted your fate and braced yourself for the inevitable impact. Only...it never came. You did feel your cheek resting against something hard though, and when you looked up at what seemed to break your fall, you found yourself face to face with the “Man of Steel” himself: Superman.

“Fear not, citizen. You’re safe now.” You could hear his deep voice rumble from his chest to your ear as he spoke.

When Clark finally got a good look at your face, it felt like he was back in Smallville again, back to the day you’d chased Billy off. Back to the moment your face had filled his vision entirely; All he could see was you. He almost blurted out your name out of surprise until he remembered he was supposed to be a hero now and not Clark Kent, the farm boy.

“You look…” You began but then trailed off as you stared at his face. You were breathless from everything; the fall, the chaos, and now the handsome man who made you feel safe in his arms. You couldn't quite place it, but he looked oddly familiar. “You look a lot like someone I know.” 

“I…get that a lot, Ma’am.” Clark tried to sound professional and not alarmed at the fact that there was a chance you’d recognize him. “Get to safety quickly.” He recovered the authority in his voice, but it was now clashing with his reddening face. When he set you down, you wondered why the charismatic superhero you’d seen on TV seemed much shyer in person.

“Well, I would but--” Your eyes both drifted to where he still had a protective arm circled around your waist, pulling you close to his body. Upon realizing he hadn’t let you go, he jerked his arm away to give an awkward salute. 

You gave him a curious look; He was so jumpy and…cute? Oh god, it was killing you. Where had you seen that face before?

A loud crash accompanied by a guttural roar from the 50-foot-tall monster in the background saved Clark from further embarrassment. “Well, uh, that’s my cue.” 

“Hey, Superman?” You suddenly spoke up as he turned around.

He paused to look back at you, mid-preparation for flight.

“Kick its fucking ass!”

And with that, he returned you a bashful smile with a thumbs up and took off into the air.

That night, after a long fight with the inter-dimensional threat, Clark had gotten a voicemail from his Mom saying that you had called her asking for his number. Not shortly after, his phone vibrated, an unknown number with a Metropolis area code filling the screen. It must’ve been you.

“Hey, it’s me, Y/N. Something reminded me of you today." His heart leaped. Ten years later and yet your voice still made his heart rate erratic; a form of muscle memory.

"I got your number from your Mom," You continued. "Do you…still remember that promise we made when we were kids? The day before I moved.” You talked to him like you’d never left. Like you were picking back up a conversation that began yesterday and not a decade ago.

How could Clark possibly forget? And what happened to ‘Hello, how are you?’ But being too embarrassed to say it out loud, he could only breathe out a shaky “Y-yea. I remember.”

On a warm summer day, you made rings out of dandelions and a half-joking pinky promise that you would marry each other someday. 

You were kids who didn’t know much about marriage or how it worked exactly, but you knew that’s what people did if they liked each other enough. And there was no doubt that you both liked each other because that pinky promise was the first and only one that had been sealed with a kiss.

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers

[mychlapci]

welcome to my tub of cum. please be weird about transformers.

minors should not follow me. seriously, this is a transformers birth fetish blog. if u have any age below 18 in your bio i will assume you don't actually mean to interact with a nsfw blog and block u.

asks are sometimes closed during the day, but they'll re-open in a few hours. if the ask button says "Just Chatting" it means we're open to chat, but keep your horny asks scarce.

ko-fi

twitter

AO3

tags, for filtering purposes:

#transformátori (general transformers tag) (terrible inside joke)

#valveplug (for the transformers sexy stuff)

#nasty (for other sexy stuff) (mostly gravity falls nsfw. if you wish to look for old gf stuff from before the purge, you're welcome to go through the tag)

#texty (new tag. for long asks, if you don’t want ’em randomly clogging your dash)

#boobdayforever (valveplug tag specifically for talking about robot titties)

#robotitties is for the reblogged art

#omo #unsanitary #wasteplay (for the piss stuff) for more visit @unsanitarystation

mostly standard trigger tags for kinks (like #gore/#robogore #noncon #dubcon #pregnancy mention #birth mention #free use #merformers etc. I try to tag but sometimes i miss things. you can always remind me) & #placenta talk #abortion talk #prolapse evening are a few honorary mentions

joke nsfw text is not tagged.

food is not tagged. i post breakfast pictures a lot.

[sleepingdeath-light]

wally smut hcs ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (17/06/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; sfw | nsfw

character(s) ; wally darling (standard vers)

outline ; “Can I get Wally x reader nsfw hcs?

I'm 22 btw (also yea props to clown for finding away to allow nsfw while also being able to avoid it if they want)”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, assumed human-accurate anatomy

note ; please block the ‘playfellowxxx’ tag if you don’t want to see any nsfw content for this fandom — it’s the tag created by clown for this exact purpose

additional note ; before anyone asks about it; i am using the main ‘x reader’ tags for this post because they are necessary for navigation/filtering as well as accurate to the content itself (it is x reader after all). blocking the ‘playfellowxxx’ tag will stop nsfw content (that’s tagged correctly) from popping up for anyone who doesn’t want to see it — i know this because this is how i got rid of o/c and other squicky fics in the x reader tags i follow lol. it’s also why i have a universal blog tag.

so, yeah, stay safe and block any tags you want to avoid.

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

very sexually inexperienced before you but he’s a quick learner and adapts well to your needs/desires in the bedroom based on your feedback and your reactions

leans more towards soft dominance — the sort that involves taking care of his partner rather than actively being domineering and aggressive

that being said he’s happy to top or bottom depending on your preference

i guess that makes him kind of a service top?

mostly prefers vanilla sex with the occasional dip into kinkier territory — but always makes use of a consent system so that you have every possible opportunity to back out (and so does he)

it’s probably an adapted version of the traffic light system

he’s pretty traditional in regards to positions and will usually default to missionary — but could probably be convinced to test out standing sex or riding

unlikely to initiate sex unless it’s established that you’re needy but too shy to initiate yourself

average to low libido, which means that most of your sexual encounters will be him getting you off before going back to whatever he was doing beforehand

related to the above point: his love language is acts of service which lends itself heavily to your sex life

not loud per say but he is vocal, quietly praising and encouraging you as he pleasures you — occasionally asking how you’re feeling, what you want and if he’s okay to touch you there

the terms he frequents the most are ‘beautiful’, ‘you’re doing so well’, ‘that’s it’ and ‘is this okay?’

also enjoys receiving praise and depending on your position he’ll either pause and fluster or he’ll beam and thank you for it — though either way his cheeks and ears and neck will be going from yellow to pinkish

big fan of more decorative scenes/kinks — of which he has many paintings hung around your second bedroom (which has become something of a makeshift playroom)

so things like: lingerie/leathers/latex/corsets, suspension, decorative bondage, etc.

prefers to use softer materials rather than rope to tie you up in the moment — but if you’re just modelling for a painting then he’ll relent and use the traditional rope and chains

also enjoys body worship — both giving and receiving

though if you’re especially soft and genuine in your appreciation for him and his body then this poor puppet is going to melt and become putty in your hands

king of aftercare and will make sure that you’re physically and mentally sound even if you only got as far as a messy makeout session

doesn’t like pushing you and is very aware of your limits, which means that overstimulation and the like are very unlikely to pop up

though accidents do happen and there have certainly been moments where he’s gotten a tad overzealous and overstimulated you to the point of tears — but he was incredibly apologetic and made sure to take care of you properly after the fact

not really the sort to use specific names in bed (like master, for example) because he’s the sort to value intimacy over kink — the furthest he might go is carrying through pet names from outside of the bedroom (‘love’, ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’)

not into traditional marking but gets terribly flustered if he notices that you’ve left lipstick stains on his body

would be up for painting you nude — be that portraying your body on a canvas or using your body as a canvas — as a type of foreplay (though he wouldn’t know how to ask howdy for body safe paints)

a lot more sexually sensitive than he lets on — particularly in regards to his chest and his inner thighs (but this would only ever come up if you convince him to let you take care of him as a treat)

[taleweaver-ramblings]

Someone who uses AO3 on the regular, explain a thing to me?

So, I started using AO3 over the summer (mostly for purposes of being able to read Honkai Star Rail fanfic, but that's beside the point), and I have amassed a fairly decent number of bookmarked fics, enough so that I need to find a way to organize them in order to make sure I can find things again.

I know that AO3 has a really good sort-and-filtering system, which I have used. However, sometimes I want to categorize and search for things that the established tags don't cover. (For example, I know how to ask AO3 to give me all the JiaoFei fics I've bookmarked, but I cannot ask AO3 to give me all the "Dan Heng gets the platonic/adopted parental affection he so desperately needs" fics I have bookmarked because there's not a tag or tag combo for that.)

There seem to be two possible ways I can solve this problem: either adding my own tags to a work or adding works to Collections. In my head, Collections seem like the better way to go, but I also have heard that adding an author's work to a collection can cause problems for the author???? But I also don't know what effect adding my own tags has on a work.

(I am aware there is a FAQ for AO3 stuff. I read it. It did not clarify my questions.)

If someone who knows what they're doing can help me out, I would appreciate it.

[hdra77]

Ok since this blog is kinda getting alot of attention i'll just make a pinned post about a little bit of myself

---- interested in commissioning me? my art commission page can be found here! i accept payment through ko-fi or paypal! feel free to dm to inquire or if you have questions! :D

!! DISCLAIMER !!

Btw please read this before following my blog!! There would be gore,body horror,dark themes and even some suggestive themes Sometimes but overall i do not post any explicit nsfw here !! (they can be filtered through tags but just putting this here as a heads up)

tags are usually: #cw body horror, #tw body horror #cw gore, #tw gore, #cw suggestive, #tw suggestive

Heyy! i'm Soren!

He/Him

You can call me zarou or dra

I am bilingual but im more comfortable speaking in english (still bad at it actually)

i really like cybercore,webcore,warcore aesthetic it may not look like it right now but expect a whole bunch of techcore designs soon

Oh and i am also a huge fan of astronomy,space and all of that sort. Along with post apocalyptic settings,body horror elements and eldritch beings.

Using my art as PFPs/Banners is okay! As long as you give proper credit! But reuploading my works without my permission or claiming them as your own is NOT okay. I will find you and i will hunt you down and turn you into a helpless flopping fish gasping for air.

Inspirations is ok too!! But please do not directly copy from the original work.

Commissions: open

Art trades: friends/mutuals only

my DNI are basically the general DNI: proshippers,homophobes,etc. you know, the general

my interest varies but i currently hyperfixtate on these fandoms so far:

Rainworld

Nine Sols

Marikinonline4

Animator vs Animation/Animation vs Minecraft

Warrior cats

My dms here are also open so feel free to send me a message! (No weird dms or you get instant block)

Im busy and i dont check discord as frequently but i would be happy to talk to you! I would also be glad to make friends im not intimidating i promise i dont bite totally-

My ask box are always open! Ask me anything basically, my aus, ocs, pretty much anything. You can also send some requests but they will take a gajillion years to finish but i promise ill get them done soon!

My socials:

Twitter - HINDRANCE77 (!! page contains some suggestive themes !!)

Youtube - HINDRANCE77

Tumblr - hdra77 (you are literally here right now)

Ko-fi - HINDRANCE77

My tags:

#hdra7shitposts - yes, shitposts

#fishdoesart - all my art comes here

#fishdoesdoodles - random doodles and some occasional shitposting, mostly on ms paint

#fishdoesrequests - all my art requests comes here, so far this is where you find my ship requests (still open for now btw)

#wips - wips

#fishbites.txt - ramblings

#othersart - gifts/fanarts! Sometimes some reblogs

#asks - all of my responses comes here

My other blogs:

@nyaworld-askblog - for the nyaworld au! this blog is story driven but asks for specific characters are always welcome!

@fallowclans-unruly-demise - for a warrior cats clangen blog, still stuck in hiatus void

My Rainworld AU tags:

#rw voided au - simple AU about iterators called voideds who drains void fluids out of other iterators, theres also some rot infection going on too

#rw disarray au/SYSTEM FAILURE - a virus in Lttm's code had created a fatal error in her system which caused her to slowly spiral into insanity as she would slowly loosen her grip onto reality, claiming that she had found the solution to their problem..but was it really the answer all along?

#rw nyaworld au - joke au about the entire rainworld cast taking place in the 2000's this one is purely just for nostalgia purposes

#into the sigverse - technically considered an au. this is just a silly little askblog about different versions of NSH interacting because for some reason they can now magically interact with different alternate universe versions of themselves. ocs being used to interact is allowed to!! anyone can use this tag however they please you don't have to send me asks to be a part of the sigverse

My Rainworld Oc tags:

#Sector7c - official oc local group tag!

#7c dystopian arbitrary

#7c golden life

#rw ocs

#ocs

-- still WIP --

[kmomof4]

A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 9

We made it, y'all!!!! These two idiots finally get their happy ending and I sooooo hope you enjoy and think the payoff is worth all the angst they've gone through to get here!! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me. There's really no words in the English language to express how much I appreciate it!!!

Thank you again to @jrob64 not only for her beta services, love, and encouragement, but also for talking me into writing the very last little bit of this fic and getting back on the doc this evening to look over some pretty extensive edits I decided to do at the 11th hour and 59th min!! Thank you so much again, babe!!! Also thank you to @snowbellewells and @motherkatereloyshipper for the artwork they both made to accompany the fic! I love the pieces and Y'ALL SOOOO MUCH!!!

There is one more full smut scene in this chapter. If you wish to avoid it, stop reading at the double scene change line and resume at the next double scene change line.

~*~*~

~*~*~

Words: 7500 of almost 60k

Rating: M (Smut)

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Six years. 

Six years!

Six years he’d kept his feelings hidden from her. For six years his overarching purpose, coloring everything he did, was to keep her from finding out. To keep her ignorant of the depth of feeling inside him - the love, the total and complete devotion, the guilty turmoil, the utter despairing agony of knowing she’d never be his.

All gone in a matter of moments. He’d always prided himself on his iron control - keeping his passion for her deeply buried, never to see the light of day. But in a moment of weakness, he’d pulled his own heart out of his body and presented it to her on a silver platter. 

Hers to make bleed. 

Hers to shatter. 

Hers to destroy. 

And she had done it.

~*~*~

He had no knowledge of how much time passed. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. He sat in the chair across from her bed, staring out into the night, his fingernails carving half moons in his palms.

He was suddenly aware of her standing shivering in the doorway. She was mostly dry now, but it was obvious she’d been caught in a storm. He wasn’t even aware it had rained. Her hair was still plastered to her face and hung disheveled down her back, splatters of mud on her dress. He lifted a single eyebrow in silent enquiry.

“I’ll marry you, Killian,” she said, her voice so soft he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. 

“What?” he asked.

She took a deep, trembling breath. “I’ll marry you, Killian,” she said, stronger that time. “If you’ll have me.”

He was frozen in his chair. He couldn’t move if he wanted to, his heart too weary - and wary - to do anything.

“Why?”

She looked shocked for a moment. Perhaps she imagined that he’d come to her, full of joy and purpose, take her in his arms, and accept her agreement in the most ancient and primitive way possible. But he couldn’t. Not yet. She had to be sure. He had to be sure she was sure.

“I don’t know.”

“Really,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

A small gasp escaped her lips. “I don’t know,” she said, a bit more urgently. “Please don’t make me figure it out.” He could see her swallow from where he sat. “Not yet,” she whispered.

He rose and took one step toward her. “You can’t take it back.”

She shook her head.

“There will be no backing out. No cold feet. No changed mind,” he continued. 

“No,” she agreed. “I promise.”

Only then did he believe her. Emma never went against her given word. He was across the room in a moment, cupping her face tenderly in his hands, raining kisses across her brow, her cheeks, down her jaw, her neck. 

She raised her chin, granting him more access, her arms winding around him, pulling him forward..

“This is it. Do you understand?” he murmured into the skin of her neck before his lips latched onto her pulse point and he sucked heat to the surface. She nodded jerkily, her moan of pleasure going straight to his rapidly hardening cock.

“Yes,” she gasped, gripping his arms tightly. “Oh, yes, Killian.”

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her to him tightly, so she could feel how ready he was for her. He pulled the neck of her dress until her breasts were exposed to his sight, and then let the dress fall to the floor.

“I’m going to take you to bed and keep you there for however long it takes for you to conceive,” he rasped. 

She was beyond speech, only nodding as he continued his litany.

“Give you everything you desire.”

She nodded again.

“And you’ll enjoy it,” he growled.

“Yes. Oh, yes,” she moaned, as he laved his tongue over her breasts, then down her torso, until he was kneeling at her feet.

“You are mine,” he said, looking up at her, “As I am yours.” Her gaze on him was hazy with passion, but clear in their intent.

“Yes, Killian,” she breathed. “I am yours. And you are mine.”

~*~*~

The most difficult thing about marrying Killian was telling everyone she was marrying Killian. 

Emma sat at the desk in her study staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her trying to think of the words to put to paper. She couldn’t think of a blasted thing. 

It was too sudden. Too unexpected. If she didn’t fully understand why she was doing it, how was she supposed to explain it to anyone else?

Somehow - amid all the turmoil, avoidance, and actual, physical running from Killian - Emma knew this was right. Declarations of love aside, she wanted to be his wife. She found the acknowledgement settled her nerves and swirling thoughts, and she put pen to paper, the words to her mother finally flowing freely.

She’d just finished the letter when Killian came in, carrying the post.

“From your mother,” he said, handing her a small cream colored envelope.

It was thick. Emma opened it and began to read, her jaw dropping when she got past Ruth’s rather loquacious opening.

“What is it?” Killian asked.

“Oh, my goodness,” Emma breathed, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes round in surprise.

“Is anything amiss?” he asked again. “Emma?”

“Ruby’s gotten married.”

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Your sister?”

Emma nodded, still reading the missive in front of her.

“I wasn’t aware she was being courted.”

“She wasn’t.” She couldn’t disguise the shock she felt as her eyes continued to scan her mother’s words telling the whole story of a year long secret correspondence between her sister and a Lord Humbert of Gloucestershire. And now her sister was married and no one had seen fit to share that information with her until after the fact. “I can’t believe no one told me!”

“Well, Emma,” Killian began, “you have been in Scotland.”

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line and speared Killian with a look. He shrugged.

“It’s like I don’t even exist,” she bemoaned. Killian chuckled, truly amused now. She sent him her most ferocious glare. “Oh, yes!” she said, with great dramatic flair. “Emma! Has anyone told Emma about the happenings here in London? No? Well, perhaps we should!”

“Emma,” he cajoled, “don’t be daft.”

“I’m not being daft. I’m being ignored.”

“I thought you rather liked being so far removed from the rest of your relations.”

“Well, yes,” she said grumpily, “but that’s beside the point.”

“Of course,” he murmured. She glared at him, fully aware he was being sarcastic. “I have to admire any man who gets the deed done with such swiftness.”

“Killian!”

“I did.” The smug grin he sent her was positively lecherous.

She cut her eyes at him, suppressing the twitch at the corner of her lips. “I haven’t married you yet.”

“The deed I was referring to wasn’t marriage.” His fingers found the top of her hand where it rested on the desk and he began to lightly stroke back and forth across the skin.

Emma blushed. “Stop it,” she said, jerking her hand away. “This isn’t the time.”

Killian sighed. “And so it begins.”

“What begins?” she asked, looking at him fully as he moved to the chair across the room.

“We’re not even wed yet, and already we’re an old married couple.”

Emma rolled her eyes and turned back to the letter still in her hand. They did sound like an old married couple, not that she wanted to give him the satisfaction of hearing her agreement from her own lips. It must be because of their long standing relationship. He wasn’t just her fiancé, he was her best friend. And had been for years. 

Who would have thought that she’d marry her best friend?

Surely that was a good omen. She looked back at Killian to see him studying her intently.

“What?” she asked.

“Let’s get married.”

“Aren’t we?” she asked, drawing it out as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

“No,” he said, then shaking his head. “I mean, yes. But no, let’s do it today!” 

“Are you mad?” she asked, incredulously.

“Of course not,” he assured her, excitedly. “Let's do it. Today. We’re in Scotland. We don’t need banns.” He knelt before her, his blue eyes pleading with her to agree. “Let’s do it, Emma. Let’s be mad. Brash. Daring.”

“No one will believe it!”

“No one will believe it anyway.” He had a point there. He rose to his feet and took her by the hand. “Come marry me, Emma.”

“Killian…” She didn’t know why she was dragging her feet, other than for appearances sake. Such haste was rather unseemly after all.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do you want a big lavish ceremony?”

“No,” she answered, quickly and completely honestly. She’d done that already. It didn’t seem appropriate to do it again for her second wedding.

He leaned in, his warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Are you willing to risk an eight month baby?”

“Killian…”

“Come, let’s give our child a respectable nine month gestation,” he cajoled, running his nose up and down the line of her neck.

She could hardly think straight when he did that. “Killian,” she said, pushing him back just enough so she could look in his eyes. “You must be aware that I may not - I probably won’t - conceive. It took two years with Liam.”

“I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?” The look she sent him was extremely dubious. “I think you do. You’ve mentioned it several times.” She was afraid of his response. But she couldn’t proceed, not without a clear conscience in this matter.

“Emma,” he began, looking straight into her eyes. The suave seducer was gone, replaced with a sincerity she’d rarely seen in him. “You want a baby. I love you and want you to marry me. So I want to give you the child you desire,” he assured her. He pressed himself against her, his warmth and strength enveloping her and Emma felt her knees give out. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re barren. Which I certainly hope is not the case. I would…” He paused, looking down at their clasped hands for a moment, his other hand moving to the flatness of her stomach. “I would love to see you grow round with my child.” He looked into her eyes again and she felt her own eyes fill with tears. “But if fate deals us another hand, all I want, all I need, is you.” He pulled her close against himself again. “Come, Emma. Marry me.”

Emma’s heart melted at his words. She couldn’t refuse him. “Yes, Killlian,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I’ll marry you today.”

The joy that filled his eyes at her words quickly turned to mischief. His hand left her torso and crept under her dress, moving steadily higher, drawing circles on the inside of her thigh.

His fingers found her moist heat and her knees buckled a second time. “Yes, oh, yesssss! Killian!” she exclaimed.

After only a few strokes, he suddenly withdrew his hand from under her skirt - a thoroughly indecent moan escaping her lips - but still held her close. It was a good thing. She’d likely collapse at his feet if he moved away from her. His eyes blazed blue fire, and she held onto him with all the strength she possessed.

He looked down at her, looking every inch the suave, debonair earl - a sly, mischievous, seductive smile on his lips. Meanwhile, she likely resembled a banshee.

“If you’re going to finish, you’ll do it as Countess Kilmartin,” he informed her.

“I am Countess Kilmartin!” she cried, indignant.

“You’ll do it as my Countess Kilmartin,” he corrected himself. He smirked at her, waiting for her response. When she didn’t, he continued. “Shall I get your coat?”

She nodded.

“Will you stay here, or accompany me to the hall?”

“I’ll come with you to the hall,” she ground out. His smirk grew wider.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he said as he took her hand and looped it around his arm.

“Just get my coat, damn you,” she murmured under her breath, but he heard her clearly and chuckled, making her irritation with him melt away. He was a rogue and a scoundrel, but he was her rogue and scoundrel and she knew he possessed a heart as true and as honorable as any man she’d ever met. 

She couldn’t wait to be his wife.

~*~*~

Several hours later, Killian stood in front of the door connecting his and Emma’s bedchambers, clad in nothing but a burgundy robe. He couldn’t help but be pleased by the day’s turn of events. Even if he couldn’t quite believe he was here. 

Married to Emma.

She was his wife.

Thank you, Lord Humbert, he thought, for marrying Ruby.

He doubted Emma would have agreed to marry him today if Ruby hadn’t already gotten married off without her knowledge. 

It might have been his goal for weeks, but it wasn’t until he slipped the ancient gold band on Emma’s finger that he had really believed it.

She was his. 

Until death did they part.

“Thank you, Liam,” he murmured. Not for dying. Never for that. But for releasing him of the guilt. He still wasn’t sure what brought it about, but the night after they’d made love in the gardener’s cottage, Killian knew, in his heart of hearts, that Liam would have approved. Liam would have given his blessing and in his more hopeful moods, he rather thought that if Liam had been the one to choose a new husband for Emma, his brother would have chosen him.

Now he was here, facing the door between the earl’s and countess’ bedchambers. And he had every right to be here. 

It was strange. In London, they hadn’t bothered with appearances. They’d both slept in their respective rooms, making sure the door between them stayed firmly locked. But here at Kilmartin, he’d only moved into the earl’s bedchambers today. When Emma had rebuffed his first proposal, he’d made a show of occupying the room furthest from her, no matter that one or the other of them had been sneaking back and forth the entire time. At least they had the appearance of respectability.

But now, that could all be put aside. He reached for the knob but didn’t grasp it just yet. There was something about this moment - on the threshold of his marriage - that demanded reverence. Savoring.

The only thing that might have made it better was if she’d told him she loved him. It was but a small shadow over the joy in his heart. He would never have her say words that weren’t true because she might feel that she somehow owed him. Even if she never loved him the way he loved her, he knew she cared for him far more than most women of the ton did for their husbands. She loved him dearly as a friend, and if something were to happen to him, he knew she would mourn him with her whole heart.

He really couldn’t ask for more.

He might want more, but he already had so much more than he’d ever believed he would have.

Would it feel different now? Would she feel different in his arms as his wife rather than his lover? When he looked upon her face in the morning, would he think she was more breathtakingly beautiful than he had yesterday? When he saw her across a crowded room…

He shook his head. His love for her was making him a sentimental fool. His heart had always skipped a beat when he saw her across a crowded room. Any more than that and the poor organ probably would have crumbled to ash.

He grasped the knob and pushed open the door.

“Emma?”

She stood by the window in a nightgown of forest green silk. The cut was modest, but the material clung to her curves and for a moment, Killian couldn’t breathe.

She turned to him, a soft but somewhat hesitant smile on her face. Not nervous, exactly, but it was clear to him that she was also aware of the difference they now faced.

“We did it,” he said softly, unable to keep the joyful smile off his face.

“I still can’t believe it.”

“Nor can I,” he agreed, reaching her and stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But it’s true.”

She grasped his wrist, her eyes fluttering shut. “I…” She shook her head.

“What is it, Emma?”

“It’s… nothing,” she assured him. “Forget it.”

He lifted her chin with his fingers as her eyes opened again until their gazes met. “It’s not nothing, Emma. When it’s you, and when it’s me, it’s never nothing.”

She still grasped his wrist and took a deep breath before speaking. “I… just wanted to say…”

Was it possible? Killian held his breath and waited.

“I’m very glad I married you,” she said, her eyes meeting his again. “It was the right thing to do.”

He exhaled roughly, trying to tamp down his disappointment, hoping she didn’t see it in his eyes. It was more than he ever thought he’d hear from her, but so much less than what he hoped for.

But even still, she was here. In his arms. And that had to count for something.

“I’m glad too,” he whispered before capturing her lips with his own.

It was different. She was his and he was hers. And it was a feeling that spread from his rapidly beating heart to the top of his head and the ends of his fingers and toes. His love for her was all encompassing, consuming him from the inside out. 

“I love you,” he whispered into her throat as he left the sweetness of her lips behind to taste the saltiness of her skin. There was no reason to keep the words to himself now, he realized. She’d already heard them from his lips, and even if she wasn’t inclined to say the same, he couldn’t keep the words inside him any longer.

His hands pushed the gown she wore over her shoulders, until it cascaded in a silken heap to the floor. He followed it until he was on his knees before her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his face buried in the flatness of her belly.

Her hands stroked his shoulders through his dressing gown then wove into the strands of his hair. He pulled back slightly and looked up, meeting her blown pupils, with only a thin ring of green surrounding them, just barely discernible in the low light of the lamps.

“Emma,” he breathed. He had no idea why he had to say her name right now, at this moment. But he did. She was everything. Her name. Her body. Her soul. Nothing was more important. He could stay right here, on his knees before her, until his dying day. And he somehow had to show her that. 

“Emma.”

“Killian,” she said softly. “Make love to me.” 

He rose to his feet, peppering soft and gentle kisses along the way. He lifted her in his arms, a delighted giggle bursting from her, and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, the mattress embracing them as they embraced each other.

Emma reached for the sash that held his dressing gown closed, her fingers trembling with need. When the knot wouldn’t cooperate, Killian chuckled and stopped his ministrations to assist her.

She pushed the robe from his body and buried her fingers in the hair of his chest. This wasn’t the first time she’d touched him this way, but it felt different now as his wife. It was no longer forbidden pleasure - stolen moments like a child sneaking a treat - but her right and privilege to physically enjoy her husband.

She sighed in satisfaction, his name a whisper on her breath.

“Killian.”

“Hmmm?” he murmured into her skin, never halting the sweet and tender kisses he was pressing to every inch of skin he could reach. She sank into the mattress. She sank into the pleasure of the delectable things he was doing to her. Whatever it was she wanted to say, floated away as if it had never been there, and she could only moan as Killian found a particularly sensitive spot on the inside of her elbow. 

He continued down her arm, his tongue tracing the veins under her skin, his teeth nipping at her wrist before kissing the center of her palm and sucking each finger into the warm cavern of his mouth, his tongue swirling around each tip before releasing it.

She was on fire, and yet it didn’t blaze out of control. It was a glowing pile of well-banked coals, radiating heat throughout her body. 

She felt cherished. Worshiped. Completely loved. 

And she melted for him.

“Killian, please,” she whispered, writhing beneath him.

“As you wish, my love.” 

~*~*~

~*~*~

She opened her eyes to see him hovering above her, his eyes fixed on hers. The blue almost completely swallowed by his black pupils. She wrapped her legs around him and urged him closer to where she desperately needed him, gasping when he finally entered her.

He moved slowly, needing to savor making love to Emma for the first time as his wife. He never thought he’d have this and the sacred moment of making them one demanded a slow, reverent acknowledgement of the gift that she was. The gift he had never believed would be his.

“Emma… Emma…” he moaned. “I have… I have to…”

“Yes, Killian, please,” she said, her words unsteady, lifting her hips, drawing him in deeper until she didn’t know where he ended and she began.

He withdrew slowly and plunged back into her, making her gasp. Again and again he withdrew, pushing her higher and higher until a cascade of pleasure overcame her, rainbow prisms of light exploding behind her closed eyelids, leaving her shaking in his arms, unable to contain the long, low moan of ecstasy pouring from her lips.

His movements became more frenzied and he cried out her name as he climaxed, a prayer and benediction all in one. He collapsed on top of her and it took a few moments for him to move, but when he tried to roll off of her - afraid of crushing her with his weight - she held him tightly to her.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.” It wouldn’t be long before he would have to move in order for her to breathe, but just now, she needed his solidness on top of her to keep her from drifting away. This was a sacred moment between them. This joining together as husband and wife, and she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to that just yet.

He acquiesced to her request for a few moments before he softened and slipped out of her. He settled himself on his side behind her and drew her into his arms until she was lined up to him like a nested spoon. His warmth cocooned her and she drifted off, feeling safe, content, and loved. So loved.

~*~*~

~*~*~

“You look terrible,” she commented two weeks later, as she sat down to breakfast with her husband.

“And good morning to you, too,” Killian returned drily, before turning his attention back to his food.

“I’m not joking,” she said, her brow furrowing in concern. “You look pasty, and you’re not sitting up straight. You need to go back to bed.”

He coughed. And coughed again, the second one wracking his body. “I’m fine.” But his words came out on a wheeze.

“You’re not fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Married a fortnight and already…”

“If you didn’t want a nagging wife, then you shouldn’t have married me,” Emma interrupted him.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, picking up the Times and proceeding to ignore her.

Very well, she thought. Two can play at that game. She picked up a muffin and tucked into her morning meal.

Until he coughed again.

She cut her eyes to him, but didn’t say anything.

The next time a spasm overtook him, he turned away from her and bent over the arm of his chair just a bit.

“Kil…”

He shot her a ferocious glare of such intensity, she immediately closed her mouth.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he cocked his head in a condescending manner, only for the effect to be ruined with another wracking cough.

“That’s it,” she said, throwing her napkin down on the table. “You are sick, Killian. And you are going back to bed. Now.”

She rose to her feet and grabbed his arm where it rested on the table. He was too weak to resist her and her concern instantly turned to alarm. She called for Smee, who hurried in and, taking immediate stock of the situation, positioned himself on the other side of Killian to help him to his feet.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he gasped, as they led him from the room. “And you’re wrong.”

“Mmhmmm,” she humored him. “And how do you know what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“Open book, darling,” he replied, leaning more on her and sending her heart into overdrive. “It’s not malaria.” His voice was low, almost too low to make out, but somehow she knew exactly what he said.

“And you know this how?” she asked again.

“I just do.”

“Mmhmmm.”

They got him into his chamber, undressed, and into the bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Emma sat in the plush chair at his bedside, never taking her eyes off of him. It had only been two months since his last attack. And since the previous had been six months before that, did that mean the disease was winning? Emma felt tears fill her eyes. She couldn’t lose him the way she lost Liam. She couldn’t.

~*~*~

Ten hours later, Emma was terrified. Killian’s fever raged, and while he wasn’t flailing, delirious, or incoherent, it was clear that he was very, very ill. During his moments of consciousness, he kept insisting it wasn’t malaria. It didn’t feel like malaria. It was probably just a cold. A very bad cold, he’d finally allowed.

He slept now, snoring lightly, which he insisted he did whenever he was congested, but which she hadn’t been married to him long enough to experience first hand.

She reached out and touched his forehead, and while it was hot, it wasn’t the burning she remembered from his last attack. His lips looked dry, so she spooned some tepid tea into his mouth, hoping the reflex would kick in for him to swallow it while still asleep.

Instead, he choked, spitting it all out. At least there wasn’t enough to drench the bedclothes, she thought.

“What the devil are you trying to do?” he sputtered.

“I was trying to give you something to drink!” she replied, indignant. “You looked thirsty.”

“If I’m thirsty, I will tell you,” he grumbled.

She sat down, staring at him petulantly as he squirmed around, punching his pillows, trying to get comfortable. 

“It’s not like I have much experience nursing,” she said, once he was settled. He grunted in reply. She raised her eyebrows at him, never looking away, even as he studiously kept his eyes away from her. “You wouldn’t be thirsty now, would you?” she asked, mildly.

“Perhaps just a bit,” he ground out.

She handed him the cup of tea and he downed it in a single swallow.

“Would you like another cup?”

He shook his head. “If I do, I shall have to p…” he cut himself off and cleared his throat, impatiently. “Sorry,” he apologized.

She waved his words away. “I have three brothers,” she reminded him. “Would you like me to fetch you the chamber pot?”

“I can do it myself,” he grumbled.

She shut her mouth. There was no use arguing with him when he was like this. He’d figure it out soon enough when he stood from the bed and collapsed right back into it.

“You’re quite feverish,” she said softly.

“It’s not malaria,” he said.

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You were thinking it.”

She sighed and took a deep breath. “What happens if it is malaria?”

“It isn’t,” he insisted.

“But what if it is?” She wouldn’t be deterred on this. She had to have an answer.

He turned toward her and looked her straight in the eye. “It. Isn’t,” he growled, through clenched teeth. He held her gaze for several seconds and then laid down and turned away from her.

She had her answer.

She rose to her feet so quickly, all the blood rushed from her head, making her sway for a moment.

“I’m going for a walk,” she informed him when she was more steady. “Just until the sun sets. I’ll be back soon.” 

He didn’t speak, but shrugged his shoulders under the covers.

She ran.

~*~*~

The air was misty, the clouds threatening rain, so she headed toward the gazebo. It was open to the elements, but the roof would keep her at least somewhat dry if the sky did decide to open up.

By the time she got there, she could hardly breathe. Not from the exertion, but from struggling to keep her tears at bay. Once she was safely contained inside, she stopped trying.

Each sob was huge. Gasping. Coming from the depths of her lungs. From her very being.

Killian might be dying. 

For all she knew, he was dying. And she’d be a widow twice over.

It’d nearly killed her before. She didn’t think she could survive it a second time.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair! She couldn’t lose her second husband when so many women of the ton got to hold onto the same one for a lifetime. And they didn’t even love their husbands the way she did.

Emma’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

She loved him. 

Killian? 

She loved Killian?

She closed her eyes - picturing his eyes, his face, his smile. Remembering his kiss, the way he touched her.

And she suddenly realized why everything felt so different between them. It wasn’t the fact that they were married, as she’d originally thought. It wasn’t because he was her husband, that she wore his ring on her finger.

It was because she loved him.

This thing between them wasn’t just passion. And it wasn’t wicked or forbidden. 

It was love. 

And it was glorious.

She loved Killian, not as a friend, but as her husband and her lover. She loved him with the same strength and intensity that she’d loved Liam. It was different, of course. They were different men. But the love she had for him was the love of a woman for a man and by God, she did not want him to die.

She rose to her feet and walked to the edge of the gazebo, looking up at the sky.

“You can’t do this to me!” she yelled. A fat drop of rain fell and landed on the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, no, You don’t!” she cried. Three more drops in quick succession. “Damn,” she whispered, wiping away the moisture on her face. “Sorry,” she mumbled at the sky again. She sat back down as the rain poured. Perhaps she’d let the rain disguise her own tears as well.

~*~*~

Killian opened his eyes, surprised to see that it was morning. His drapes were still firmly shut against the light, but there was a definite brightness on the rug below the window that could only be the sun. He must have been really tired.

He tried to sit up, but flopped back immediately, absolutely no strength in him to do so. Damn, he felt like death. Not the greatest comparison under the circumstances. But he could think of nothing else that really captured the ache through his entire body. The thought of sitting up was enough to make him groan in misery.

He touched his forehead, but couldn’t tell if he was still feverish. He just knew that he was covered in sweat and desperately needed a bath.

A soft sound at the door drew his attention. Emma came through carrying a tray with a small bowl and cup of tea. She wore no shoes on her feet, obviously trying to not disturb him, but when she came to the bed, she finally looked up to see him staring at her.

“Killian! You’re awake.”

He nodded. “What time is it?”

“Half eight. Not terribly late, really, except that you’ve been asleep since before the supper hour last night. How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”

“Like hell, and no. Thank you.” He didn’t mean to be short with her, but he really didn’t have the energy to engage in any meaningful conversation at the moment.

She smiled gently at him. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Please.”

She picked up the bowl from the tray and brought it to his lips. He sipped slowly, the lukewarm broth sliding down his throat. He nodded after a few swallows and lay back on the pillows.

“Do you have a fever?” she asked, her eyes filled with trepidation, as if she wanted his answer, but was afraid to hear it.

He tried to summon his devil-may-care smile, but failed miserably. “I’ve no clue.”

She reached out and touched the skin of his forehead. She jerked away quickly and leaned forward to press her lips to the skin she’d just touched.

“Emma?” he asked.

“You’re hot,” she breathed, her eyes wide in wonder. “You’re hot, Killian! You still have a fever!”

He could do nothing but blink at her.

“Don’t you see?” she asked, excitedly, “If you still have a fever, then it can’t be malaria!”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. And when they did, he almost didn’t believe it. But she was right! The malarial fevers always disappeared by morning. He may have insisted to her yesterday that it wasn’t malaria, but in truth, he hadn’t been so sure.

“It’s not malaria,” he breathed.

“You’re not going to die,” she whispered.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Did you really think I would? If there’s one thing I’m good at, Emma, it’s surviving.”

Her face fell in exasperation as she grabbed a napkin off the tray, dabbing at her eyes with it.

“Oh, you are such a man,” she said with a scowl.

He could do nothing but raise his eyebrows at that.

“You should know…” She broke herself off, shaking her head. “No. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.” She moved quickly toward the door. “I have to do something. I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

And she was gone, shutting the door behind her.

~*~*~

A quarter of an hour later, Killian was feeling remarkably better. Not well by any stretch of the imagination, but strong enough to get out of bed and call for Smee to have someone change the sheets of the bed. 

He sat in the leather chair near his bed and looked out the window as he waited. Across the lawn, he could see Emma, bundled up in her coat and carrying something in her hand, but she was too far away for him to see exactly what it was.

When Smee arrived and he asked if he knew where Lady Kilmartin was going, he blessed the efficiency of the servants' gossip chain.

“She did not share with me where she was going, Sir, but she did ask the gardener for a clutch of peonies.”

Peonies. Liam’s favorite flower. They’d been the centerpiece of her wedding bouquet. It was almost appalling that he still remembered that all these years later, but though he’d gotten completely and blindingly drunk after Liam and Emma had left the party, he remembered the ceremony itself in excruciating detail.

He knew where Emma was going.

He’d been there only once since returning to Kilmartin. He’d gone alone, after that stunning revelation in his bedchamber when he suddenly realized Liam would have wanted him to marry Emma. He could almost imagine his brother sitting up there getting a good laugh out of the whole kerfuffle.

Did Emma realize…? Or was she still riddled with guilt?

He rose from his chair. He knew guilt. How it ate at your heart, tore at your soul. He knew the pain. How it sat like stones in one's belly. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But especially not on Emma.

She might not love him, she might not ever love him. But she was happier now than she was before they married, he’d bet his life on it. 

Liam would have wanted her to be happy, to love again and to be loved, and Killian would be damned if she felt any shame or guilt over that happiness. He pulled clothes out of his dresser. He had to go to her. It might half kill him to get to the churchyard, but he had to make sure she knew she was free to be happy.

He could live without her love, but he couldn’t live without her happiness.

~*~*~

Emma sat down on the small blanket she’d brought, the green and gold of the Jones plaid making her smile wistfully.

“Hello, Liam,” she said, carefully arranging the peonies at the bottom of Liam’s headstone. She took a deep breath and looked over the fence surrounding the small graveyard. Liam’s grave was a simple affair, but that was what he would have wanted. Here in the corner of the churchyard, closest to his beloved Kilmartin, his favorite place in the world. So that’s what she’d given him.

“It’s been raining for weeks,” she said softly. “I’m glad to finally see the sun. I know you wouldn’t have minded, but I’ve missed it.” She paused for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. “I… I had a reason for coming here today, Liam. And now it comes to it, I’m having difficulty getting the words out. Something’s happened… I’m not quite sure how it happened…” She looked up to the sky, looking for some divine sign, but there was nothing. Nothing but the gentle breeze. “Maybe I shouldn’t have felt it at all. I don’t know. Or maybe I should have and I just thought I shouldn’t. But either way, it happened…” She chuckled lightly. “I suppose you might have guessed what happened. And who it happened with… Can you imagine?”

And then something truly extraordinary happened. It might have been accompanied by an earthquake of epic proportions, but instead, it felt like something settled inside her. Like the puzzle piece that would complete her, slipping into place for the first time.

She knew, she truly knew, that Liam wouldn’t have only imagined it, he would have wanted it. 

He would have wanted her to marry Killian. 

He would have wanted her to marry anyone she fell in love with, but she thought he’d be rather pleased that it was with Killian.

They were his two favorite people in the world, herself and his brother, and Liam would know they would love and cherish each other. They’d make each other happy.

“I love him, Liam,” she breathed, realizing it was the first time she’d said it out loud. “I love him so much.” Tears filled her eyes and she reached out, running her fingers along the headstone. “I never thought… I truly didn’t think I’d ever fall in love again. How could I? I loved you! I still love you! And finding a love like that again… it was impossible to imagine!” A soft smile touched her lips. “But it did happen. And it happened with Killian. I love him so much, Liam. And I can’t live without him. Thinking that he might be dying… I couldn’t bear it and I knew it was because I love him and I needed you to know. I needed to tell you…” 

A sound from behind her made her turn, but before her eyes landed on him, she knew who was there. She could feel him.

“Killian,” she breathed. He was pale, and weak, and leaning against a tree for support, but to her, he looked perfect.

“Emma.”

She rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. “Did you hear me?”

“I love you,” he said hoarsely, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“But did you hear me?” she asked again.

He nodded.

The distance between them disappeared. His arms wrapped around her and she buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking his shirt, but she couldn’t care less. She only needed his warmth enveloping her.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she repeated through her tears. She looked up at him to see the tears swimming in his cerulean gaze, a single one tracking down his cheek.

“I have no idea what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, stroking her cheek.

She laughed, just a short giggle, but full of joy nonetheless. “You didn’t have to do anything. You simply had to be.”

He took her hands in his and kissed the center of each palm. He’d tried so hard to convince himself that he didn’t need her love, that having her as his wife was enough, but now that she’d said it, now that she felt it, he knew better.

He couldn’t live without her. 

This was bliss.

This was heaven.

This was love. True Love.

“For the rest of my life,” he vowed. “I will love you. I will fight for you. I will cherish you. To the end of the world, or time.”

She nodded. “Let’s go home.”

And as he looked back at Liam’s grave, he imagined he could see his brother, a smile on his face, his hand raised in blessing.

Killian nodded and allowed his wife to lead him home.

~*~*~

One Year Later

Ruth Nolan sat in her drawing room, working on a piece of embroidery, her face lifting every few minutes to look out the front windows of Number 5. It seemed like forever before she could see the Kilmartin carriage turning onto Bruton St.

She laid her project aside and rose quickly, calling for the butler. Opening the front door, she hurried down the steps to greet her… She came to a halt halfway down, fully realizing that this was the first time since Emma and Killian had returned to Scotland a year ago after Will and Belle were married that she’d seen them, and that Killian was no longer Emma’s brother-in-law, but her husband. And that made Killian her son. 

In-law. 

He stood on the curb outside the carriage, holding his hand toward the door. Ruth continued down the steps and he turned his handsome face toward her, mischief in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

“Killian,” she beamed proudly, so happy to see him. He took her outstretched hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. She clucked her tongue at him in annoyance and embraced him instead. 

“Ruth,” he said, a note of chastisement in his voice.

“Ah, ah, ah. You are my son now,” she interrupted smoothly, “whom I haven’t seen in a year, and I will greet you as I would any of my other sons.”

His smile widened and became genuine as she released him. “Very well,” he agreed before turning to the door of the carriage again.

From within, Ruth could hear a familiar sound, though it had been quite some time since she’d heard it in person. Soft cooing followed by a gurgle. 

Ruth’s jaw dropped open as she turned stunned and disbelieving eyes on Killian.

“Ruth, may I present, Lady Kilmartin and our son, William Killian Martin Robert Jones.” Emma appeared in the door of the carriage and took Killian’s hand, her opposite arm filled with a precious bundle that Ruth didn’t hesitate to take into her own arms.

Too overcome with joy to feel even the slightest aggravation over being kept in the dark about Emma’s pregnancy, Ruth looked down into the beautiful sky blue eyes of her newest grandchild. 

“Oh, my sweet William,” she began in a lilting sing-song voice.

“Liam,” Emma interrupted gently.

“Liam,” Ruth agreed, her gaze never wavering as she turned and began climbing the steps back into the house. “I am your grandmama,” she continued. “The first thing we must do is introduce you to your family, don’t you think?”

Behind her, she could hear Killian chuckle. “Do you think we will see him again this entire visit?” he asked.

“Not likely,” Emma replied.

“Of course not,” Ruth called back. “Nolan, Locksley, and now Jones babies all love their grandmamas. Besides, it will give you more time to yourselves to work on giving this precious lad a baby sister.”

Which is exactly what they did. 

And when the family arrived in London the following spring, it was to introduce and christen Hope Ruth Alice Jones.

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all again for reading. This was a hard one to write and post and so I truly cannot tell y'all how much it means to me that you joined me for this journey! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!