#anyway never give up hope that things will get better

[homestylehughes]

sundress seduction

pairing(s): luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: where luke is seduced by y/n’s sundress and he cant keep his hands off of her.

warning(s): little plot mostly pure filth, smut 18+. use of pet names, no use of y/n. oral fem!receiving. dirty talk. unprotected sex p n v. luke and reader both being cute!

wc: 1.8k

an: HIIIIIII!!! here i am once again..with luke smut...AND I LOVE IT. it's sundress season and this little idea popped in my head and here we are now, thanks to the help of you guys MWAH and boyyy is it hot. i need luke like this BAD! anyways!! i hope you all enjoy, like and reblog if you do, as always much love!!!

happy reading <3

It was so hot at the lake house this year, the dry heat making it hard to be in anything besides a bikini or in the water. Luke and I have been at the lake for a few days, arriving before everyone else, hoping to spend some time together before the summer gets busy.

The first few days spent at the lake house were calm and the both of us decided to take it easy, going grocery shopping and stalking the house with necessary goods. Spending time swimming, tanning or on the boat. The calm atmosphere of the lake is something I'll never get used to. 

Today while I was making Luke and I's breakfast he proposed the idea of us going to lunch at a new restaurant that had just opened up by the lake. Nodding my head in excitement, already knowing what I wanted to wear, I had bought a few sundresses just for the lake. Knowing it would be hot at lunch, I decided it would be the perfect thing to wear. 

This was a few hours ago, Luke spending some time outside in the garage staking, practicing on his shots. while I lay on the deck reading my book as I tan. I hear lukes footsteps pad behind me on the deck. 

“Hi baby” he says leaning down, placing a kiss on my back. 

“Hi” I smile back up at him, the sun reflecting beautifly on his sweat covered chest. 

“Do you still want to get lunch?” he asks, 

“Yes i'm fine with that, if you still are”' I say, placing my bookmark in my book, moving to now sit up. 

“Of course pretty girl, gonna go shower” Luke says smiling down at me, leaning down connecting our lips before heading back into the house. 

Looking out the lake for a few moments, before pulling myself up from the deck gathering all of my things, slipping on my sandles before heading inside. Closing the door, heading up the stairs to Luke and I’s bedroom, entering the room, I hear the shower running in the connected bathroom. 

Heading to the closet, looking through my options of dresses I have, pulling out one I haven't worn before. the long yellow and pink sundress with flowers littered over the dress, the dress being exactly what I wanted to wear today, hoping luke likes it.

I can hear the bathroom door opening, turning my head slightly, seeing Luke with a towel wrapped around his waist, as he's digging into his drawers finding something to wear. “Shower good?” I ask.

“It was, it would have been better if you were there with me though,” Luke says from behind me. 

“Next time” I smile at him, as I turn around, now seeing a fully dressed luke.

The khaki shorts and dark blue polo, that complements his tanned skin so well. I walk over to help him fix his collar that's tucked in on one side. 

“Thanks baby” he says while he's running a towel through his damp curls, “you're welcome handsome” i say leaning in to give him a small peck on his cheek before turning around. 

“I'm going to go down stairs and wait for you, take your time baby” luke says standing in the doorway, i nod my head in understandment, luke shutting the door softly behind him as he leaves.

 My attention now is going to get ready. Changing out of my swimsuit, forgoing a bra because of the dress, replacing my bottoms with underwear, before slipping the sundress on over my head, pulling it down making sure it's placed correctly on my body.

I headed into the bathroom, and began going to do my makeup and hair, choosing to do something simple. adding a few curls to my hair, fluffing it and moving on to my makeup, adding a few light products, finishing off with lip gloss. Looking at myself in the mirror, seeing it there's something I want to fix or change. deciding everything looks fine, running my hands over my sundress making sure it looks right. 

Exiting the bathroom, I slip on my sandals grabbing my purse as I make my way to head down stairs.

 “Im ready” i say to luke as i reach the bottom of the stairs. Luke lifts his head up from the couch, his eyes catching mine before looking me up and down, his face expressionless. 

“Do you like it?” I ask him, giving him a quick little spin to show off the full dress

“Come here” he says, his voice breaking the silence around us. I slowly make my way to stand in front of where he sits on the couch, luke takes my purse from my arm, setting it on the floor before placing his hands on my hips pulling me closer to his body. 

“Fuck” he mutters out

 “What's wrong?” I asked nervously. 

“You in this dress thats what, fuck me” he groans tracing his hands over the fabric, from my feet to the straps of the dress. 

“Do you have any idea how good you look right now?” he says, as he's lightly pulling my things down, urging me to sit in his lap.

 “It's just a sundress?” I say, now sitting in his lap, his hands running over my bare legs. 

“Whatever the fuck it is, i want you wear them all the time” luke says, leaning into my neck placing wet kisses down my neck and exposed neck.

“Oh” I pant out, as Luke continues his assault on my neck, I feel his hands slip under the straps of the dress, pulling them off my shoulders, exposing my bare chest.

“Oh my gosh, you're going to kill me '' Luke says before his mouth latches around my left nipple, his warm wet mouth around my breast causes me to moan, pushing my hips against his. 

Broken moans and pants leave my mouth as Luke continues his work on my chest, before pulling back suddenly his eyes finding mine.

 “i need you baby, fuck” luke says breathlnessly, moaning in response as his hands find their way underneath my dress, his fingers tracing over my covered core.

his fingers tracing over the wet patch that now covers my underwear, “fuck baby who got you this wet?”

“you luke, please do something”

“I'm getting there baby.” he says pulling my underwear to the side, running his fingers through my wet folds, the action causes my whole body to shutter against him. I began to grind down on lukes fingers as he slowly fucks me with him.

 His thumb finding my clit, “luke right there” I plant out, dropping my head to his neck, my body still moving against his fingers. 

I can feel my orgasm on the rise as his fingers continue to fuck me, moaning as he curls them over so slightly hitting my g-spot, just as I feel myself about to come, Luke pulls his fingers out of my aching core. Whining in the loss of contact, pulling myself up from his neck, leaning back on my knees. I see Luke bring the two fingers that were once inside me into his mouth, sucking on them like they're a hot summer treat.

 My eyes locked on his, Luke pulled his fingers from his mouth with a pop, bringing his hand to the back of my neck pulling my face to his smashing out lips together. Moaning into his mouth tasting myself on his lips, my hips begin moving against his again, craving some type of friction. 

“I want you to ride me in that sundress baby”, im quick to get up from his lap, helping him take off his belt, tossing it across the living room as his hands move to unbutton his pants, pulling them down along his boxers. His cock springing free, precome leaking at the tip, the sight making my mouth water. 

Luke's hands finding my hips, pulling me back towards him, helping me line up on his cock, sinking down, our moans filling the room as I fully sit down on his cock. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good around me” luke says as he goes to brush my hair thats fallen into my face. 

“Luke” I pant as he rolls his hips against mine, lifting up and sinking down on him, the burn between my thighs feels so good.

I began to speed up my movements, Luke's thrusts meeting mine.  My hands finding the back of the couch, my head leaning down as I watch myself sink back down on him again. “Fuck” luke says, his head agianst the back of the couch as our movements increase. 

“You look so pretty riding my cock baby” , his eyes finding mine, I can feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck from sweat. 

“Fuck luke” i pant out as one of his thrusts hits just the right spot, almost causing me to collapse right on top if him. 

I can feel myself getting close to my climax, my legs beginning to grow tired. “Is my baby tired? Need me to take over and fuck you baby” luke smirks 

“yes please” i paint before connecting our lips back together. 

Luke's hands are back on my hips again, he begins to thrust into me at full speed. My breasts are bouncing with each thrust. Letting out uh’s and broken moans as he contuines to fuck me to my peak. 

“Right there Luke, don't stop please” his thrusts hitting my clit, causing me to moan loudly at the feeling.

“Luke im about to come” i pant out against his mouth, 

“im almost there baby, wait for me fuck” he says as he contuines thrusting into me. 

“I cant hold it luke” it's becoming all too much, each snap of his hips against mine, each touch, kiss. everything is making it hard to hold on. The whole room feels like fire around me, panting like i've never had a drink of water before. 

Before I even know it, my legs are beginning to shake around him.

 “I'm coming,” I say before dropping my head into his neck. My vision becomes white, only feeling lukes body against mine. I can feel his grip tighten on my waist, hearing him moan out from below me. He's coming,

“That's it baby, come all over my cock” I hear Luke say, pulling me back up connecting our lips.

The kiss is hot and messy, our tongues fighting for dominance as we ride out our highs together. 

Pulling back to catch my breath, our movements now stilling, looking at Luke with widened eyes, his lips swollen, as he pants looking back at me. I began to giggle at our state, thinking about how we even managed to get in this position.

 “I can't believe I was seduced by your sundress. Luke laughs along with me,

“me either '' I say, lowering my face to his, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips before pulling back. 

“So lunch?” 

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #new jersey devils #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes smut #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes imagine #lh43

[rimunagenius]

So Bad

ʚ pairing: Kate Martin x Roommate!reader

ʚ word count: 2.5k

ʚ warning: RPF!! , slight angst?, fluff, sexual tension, two idiots inlove trope

ʚ rimunagenius speaks: sorry this took too long to put out guys…i’ve been trying to write but it’s been so stressful since i broke my foot. i missed a whole week of school so i was trying to catch up and do homework, while doing the current assignment, while doing college classes, and trying to write…it’s been ROUGH. anyways…hope you like this!! it’s a little short but the next part is gonna be long !! just a heads up

Part 5

| Series Masterlist |

The plane ride to Albany was a little tense. You wanted to go in support of the team because this was a game on neutral ground. You guys had made it to the elite eight and that was something you all wanted but had to fight like hell to get. You were only an assistant trainer, theoretically, you didn't have to be here, but you wanted to be here for Kate and the girls. Your best friends. The girls managed to make sweet sixteen and won, and now it was time for the elite eight. 

You and Kate haven't talked about the night in your living room. You guys just seemed to pick back up where it was to begin with. Jada thought it was great but was also concerned about the will of self-control you two had to have. 

Caitlin eventually found out, pressing Kate about why she had been a ray of sunshine for the last month. She had become the biggest shipper and supporter of you both. Her, Jada, and now Gabbie had known and it felt okay. No hard feelings or bitterness. 

"What room are you staying in tonight?" Kate whispered as she tried to put her face in the small gap between your seat and the side of the plane, you both having window seats in stacked rows. 

"Uh, might have to delete this from the vlog, Kate." You give her a small pointed look as you turn your body, pointing to the small camera you had been using to record a vlog for an Athletic Trainers day in the life. 

"Oh shit, I'm sorry." Kate laughed, knowing how that might have sounded. 

"No, it's fine. But I'm technically under staff, not a student, so I'm staying on the same floor as Lisa, the assistant coaches, and other staff. Why?" She had a small frown after she realized you guys weren't on the same floor tonight. 

"Because I want to sleep close to you."  You were quite confused as she had never had this issue before. It was okay on past travel games because she had Caitlin or Jada, but she was sort of attached to your hip since that night, but you didn't think it was going to be a problem. 

You looked around, seeing AJ and Molly asleep right next to you, before looking back into the crack between your seats. "Isn't that against the whole, not starting a relationship thing, Kate?" You gave her a soft smile, finding it cute and endearing that she wanted to be close to you. 

"I never said we had to share the same bed, I just said I wanted to be close to you. You know, like the apartment?" Your guys' rooms were right next to each other's in the apartment back home. 

"I promise you'll be okay Kate. You can call me in the morning and I'll go to your room to get ready if you want me to?” You suggested, turning your camera completely off after you stopped recording. You set it down inside the bag at your feet before sliding on your headphones. 

You had Chappel Roan playing, the irony in the song that was blasting through your beats, ‘Good Luck Babe!’, and your arm resting on the armrest where you had previously had your face talking to Kate when you felt a hand tap your forearm. You lifted your head from resting on your fist and looked down. Her hand extended palm to you. You frowned softly, appreciating the small acts of affection Kate was always willing to give you. 

You got up on your knees, and looked over the seat, spotting Kate's head resting against the back of your seat, looking down on her phone, sacrificing better posture just to simply be close with you. You sat back down normally, sparing your exposure to spying on Kate, and placed your hand in hers. You two interlocked your fingers and held hands. 

You both knew this wasn't out of the ordinary. But something felt so different about it this time. Knowing the connection you two share and the love you two have for one another is something that hangs a thick fog of tension and uncertainty about what to do with all the emotions. You took a picture of your hands, wanting to capture the small moments of intimacy. 

You truly loved this girl with your whole heart and you were so willing to give it all to her if she wanted it. 

A free day in Albany was granted before getting back to work the next day. So the staff, including you, and the team were free to explore together or separately. It was a lot of the girls' first time in New York so everyone wanted to go sightseeing. You had been looking for an outfit to wear, not much to throw together since you packed a lot of lounging clothes and your Hawkeye gear for the games, when there was a knock at your door. You assumed it was Jada having talked to her on the phone not that long ago talking about getting ready, letting her know what room you were in. "Coming, Jada!" You shouted from the edge of your bed, throwing your clothes back in your suitcase. 

"Not Jada." Kate smiled when you opened the door for her and let her in. You laughed and told her it was because you were also expecting Jada. 

"Kate, I cannot find an outfit." You looked too stressed for a small team exploration outing. You sighed as you proceeded to dig through the suitcase some more. 

"Relax, you'll find something. Let me see what you have." Kate walked over, standing impossibly close next to you while she helped neatly pick out clothes and placed them on the bed still neatly folded. She picked what seemed to be your black flare leggings and your all-black long-sleeve. "That's cute. What shoes did you bring?" 

You looked at her, jaw dropped. There was no way the most plain, midwestern masc, was dressing you in something cute. You pointed to the black and yellow dunks that the Iowa staff gifted you this season. "Okay, wear those shoes with your Iowa puffer vest? Basic but still you." Kate shrugged, mumbling a small 'I don't know though.' 

"I love it. Thank you, Kate." You smiled softly, disappearing into the bathroom. She nodded softly, before sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing some clothes back into your suitcase, before sipping on the water she had in her hands. Your phone pinged. 

Notification from Jada, texting she was on the way up to the room. "Jada's on her way," Kate said, pausing after seeing your lock screen. The picture of you and Kate holding hands. Her cheeks turned red, sudden butterflies in her belly and her palms growing clammy, it didn't help you came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. You looked so beautiful…she was in deep. 

"How do I look?" You asked, posing with hands on your hips. You saw how red her face was, and the way she just slowly dragged her eyes up your body. It made you shuffle of nervousness, suddenly so nervous under her gaze. 

"So gorgeous, sunshine." The nickname gave you butterflies, not having heard in a while. Not since before you confessed your feelings to her. Suddenly that name felt like you were carrying a new title to her. 

"You think? Looks like you know to dress after all." You teased, and she stood up before taking your hand and spinning you. 

"Oh, yup! This fit is so cute!" She needed to act normal, especially before Jada came in and noticed the tension between the two of you. It's like you both just wanted to hurry up time and get to the good part. You wanted each other so bad but you two made a deal. After the tourney, you could be together. You were almost there. 

You spun back around to face her, immediately wanting to kiss her. You two stood so close, your self-control wearing thin as you saw her eyes dart from each of your eyes, down to your lips, and doing it all over again. One hand of hers now ghosting your hip, wanting to pull you in closer. 

"We can't, remember?" You don't know why you said it. You should've let it happen. You could've but Kate said you two should wait, so you needed to say something. 

"Why not?" Her whisper sounded desperate. 

"Because you said so." 

"When do you ever listen to me anyways, gorgeous?" Her lips were so impossibly close to yours, you damn near almost fell to your knees. Her other hand found your waist, her slowly inching your chest against hers when a knock on the door was heard. 

She dropped her hands from you, your body already missing the feeling of her and the sensation she forced through your whole body. Catching your breath, you walked to the door and opened it for Jada who was accompanied by Gabbie and Caitlin. 

"You guys ready to sightsee!" Caitlin's enthusiasm through the roof as always, made you laugh as you walked away from the door to grab your shoes next to your bed. You didn't miss the way Kate watched you saunter through the room. Neither did everyone else. 

"Yes, I just need my shoes, and I'm good to go." You slid your shoes on, grabbed your purse, and ready to walk out the door. The three girls walked out, you following. You felt a hand grab yours, pulling you back slightly. 

In turn, a piece of hair fell into your face, Kate wasted no time in moving it back to the side of your face before handing you your phone and room key. "Left it charging, and this right next to it."

"Oh, thank you." You both were blushing. You two always seemed to be whenever you were around each other. Something about the other just made your body have a reaction, instantly feeling warm and welcomed in the other's presence. You two truly couldn't describe it, but you both knew it was real. 

You five spent the whole day walking into local coffee shops, and boutiques and just enjoying the scenery that Albany had to offer.  You guys ended the night in front of billboards of Caitlin, taking pictures of her and her success and the impact she's had on the game. You all took pictures of each other and with each other. One of your favorites was you on Caitlin's back, kissing her cheek, while she did her signature hands out in front of her billboard where she's shooting her record-breaking logo three. 

You guys even got strangers to take pictures of all of you lined up with each other. You guys were having so much fun. Missing days where basketball wasn’t the main focus for once.

"Hey, we're going to go to that place real fast, Gabbie wants lemonade and I want a soda." Jada told you before she and Gabbie walked off. You looked to check on Caitlin, who was taking pictures with fans, making sure she was alright. Some fans were acting crazy earlier that day.

You and Kate kept pointing at places you could see from where you were standing. "Oh my god, are you Kate Martin?" A girl walked up to Kate, she couldn't have been older than twelve and she looked so amazed at the six-foot blonde next to you. 

"Yeah! What's your name?" Kate was beaming, she loved kids. There weren't many in her family aside from little cousins but she didn't see them often, just Carson, but he wasn't old enough to talk yet.

"I'm Audrey. But I'm a huge fan. Everyone likes Caitlin, and I do too, but I think you're pretty cool too." Audrey was nervous. 

"Oh, my. Thank you, so much! I bet you're pretty cool, too." Kate bent down, trying her best to stay at eye level for the girl so she didn't have to look up.  

Two adults approached you guys, who you assumed to be Audrey's parents, and smiled as their daughter beamed at meeting her favorite player. "Sorry, she spotted you and took off. I hope she's not bothering you, guys." The parents apologized, not wanting their daughter to invade your guy's space, especially Kate's.

"No, not at all! She's so sweet." You said, smiling at the girl. 

"Can I get a picture?" Audrey asked. 

'Of course you can!" Kate was excited that people noticed her too. She’s used to be in the shadow of Caitlin, and she was happy there. But to know that people loved her as much as you and the team did was another level of belonging she loved to feel. The parents pulled out their phones and took a picture of their daughter. A smile on all of your faces. 

"I can take a picture of all of you if you want it?" You offered, wanting the parents to have the memory like their daughter, and the evidence to go with it. They thanked you as you took a picture of the family with Kate. 

You could tell this was a good experience for Kate. You loved to see her being recognized for the skills she also brings to Iowa women's basketball. It was cool to see it outside of Iowa too. Kate and the girl said goodbye, but not before signing the girl's white Converse. She wasn't going to leave without it. I wouldn’t either fr…

That's when Caitlin came back, sighing after all the photo ops she just partook in. "Cait, I know you're tired but lets get a pic with us three?" You asked softly, a warm smile hoping to convince the girl. 

"Oh my god. Let me take a picture of you guys. I can't be in another picture…if I am I don't know if I can do it without wanting to smash my own head with the phone." You laughed out loud, Kate hunched over laughing next to you. Your cheeks are now red, from the breeze and the laughter, Kate with her beautiful wide smile you adored, smiled for the picture. Caitlin said something else behind the camera, you didn't catch it but the look on her face made you giggle, so you turned your head when she took the picture. 

"Aw, man! Take another one, I moved." You pouted before moving closer to Kate's side, smiling wide. After the pictures were taken, you looked at them while you three waited for Jada and Gabbie to get back so you could start heading to the hotel. You scrolled to the first one, butterflies in your stomach when you saw your head tucked in close to Kate, her smiling big into the camera. It was so cute, you didn't have the heart to trash it, the next one was normal, and the last one was you smiling at the camera and Kate looking down at you. 

This was definitely your new favorite picture. You sent the pictures to her, listening to her phone ding as they came through. A soft smile on her face as she looked at them. You sent her the last one, with a small text. 

sunshine ☀️💕

"You look like you're in love with me, Martin." 

bear <3

"Kinda hard not to be." 

Neither of you couldn't stop smiling the rest of the night.

#tumblrpost #writers on tumblr #rimunagenius speaks #kate martin #women’s basketball #iowa wbb #caitlin clark #wlw #wnba #kate martin iowa wbb #kate martin wlw #kate martin headcannons #kate martin fanfic #kate martin x reader #iowa wbb x reader #gabbie marshall #jada gyamfi #and they were roommates masterlist #and they were roommates #fluff #kate martin fluff #wlw masterlist #sapphic wlw #wlw fanfic #wlw headcanons #wlw yearning #wlw post #wlw x reader #women’s basketball masterlist #masterlist

[gffa]

i’m fully obsessed with the fact that through multiple comics it’s implied that as devastated bruce would be (or has been, in Jason’s case) to lose any of his kids, losing dick would literally drive him mad. that boy made a man and a father out of him and losing him would be the end of the world

It's a one-two punch of how Dick is the one whose presence in the world gives Bruce hope, that even when they're not talking to each other, Bruce still knows that Dick exists in the world and that there's hope for life and justice and happiness. The world is still worth something if Dick Grayson is in it. Fighting to save people is still worth it, if the little boy he saved that night can still find a life to be happy in. Followed up with the gut-punch of how Dick is the one who came to him the youngest, the one who understands him the most, the one who taught him how to connect with family beyond the people who were in his life from Before. Never underestimate how much Alfred saved Bruce, gave him stability and love and structure that he desperately needed, but Dick was the one who came along and demanded that Bruce open his heart up further, demanded that Bruce expand his world again, demanded that he openly show some affection, demanded all that just by being Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson is his baby even more than the others, no matter how old he gets, some part of Bruce still sees him that way, because that one came to him when he was the youngest and wore his heart so openly that Bruce's own heart ached with every burst of anger and every burst of love from that little boy. Dick is the one that demanded to be seen and loved and made part of both Bruce and Batman's worlds, just by showing up and refusing not to connect with him. Every time he perched himself on a sofa upside down or sat himself on the edge of a table and asked what was wrong and refused to let Bruce brood, he made himself part of the world that Bruce needed to stay sane. Every time he laughed or made a ridiculous joke or eagerly showed what he'd perfected, he made himself part of the light of Bruce's world. Bruce loves all his kids equally, there's no one that he loves "more" than the others, but he has relied on Dick more than the others, Dick is the one that made those inroads to Bruce's heart possible in the first place, and Dick is the one that refuses to be anything other than A Good Outcome. No matter how many times Bruce starts to angst over his mistakes, Dick will say, yeah, you fucked up sometimes, but I love who I am and I love this life you helped give me, and no amount of mistakes you've made will undo that. You saved me and I love you for it. Dick is his ideal dream realized--someone who fights for justice, who understands the darkness of the world but loves openly anyway, someone who knows the mean and dirty things that must be done sometimes, but still cares about everyone, someone who will devote their life to fighting to save people but won't lose himself. Dick is Bruce's ideal version of Batman. Bruce loves Dick because Dick is so easy to love, because even someone who can be as hard to love as Bruce is is so loved by Dick Grayson, and because Dick understands him better than anyone. He loves Dick because he understands him in return, because Dick is always there when Bruce really needs him, yet also stands up on his own, he has become someone Bruce is proud of in a way that even his hell brain can't rip apart. And he loves him because Dick Grayson is the one that made him realize he could open his heart up to accepting new people into his life even after his greatest tragedy. He didn't have to just hold onto what came Before, he could find new family and love them just as much as he loved his parents, that there will be people worth loving in this new world. Bruce loves all of his family, he'd go off the deep end for any of them, but the one that I don't think he'd come back from is the death of Dick Grayson, the loss of the light of their world. That kid made him want to not just be better, but be part of the world again, because Dick Grayson was in it.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne

[lesbiansforboromir]

Been scouring your blog to see if you have a specific take and i only managed to find the post where you said you are more for people coming up with their own meaning for Tolkiens work. anyhow, after reading you boromir post on how hope is his poison I am super curious as to what meaning you personally ascribe to it all. A lot of scholars will tout hope over despair as the ultimate meaning here (and the ultimate meaning of real life...ugh) and considering your very gut wrenching but meaningful takes on boromir i was just curious. Your thought process is fascinating from a scholarly viewpoint (which is not my strong suit) but also an artistic, emotional, philosophical, and human viewpoint. Whew sorry this ask is so long and disorganized! Have i mentioned I am not a scholar? :D

First off I love this ask it made me so happy to read I had to do so like five times before I felt qualified to answer it and then I spent like months writing this response which is over 4000 words now if you want to know. And, on that note, dw about scholarliness or whatever this ask has more desire to engage with lotr in nuanced ways than most tolkien scholars achie- (gets hit by a piano) anyway~!

It's also just extremely flattering that you're curious of my personal opinion at all so thank you so very much!

(this is the post anon is talking about for context)

As with all things, my answer has many layers. At the most basic and applicable level, and when taking only my Gondorian/Stewardship investment into account, I am engaging with the story for personal catharsis.

The fact that Gondor felt hopeless, that the enemy was merciless and invincible, that even those figures who were supposed to help had only judgement and platitudes to offer until it personally benefitted them, that Boromir and Denethor were isolated and generally condemned and that many only showed them pity after their deaths, feels extremely cathartically familiar to me and my story with chronic illness. I've spoken about this before here and there, but that is the kind of simplistic, energy giving, 'he's me fr fr' comparison that brings me uncomplicated comfort and inspiration.

But that is definitely not 'what lord of the rings is about' not even just to me, it's not even just what BOROMIR is about to me, it is an element of the story and worldbuilding that I have isolated and consumed but that still exists within a far larger whole. And that whole is also fascinating and compelling but in a far more esoteric and harder to define way.

BUT before we get into it, I do also feel the need to explain the limitations I percieve within the 'lotr is about hope over despair' narrative since you've brought it up but neither your ask nor the post you mentioned properly explains it and it'll enhance my point later. SO.

As far as my experience has lead me to believe, when people say 'lotr is about hope triumphing over despair' they mean it in a moralising fable kind of way. This is definitely the narrative the films latched onto, like a leech. Good characters have hope, lose it only to reclaim it again, teach others to have hope etc, and that is good of them. Bad characters are despairing and therefore have no hope, and they do evil deeds because of the despair and lack of hope. The Aragorn vs Denethor film paradigm.

But nothing within the books is anywhere near as cut and dry. As I said in the linked post, Boromir gains hope after having none (the hope that he can save Gondor by using the ring) and that is bad, it is something he has to 'pay for' according to the narrative. Meanwhile charmed and blessed Faramir admits that he never had any hope quite a few times, yet he is not punished for it. Theoden also has no hope and is explicitely going to war to die, but his death is not considered evil or selfish by the majority. Saruman is very hopeful, he's hopeful that Sauron can be reasoned with, that if they work together they can make a better world, but he suffers 100 indignities and then is killed by a cannibal! And most of all, Frodo also rarely (if ever) shows any signs of hope, he merely doggedly marches on regardless and in the end even takes the power of the ring for himself, essentially the ultimate evil act of desperation, but that saves the world!

For the record the idea that LotR is a fable-narrative of any kind seems exceedingly erroneous to me, like the idea that we are supposed to glean any universal Good Moral from the tale due to Tolkien's 'emminent wisdom' feels bizarre in and of itself. But at the very least this aspect is more complex, I think we can all agree.

But even more than that (and this is more perspective than narrative analysis I suppose but I think it bears saying), ‘despair is evil’ is a kind of horrible thing to teach! If the villainisation of people driven to desperate actions or anhedonia because of the deep despair they are suffering is what LotR is about then that’s.. awful! That sounds like a bad book and I don't think I'd want to read it. But lets put a pin in the concept of condemning people for despair for now, look out for the pin cus it’ll be coming back later. 

FOR NOW lets get back on topic, if I don't think LotR is 'about' hope triumphing over despair, what do I think it's about?

Well. I know what I'm about to do appears highly out of character for me so please remain calm and gird yourself before I say this but; Let us start with hearing what Tolkien had to say on the subject.

I do not think that even Power or Domination is the real centre of my story. It provides the theme of a War, about something dark and threatening enough to seem at that time of supreme importance, but that is mainly 'a setting' for characters to show themselves. The real theme for me is about something much more permanent and difficult: Death and Immortality: the mystery of the love of the world in the hearts of a race 'doomed' to leave and seemingly lose it; the anguish in the hearts of a race 'doomed' not to leave it, until its whole evil-aroused story is complete.

(this quote is actually from a letter to a fan who suggested lotr was an allegory for atomic power and he was pretty mean and dismissive about it in reply, it's kind of funny)

Now I've been a bit glib about this in the past, along the lines of 'tolkien's own opinion on what his book was about changed for every year of his life and by the time all his friends started dying around him it became about death, what a surprise' mainly because, again, we've had enough people caring about Tolkien's opinions to do us for the rest of civilisation. But I've always known this glib comment to be pretty baseless and unconsidered, since death was a major aspect of his life from his earliest childhood and it makes sense for that to have been a large part of his work. And since I am being sincere I will, just this once, take Tolkien's hand instead of ignoring him.

For him, the theme of his book was not power or domination (or the evils of war or hope over despair), it was about death. It was about people trying to deal with the realities of death existing for them, not existing for others, and what love (loving the world) meant in that context.

On it's surface I find this quote kind of clinical in it's first impression. There's a prescriptiveness to it that does not inspire me, which isn't surprising since this came from a letter full of veiled snootiness on his part.

But mostly, as a concept.. it seems pretty distant from what actually happens in the story itself, right? What aspect of death and immortality was the fellowship embodying? Boromir certainly died, but he was not looking for immortality and his death is far more concerned with guilt than the fact that he is dying. Theodred is dead already, but not even his father appears all that bothered about it and it's quickly set aside to focus more on the war. Denethor kills himself but his and Gandalf's last interaction says far more about despair and faith than death.

And then no other main character 'dies' at all, unless you count Gandalf. And the only main immortal character we have (other than Gandalf) is Legolas whom, whilst he does have quotes associated with his immortality, is far more invested in his and Gimli's relationship than anything else. It's no wonder people choose 'war is hell' or 'hope over despair' narratives over 'death' as the main theme for lotr from their perspective.

It also does not satisfyingly link to one of the most compelling aspects of the books as a whole; that of how they are presented. The thread connecting death and immortality to writing a story that is from in-universe historical accounts, editted and compiled by many subsequent in-universe hands, is there but hazy. The intense catholic-ness of the story is also intuitably related to death and immortality, but not explicitly.

In essence, death does not feel like the main theme of the books when you are reading them, at least I don't think most experience them that way.

However, in spite of all that, Tolkien's opinion on what his books are 'about' is still the closest I have seen anyone come to my own. Which I assume is hard enough for you all to hear, but imagine how I feel 😩

To me, LotR is most themactically consistent when viewed through the lense of Frodo and Gandalf's ever misquoted early interaction;

"Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought.’ ‘It is not,’ said Frodo. (emphasis mine)

It is not comforting to know that the suffering in front of you was always meant to happen, no matter how comforting the idea of a divine plan might be to some. And that is what Gandalf is offering Frodo in this moment, the relief of a divine plan and its ‘high beauty for ever beyond [the Shadow’s] reach’. But this is never comforting to Frodo in the books, the comfort he finds on his martyr's journey is in Sam. Indeed, it is actually Sam who finds comfort in 'the high beauty', this reminder that beyond all his own suffering there is an imperishable and eternal light that can never be dimmed.

But not Frodo, how can he? His eventual fate is to grasp the power of a weapon so unholy it sickens his soul, to do that which he has been told is irreversible and unforgivable, so that he can never be at ease or even survive in the lands he has loved ever again. The 'High Beauty' is what is doing this to him, what made the rules, what meant for this to happen, what he is doing this in service of. And Gandalf, whose soul will be present to see the very end of this tale, cannot possibly understand what it is for your whole life to be encapsulated by just your own small painful part of what Gandalf would propose was a beautiful and universal tapestry.

And lack of agency against the divine plan is precisely the narrative thread that ties every character together. To some it is a comfort, Aragorn and Gandalf and Sam are all gladdened and encouraged by the knowledge that there is some higher power ordering their lives, some greater beauty they are all a part of beyond any earthly pain or suffering. They are not in control and to remember this is a relief. It inspires them to better fulfill their ordained duties and drive themselves through terrible trials.

To others it is no comfort at all, Boromir and Frodo have no faith in the prospect that the divine plan will include success or happy lives for them at the end of their tasks. But it is a hopelessness and uncertainly that they both accept. They simply believe their duties must be attempted anyway, hopeless or not, even if it makes no difference to the outcome in the end. Lack of control is just a reality they live with.

And to some it is a horror. Denethor and Eowyn want to fulfill their duties, but these duties are torture. They demand loved ones die, they demand relentless fear and sacrifice, they demand ceaseless and hopeless toil. And in the end both of them are given rebellious breaks from these duties by the narrative, ones that are horrifying in and of themselves (and portrayed as wrong to one degree or another) but that are still extremely cathartically presented as attempts to reclaim control of their lives away from a callous divine. Even if, ultimately, this also was out of their control.

Merry, Pippin, Legolas and Gimli appear to have never quite had to confront the realities of their powerlessness before. But through the story they become intimately aware of it in ways that force them to make choices they are not ready to make. For Merry and Pippin, this leads them to ultimately empathise with Eowyn and Denethor’s positions, wracked with guilt and equally horrified, attempting to find agency in death where (it appears) none can be found. For Legolas and Gimli, they confront the spectors of lack of agency/death for the first time in the narrative (sea-longing and the Paths of the Dead) and are irrevocably changed by them, eventually leading them both to attempt to circumvent their fates by illegally sailing to the uttermost west. Obviously fandom likes to believe they made it and live happily, but narratively it is also suggested that they died at sea in the attempt.

Now, at the risk of indulging in my ever-derided biographical criticism, I do think that all of these characterful arcs are represented in Tolkien’s own life. I feel comfortable saying that Tolkien was not a happy man by default. He was wracked with guilt from a very young age (wow a catholic with guilt, groundbreaking) but that guilt followed him and found new reasons to manifest until the very end of his life. And a lot of this guilt had to do with death, his father's death, his mother's death, his friend's deaths. And a lot of it had to do with fear of leaving unfinished or poorly finished business behind him at the time of his own death: guilt about how he had taught his students, about his scholarly work, his parenting skills, his so-oft-mentioned faith. 

And being a man of faith, he would have experienced all these things as a part of the divine plan, even as they were also his guilt to bear. So, clearly, Tolkien's experience encompassed all of these characters, right? The despair and the torment and combined love-of and frustration-with the divine. The failure. He knew them all. And within all of them, as well as within the narrative and world itself, there is a wrestling, there is an ever-shifting complexity and multitude of different opinions to how one experiences a life that hurts in a beautiful world that you love but that you eventually must leave, with the sensation that you have no control over any of it.

However, a complication to any declaration of ‘what LotR is about’ is that it is a self-admittedly unreliable narrative. If you cannot necessarily believe everything the narrative is telling you, then suddenly additional layers of complexity come into play in determining the meaning within an already complex text. In LotR you can actually track which characters are recounting which parts of the story to Frodo or Sam at the time of writing. But it is also just obscured enough to make it ambiguous and to enforce the idea that this is a version of this original story edited and compiled for many generations after it's writing.

So not only are these characters and events transient, uncertain and being (sometimes bluntly) misrepresented by the narrators, YOU are now complicit in that. You are yet another interpreter to alter this narrative through your perspective, just as all works and all lives are interpreted by those who view them, with no way to control that judgment. You are also a character now, making it even more difficult to make definitive judgments about a question like 'what LotR is about'.

The clearest example of how this narrative unreliability and reader interpretation comes into play within the text itself is when Frodo describes the fellowship's entrance into Lothlorien to Faramir. He is being blindfolded in order to be lead to Henneth Annun, and he recounts;

‘As you will,’ said Frodo. ‘Even the Elves do likewise at need, and blindfolded we crossed the borders of fair Lothlorien. Gimli the dwarf took it ill, but the hobbits endured it.’

But we, as readers of the previous book, know this is a gross mischaracterisation of Gimli. He did not take issue with being blindfolded, he took issue with being singled out as the only member of the fellowship who needed to be blindfolded.

‘As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf. The others may walk free for a while, until we come nearer to our dwellings, down in Egladil, in the Angle between the waters.’ This was not at all to the liking of Gimli. ‘The agreement was made without my consent,’ he said. ‘I will not walk blindfold, like a beggar or a prisoner. And I am no spy. My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions.’

In this one moment Frodo has taken what was a reaction of justified indignation against racial prejudice, and made it sound like a minor tantrum over a shared burden. He has also used it to further aggrandise his own people in Faramir's eyes. And it is up to YOU to notice this, to review it in your mind, to choose what it leads you to believe about all characters involved. The narrative certainly never helps you, or addresses it ever again. You have to wrestle with what it means in your mind.

I believe this is the reason I have observed that every person who reads LotR and loves it and keeps rereading it feels like they are excavating something. There is a narrative under the narrative for every new pair of eyes on the tale. And that narrative is you, it's who your experiences and sympathies lead you to listen too harder, it's the story of the experiences you understand. And in that excavation, you are also reclaiming a moment of control for yourself in conversation with the story and whatever you have chosen to excavate. One might say these are all aspects of every story, but LotR is unique in its investment and immersion into the concept.

Because, to me, when Tolkien says his story is about 'death and immortality', what I read is that it's about the ultimate lack of control we have (death) and trying to empathise and accept the unfairness of what will become our inherently false legacies (immortality). And then just the vast spectrum of experiences and emotions those things conjure. It's not just about those things, it is an attempted soothing of those fears and struggles, it is an offer of comfort or catharsis or applicability. It is also an acknowledgement of the love that drives you and that you will eventually grieve.

Frodo leaves the shire to save it because he loves it, but he knows the entire time he will never be able to fully return. He is frustrated, it hurts, but a piece of the Shire in Sam comes with him and whilst it cannot save him, Frodo is still comforted. 

Sam leaves the Shire because he loves Frodo, and he loves the high beauty as embodied by elves and magic and history. He also knows implicitly that this is a task he cannot refuse, but these things comfort him. He is glad to be guided and strengthened to even greater feats the more he trusts in a higher power, but he has a life and a family in the end. And if that is what the Higher Beauty decrees for him, where it has doomed Frodo to incurable soulful wounds, are we surprised at either of their choices? Can we blame anyone for their hope OR despair in the face of powerlessness? Oh! Look at that! It’s that pin I mentioned quite literally last century ago. TOLD you it’d be back.

And that brings us back to the question, what do I think LotR is about. 

We are all powerless in the face of death and in writing a book about death Tolkien’s work has an inherent universal applicability in this regard. Tolkien asks an unconscious question within lotr, how should we cope with being creatures that love the world but that are doomed to die and leave it? And then he leaves that question entirely unanswered. This is what sets lotr apart and truly creates a story in which people can read narratives therein that appear entirely separate from death or any other recognisable theme others might see, without losing the sense of universal appeal. He offers multiple perspectives, including that of the dominant religion’s prescriptive decrees of right and wrong, but there is no solution brought forth in the story that saves anyone from grief or death or regret in the end. Not even Aragorn or Arwen, who are in essence the most holy and faithful characters barring Gandalf within the story, end without heartbreak and despair!

‘‘I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men.’’ ‘‘Nay, dear lord,’’ she said, ‘‘that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Numenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive.’’ ‘‘So it seems,’’ he said.

There is no such comfort!! … Or is there?

To me, the appeal of Boromir is in the solution he offers; the comfort is in the wrestling! 

Aragorn and Arwen did absolutely everything they were supposed to do, unquestioningly, to the point that Aragorn goes to the Silent Street and just lies down to die because it’s ‘the right time’ and he mustn’t become ‘unmanned and witless’. And then he dies and he makes a beautiful holy corpse that cannot comfort Arwen or his children or his people for even a moment. 

But Boromir dies with a smile. Aragorn promises that Minas Tirith will not fall, and that does comfort him, because that was the wrestling he chose, the love he decided to hold, the meaning he decided to find and fight for beyond all his powerlessness to protect it. So that’s the answer I find and it might be different from yours, but it’s in LotR to be read because the story is about the wrestling as much as (if not more than) it is about the end. The road DOES go ever on and on, after all!

So ye das wat lotr was about I fink thanks 4 askin 👍I REALLY hope it makes sense. I also really hope Anon manages to see it after it took so goddamn long to respond 😂

#chats #Anonymous #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #erran vs tolkien #boromir #long post

[easybrainrot34]

🖼️Lil Benedict Bridgerton Headcanons Pt 2🖼️

Woohoo part 2 baby!! Part 1 is right here! Some of these are modern!AU some of these are Regency era. As I said before I am truly a ✨slut✨ for this man. Hope y’all enjoy 😊

All r fluff and crack. Bonus Polin Headcanon ❤️

🎨= modern!AU

🎻= Renaissance era

🎨🎻= either

Also mentioned : Colin, Anthony, Kathony, Queer!Eloise, Gregory, and Polin

Ps, my ask and request r open :)

🎨 He went on a gap year before college to travel the world. He went kinda everywhere but he’s not one of those people that’s pretentious and has to talk about it all the time (no shade Colin, he’s more of an excited puppy about where he’s been anyway)

🎨 During cov!d he really honed in on his skills as an artist but also got really into skincare and hair care. Now he does a whole curly hair care routine because even though I can see him keeping his hair on the shorter side, he still likes it to have a little body.

🎨🎻 He would never admit it to Anthony (at least sober) but he wants the love that Kate and Anthony have for each other. He is such a hopeless romantic and I think he wants nothing more in this world than to find someone he feels he truly can’t live without.

🎻 Now we all know Benedict goes to balls more out of family obligation than actually wanting to, but I truly feel like once he’s married, he wants you to throw balls every season. He loves being able to show you off and what better setting them a ball with you as the person of honor. I also feel like he would enjoy throwing balls/parties for his more artistic, not part of the ton friends.

🎨 Now let’s say this is a modern AU where Eloise is a lesbian and our dear Ben is bisexual. I feel like when Eloise came out to him and said “I’m gay” he said, with no hesitation “you too?” I feel like the next day this man would just barge into her place with a gift bag full of Girl in Red, Chappell Roan, and Raneé Rapp albums, a pride flag, and a Carabiner. She would give him the “these are all stereotypes” lecture, but truly she appreciates it.

🎨🎻 I feel like he is very weak willed when it comes to his nieces and nephews. Like he is the favorite uncle, yes it took him bribing the kiddos, and yes he has no shame about it. He would stay firm with them (respecting the majority of set rules) but he will let them get away with small things. It will take him having his own kiddos to understand where everyone is coming from. (trust & believe that the siblings take their revenge)

🎨 He’s weak for a sundress. Weather it’s a cute little flower print, or a simple solid color, he just loves a little flowy sundress. I can’t explain it. It’s just this man’s weakness. (Btw this is what I mean when I say sundress, because apparently the Internet is having a debate about this right now lol)

🎻 Y’all remember when people were painting on each other’s bodies during Covid? Yeah he would do that. I feel like he would very much use u as a canvas during yall’s honeymoon. I feel like it would also end in a little ✨spicy time✨

🎨 While I can really see this man not giving a fck about whether he is fit or not I feel like as he starts to get a little bit older (late 30s early 40s) he would sign up for the gym. I feel like this will be a combination of him wanting to, but also Anthony, Colin, and Gregory would tease him about getting a “dad bod”. He knows though that you love it so he wouldn’t try to get too fit, just enough to be a little toned.

🎨🎻BONUS🎻🎨

He has such a fondness for Pen. This man is in her corner, if her and Colin get into a fight he automatically is taking her side. If he sees Cressida doing some shady sh!t he’s calling her out right then and there. I also feel once Colin and Pen announce their engagement, he would go to her and say “I’m sorry it took him so long to realize what we all knew” AHHH I JUST KNOW HE SHIPS POLIN!!!

#Bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #Benedict Bridgerton Headcanons #headcanons #colin bridgerton #polin bridgerton #polin #anthony bridgerton #kathony #eloise bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #bridgerton fic #bridgerton modern au #x reader #hope y’all enjoy

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 23. Elliott (Anal)

Pairing: Elliott / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,516 Warnings: anal, first time anal sex, sex toys, strap on, pegging Prompt(s): 19 — anal Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: every time i write for elliott i feel as though im learning the dictionary all over again lmao. i like to try and use language i feel is fitting for the character im writing for, though... so i hope this translates well! even if it's a little outside of my usual writing style (yknow?). anyway. love ruining put together men thank you <3

A nauseating ball of anxiety twists tight in his tummy, wound up in his core to feign sickness, or panic. It's a feeling he's used to, given how often his mind runs wild with worrisome faux scenarios, a cascade of tormenting scenes that play out in his cluttered mind day in, day out. He'd never describe himself as a worrywart, but he knows others might... Do, in fact, view him as some sort of flighty man, an anxiety riddled creature who'd jump ship if given the opportunity. Certainly, that's not how he'd identify himself, and the thought alone only serves to turn his tummy some more.

Rather, a man of eloquence suits him better, don't you think? Of words aplenty, flowery, perhaps. But nonetheless genuine. Honest in his approach to life, enjoying the various little things that litter his day to day, taking great pleasure in the simple fancies because even those are worth his utmost attention. See, he doesn't worry out of a unease, but rather, he worries because he's concerned with giving all of his care and attention to so many things. Remaining sincere in his appreciate of all he comes across, simply because that's the kind of man he is.

Which is why it's difficult for him to swallow the disgusting truth that he wishes only for the opposite as you nestle yourself quite prettily between his thighs, leaving him heaving for air on his back before anything has even truly happened. And just like how he wants to lie to your face right now, that lump of nerves in his tummy one might so easily mistake for stress, or panic, is instead borne out of sheer appreciation. A greedy lustful itch he's yet to satisfy, a metaphorical wrecking ball to his otherwise well kept and put together outward appearance. Him? A filthy pervert? Horribly so. In fact, much more than you might initially think. Much like how the townsfolk take him for a fretting fusspot, he'd ideally like to keep up the gentlemanly facade you've grown so accustomed to over the many months of getting to know him, you need not know how he truly is, even if it goes against his natural order.

Although, you know him better than most, don't you? Easily recognisable in the way your nails dance so nicely down his open thighs, the pretty understanding smirk you adopt when his cock twitches in response. Laid bare before you and yet still he attempts to deceive— all in vain, of course. The weight of your body on the bed with him causes his ass to dip down, cock sprung forward as if begging for your utmost attention. Which wouldn't be a lie, chewing on his bottom lip out of frustration for how honest his body is when it comes to you. But he hopes you'll provide him enough space to mislead, just a little. At least until his heart calms down, until his tummy stops filling with butterflies at the doe eyed stare you so graciously offer him. From below, it's easy for him to confuse you for an angel.

If not for the silicone cock adorning your heavenly waist.

Which is only half a lie, he realises, given that he still thinks you look as innocent as ever despite the offending object. And besides, who's to say that angels can't be a little naughty every now and again? His heart full of love at the gentle caress of your hand, how it trails so delicately up and down his exposed thighs, from knee to almost his cock; oh, you're so good at teasing him. A bead of precum dripping from his eager cock at the slight touch— you'll be the death of him one day, he's sure of it.

"It's okay if you aren't ready, love." Your voice calls to him, silky smooth and full of concern, the kind that just gets to him, makes his cock feel all funny with how hard it gets when recognising your sincere affections for him. He's said it before, and he'll probably say it again, but just knowing that you love him is the greatest turn on in the world. To be loved is inherently provocative, don't you think? To expose himself physically is one thing, but to do so emotionally is another; the vulnerability of showing you even the more lewd parts of his existence is a little more overwhelming than it is to undress before you.

Which is why he's refraining, for now.

"No, it's— It's not that..." He trails off half-heartedly, nose wrinkling for a second in distaste for his inability to voice his concerns in a thoughtful manner. It's not because he doesn't trust you— in fact, he thinks you'd respond well to his obscene obsession. He's just not completely sure how to reconcile that fact with himself.

He's already gotten this far, right? Hinted at the salacious act of pegging once or twice; mostly when he was drunk on wine, mind you. Though he doesn't blame you for taking advantage of his loose lips, knowing deep down that despite the current twist in his tummy, he'd do the exact same to you if the roles were reversed.

Can he really just out himself as a dirty pervert to you, though? Even in the privacy of the shared four bedroom walls, can he spill his untamed thirst for you? The ever present greed to swallow you whole, the need to be swallowed whole by you. A self serving must, a right, to own and be owned. A difficult thing to resign to, selfish ownership. Distracting himself by dropping his gaze down your body idly, from your pretty smiling face, sucking air in quickly through his taut jaw at the sight of your tits, throat drying up the second he spots how perky your nipples have become before him. And further, narrowing in on your tummy; do you feel the same way as he does? A sickly compulsion, where he is fixated on being ruined, are you just as similarly focused on ruining? And further still, his gaze lands on the toy you wear. Shiny under the dim cabin lighting, but nonetheless demanding his attention. Promising by your hips to soothe all of his aches and pains, if only he'd indulge you a little further. Spill the truth of his erotic desires, show himself for the man he really is:

A good for nothing, cock leaking at the mere thought, balls heavy with seed just for you, foul little pervert.

And given that you're currently wearing something so dirty, clad in nothing by the strap on picked exclusively for him, he figures you must be his soulmate. A match made in filthy heaven, don't you think?

So he sighs, heavy yet stunted. Cut off by a brief cough to clear his throat and mind before revealing his true self to you. Better to rush it out than to let it stew and risk proving the town right, he thinks. He's not a worrier, he just wants to give you all the care and attention you deserve.

"Truth be told, love... I'm, I'm quite excited, actually," Light laughter escapes him at his words, matched perfectly by a twitch in his cock when you nod knowingly back at him. Of course, though he may have tried to hide his true nature, you've known all along, haven't you? "Perhaps a bit too much, I think. The sight alone of you sitting there is enough, truly," He elaborates, bringing a hand up to cup at your cheek softly to show his tender affection. "But I'm afraid I won't be able to control my desire, is all."

And the gentle giggle you let out in response, tumbling from your lips so sweetly, your voice a dulcet tone to lull him into doing whatever you so much as ask him to— the hold you have on him errs on the side of ridiculousness, the kind of love he only ever writes about in his plentiful stories. His one and only muse, bending down over him to leave him gasping at the contact the strap on inevitably makes with his prepped asshole. There couldn't be a better time to experience his first, right?

"To be honest, Elly," You start, mimicking his action by cupping his cheeks, squishing them together to lightly peck at his lips in between loving giggles. He's so in love with you it makes his cock harder, throbbing under your barely there touch as your body hovers above his own, his hips squirming against the cool silicone prodding at his asshole in excitement. It's shameful to admit, but to feel so small and weak under your endless bouts of adoration is thrilling. Pleasure rolling down his spine when you take to kissing him a little slower, more tender with your lips on his that he can't help but to instinctively open up for you.

Only for you to leave him high and dry, an uncharacteristic whine escaping him at the loss of love. Instead, he bares witness to your dainty— as compared to him— hands locking onto his hips, angling the dildo just right against his ass to force his brows to knit together in enjoyment, the lopsided grin you offer him promising more than he cares to imagine right now. Focused solely on how it feels to have you rim the outside with the faux tip, his eyes squeezing shut in preparation for what is to inevitably come next. "I'd rather you were unable to control yourself." You finish up you previous sentence, taking the opportunity of his confused state to gently, so gently, push the tip of your cock inside of him, rocking ever so slowly until the tip is fully engulfed and he feels like he just learnt how to breathe again.

Briefly, he muses to himself how he thinks he ought to be a little scared right now. Worried over the new experience, anxious about all of the new sensations he's currently, and will, experience. But to see you beaming down at him so innocently, the look of pure love on your face as you continue to roll your hips into his expertly lubed up hole, enjoyment present in the way your nails dig into his waist for purchase; he's not scared because it's you.

And to have you between his legs, fucking your cock into him with so much careful focus, checking in with him with hooded eyes and mouthed i love you's, is more than he could ever hope for. Your mere existence stabilizing him enough to let him throw his head back in enjoyment, doing his best to concentrate on the feeling of your weighty cock inside, moving with you as you rock against him until he reaches the hilt and his cock pulses with barely contained need.

He's ashamed because of how much he wants more. Brows furrowed, pouting back at you with an unknown emotion clinging to his chest. He's not even sure of what he's saying until he says it, the tone of his voice unusually strained and breathy.

"Faster, please."

Unable to keep up with his perversion, by the time he's aware of what he's just asked for his cheeks are already heating up, long hair tousled by your unbridled want to keep him happy; which in turn on turns him on more— God, he's never been harder before in his life. Something about the sheer vulnerability of his position right now, probably, allowing you to take his first time so thoughtfully; he needs more. Cock just aching for you as you explore his insides, the pressure your cock offers him is exquisite, something he can't quite describe with his current vocabulary but nonetheless good. Something he wants to continue, unknowingly rocking his hips with you in a seeking of more, incapable of shutting up for even just a second to hear your divine sighs and moans through his own tumbled and broken sobs. Various grunts and gasps escaping him with every hefty thrust from your cock, stretching him open in ways he's never experienced before but God he wants to experience it again and again. Hand automatically coming to the base of his cock to squeeze at, a pout upon his lips to communicate thank you, thank you, thank you.

For making him feel so good, for trusting him enough to help discover this previously unknown side to him, for fucking him so full that his cock throbs with every thrust, for allowing him to stroke his fat cock just to the feeling of you fucking into him, for smiling down at him so sweetly like that, ruining his concentration in the loveliest of ways by distracting him with such a cute face. And you sound even better too, all light and breathy, unable to keep up with how fast you fuck him; serves you right, he inwardly muses to himself. You've left him so breathless, mouth left agape every time you fuck your cock fully inside, pushing against some deep part of him that has him folding in on himself; so you can choke a little too, can't you?

As a treat, he thinks. A reward for matching his depravity. Fisting his cock in tandem with your thrusts; which, given how unfairly swiftly you rock into him, is no surprise that thumbing at his slit a few times prompts him into warning you of his approaching end. Begging for you to continue fucking him to help him reach his high, throwing his head back as much as he arches his back, chest pressing into you to help you fuck him down your fake cock.

It just feels too good. Mind numb and body tingling with desire, pooling in his tummy like earlier. Of course, he knows his fist very well, stimulating his cock deftly while you stutter your hips into him. But there's enjoyment to be hand in how endearing your efforts are in fucking him properly, his legs locking behind your back so that your forced to be flush against him, allowing you only to desperately rock against that hidden sweet spot of his.

And it only takes a few humps for him to come undone. Spilling hot seed right into the palm of his hand while you're buried as deep as possible in his tight ass, the feeling of his hole squeezing and contracting around the firm toy leaving him gasping for air as he bucks against it. Fat load shot against his tummy, some of it reaching his chest from how hard he cums while warming your cock. And immediately, he knows that you've ruined him. Spoiled him, even. Resigning, even, as he grows soft in his too tight grip, wincing at the sticky feeling covering his whole front, catching sight of your lovesick smile shot from above, that he can feel the itch resetting in his tummy already. Perverted, right?

It seems he's more than a little addicted now. And he puts all his trust in you to help scratch him just right.

#500 event! #sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv elliott smut #stardew valley elliott smut

[kmomof4]

A Scoundrel… Or a Gentleman?

Ohhhhhh, I’m so happy to FINALLY be posting this fic!!! Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s story, When He Was Wicked, I wrote the prologue - 8k words - last September, then took a six month break before sitting down and getting the rest of the thing written. I so hope I did the story justice and that you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

And now thanks to whom thanks are due!!! @jrob64 is a LITERAL SAINT for everything she did to make this fic better. She is an outstanding beta and a dear friend, but I seriously tried her patience going back over and back over and back over AGAIN trying to make this just right. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, my friend, for EVERYTHING!!!

To @hollyethecurious for all the historical info that she shared with me and asking the questions that needed to be asked and answered before the fic was ready for posting. Her support was absolutely invaluable. Thank you, babe!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper for her work on the Prologue artwork shown below. It is soooo beautiful, I could stare at it for hours!!! Thank you so much, darlin!!! Please give her lots of love!!!

The fic is complete with a total of 9chs. I’ll be updating twice a week- Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with Emma Nolan since the day he met her - the day before she married his brother Earl Liam Jones. That was six years ago, and Liam has been gone now for four years. Emma and Killian have both arrived in London for the season - her to seek a husband so she can hopefully bear children, him to finally take up his duties as the earl, including finding a wife. Will they succeed in their respective desires?

*spoiler alert- of course they will. It’ll just take them a little while to get there…*

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Words: almost 8400 words of approx 59,5k

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s Story, Smut in Later Chapters

On ao3 if that’s your preference.

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 @bluewildcatfanatic

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Prologue

There is a moment in every man’s life in which his future becomes clear. A turning point of sorts. The moment when he becomes a man, when he leaves the irresponsibility and temerity of youth behind and turns his eyes to the future. A future that he’d never bothered to think about before. Unfortunately, that moment came for Killian Jones when he first laid eyes on Emma Nolan at a supper celebrating the imminent marriage between herself and Killian’s brother, Earl Liam Jones.

After years of chasing anything in a skirt, Killian grimaced at the irony. In all that time, he’d never allowed his heart to become entangled with his many, many romantic exploits. Allowing himself to be chased until he conquered, his reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well deserved. He’d even stopped attending church, although he assuaged the pricking of his conscience by telling himself the derelict stones of Kilmartin Abbey on the Kilmartin estate up in Scotland… no originality among his ancestors there, who were so proud of the title when it was newly bestowed about 300 years ago, they attached it to everything they possibly could... Anyway, the Abbey couldn’t withstand a direct strike of lightning, which would surely happen if Killian Jones ever showed his face inside. 

Killian Jones

Worst of Sinners

He would have had it printed on calling cards if he didn’t think it would actually kill his mother. The only semblance of honor he’d maintained in his heart over all these years was the fact that the only times he’d slept with married women was if their husbands were tossers, and they’d produced at least two male offspring. Three, if one was sickly. He’d also never seduced a virgin, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem him now. Because this was the one thing that truly blackened his soul beyond all redemption. 

He coveted his brother’s wife. 

And had since that fateful moment two years ago. The day he met Emma Nolan. Now Emma Nolan Jones. Lady Kilmartin. Countess Kilmartin. Wife of his brother, the Earl of Kilmartin.

He could torture himself for days, thinking of every iteration of Emma Nolan Jones, but it would never change the simple fact. He couldn’t have her. She’d never be his.

Now, looking around the room where he, Emma, and Liam were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, he had to rise and cross the room to the decanter, pouring himself a drink to avoid the thoroughly besotted eyes Liam and Emma were making at each other.

“What shall we do for our second anniversary?” Emma asked, sitting down at the pianoforte, her long delicate fingers tickling the keys. Killian swallowed a low groan.

“Anything you want, darling,” Liam answered. He smiled gently at his wife as he opened the evening edition of the Times. She turned her attention to Killian.

“What do you think?”

“About what?” he asked, turning to her, a charming, lopsided smile on his face. No one took him seriously when he smiled like that, which was exactly the point. She pressed her lips into a thin line and Killian relented slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“What should we do for our anniversary?”

If she’d thrust her own hand into his chest and squeezed his heart to dust, it probably would have hurt less. He shrugged indifferently. He was, after all, an expert at hiding what he really felt.

“It’s not my anniversary.”

Emma rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips lifting in amusement. It probably wasn’t a good thing that Killian spent far too much time studying the lips of his brother’s wife.

“I’m aware,” she huffed. “I was asking if you had any ideas for us.”

Killian lifted one brow quizzically. “Why would you ask me, when I have absolutely no experience in the realm of marriage or the anniversary celebration of such?”

The amusement left her face and was replaced with irritation and no small amount of sympathy. Emma rose and moved toward him.

Oh, God, he thought. Please no. There’s nothing worse than when she…

She placed her hand on his arm.

“You won’t always be unmarried, you know,” she said gently.

She shouldn’t be touching him. She couldn’t be touching him. His next words were with the singular purpose of getting her away from him.

“Am I to become your project then?” he bit out. “‘Killian can’t possibly be happy living his life of debauchery and aimlessness, so I must see him married,’” he mocked. “I am not interested in marriage, thank you very much.” 

She removed her hand from his arm and backed up, her brow furrowed, her mouth a small o of hurt. Thank heaven, it bloody worked, he thought, even as the guilt surged.

“We care about you, Killian, and we want to see you happy.”

And there it was. We. Not I. We. They were a unit. Liam and Emma. Lord and Lady Kilmartin. She may not have meant it that way, but that was what he heard. As if he’d ever forget it.

“I care about you, too.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and he shot pleading eyes toward his brother who finally gave up all pretense of reading.

“Emma,” he chastised lightly. “Killian is a grown man. Let him find his happiness when he’s ready. In his own time.”

Emma shot her husband a disgruntled look. Killian had to bite back a bark laugh. He knew Emma almost as well as he knew his brother, and he recognized the root of her irritation was at being thwarted in her attempt to arrange the people in her life to her satisfaction. Liam smirked at him and picked his paper back up as she returned to the pianoforte and sat down, her visage contemplative. It suddenly lit up and Killian’s heart rate increased with it. 

“I should introduce you to…”

“Emma.” It was only a single word, but Liam’s voice held a note of reprimand in it. Leave him alone.

Emma deflated and Killian could have kissed his brother. He may have only thought he was saving Killian from Emma’s nagging, but if he had to suffer the woman he was in love with trying to find him a match - a match he was wholly uninterested in - it might be the final straw of his sanity. Truly. 

“We should all go for a walk,” she said suddenly. Killian looked out the windows where darkness had finally descended over London.

“Isn’t it a little late?” he asked.

“Not with two strong escorts,” she cheeked.

“I’ve an appointment in an hour,” Liam said. He winced and rubbed his temple. “And I’ve got a headache. I think I’ll lay down for a bit before leaving.” He looked at Killian then. “But you should go.”

Absolute proof that Liam hadn’t a clue about his brother’s true feelings for Emma.

“Parliament?” Emma asked. Liam nodded and rose. “Do you want me to wake you when we return?”

“I’ll ask my valet to do it, darling,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. Killian averted his eyes. He’d never begrudge his brother and his beloved their happiness, but he certainly wasn’t going to watch them bask in the clear love between them. 

“I’ll just be a moment,” Emma assured him once Liam left, a soft smile on her face, her forest green eyes glowing. Perhaps it should disturb him how certain he was of the color of Emma’s eyes when she wasn’t even in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He dreamed in shades of green these days. Emma green, the color should be called. He poured himself another drink and slammed it back, trying to steel himself for their impending constitutional. 

He knew he shouldn’t be accompanying her. He knew he shouldn’t ever be alone with her. But when she smiled, he was helpless to resist her. It may leave him wracked with equal parts guilt and desire later, but he couldn’t deny himself any amount of time in her presence. Because that’s all there would ever be. He’d never act upon his desires. Never betray his brother in that way or sully Emma’s reputation. There’d never be a kiss, meaningful glances or touches, whispered words of love and affection, or moans of passion. 

All he’d ever have was her friendship, her smile, and her company. And besotted fool that he was, he’d be happy with it.

She came back down wrapped in a soft yellow cloak and he held his elbow out for her to take. Resigned to his fate, he escorted the love of his life out of the house and to the street below. Lucky him.

~*~*~

As Emma and Killian walked along the street, Emma couldn’t help but think what a dear man her brother-in-law was. Oh, he’d be certain to scoff and list all the reasons his soul was as black as they came (none of which, she was afraid, were exaggerated) if she expressed those sentiments out loud, but she knew him nearly as well as she knew her husband, and Killian Jones possessed a heart of honor and had a capacity to love that was unequaled among the men of her acquaintance. And if she didn’t find him a wife soon, she’d go mad.

“Killian,” she began, turning to look at him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted. “Didn’t Liam just suggest that you let me find my happiness in my own time?”

Emma’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, my dear,” he said, looking at her and booping her on the nose. Emma huffed indignantly as they continued their walk.

It was funny. When she met Liam, she fell head over heels in love more quickly than she ever imagined possible. He understood her in a way that she’d never experienced before. Of course, she loved her family immensely, but as the youngest of six siblings, she often felt lost in the shuffle. Killian was the only sibling Liam had, and removing herself from the hubbub of London and her large family felt like a breath of fresh air. Not to mention the actual fresh air of Scotland, her new home.

But then there was Killian. She hadn’t met him until the day before her nuptials to Liam, since he’d just recently returned home from the Napoleonic Wars on the continent. He was handsome, to be sure, but there was an undeniable connection between them that she felt from the moment she met him. If Liam understood her the way no one ever had before - the opposite side of the same coin - then Killian was like a puzzle piece that fit her perfectly. A puzzle piece she never knew she was missing. He completed her. Besides Liam, Killian was her very best friend and that was why she wanted him to be as happy as she was. And the only way that was going to happen was if she found him a wife who’d make him as happy as Liam made her.

“Finding me a wife is not among your duties, Lady Kilmartin,” Killian spoke again, drawing her from her musings.

She huffed again. “Well, it should be.”

He laughed, which delighted her immensely. She could always make him laugh.

“Very well, then,” she said, dropping the subject for now. “Tell me something wicked. Something that Liam wouldn’t approve of.” Her lips lifted in a conspiratorial smirk that he returned in kind. It was a game they played, that spoke again to how Killain somehow completed her. As much as she loved her husband, hearing about Killian’s exploits was always immensely entertaining. And she knew Liam enjoyed hearing about them, too, even if he gave a token admonishment whenever he was also present. Killian never shared too much, he had too much discretion for that, but he’d share hints and innuendos that never failed to amuse her greatly.

“Alas, I’m afraid I’ve done nothing wicked this week,” he said with a sigh.

“You?” she asked, incredulous. “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“It’s only Tuesday, my dear,” he reminded her.

“I’m aware,�� she shot back, “but aside from Sunday, which I’m sure you’d leave sacred…” She shot him a look that belied her words completely, earning her another laugh, “that would leave Monday, and a man can get up to quite a bit of mischief on a Monday.”

“Not this man,” he assured her. “Not this Monday.”

“What did you do then?”

He was quiet for a moment as they continued walking. 

“Nothing, really.” 

There was a tone of melancholy blanketing his words and Emma stopped and turned to him. His blue eyes shone under the street lamps and Emma was shocked at the intensity she found there. A moment later it was gone and the thought occurred to Emma that Killian Jones perhaps wasn’t really the man he wished others to believe him to be. Even her.

She squeezed his arm gently. “We must find you something,” she whispered into the night.

He held her gaze a moment longer then he looked up.

“We must return. Liam will have my head if you catch a chill.”

“Liam will blame me for my foolishness of insisting on a walk after dark, and well you know it. This is just your way of saying you have a woman waiting for you, probably wearing nothing but a sheet.”

He smirked. A devil-may-care grin that made Emma roll her eyes and recall why the female half of the ton fancied themselves in love with him, even without the title.

“Don’t be jealous, my dear,” he said, the teasing clear in his voice, making Emma roll her eyes again.

“As if I ever could be,” she scoffed.

He stopped and faced her, the way his black hair flopped over his brow making her long to brush it back. The intense look was back in his crystal blue eyes and Emma had trouble drawing a deep breath.

“I know.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “It’s the only reason I tease you.” He reached up and lightly ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “You’re the only woman I know who would never stray. I can’t tell you how much I admire you for that.”

“I love your brother. I could never betray him.”

“I know that, too.” His hand returned to his side. He was so handsome and so in need of love, Emma felt her heart would break. If only he’d let someone, anyone, into his heart. If anyone would care enough to look beneath the handsome, yet devilish facade, they’d find the man she knew- kindhearted, loyal, and true.

They continued toward Kilmartin House and Emma took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me out tonight. I was just feeling so closed in, claustrophobic almost. The fresh air did me quite a bit of good.”

“Then I’m happy to have been of service, milady,” he said as they climbed the steps to the front door of Kilmartin House. The door opened, the butler obviously looking out for them, and Emma undid and handed him her cloak and gloves.

“Will you stay or must you go?” she asked Killian. She could just see Liam’s valet coming down the stairs out of the corner of her eye.

Killian checked his pocket watch. “I’ll wait for Liam, if he hasn’t left yet. I came on foot, so I might as well avail myself of his carriage after he’s done with it.”

Emma nodded and turned to the valet. 

“Has his Lordship left yet?”

“No, my lady. I’ve rapped on his door, but he must be sleeping quite soundly. Do you still want me to wake him?”

Emma sighed. As much as she wished he could sleep longer, she knew how important this meeting was.

“No need,” she assured the man. “I’ll wake him myself. Thank you.” She nodded at him and Killian and hurried up the stairs.

Moments later, Emma’s scream pierced the night.

~*~*~

Killian had no memory of taking the stairs three at a time to rush to Liam’s bedchamber, one of two thresholds in the house he’d never breached. He suddenly found himself there, staring at the bed on the other side of the room, barely conscious of Emma screaming from where she sat on the edge of the bed as she shook the shoulders of his unnaturally pale and still brother.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Whoever that was lying on the bed, it wasn’t his brother. His brother was gone. He’d seen death in battle, but death wouldn’t dare come for Liam. Liam. Who was so strong. So steady. The pillar of their family. The one they all relied on. The picture of good health. 

He took a laborious step forward.

“Emma.” His voice was hoarse, strangled, and unsurprisingly Emma made no indication that she’d heard him, her screams continuing unabated. When she finally stopped to take a breath, her face turned to him.

She rose, her movements so slow and graceful, her face nearly as pale as Liam’s, Killian could have mistaken her for a ghost. She glided toward him and as she got closer, he could see the splotches of color high on her cheekbones, the sunkenness and redness of her eyes, the tear tracks down her cheeks. She grabbed his hand, her grip so tight her knuckles were white.

“Wake him up, Killian,” she begged, more tears spilling from her eyes. He met her gaze, knowing the same devastation she wore on her visage was reflected back to her on his own. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in tightly, automatically, like some kind of machine. She grabbed the lapels of the coat he wore and buried her face in his chest, moaning like a wounded animal. “It was just a headache.” Her tears soaked his shirt. “It was just a headache. How could this happen? I don’t understand!” 

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t offer her any sort of comfort beyond holding her as he was now because he didn’t understand either. Between Eton, Cambridge, and the Royal Navy, he’d been trained for everything the life of a gentleman had to offer. But he’d never been trained for this.

She pulled back suddenly, the cry falling from her lips coming from the depths of her soul. 

“WHYYYYYYYY??!!”

Just as suddenly as she pulled back from him, she collapsed in his arms, bringing them both to the floor. He stared, unseeing, at the far wall, wondering why he wasn’t crying. He was numb and his body felt heavy, like his very soul had been crushed. Killian’s internal cry echoed Emma’s.

Why?

~*~*~

“Could she be with child?” 

Killian sat behind Liam’s desk, and blinked at the question posed to him by Lord Isaac, a short and thin man who rather reminded Killian of a rat. The representative of the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords had a self-important air about him that grated on Killian’s nerves. Liam hadn’t been gone - he still couldn’t bring himself to say or even think the truth - twenty-four hours and here was this bastard, demanding an audience and droning on about some sacred duty to the crown. He turned his attention back to Lord Isaac, his brow furrowed.

“What did you say?”

“Her ladyship,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable carefully, as if Killian had no idea of whom he spoke. “If she’s carrying, it will make things… difficult.”

“I don’t know,” he said, enunciating his own words just as carefully. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this right now. “I haven’t asked her.”

“You need to.” The man sniffed indignantly. “I’m sure you’re eager to assume control of your new holdings, but before you can do that, we must determine if she’s carrying. Furthermore, if she is, a member of our committee will need to be present at the birth.”

Killian was stunned. There was no other word for it. “I beg your pardon?” He was amazed he was able to get the words out.

“Baby switching,” Lord Isaac said grimly, with all seriousness. “There have been instances…”

“For God’s sake…” Killian interrupted, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“It’s for your own protection as much as anyone’s,” Lord Isaac assured him. “If she were to give birth to a girl, and no one is there to witness it, what’s to stop her from switching the babe with a boy?”

Killian couldn’t bring himself to dignify that with any kind of response.

“You need to find out if she’s carrying,” Lord Isaac insisted. “Arrangements will have to be made.”

“She was widowed yesterday,” Killian bit out. “I will not burden her with such intrusive questions.”

“There is more at stake here than her ladyship’s feelings,” Lord Isaac continued, haughtily. “We cannot properly transfer the earldom while there is doubt as to the succession.”

“The devil take the earldom,” Killian snapped.

Lord Isaac drew back in visible horror. “You forget yourself, my Lord.”

“I am not your lord,” Killian growled. “I’m not anyone’s…” He stopped suddenly, realizing almost too late that he was perilously close to tears. He glared at the man in front of him, trying to stave them off. This little weasel, who didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t just an Earl who had died, but a man. 

His brother.

He expected that as soon as the abhorrent little rodent left, the door was locked behind him, and Killian was sure no one would observe him, the tears would finally come. 

“Someone has to ask her,” Lord Isaac said.

“It won’t be me,” Killian murmured.

“Then I will.”

Killian could take it no longer and was out of the chair like a shot, grabbing Isaac by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him against the wall before the man could even blink.

“You will not approach Lady Kilmartin,” he growled, menacingly. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the damnable man choked out. Killian realized he was turning an alarming shade of purple, so he stepped back, releasing him.

“Get out.”

“You’ll need to…”

“Get out!” Killian roared.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, when you’re in a more calm frame of mind.” The man left quickly with as much dignity as he could muster and Killian closed the door firmly behind him, turning the lock before he returned to the desk.

He dropped his head into his hands and a single tear finally spilled over and tracked down his face. His chest was tight and his throat felt so narrow, it was a wonder he could breathe at all. A gasping sob escaped him and the dam broke. Killian’s anguish poured from him in a seemingly endless tide, the tears streaming down his face, soaking the loosened cravat he wore and the shirt underneath.

How had it come to this? Yes, as long as Liam and Emma had remained childless, he was second in line to the earldom. But no one seriously expected him to inherit. Liam was barely thirty and the picture of health. 

Word had already reached him that men at the club were calling Killian the luckiest man in Britain. What no one realized was that he’d never wanted this. He’d never wanted the earldom. He wanted his brother. 

And no one seemed to understand that.

Except Emma. Her devastation equaled his own, he knew. 

They’d put her to bed last night, him and her mother, Ruth, who’d arrived quickly after his urgent summons, and she’d slept soundly all night, too worn out from the shock of it all. Killian knew, because he’d spent the night opposite the large bed where Emma slept, in one of the chairs where he imagined Liam and Emma taking their morning coffee before starting their days. He couldn’t bear to leave her or be alone with his own thoughts.

When she woke this morning, he could see the moment she remembered the events of the night before. Her eyes landed on him and he saw a moment of alarm, surprise, confusion, and then finally realization. He stood on shaky legs as her eyes filled with tears. They only lasted a moment, however. He watched as a firm resolve took over her gaze, her movements choppy and stilted as she swiped away the evidence of her anguish.

He grudgingly admired her for that and stood before her helpless to do anything useful. What were they to do? Neither of them was prepared for this. They were young, happy, carefree. They’d never dealt with death before and all the myriad details involved with it.

Who would have guessed the Committee for Privileges would get involved? And demand a front row seat to an event that should be a private moment for Emma. If indeed she was with child. Which he was not going to ask her.

“We must inform Alice,” she said.

“Of course,” he murmured. Why he hadn’t thought of that, he’d never know. Their mother would be equally devastated.

“I’ll write the note.” 

Killian could only nod, wondering what he was supposed to do. The answer became apparent when Lord Isaac arrived. But he couldn’t think about that now, all that he stood to gain since Liam was gone. There was nothing good about Liam being gone. And if anyone dared to offer him congratulations…

His tears spent, Killian lifted his head and stared sightlessly out the window. He hadn’t wanted this. Had he?

He only wanted Emma. But not like this. Not at this cost.

He’d never coveted Liam’s title. The money or power.

He’d only ever coveted Liam’s wife.

And now he stood to gain everything that had been Liam’s. Except his wife. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart and threatened to strangle him. 

He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this.

“Killian?” Her soft knock and voice drew his attention to the door. The locked door. He rose and moved toward it, making no effort to hide his grief. He unlocked and opened the door and she stood there, as thin but strong as a young birch tree, her face pale, her green eyes round as saucers and beyond exhausted.

“I’ve sent a note to your mother,” she murmured. “Is there anyone else…”

Killian shook his head slowly. He knew he should say something to her, but his mind just refused to give him anything. He was too broken, too grief stricken. Just like the woman in front of him.

He gently took her elbow. “You should sit down. You look exhausted.”

Emma shook her head, even as she allowed him to lead her into the room and toward a chair. 

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I can’t stop. If I do…” She shook her head. “If I don’t stop, I don’t have to think. And if I don’t have to think…” she trailed away and her eyes filled with tears again. It didn’t matter. He understood perfectly.

Then she turned her eyes upon him and her mouth opened like she had something to say. He steeled himself against the despair in her eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

~*~*~

Seemingly overnight, Kilmartin House in London changed. 

First, Alice Jones arrived from Scotland. 

Second, Emma’s own mother, Ruth Nolan was a much more frequent guest than she’d been when Liam was alive. 

Third, Killian was a much less frequent guest than when Liam was alive. 

And Emma wasn’t sure she’d survive that last one.

Of course, it was a comfort to see her mother-in-law. They got along well and Emma loved her. And she’d known the grief of losing her husband. But now she’d lost her son, and in many ways was in as much need of comfort as Emma herself.

And of course her own mother was also a comforting presence, having also been widowed young, but Killian was the one she needed. Killian was the one who knew and loved Liam best, besides herself of course, and Killian was the one who most understood what she was going through.

He still came to visit occasionally, but when he did, he didn’t feel there. Not like he was when Liam was alive. His eyes were distant and he didn’t come anywhere near her, beyond what propriety demanded when greeting her or taking his leave - a formal bow, a slight brush of her knuckles with his lips, murmured words she could barely hear. He wasn’t the same.

And it was killing her.

But, she reminded herself, he was hurting, too. 

She reminded herself of it when she didn’t know what to say to him. She reminded herself of it when he didn’t tease her. She reminded herself of it when they sat together in the parlor and neither had anything to say.

She’d lost her husband. And she’d lost her best friend at the same time.

She was lonely. And so sad. Why had no one told her how sad she’d be? But would she have believed them? Of course not. There was no understanding this kind of grief without experiencing it for herself. 

Killian was the one link to the husband she’d lost - who’d loved him as she did - and she hated him for being here, but not being here. To walk beside her in their mutual grief. So they could be a comfort to each other.

It never occurred to her that in losing Liam, she might lose Killian, too.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Alice’s gentle question drew Emma from her musings. She blinked, momentarily unable to really comprehend the question, much less answer it.

“Uh, fine,” she said after a moment, with a slight shake of her head. The soft smile on the face of her mother-in-law, coupled with the joyful sadness in her eyes, prompted a small smile from herself as well. It brought home the fact that while Alice had lost her first born, the fact that Emma was carrying a piece of him brought a measure of peace to her grieving heart. “No different than I ever have.”

Alice sat down across from her and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s remarkable. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“If it wasn’t for my missing courses, I’d never know anything was different.” And it was true. She’d been around enough pregnant women to know what to expect in the early weeks and months, and the only thing she was experiencing that might be a symptom of early pregnancy was that she was a bit more tired. But, of course, that could be the grieving as well. Her mother had told her she’d been tired for a year after her father passed. Emma experienced none of the expected quirks and illnesses other women had told her about.

She’d be happy to be losing what little breakfast she was actually eating each morning, if only so she could imagine the little one waving, hello, I’m here!

“I wonder if Killian will be visiting today?” Alice mused.

“He hasn’t been here in three days,” Emma murmured, “So I expect he will.” She’d never admit to counting the days between his visits, but she had been, and he was due for his bi-weekly visit.

“He’s grieving Liam,” Alice said softly.

“So am I.” Her voice was a bit sharper than she’d have liked. “So are you.”

“But it’s different for him,” she continued. “He’s a bit in limbo until you deliver. And that’s still six months away.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I just hope that he begins thinking about the future soon. If you do deliver a girl, he’ll have to marry and produce an heir.”

Emma scoffed. “Killian will do what has to be done, but he’d never marry while he’s still grieving Liam and it’d be dreadfully unfair to expect him to.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed. “I just so want him to be happy. Even with Liam gone.” She sighed forlornly.

It was odd. Emma wanted Killian to be happy, too, but imagining him married was rather hard to picture. Of course, it hadn’t stopped her from trying to push Killian in that direction. But if she was really honest with herself, he just didn’t seem the type. For years, she’d had Liam and Killian had been their rather constant companion. Could she be happy for him if he found love and happiness and she remained alone? Was her heart big enough?

She was tired and feeling a bit weak as well. She stood, grasping the arm of the chair when a sudden wave of dizziness came over her. 

“I think I’ll lay down for a nap,” she said. “Wake me when Killian comes, if you please.”

“Of course, my dear. That’s a very good idea. You need your rest.” A sudden gasp escaped Alice and Emma saw that she wasn’t looking at her, but at the seat she just rose from. 

There in the middle of the cushion was a small patch of red.

Blood.

~*~*~

Killian stared at the almost full bottle of rum sitting on his desk. His life would have been much more bearable if that amount of alcohol was enough to get him drunk. But unfortunately, Killian was blessed with quite a robust constitution and could hold his liquor with aplomb and grace. 

He glanced outside the window to see it was still some hours from sunset. Also unfortunately, he couldn’t make himself override the good manners and etiquette Alice had instilled in him from the time he was a small boy that refused to let him get bosky before the sun set. 

He tapped his fingers against the desk and wondered what he ought to do with himself. Liam had been gone for nearly two months now, and he hadn’t yet brought himself to move into Kilmartin House, still living in his modest apartments a few blocks away. According to Lord Isaac, whose lectures he was eventually forced to endure, the title would go into abeyance until Emma delivered. And if she gave birth to a girl, then the title and everything with it would be his. But given that that event was still six months away, Killian felt he could get away with not taking up residence in the earl’s house. He told himself he didn’t want to move in only to have to move out again in six months.

But the truth was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could survive living under the same roof as Emma. 

She was still living in the house. She was still the Countess of Kilmartin. And would be until she gave birth to a girl and he married. Which he was absolutely not inclined to do.

Because even if he did end up as the earl, Emma wouldn’t be his countess, and that knowledge was enough to make him seriously think about damning etiquette to hell and downing that entire bottle of rum between now and sunset.

He would have thought his grief would have overtaken the longing in his heart for Emma, that he could be near her and not want her so much he could barely breathe. But no. His heart still ached with the pain of loving her. Even being in the same room with her caused his breath to hitch and his heart to race. 

And now, all that longing was intertwined with a suffocating guilt. As if there hadn’t been enough of that when Liam was alive. 

Emma was in pain. Grieving. And he should be there comforting her. Who could better do so? No one had known Liam better than he did. The two people who knew and loved him best should be comforting one another in their loss. But no, instead of comforting her, he was lusting after her. What kind of bastard lusted after his sister-in-law, his pregnant sister-in-law, when his brother wasn’t even cold in his grave?

Him, apparently. 

And so he stayed away. Not completely. He couldn’t get away with that, not with his mother in residence at Kilmartin House. In addition, although the title wasn’t potentially to be his for another six months, everyone was looking to him to manage the affairs of the earl. 

It was the least he could do. For Liam. For Emma.

He may not be able to be her friend at the moment, but he could make sure her finances were in order.

She didn’t understand. And he knew she didn’t. She’d often come to visit him when he was working in the study of Kilmartin House - going over various solicitor’s and land steward’s reports - looking for their previous camaraderie, he knew, but which he was unable to give. Not yet.

“My lord?”

Killian looked up at the door to see his valet, Smee, and a footman wearing the unmistakable green and gold livery of Kilmartin house.

“A message from your mother,” the man said, approaching with an envelope in his outstretched hand. “She said it was urgent.”

His brows rose on his head. Urgent? That was new. His mother had sent him nearly daily missives, or it seemed like it anyway, but they were never more than just prattling on about the doings at Kilmartin House. She was likely just trying to keep herself busy.

Once Smee and the footman left the room, he opened the letter.

Come quickly, it said. Emma has lost the baby.

~*~*~

Killian himself was nearly killed several times, not to mention the numerous pedestrians who were in his way, as he raced on horseback to Kilmartin House.

But now he stood here in the foyer, holding his crying mother, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

A miscarriage they called it. It seemed like such a small word for such a profound happening. And why had they called him? This was the province of women and doctors. Of which, he was neither. What could he possibly do?

But then it hit him. He was the earl.

Slowly but surely over the last two months, Killian had been stepping into Liam’s shoes. And now that process was complete. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak. 

It took nary a thought to murmur comforting nonsense to his mother as he led her to the downstairs parlor, her sobs abating. 

“It’s like losing Liam all over again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed. And he did. While Emma had been pregnant, a small piece of Liam still existed on this earth. And while he wasn’t yet prepared to step fully into Liam’s shoes, by the time she delivered, he would have been, and he would have done everything duty demanded. For Liam, his child, for Emma.

But he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t. Not yet.

That last fragile link to Liam was snapped and he was right back where he was two months ago.

“How is she?” he asked.

“In shock,” she answered quietly. “She’s been crying. She can’t seem to stop. She asked for you.”

Killian’s head snapped toward his mother.

“Me? Why?”

Alice’s face was surprised. “She wanted you.”

“But… I can’t…” he stammered.

“Yes, you can.” His mother looked confused at his refusal. “You have to,” she insisted.

Killian shook his head vehemently, his hands starting to tremble. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can’t abandon her!”

“I’m not! I didn’t!” he cried, the grief breaking free. “Liam abandoned her! Liam abandoned me!” he shouted. His voice shocked him. He sounded like a wounded animal - pained, panicked, confused. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “She was never mine to abandon!”

“Killian George Alaster Jones!” his mother cried, shocked. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Mother,” he all but moaned. “She needs a woman. What can I do?”

“You can be her friend,” she said softly.

“No. I can’t. Not yet.” The anguish on his mother’s face was real and he knew his was the same. In a move of utter and pathetic cowardice, he rose and ran from the room. 

~*~*~

If there truly were nine circles of Hell, then in the month since he’d taken on his duties, Killian surely must have taken up residence in one of the lower levels of Hell on earth. With every new ceremony, each document he signed as Kilmartin, and every “my lord” he was forced to endure, it was as if Liam's spirit was being pushed further and further away.

Everything that had been Liam’s was now his. 

Except Emma.

And Killian was determined to keep it that way. He would not bring that last insult to bear against his brother’s memory. He’d seen her, of course. And offered his best words of comfort. Which were, truthfully, woefully inadequate. And both he and Emma knew it. 

He’d been more relieved that she was physically unharmed than upset over the loss of the child. But he couldn’t very well say that.

Their mothers, for some reason, felt compelled to describe the event in gruesome detail, a chamber maid trotting out the bloodied sheets as proof that Lady Kilmartin had indeed lost the baby. Lord Isaac had nodded in approval when presented with the evidence, but had then added that Lady Kilmartin would still need to be observed closely for the next few months to be sure she was not increasing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to circumvent the sacred laws of primogeniture, he’d asserted.

The rage inside Killian at that statement nearly propelled him to pick up Lord Isaac bodily and throw him out the window, but he managed to control himself by the most tenuous of grips.

He still hadn’t moved into Kilmartin House. He knew it was expected, but the circumstances at the house hadn’t changed, and Killian still couldn’t bring himself to live in the same house as the woman he loved.

Who now stood at the threshold of his study. She looked thin and pale, but her green eyes flashed.

“Emma?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

He was shocked. He couldn’t deny it. She’d never been here. Not when Liam was alive. And certainly not after.

“I wanted to see you.” The rest of her statement, her accusation really, went unspoken. You’ve been avoiding me.

Was this improper? He hadn’t a clue. Their relationship now was so different and ambiguous, he couldn’t guess what rules of etiquette applied. He motioned to a seat and she took it, her fingers twisting in her lap. 

She finally looked at him, her gaze intense, grief and anger swirling in their depths.

“I’ve missed you.” Make that an even lower level of hell.

“Emma…” he tried.

“You are… were… my friend,” she said, angrily, swiping at the tear that tracked down her face. “Besides Liam, you were my closest friend!”

Emma, I…” he tried again. He was a fool. And a coward. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

“Where have you been?” 

“I…” He was speechless. Brought down by an angry and grief-stricken face, and a mountain of guilt. Although guilt for exactly what, he couldn’t pinpoint any longer. It came from too many sources to make sense of anymore.

“I needed you.” The plaintive need in her voice nearly undid him. “You knew him best. You loved him the most, besides me. Why didn’t you come and help me?”

Killian looked down at his desk. He couldn’t lie to her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth either.

“I don’t know,” he settled upon instead. She was quiet and Killian couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“That’s it then,” she whispered. 

“I guess so,” he replied sadly. The sadness threatened to consume him. In the eyes of the ton, he may have gained much, but in reality, he’d lost everything. And the one person who needed him the most… he couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t stand to be near her. Because the grief and the anger and the love and the guilt were a never ending flood, and he was drowning.

The ticking clock on the mantle was the only accompaniment to her swirling thoughts. She looked at Killian and took in his tense shoulders, his rigid bearing, the unbridled grief on his countenance mirroring hers. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he finally said, taking a tentative step toward her. Then another. Then another. Then he was kneeling before her, his hand on her knee. “I’m so, so sorry, Emma.”

“Why did this happen?” she cried. “I don’t understand!” The tears poured from her eyes and Killian gathered her into his arms. “It isn’t fair!” She clutched at his jacket, holding on for dear life as all the grief, all the anger, all the confusion that she thought she’d already released burst forth from her all over again.

“It isn’t fair that it happened to me!” she lamented. “It isn’t fair that this happens to anyone! Oh, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.” She could just hear him murmuring into her hair and placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. And the comfort she felt from him holding her was almost more than she could bear. For the first time in months, she felt safe and warm. And not alone.

Her tears finally spent, she pulled back from him. 

“Will you come back? To Kilmartin House?” she asked, her voice shaky. “Will you stop ignoring me? I still need you.”

She could see the tears in his own eyes, grief and something else she couldn’t identify, as she waited for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what to say to you. Didn’t know what I could do, so I stayed away.”

“I know,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. She still clutched at him, unable to let him go, or the warmth and safety he gave. “I knew that’s why you were staying away, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” He released her and stood, even as her arms reached for him again. “I’ll take up my residence in Kilmartin House.”

He could deny her nothing. And living under the same roof couldn’t possibly be any worse than what he’d already had to endure. And if it was, and it did actually kill him, then so be it.

“Thank you. That will… that will be a great comfort to me. And your mother as well.” She paused for a moment and rose. “You know, you were to be his father, in a way.”

Killian felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop. 

“What did you say?” The words were soft, weak, he could barely catch his breath to get them out.

“The baby,” she replied, turning toward him. “In the absence of his father, you’d have been the closest thing he had. And even with him gone, having you here will help me let him go. Let them both go.”

But Killian didn’t hear those last words. His heart started beating again at a gallop and the blood rushed in his ears. All he could grasp from her statement was that he would have been a father to the baby, and that knowledge destroyed him. 

The title, the lands, the money, the power, the responsibility were all his now. The only things that weren’t were Liam’s wife and child. And now Emma was telling him that wasn’t true either.

He grabbed Emma by the arms. He was shaking, and she looked frightened but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let her go.

“No!” he cried. “I can’t! I won’t! I’m not Liam!”

“Of course you’re not,” Emma cried out, thoroughly alarmed at the sudden change that had come over Killian. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, his grip on her arms painful, but her words to try and reach him, to get him to release her, fell on deaf ears. He looked wild, crazed, like a cornered animal that would either make a last desperate attack to try and save itself, or fall over and wait for the final killing blow.

“You can’t ask this of me,” he breathed, the strength and energy that fueled him, completely disappearing. He still held her tightly, but his eyes were finally seeing her and not some vision playing out in his mind. “I can’t do it.”

“Killian, you’re hurting me,” she whispered. “Please let me go.” He released her suddenly, the recrimination in his eyes and the restored blood flow in her arms bringing tears to her eyes.

“I’d… I’d better go,” she said, pulling away from him. She looked at him for a moment more, trying to make sense out of what just happened. She’d never seen Killian like that before and it frightened her. She wasn’t afraid of him, though. Even after that, she knew with utter surety that he would never harm her and would protect her to his last breath.

“Perhaps… perhaps it would be better if you remained here instead of Kilmartin House.”

“Y- yes,” he stammered, nodding with a jerky motion. “I think that would be best.” 

Not only had she lost Liam, and her child, but it was now clear she’d lost Killian as well. And she didn’t quite know what she would do about that.

~*~*~

Once Emma was gone, Killian sat back down behind his desk and poured himself a tall drink.

He’d made a promise to her and broken it almost in the same breath. He’d spent the last month fulfilling the duties of the earl and then Emma’s words made him realize something.

She truly had no inkling of his feelings for her, and as long as that was the case, as long as she didn’t understand how much he hated himself for every step he took in Liam’s shoes, he couldn’t be near her. 

And that brought him to a decision. Rarely in life had his path been this clear. He slammed back the rum and rose from his desk. When he arrived at his bedchamber, he found his valet carefully folding a cravat.

“Smee,” he asked. “What do you think of India?”

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! Next ch will be up on Saturday!

#a scoundrel… or a gentleman? #krystal writes #inspired by francesca bridgerton’s story #art by motherkatereloyshipper

[hyruviandoctor]

So far I've gotten a huge raise and got approved for my first solo apartment so yeah I guess 2024 might actually be my year

#this is insane?? #the raise is like double digits #and the apartment is relatively affordable and in the same complex I'm in with my brother right now #I know there's some bad news likely coming my way in the next 5 days because of something else going on in life but like #the blow is softened for sure preemptively #anyway never give up hope that things will get better #Tyler Talks

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi riptide #gillion tidestrider #GONNA START FORMATTING MY COMICS BETTER. W THE PROPER 'PREV' 'NEXT' LINKS #REALLY DIDNT EXPECT TO CONTINUE THIS SERIES BUT AAAUUUHH MY BRRAAAIN MY BRAIN IS SO IDEASSS. I HAVE 3 OTHER PAGES SKETCHED OUT #NO PROMISES ILL FINISH EM ANY TIME SOON OR EVER. MY WHIMS ARE THEIR OWN BEAST AND I ONLY DRAW ON MY WHIMS #THAT BEING SAID IF U COMMISSIONED ME ILL GEEETT TO YOUUU IM SORRYYYY. ART IS AN EMOTIONAL RELEASE FOR ME N BABY I HAVE EMOTIONS. #ESPECIALLY ABOUT GILLION TIDESTRIDER CHAMPION OF THE UNDERSEA HERO OF THE DEEP.for the desc here i put smth that i typed up in the tags of #another thing i made. i gotta make a proper Baby Gillion tag or smth. eventually.. eventually...I LOVE DRAWIN THIS LIL BABY GUY.. #i also LOVE depicting the teachers as just being so fuckin mean. ofc theres variation in that. just like in all things.like the teacher her #idk if itll be mentioned but the octo lady is named Ms Octburn.an octopus pun based off the name of an actual councilor i had #when i was in elementary school i got bullied alot but teachers never did anything. i hated adults and didnt trust them. #but this councilor o mine was so genuinely sweet. i remember spending alot of time w her. she doesnt work there anymore. #but that one school adult that actually earns ur trust and is there for you when they can be.its SO important for a child i think #i hope she knows how much she helped me.youll see in the next page that ms octburn isnt perfect either.but she tries. they all try.somehow. #ALL these comics are gonna be inspired by somesorta experience o mine in the school system. school is so fucked up u ever thing abt that #AND GILLIOOOOONNN IN THE MOST FUCKED UP LITTLE SCHOOL OF ALL. MAINTAINED BY A CULT. CENTERED AROUND HIM. OUR CHOSEN ONE #I IMAGINE ALOT BANKS ON HIS SUCCESS. THIS IS THE WORLD. THE WHOLE WORLD. THE PROPHECY IS GOING TO COME TRUE N UR TELLIN ME #THAT ITS THIS LITTLE IDIOT THATS GONNA BE SAVING US? WHAT IF HE FAILS. IF HE CANT GET THIS RIGHT THEN HE WILL FAIL AND WE WILL DIE #WE NEED TO TRAIN HIM. WE NEED HIM TO LEARN. AND TO SUCCEED. OR ELSE WE'RE DEAD. WE'RE ALL FUCKING DEAD. I IMAGINE THAT MUST BE STRESSFUL #in other news i hope ppl actually giggle when they read these. they ARE intended to be comical. dark humor or whatever. like its also sad #this is intended to be a sad comic series. but a funny one too. does that make sense? god i hope so.saw some1 say they had flashbacks- #-reading this. like YES!! THE INTENDED EFFECT!! YOU GET ME!! i love seeing ppl get upset on this lil baby boys behalf. i LOVE seeing ppl- #-wail n weep n cry in the comments. i LOOOVE seeing ppl RELATE to baby gillion. and i love letting u all know that this wont be a happycomi #gillion gets his happiness arc in the actual show. this series is one of unfortunate events. teehehehe. do u guys remember that show #i keep listening to the lil songs from A Series of Unfortunate Events for inspiration. GOOD STUFF!! #anyway uuhh uhh thats all i got in my brain. for now. feed me ur comments give me ur input i NNEEEEEDD THHEEEMMMM

[goldkirk]

I opened Pinterest for the first time in months.

That made me realize a lot about how bad I was actually doing and how much of a Waffle House Index use of Pinterest is for adult me, apparently.

I hadn’t realized it had grown that foundational to me in a healthy-brain-exercise-and-hobby-joy way. Nice to know moving forward! It’s another sign I can keep track of and use to spot correlation/indicator patterns earlier my behavior.

I love this kind of thing, it makes me so excited!

#personal data hacking is my passion #someday I’ll tell a story about the most notable times I tracked things or hacked my own mental processes from childhood to now #including the fear of spiders and bed wetting and behavior changes and posture and heart rate and cursive and putting kitchen items and #trash away as soon as I’m finished using them instead of never ever or ages and ages later #I’m so proud of that #you have to give it time and still commit. chaining thoughts and routines and behaviors really works #we are not separate brains and bodies and external environments #anyway I’m gonna go haha I used up he last of my energy burst on Discord and here and I need to go rest and lie on the floor and probly doze #love you all be back soon bye mwah! #add to journal #trauma evolution #my Waffle House index #this is going to be a fun new tag I’m so going to have fun with this and I bet it’ll be a helpful example reference for other people too #more than just for future me! #so excited so proud of myself so happy so grateful for hope about me really trusting that my ability and my behavior and my performance #are able to and going to yes keep getting better #long many-milestone path-journeys of potential #like when I was a little 6-7 year old kid-team athlete looking ahead at a concept of a future with me over time getting #stronger and cleverer and faster and slicker and calmer and even happier and more and more capable and able to accomplish! #a gift. all this time I didn’t think I’d have and have been living anyway is such a gift. #knowing that I truly have future time to grow and explore and change and improve in even though I still can’t FEEL or IMAGINE that future #time yet. also a gift. #the time I will one day realize I can imagine a future and imagine myself alive? will be a gift. #breath is a gift. experiencing life is a gift. other life is a gift. rhythm is a gift. motion is a gift. awake is a gift. color is a gift. #such a great expanse. all of it new. all of it eternal. all of it me. all of it nothing I’ve ever known before. all of it all of it #all of it. gifts. #gonna go have floor time now. this would be such a nice time to re-re-regain my ability to cry! #mwah I love you future me. take care of your hand and thank u for writing all this down 💛 #hey little star whatcha gonna queue? #my poetry

[lobotomizedlady]

people often assume when we all go out together that I'm my half brothers mom (I'm 20 years older than him) & that his parents are his grandparents & it's so funny bc I know it bothers them. old ass idiots

#my dad was 49 & his wife was 45 when they had him #the story behind his birth is actually extremely fucked up like everything else about their relationship #so my dad left her like a million times to try to go back to my mom (who kept telling him no unless he sorted out his issues) then he #would always run right back to her & she always took him back. anyways i guess he said smth along the lines of #''my wife (he was still married to my mom) will always be the love of my life bc shes the mother of my kids'' #and...she went off bc & on fertility treatments without telling him. then shes pregnant & he is still saying he wants to come back to us #so she said he will never see their kid & her son from a previous marraige THREATENED MY DAD AT GUNPOINT #and said if you ever leave my mom again ill fucking kill yoi #so then the divorce was finalized & they got married & my half brother was born. rest is history #for the record i dont feel sorry for my dad at all it was his fault too. the fucking hypocrite was having sex before marriage #and he knew she was nuts & far too attached to her #what a fucking idiot. all he had to do was get on meds & in therapy & admit he was wrong & he could have stayed with us #but he needed constant validation & to be in charge of everything & thats what his new wife gives him. she converted to his cult & now they #raise my brother in it. and she just does whatever my dad wants & lets him treat her like shit. i would actually feel sorry for her if sh #if she werent such a fucking awful person. and she tries to be all nicey nice w/us despite being a literal homewrecker. #and doing things like telling my dad he cant spend more than 50 dollars per year on each of us #while having him buy her a third car & a 1500 dollar fur coat. lol #theyre so much better off financially than us that its unreal. my mom doesnt get a penny despite how much we are struggling #but if i want a relationship with my half brother i just have to pretend none of this is weird or wrong. #anyways i just hope he never finds out the circumstances of his birth bc god can you fucking imagine

[southernvampire]

uterus has been yeeterused

#so i had a hysterectomy about two weeks ago and it's insane how much better i feel not only physically but mentally #i havent felt this in tune with my body since i was a kid #i finally feel like im on the path to how i want my body to be like and i never understood just how much i was affected by #both gender dysphoria and physical disease (endometriosis) until i got almost everything removed in there #im solidly sure im nonbinary now instead of having conflicting feelings about it #i feel much better about expressing my strange femininity and being perceived as feminine #i feel more spiritual too?? idk how to describe it #im just confused a little about why this had such a big impact on me since yeah it did give me dysphoria to a degree but i didnt think it #was THAT bad #i feel more in tune with my child self; like i feel like a grown up version of my 9 year old self and more confident #my mind is much calmer and i just feel so present and one with my body. i finally feel like i could meditate comfortably withouf wanting to #escape my mind or body?? idk idk it's so so weird #anyway im also in much less pain despite not being able to do much of anything and still healing from surgery #and i know that having this done isnt a cure but god i hope i get lucky and that the endo doesnt come back anyway #it's amazing to be able to love my body instead of being mad at it because it causes me pain and does things that i dont want it to #idk if that's a fully healthy mindset or not but that #that's what's been going on in my life so far

[the-kipsabian]

in three weeks this time i'll be on a plane again

#never thought it possible again tbh #i was so ready to give up on this and just life in general #i mean.. im not saying im still mentally 100% okay far from it honestly but we got over the worst part for now #im not gonna say dreams come true or anything like that but knowing it does get better #setting yourself save points to get to helps. yeah it hurts on the way there but its worth it #or something. idk i just woke up and im already kinda emotional about this #anyways. london does approach. tk do the right thing #im gonna get coffee and hope this humidity doesnt blow up my head today god its so gross #night is an absolute mess on main

[medicinemane]

As always, if you wonder why I don't talk about certain current events but do others, a lot of it comes down to whether I think it's something that other people are talking about a lot

If it's something where I figure you're going to be well informed and need a break, I tend to keep it to a minimum on here cause you already know

If it's something I rarely see talked about, then I'm more likely to mention it

World's bad, we're all doing what we can, I know people have said to me before they appreciate me more keeping to cats and frogs and random stuff, so I mostly try to do that, but... in the end I just kinda share whatever my brain decides to share

Want to give my thought process though

#and in this case it's a matter of that Syria really does feel forgotten and I won't deny I often forget too #but with the stuff that's going on right now I really prefer to when I can be reblogging stuff that has something at least a bit actionable #stuff that says where you can donate to give aid via reputable sources... that's what I like to try and focus on #but yeah... man; only place I really ever tend to see Syria mentioned is in Ukrainian circles #so that's why I wanted to highlight that one #man I wish I could do more in the world #so many people suffering and... and... well; and I can't do shit about it and that sucks #just keep trying to slowly get things together around here; and trying to slowly be able to help more and more people #and just hope that if you help people; it'll make them want to help people like they were helped #and maybe if enough of us get stable ground under our feet and know how it was to be helped... maybe some day we can collectively help enou #...try to avoid making things feel hopeless with my posts; cause things certainly feel hopeless #so I try to... try to focus on the good and what can be done to fix things as much as possible #want to keep people in the fight to try and make things better; not drain them by posting nothing but the bleakness of the world #things will never be right; those who've died can't be saved and we've failed them forever #which is all the more reason we can't give up and have to keep trying to make things better #because if we can never make things right; then the least we can do is try and make things better in the future #to at least stop adding to the list of people we'll never be able to fix things for #...something like that #it's bleak and I'm depressive anyway; but show must go on; you know? #so that's my thoughts here #I just feel the need to explain it sometimes; because people have a way of making assumptions #that if you don't talk about something you don't care #no... that's not it; I care; I just don't want to burn people out #and you can say they shouldn't burn out but I try to deal in practicalities and descriptivism; and people can be burned out #rather keep them in the fight to make the world better #so if there's a situation... like the George Floyd protests; that was another one where I didn't post much on it #cause we all knew... we all were paying attention and... I just figured people needed space #...I'm sad... sad more police reforms and accountability couldn't get pushed though but... at least we got something #...and I'm not gonna act like I'm some front line fighter when it comes to justice #I barely can deal with my own shit; I'm not saying I'm worth a damn thing in any cause

[nixtorr]

eight and liv but they enable eachother’s murderous tendancies instead of their actual dynamic

#eighth doctor #liv chenka #eight and liv but eight is the same eight who would have killed davros gladly if they were the only victims in terror firma #eight and liv but eight takes more traits from caerdroia’s the nasty one #eight and liv but eight resembles the eight who was like ‘give me the code and i shant break your arm’ #gets the code and whomps the guy’s head against a wall in vanishing point #eight and liv but eights character actually makes sense to be like that after de1 #im sorry but eight is rarely an optimist. he is however a hopeful realist #‘despair accords with reality but i insist on hope’ and such #he KNOWS the universe is full of evil but #his hope never stops him from doing horrible things. like killing the clock faced people in anachrophobia #in de1 he is faced with his despair after the death of lucie in the face of ww1 and the daleks and the fake reality made to please him #and when he thought molly had died when she fell. he still had hope. he still climbed back up. but he was still ready to jump back down #with the risk of death #he was going to go to the end of the universe to look for hope. he hurt the tardis and himself for it. #thats all good. thats sexy. but why after all that is he so horribly an optimist #why does he believe that the eleven can change after he's been like that since his second incarnation. lumps of rock evolving into flowers #the only nice incarnation of his being the eight but he was like that since he was born and he was obviously struggling #why does he treat dickbag landlord from better watch out like he has any empathy in him before hes literally dragged to hell #anyway. bitchier eight and bitchier liv i think theyd be great together #actually. the amount of bitch liv is is great already

[urbanbirdbud]

it’s been. a very rough afternoon

#fun to know that even while in the midst of my worst disassociative episode in the past year I can still cobble together a good meme #anyways um. about to tear down literally everything I ever derives joy from in my room and put into storage and never speak more than needed #to my dad. I am. so so tired. every time I think things are looking up and I can relax in my own home something has to happen #and then I need to slowly rebuild any safety I felt beforehand. I hate knowing my stuff was looked through and I dont know to what extent #anyways yeah. yearly deeply oversharing personal post over. gonna go hide literally half of my mortal possessions in a box somewhere #personal #no rblogging etc etc #edit: having another breakdown bear w me #I’ve scraped myself down to nothing for peace in my family I grovel and shut up and bear it fucking all and even then #they have the fucking audacity to ask me more? to put away the few reminders I have of people who love me things I enjoy #and the friendships Ive held onto like a dying man does to water? #they say they care about my mental health and how the devil affects everyone insidiously. I think they should take a long deep look #in the fucking mirror. open their eyes to how fucking close I was to just. giving up while I was suffocating under the veil of religion #and no before anyone asks I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I’m not one to live for spite but I trudge on hoping to get somewhere better. #just gonna have a short cry before bottling it up and dealing w it ten yrs down the road. not gonna go thru another ‘check in’ to lose more #oops forgot my little tag -> #ubb chirps