#and probably if something has been shared yet

[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect

Agatha makes you build up your stamina until she actually lets you fuck her

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: g!p reader, virgin!reader, sex, age gap, fleshlight, degradation, humiliation kink, Agatha is MEAN and reader very much gets off on it, premature ejaculation, masturbation, reader is a walking HR violation, cumming in pants

When Agatha Harkness finds out you’re a virgin, she actually laughs. 

You’re a junior in college interning at your dad’s multi-billion dollar company over the summer, a nepo-baby at its finest, and so what if you have the hots for the general counsel? So what if you get hard every single time she even looks in your direction? 

You try to flirt with her, you’re as bold as you can be without her going straight to HR, and yet she barely even gives you the time of day. Deep down, you can tell she likes you though. She humors you and doesn’t tell you to shut up whenever you start to talk, so that must mean something. The two of you have formed quite the relationship since the summer started, with you saying the filthiest things to her and her brushing them off as if they were casual anecdotes. 

“I’d make you feel so good, Agatha,” you tell her one day. “I’ll fill you up so nicely.”

It might be pushing the limits — it’s your third pathetic attempt this day at getting her to reciprocate, but she’s used to it by now; it hardly even fazes her. Everyone in the office knows that their boss’s daughter has a cock, and they also know that their boss’s daughter has a filthy mouth, always saying something vulgar and sarcastic. No one takes anything that comes from your lips as serious. You’ve been called a spoiled, entitled, rich bitch, told that you’re heartless for not giving a damn about anything, expelled from three high schools for the explicit jokes that you make.

But your “jokes” to Agatha are the only thing you’re serious about. 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes; at twenty-five years your senior, she has had plenty of experience with girls that promise her the world and barely deliver on any said promises made. “I’m not some quick college lay that lets you rub my upper thigh and pretends that you’ve found my clit, you know.” 

It’s your turn to scowl. “Who do you think I am?” you ask and she fixes you with a pointed glare from behind her desk. “I know where the clit is.” 

“How many women have you actually satisfied?” she asks and your cheeks heat up. You figured it would come up eventually, but now you don’t actually want to answer. You duck your head and Agatha makes a noise, not exactly surprised, but almost disappointed. “You think I’m going to let a virgin fuck me? You probably wouldn’t even last two seconds inside me.”

“Hey, I’d last longer than that,” you snap, your head shooting back up to look at her incredulously. You can feel a slight stirring in your lower stomach at the thought of blowing your load the instant she gets inside you and how she would most definitely mock you for it. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and chuckles cruelly. “Honey, please. Go back to your desk and get your work done. I’m definitely not having sex with someone who can’t finish reading over a simple contract.” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, and she makes a face at you before you get up out of the chair in front of her desk you were lounging in. “Might have to go to the bathroom real quick and jerk one off though.” 

She crinkles her nose and waves her hand at you dismissively and you think that you’ve just blown all your chances with her. She’s definitely not going to want to fuck you now. There is some speculation floating around about your lack of experience and that’s why you overcompensate with the explicit things you say — libel you tell them, but deep down it’s accurate — and if Agatha, who has certainly had her fair share of partners, knows it’s real, then she for sure won’t waste her time with you. 

So you go back to your desk and begrudgingly get all your work done, emailing Agatha your thoughts about the contracts when you’re all done. She sends back a Very good job, y/n and you hate to admit that it gets you hard. You’d like nothing more than to go fuck yourself in the restroom but you stay at your cubicle until Agatha walks by so you can see her before she leaves for the day. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you call after her as she breezes by your desk without saying a word. It’s the last day of the third fiscal quarter today, and as a reward, tomorrow your dad is bringing his executive staff to your beach house in The Hamptons for a week. Because you’re part of the family, you get to attend, but none of the other interns do. 

It’s been this way since you were little, but only recently did you start to notice how attractive Agatha was. The way she takes absolutely no shit from anyone, even from your dad. The way she coolly holds her ground in the face of IRS audits, FBI raids, and anything else that got thrown at her. The way she raises an eyebrow at you when you say something stupid and it makes your cock hard in seconds. Everything about her drives you fucking wild. 

Agatha lifts a hand up in response, not even bothering to look over her shoulder at you, and your pants tighten almost uncomfortably. 

The second you get back to your apartment, you undo your belt and unzip your pants, reaching inside to take out your hard and leaking cock. Your hips thrust forward at the warmth from your hand and you gasp, the pleasure already dizzying. You think about Agatha on her knees in front of you, looking up at you through her glasses, telling you that you’re just a pathetic slut who will never be able to make her feel good. 

It takes three strokes of your hand before you grunt and your cock pumps out three long spurts of cum all over the kitchen counter. You grab a paper towel, dampen it, and then wipe up your mess before going to take a shower. 

You might have a serious problem. 

And it’s only going to get worse this week. An entire seven days where you’re going to be around her. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’re going to be hard for most of it. Is there a record for the most times a person has cum in a day? Because you think you might break it. 

That night, you have a dream about Agatha, as many of your dreams are. She’s sitting in a chair right by the bed, legs outstretched and open and her feet are resting on the duvet. You’re laying stomach-down, cock hard between your body and the covers, mouth watering. Agatha is completely naked, her cunt glistening, and the dream is so realistic that you can smell her. She laughs when you groan pitifully. 

Then she buries two fingers inside her and your hips lurch against the bed, gasping at the stimulation on your cock. 

“Look at you, humping the bed like a bitch in heat,” she snarls and your rhythm stutters. You garble out something incoherently and she laughs before rubbing her clit with her other hand. “Can’t even fuck me right, so I have to do it myself.” 

You moan loudly, grinding against the bed furiously, and she picks up her thrusts to match your face. “I can, please, I want to,” you beg before she cums all over her fingers. She pulls them out of her and then slides them into your mouth and you cum all over the bed and your stomach. 

When you jerk awake right after that, the first thing you notice is how sticky you are. You must have cum in your underwear from just your dream and it’s just further evidence of how completely fucked you are for the next week. 

There will certainly be no swimming for you because you don’t need the entire executive board and your father knowing that you’re getting hard for the forty-six year old general counsel. 

But fuck, Agatha in a swim suit — 

You cut yourself off from the thought because you don’t have enough time to get worked up again. 

Good thing too, because by the time you do get yourself all cleaned up from your little nighttime accident, you have to leave to get to the helicopters. 

There’s no sign of Agatha yet so you make awkward small talk with Rio Vidal, the head of Human Resources, because you have nothing better to do. She’s new and attractive, but no one gets your cock stirring like Agatha. You wonder if it’s the fact that she’s older and it taps into your mommy issues, or the fact that she can cut you down with a simple sentence and you’ve found that you have a huge thing for degradation, or the fact that she’s never going to let you touch her no matter how hard you beg. 

She drives you crazy and you fucking need her. 

Finally, Agatha pulls up in a company car and gets out, wearing a gray pantsuit, and you already feel your face heating up. She gets into one of the two helicopters without even looking at you and you make a beeline for it before your dad stops you and pulls you into the other one. You can’t exactly tell him that you want to be next to his general counsel, so you grumble to yourself before agreeing. 

It takes only about forty-five minutes to get to the house and the next hour is full of unpacking and the wait staff running around, trying to get everyone everything they need. 

Lunch is served and everyone gathers in the dining room except for Agatha, so you excuse yourself and try to go find her. 

You’re just “happening” to be walking by her room when she opens the door to step out, almost bumping into you. 

“Your quick solo session take a bit too long?” you ask crassly, delighting in the way her eyes roll exasperatedly. “Next time, give me a call and I’ll get you there quickly.”

She starts walking to the dining room, leaving you behind so you have to speed to catch up. “If I ever want someone to cum after three pumps inside me and leave me even more unsatisfied than I was before, I’ll make sure to let you know.”

“Hey, I’d lay you badly, but I’d lay you gladly,” you say as seductively as possible and she snorts. “Come on, you gotta admit you’ve at least thought about it.” 

Agatha spares you a glance. “When I’m trying not to cum. It’s a real turn-off for me personally.”

You also love how she gives as good as she gets. “Please?” you ask, whine, beg. “I’ll be so good for you — I’ll make you feel so good.”

She sniffs and rakes her eyes over your body, pausing at the outline of your cock through your pants. Before you even realize what’s happening, she’s pushed you against the wall and her hand cups your cock and you gasp while bucking into her touch. 

“Really?” Agatha chuckles. You make a muffled sound and try to grind up and she rubs her palm against you, making you throb. “You think you could make me feel good with your cock that’s already about to cum for me?” 

“Yes,” you choke out and she squeezes harder. You’re panting open-mouthed now, trying so hard to hold back from your release. 

She is completely unaffected as she leans in to whisper, “You’re so fucking pathetic,” into your ear and you whimper, your stomach twists, and your cock pulses before pumping loads of cum into your pants. You chant swears under your breath while you cling to her arms for dear life and she watches amusedly as a stain spreads on your pants. 

You’ve never been more of a mess in your life and she just smirks smugly before giving your cock a patronizing pat. 

“I’ll tell your dad you’ll be a little late to lunch.” And then she walks away, leaving you completely agape against the wall, cock still twitching in your pants. 

It’s hard to make eye contact with her the rest of the day without heat flushing through your cheeks and the memory of what she did to you making your cock stir. 

The second you can escape after dinner, you do. You fully intend on spending the rest of the night fucking yourself silly and trying to rid your brain of Agatha.

But around ten, there’s a knock on your door and you swing it open to find Agatha standing there in silk, navy pajamas and black glasses. Your jaw drops open and she brushes right past you to walk into your room and tosses something on the bed. 

A fleshlight. 

“What—” you start to say, but you can’t even finish your question because all the blood in your brain has rushed down to your cock in record time. 

Agatha turns to face you, hands on her hips, lips pursed. “Show me that you can last five minutes with it—” nods at the toy, “—and we’ll see about me letting your cock anywhere close to me.” 

Your breaths come out staggered and you stumble over to the bed, head spinning. There’s no way this is actually happening. You shove down your sweatpants and boxers and your cock bobs up, rigid and hard and leaking copious amounts of precum. 

“God, already?” she snorts and your cock twitches. “You’re so fucking desperate, aren’t you?” 

A muffled whimper escapes your lips and you give yourself a quick stroke. “Fuck.” You reach for the fleshlight, heat completely overwhelming your body, but she stops you first. 

“Spit on yourself,” she orders and you watch her with wide and pleading eyes as a strand of saliva drops from your mouth onto your cock. You feel like you’re in a trance as you spread it out along your length, the wetness of your spit and precum coating your cock and making it glisten in no time. “Fucking pathetic.” 

Her jeers only make you harder and this time, she doesn’t object when you grab the toy. You think you can hear her sharply inhale when you drag your cock against the fake pussy lips and you already know there’s no fucking way you’re going to last one minute, let alone five. 

“Wanna fuck you like this,” you babble before pushing your tip in and instantly freezing at the silicone ridges squeezing around you. You sigh heavily before your breathing quickens and you’re practically panting by the time you get your entire cock inside the fleshlight. 

Agatha’s face is unreadable. “I’m impressed you made it in,” she says, coldly and completely dry, and it makes you thrust into it. It feels so good, even though it’s just a cold, plastic toy and you can only imagine how the real thing would feel. “Well, get on with it. Chop chop, honey. I haven’t got all night to watch your sorry attempt at proving you can fuck me.” 

You grunt and start moving your cock in and out of the toy, whines falling out of you, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to focus on not cumming too soon. You want to last — you need to last for her, because she might actually let you touch her if you. 

“Ah ah,” she tuts and your cock throbs. “Open your eyes.” 

You obey, and the moment you see her, see the slight redness of her cheeks, you know you fucked up. 

With a loud grunt, you cum in the toy, filling it with so much of your seed that it spills out of the fake cunt and drips onto the floor as you continue snapping your hips up. 

Agatha laughs and walks straight to the door. “Not even thirty seconds. Maybe next time.” 

You are absolutely fucked. 

The next night, you’re almost to two minutes while desperately trying to think of anything else other than Agatha standing right there. She’s watching intently, like she’s studying your technique and critiquing it in her head, and you’re doing really well — you think you might actually have a chance to get to five. The secret is thinking about all the boring contracts you had to read this summer to keep your mind off the overwhelming pleasure you’re getting from the toy.

But then Agatha steps closer to you, runs a finger over your lips and down to cup your breast, and says, “God, you really are just a baby, aren’t you?” so sickly sweet. 

It makes you curse before filling the toy up again, your body completely betraying you. 

“That wasn’t fucking fair,” you try to argue. 

She sticks out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Oh, honey,” she coos and it’s so fucking condescending. Your cock twitches inside the toy. “It’s not my fault you’re so pathetic you can’t control yourself.”

“Yes, it is,” you whine and she rolls her eyes. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe you should cum before I get here so you might have a chance at lasting for five minutes,” she taunts and you’re too embarrassed to tell her that you already got off before she came tonight. Clearly it did not work. 

You figure that maybe you just need to cum more throughout the day to build up some stamina. You fuck yourself with the fleshlight in the morning after you wake up with morning wood because surprise, surprise: you had another dream about Agatha. When she takes a sip of her orange juice at breakfast, eyes flicking up to meet yours as she sucks on the straw, you have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and it only takes you about six strokes before you’re cumming all over your hand. It’s a long day of lounging around the pool and hushed conversations, and the moment Agatha steps out onto the desk in a sensible one-piece, you have to wrap a towel around your waist so no one sees your erection through your swim trunks to run back to your room, hastily saying that you forgot sunscreen. You cum into the fleshlight in about three minutes. 

And about thirty minutes before she shows up to your room at 10 pm on the dot, you have another quick session with your hand. 

You are absolutely determined tonight. 

When she strolls in through the door, the air is different. She’s carrying a glass of Scotch and you snatch it as she walks past you, downing the rest in one sip. 

“Are you even old enough to drink?” she asks, eyebrow raised and giving you a once over. 

You laugh sarcastically before setting the cup down on the nightstand and tearing your shirt off over your head, not missing the way her gaze flicks down to your nipples. Usually, you just take your boxers off, but tonight, you want her to see all of you. 

“A little arrogant, hm?” 

Nodding your head, you spit onto your cock and stroke it to full hardness. This is also the first time you haven’t had a raging erection the second she arrived. Before she can say anything, you’ve grabbed the fleshlight and started thrusting your cock into it. It feels good, but you’ve become so desensitized to it, just from today, that you’re feeling more confident than ever. 

Agatha realizes this, sees it on your face. “Wow, look at my slut,” she croones. “She finally learned how to fuck herself. Doesn’t mean you can fuck someone else though. I bet the moment you get inside me, you’ll cum because you’re too fucking pathetic to actually make me feel good.” 

The degradation goes straight to your cock and you grunt, pausing for a second before resuming. The smirk on her face is as frustrating as it is hot and only makes it harder to think clearly. 

“You’re just a worthless little whore, aren’t you?” she snarls and your breaths become shallow and your thrusts become more like quick ruts into the toy. 

“Yes, fuck,” you moan quietly, tightly, and god she’s not playing fair at all. The toy is squeezing you so hard and it’s becoming tougher to keep fucking it, but the prize of getting to be inside Agatha is so close if you can just hang on. 

She scoffs sharply but you can see the heat on her face. Fuck. She likes this. “How are you not absolutely humiliated by yourself and how desperate you are?” she says, getting meaner, and precum is leaking out of the toy each time you drive your cock back into the toy. If you weren’t actively using all of your effort to keep from cumming, you think you would’ve filled up the fleshlight at least three times by now. Agatha is trying so hard to break you, but you refuse. 

The most excruciating five minutes of your life finally end, and you are so fucking triumphant. “We had a deal,” you remind her hoarsely. 

“Stop acting like lasting five minutes is an accomplishment,” she scorns and you have to pull the toy off your aching erection or you actually might cum. Your cock bobs up and down, trails of precum dripping onto the floor and down your length. You’ve made such a mess. “Get on the bed,” she orders, and your heart stops. 

You lay on the duvet, resting your back against the pillows, and watch with bated breath as Agatha slowly unbuttons her pajama shirt. You whine when you can see her tits, round and perky, and you need to get her rosy nipples in your mouth immediately. She takes off her shorts and you can’t help but hump the air, your cock engorged and neglected. 

“Please,” you sob. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

She mockingly coos and then climbs onto the bed with her underwear still on, straddles your hips, and she slowly grinds against your cock. A loud, high-pitched keen tears itself out of your mouth and you buck up into her, but she tsks and hovers above you. “Patience, pet,” she says and there are literal tears in your eyes from how hard you are. 

Agatha reaches down and pulls her panties to the side and rubs her clit for a moment. 

“Can I—”

“—touch me? No. There’s no way you’d make it inside me then,” she sneers and you hate to admit that she’s right. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your cock jumping when she slides two fingers in herself. Your head is spinning, completely drunk with need for her. 

She takes pity on you and grabs your cock, angling it at her entrance. “It’s okay, honey. You’re just a little baby. My little, pathetic, desperate baby.” 

And then she slides down on your cock in one slick motion and your hands scramble to dig into the bedsheets and a loud, strangled moan comes out of your mouth, and you cum instantly, the feeling of her warm, wet walls around you too much to bear. 

To her credit, she doesn’t laugh as you rut into her frantically. She just waits for you to finally calm down before squeezing her cunt around you. It makes you gasp. “I knew you couldn’t last,” she says, slowly starting to bounce up and down your cock. 

“Too sensitive,” you whine and she clucks her tongue. 

“Well, you promised that you were going to fuck me, didn’t you?” 

Your cock has softened inside her, your cum starting to leak out of her pussy, and she collects it with her fingers and starts to rub her clit. Her walls spasm around you and you twitch. You nod your head and bite your lip — she is everything you’ve ever wanted. 

It takes a few minutes of Agatha clenching around you to bring you back to full hardness, a speedy recovery even by your standards, and she starts to ride you for real. 

“Good thing you’re the poster child for instant gratification,” she grunts, lifting herself up and then back down. There’s such a mess between the two of you that there’s squelching sounds each time she moves on you. You’re practically frozen beneath her and all you can do is watch as she fucks herself on you. “Just need to make you cum before actually being able to use you. I’ll train you so well, make you nothing into more than a cock for me to fuck.” 

You finally regain the ability to think and start desperately thrusting up into her, needing more than anything to make her moan, to make her cum. She’s riding you faster and harder and her chest is becoming flushed and you think she might actually be getting somewhere. 

But she squeezes around you again and fucking groans and you never stood a chance. “Fuck, fuck, fuck — Agatha, I’m gonna — fuck!” you cry and erupt inside her again, painting her walls white once again. You’re not even sure if you made it five minutes inside her. 

Agatha slows down on top of you and you wince at the overstimulation of her still wrapped around you. 

“Did you?” It’s a stupid question, one you already know the answer to, but you’re hoping that maybe you got it wrong. 

Her laugh tells you that you did not and she slides off you, your cock flopping against your stomach in a sticky puddle, and she grabs the edge of the blanket on your bed to wipe the globs of cum oozing out of her. Fuck. You’ll never be able to use that blanket without getting hard again and you know that you’ll be fucking the fabric every single day for the rest of your life. 

She flops down next to you and you wonder if it would be foolish to ask her to stay. “It’s not that easy to make me cum, pet. But don’t worry. I’ll get you there.”

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

[short-honey-badger]

Hello!

This is the first time ever that I ask for a writing to a headcanon and it’s exciting. :) I have been eating up your Shamrock/Shanks writings, love them!

There is this idea living in my head that the female reader

a) falls very ill

b) gets poisoned by rivals of the Figarland family

And is then discovered by Shamrock who comes looking for us, wondering why we don’t react to him calling our name.

In both scenarios mentioned, the reader is then lying in bed and very weak, suffering and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Meanwhile, Shamrock deals with guilt, fear and shock about this even happening right under his nose

Shanks of course would be there too, angry with his brother for not looking out enough for Reader

I know this is very angsty (think about that scene from Gone with the Wind where Scarlett fell down the stairs and was ill) and I am not sure if you said anywhere that this isn’t something you would like to write about.

Still, I would love to see what you make of this little snippet. :) Your Shamrock characterization is great 👍

Okay anon. This was probably one of my favorite ones I've done so far so thank you dearly for the wonderful prompt. I hope I have done it justice! ❤️❤️

Watch me Wither

Pairings! Shanks x Female Reader x Figarland Shamrock

Warnings! Not many? Angsty sick fic

Shamrock Masterlist-> HERE

Shamrock stands vigil over your still form, lips set in a harsh frown. It's been three days, and still your condition has yet to improve. Guilt eats at him, knowing that if he had listened to his brother for once that this wouldn't have happened. That you, their most precious person, would not be lying here still as a corpse. How could he let this happen when he had sworn to you that you would be safe here with him?

When you don't come to his office to share lunch with the leader of the Holy Knights, Shamrock knows that there is something going on. He stands from his desk and leaves his office, booted feet slapping against the stone of his home as he navigates the halls to the room he had set you up in a month ago.

Shanks had argued against you staying in Marie Geoise with Shamrock, seemingly convinced that you would be happier, safer with him and his crew. Shamrock had scoffed and rolled his eyes at his younger twin, lips pursed and arms crossed.

“She will be perfectly fine here with me, safe where no bloody pirates can steal her away when you aren't paying attention.”

Shanks had rolled his eyes but backed down, face set in a scowl as he turned on his heel to go tell you goodbye.

Shamrock knocks on your door, knowing that you value your privacy, but when you didn't answer after several moments, the holy knight turned the handle and strode inside. He stalks forward, scowl on his face as he comes to a stop beside your bed. He can see the lump you make under the blankets and calls your name, but still, there is no response from you. He rolls his eyes and reaches out, pulling the quilt down and freezing when he sees the yellow pallor of your face, your hair weighed down by sweat.

His heart siezed in his chest, eyes going wide as he reached out, on ehand wrapping around your shoulder and shaking you gently, “Darling, my love, please, wake up.”

A wretched groan left your mouth, eyes cracking open just enough that he could see the way your pupils had shrunk, tiny pinpoints surrounded by the dull color of your iris and bloodshot white sclera.

He had jumped into action when you fell back into unconsciousness seconds later, eyes drooping and body going lax in his hold. Shamrock had scooped you up and ran like he had never before, heedless of puting up a front in front of the servants and other members of his household until he made it to the room that their personal healer stayed. He’d woken Jurgan, demanding that the old man examine you, and what he found had made dreaded guilt well up inside the holy knight.

Someone, either an enemy of the Figarland household or one of their enemies, had poisoned you.

Now Shamrock could do nothing but regret his choice in keeping you here. He had called Shanks on the second day that you were admitted into the medical ward, and had sat still and silent as his twin lay into him, furious at Shamrock for allowing this to happen right under his nose. He deserved the dressing down, and it only added to his guilt and fear that because of him, they would never see that shy little grin that was only meant for them, ever again.

Shanks had told him that he would be back as quickly as he could, wanting to be there for his twin and for you if you ever happened to wake for longer periods of time. Shamrock had just quietly agreed, not feeling the need to argue against his younger brother, not when you were in such a delicate position.

You would wake long enough each day that Shamrock for drip water into your mouth, his eyes intent as he watched you slowly consume the liquid before you would drop back off, still too weak to do much but slowly recover. Jurgan had purged your system with a concoction of drugs, but even then, the doctor had informed him that it may not be enough for you to pull through. Only time would tell.

Shamrock didn’t know what he would do if you didn’t make it. You had become an extension of his life, a need that he would happily let consume him if only to receive your soft hands and sweet attitude that you rewarded him and Shanks with. Raging guilt eats at him, knowing that he failed you, that the promise he had made you and Shanks has been broken by being too prideful, too sure in the knowledge that you would be safe in his home.

A low groan gains his attention, and Shamrock cuts his eyes down at you, loping forward to grasp your hand in his own when he sees your hand twitch in his direction. You grip his fingers weakly, and the holy knight kneels by your side, burgundy eyes soft as he reaches out with his other hand to gently card his fingers through your hair. You look pitiful, but it gives him hope that you are beginning to feel better when you crack your eyes open to meet his own.

“Sham?”

Your voice is scratchy with disuse, but Shamrock is just happy to hear your voice. He squeezes your fingers, the hand in your hair smoothing down to cup your cheek, “I’m here, darling.”

Shamrock doesn’t know what to do or how he could make you feel better other than just by being at your side. His father had huffed and sneered, telling his older son that he needed to get over this, and get back to his duties, but the redhead found that he was always pulled back to your side, unable to be away from you for too long.

“Red?” You rasp quietly and frown when Shamrock shakes his head.

“Shanks is on his way, my love,” he murmurs, and the knowledge that the other twin was on the way seems to settle you, face smoothing out into something peaceful. He watches you for a while longer until your hand goes slack and you seem to slip back to sleep. Shamrock sighs and carefully disentangles his hand from yours and stands. He knows that you are unlikely to wake again in the next couple of hours, so as much as it pains him to leave your side, Shamrock does. He must before his father comes to collect him.

The next several days passed the same way, Shamrock would come and stay by your side, the guilt inside him eating away at him as he stared at your pale form resting under warm blankets. He would hold your hand, a silent sentinel. He seethed and raged inside his mind, furious that he was no closer to finding out the culprit behind your poisoning. He watched you wither further every day, and it killed him on the inside little by little.

Shanks arrived on the seventh day, running through the halls of a home he held no fond memories of. He ignored the sneers that were directed at him, not caring that the household thought of him as lesser just because he refused to bow to their whims. He found his twin sitting beside you in the medical ward, the other redhead looking worse than Shanks has ever seen his older brother.

“How is she?” He asks as he shuts the door behind him. He comes and stands at his twin's side, eyes wide as he stares down at you. He wanted to touch, to feel you, to make sure that you were still holding on, but he was terrified of making your condition worse.

“Better,” Shamrock murmured, voice rough from disuse. He watched his younger brother, seeing the look of fear etched on the face that looked so much like his own, and felt that same remorse well up. He drops his eyes quickly, averting them back to where you lay, “Jurgan says that she will recover, but the poison did a number on her internal organs. She will never be as strong as she once was.”

Shanks grits his teeth, his anger at his brother coming back with a vengeance. He doesn't bother looking at the other man, but his voice is tense and full of displeasure, “I told you that she wouldn't be safe here. You should have known better than to keep the one weakness you have so close. Her staying here was doomed from the start, Sham.”

Shamrock grits his teeth, shoulders hunching. He knows that Shanks is right, having already berated himself mentally more than his brother ever could.

“So you've already said last time we spoke,” He murmurs, and thankfully, Shanks doesn't say anything else about his failings. The two sit in silence, both content to watch your chest move up and down in your sleep. It isn't until there is a catch in your breath that they snap to attention.

Your brow furrows, and soft sound leaves you. You shift on the bed, arm snaking out from under the blankets, and Shanks stands, beating his brother to grasp your hand in his own. Your eyes crack open a moment later, blurry but more focused now than you seem to have been in days. You turn your head, lips pulling up in a tiny smile when you see both of your boys sitting beside you. You squeeze the hand you hold, voice scratching and throat sore.

“Shanks, you're here.”

The redhead smiles sadly, squeezing your hand back tightly, “Yeah, baby. I'm right here. How are you feeling?”

You shift with a wince to lay on your side, sliding your other hand out and reaching for the older twin. Shamrock easily slides his hand into yours, eyes soft as he stares at you.

“Better now that you're both here,” you say quietly and give them both a meager smile. You can tell, even in your pained and muddled state, that there is more than the usual tension between the two brothers. You sigh softly and squeeze Shanks’ hand again to gain his attention.

“Don't be mad, Red. This is my own fault. I should have been more careful.”

Both men widen their eyes, confused and about to argue that they are the ones who are supposed to take care of you, but you plow on before they can get a word out, “You can't be by my side every waking hour, loves. I knew this place would be dangerous even when I agreed to stay here. I got too comfortable, and that cost me.”

“But-”

You cut the holy knight off, “But nothing, Sham. You have duties, and Shanks, you have a crew to take care of. I don't want the two of you beating yourselves up or each other up.”

They watch you swallow harshly, lips moving into a weary smile full of sadness both men dearly wished they could wipe away.

“I heard what you said, Shamrock, and if it's as bad as you say it is, then I'm going to need you. Both of you.”

Shanks nods immediately, crouching down so that he can be at eye level with you. He leans forward, lips kissing your brow before he pulls back to give you a smile, “We'll be here, baby.”

Shamrock clutches your hand, still feeling that raging guilt that threatens to suffocate him, but he shoves it down for now. You were right. They would need to be there. He leans in and kisses your knuckles where they wrap around his hand, voice a soft promise, “Always, my love. We have you.”

You give them both a small smile, exhaustion suddenly eating away at you, and you squeeze their hands again, grip going slack as moments later, “I know.”

You are asleep seconds later, but neither man has any plans of going anywhere, not when you would need them when you woke up next. You had a long road of recovery ahead, but you would get there with them at your side.

@mit-suri @mfreedomstuff @sanjisleggy @nocturnalrorobin

[astraeus-tree]

Can you write something with Damian X Reader where R is an extremely intelligent girl, to the point of having discovered the secret identities of the entire Batfam only two months after moving to Gotham, and who is constantly in the Bats' action scenes (Like she shows up anywhere they're fighting criminals just to recite one by one the reasons why she's sure they're the Waynes, even with all of them denying it and pretending she's a complete crazy person. A bonus if Damian "hates" her (it's actually just misunderstood love because she's just awesome and he can't handle himself)). By the way: your Batfam fanfic is great!

Sometimes Things Aren't As Plain As They Seem

Pairing: Damian X F!Reader

Warnings: Self harm, blood, mention of torture near the end

Reader and Damian's age aren't specified and I'm really sorry but you can tell I gave up at the end I've also never written for Damian so he's probably ooc

You've held a secret for the past few months now.

No one else knew this secret of yours. Well, except the people involved in this classified information. Namely, the Wayne family and those close to them. In fact, this secret wasn't even yours to share.

What this secret was? The identity of the vigilantes that patrolled the streets of Gotham. Yes, the birds, the bat and those that worked with them in Gotham.

Your first hint was almost instantaneous after moving here. After all, who would have enough money for all those gadgets that Batman uses? Almost every citizen has come to realise that he doesn’t have any powers— with the exception of a few—so the only other reason would be man-made technology. But those costed money, and most people in Gotham could never afford those, so that left the rich or those with connection to them.

After this realisation, you made it your mission to find out their identities. It was a personal goal of yours, another thing to add to your list of achievements. And you did it. Just two months in to living in Gotham at that.

However, you needed confirmation. You were almost certain you were right, but you needed one final confirmation. You had doubts. The main being that it was hard to believe that someone from the high society of Gotham would even think to help the poor without a hidden motive. Bruce Wayne—Batman—had proven himself multiple times, yet the doubt would linger at the back of your mind.

So what better proof than word from the mouths of the heroes themselves?

Lately, Damian’s been dreading the patrols around Gotham. The reason being was this girl, around the same age as him, you.

In almost every patrol, you had interrupted them. You had somehow found out their routes for their patrols, even when they tried everything to make it impossible to track them. When questioned, you would say that there is a pattern in everything, that’s what made people human. Human, not a hero, not a killer, just human.

You would constantly put yourself in danger, just trying to get an answer from him and his father. You would always list reasons why Gotham’s vigilantes were the Waynes. It was almost endearing annoying.

In fact, you were a danger yourself. You were a risk. You could easily spill their identities.

So tonight, he would warn you. Save you. Unfortunately for you, his job was to analyse anything and everything about someone suspicious, and in his family’s books, you were one. Fortunately for him, you were easy to find, because just as you said, there is pattern in everything.

It was another night of you trying to get your final, solid evidence. You snuck around the streets of Gotham, heading to the area where you next expected Batman and Robin to start their patrol.

As you made you way, you felt eyes boring holes into you. You reached your hand into your pocket, clutching the pocket knife inside. As you heard a thud of a pair of feet landing on the ground, you turned around, shoving the knife at the person’s throat.

Your eyes widened when you saw a familiar domino mask staring back at you. Robin—Damian Wayne. What the hell? You’re usually the one to look for them, not the other way around. What’s with this turn of events?

“(Last Name).” His voice is sharp, not even bothered by the knife pointed at his neck.

“Robin? Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be on patrol yet.”

“Of course you would know that.” He mutters under his breath. “You’re putting yourself in danger. You need to stop or we will make you.”

“I- what?” You stumbled back, confused at his words.

“Stop following us. For your safety and our own.”

“Well maybe if you finally gave me answers, I’d finally leave you guys alone.” You cross your arm and roll your eyes. You knew you were being stubborn to a fault, but you really wanted this confirmation.

“And what will you do with this information?” He returns the action and raises his eyebrow.

��Nothing. Swear on my life.”

“And how should I trust you?” He asks, skeptically. There was an awkward silence between you two for a moment. You stared into each other’s eyes, before you put the knife to your palm and let the blood dripple down on the ground.

“May Lady Gotham herself place a curse on me should I lie.” You see his face twist, trying to make sense of what you just did. This was probably a stupid idea, but you needed answers. After all, the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back.

“Why did you do that? Do you know what you’ve just done?” Robin was dumbfounded. Who in the world would someone in their right mind make an oath like that just for some answers? Apparently you. He was almost amazed.

“Of course I do. Just tell me what I want to hear already.”

“Fine. You’re right. Will you stop putting yourself in danger already?” He sighs defeatedly. A smirk forms on your face, another goal achieved.

“I was right.”

“You were right.”

“Well, that’s all I needed! See you around wonderboy!” You turn on your foot, not waiting for his reaction to your nickname for him, and start walking back to your house. You’ll definitely be recording this down in your journal when you arrive.

“Hey wait! You hand’s still bleeding!” You stop in your tracks and look at your hand and back at Robin, now confirmed Damian Wayne.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt that much. I’ll just bandage it up at home.” Actually, it did hurt, but you wanted to look cool in front of him. I mean who wouldn’t want to in front of the guy they like?

Another silence falls between you two. You could see the conflicted look on his face, even with the domino mask covering half of it. You mentally laughed at his expression. After a few seconds, he seemed to finally come to a decision. He reached for your wounded hand, and you hesitantly let him hold it.

“At least let me help. I have some gauze in my utility belt to cover it.” This boy really was full of surprises, first coming to you to threaten you and now he’s helping you fix a self-inflicted wound. You truly chose the right guy to have a puppy crush on.

“Alright.” He held your hand gently, like you were fragile glass that would break in one wrong move. He pulled out a roll of gauze and wrapped it around your hand. You can hear him muttering stuff under his breath before finally speaking up.

“You’re actually crazy. why would you make an oath like that?”

“Aww is little birdie concerned about me?” You teased him.

“(Last Name).” He remained serious, but you reply with a chuckle.

“I don’t plan to break it, so it won’t affect me at all.” He looks up at you, a disapproving frown on his face. You return with a smile and his face flushes before he goes back to fixing your hand.

He finishes up quickly and lets you go home.

As you finally walked back home you could feel somehow following you, but you didn’t feel threatened. You knew it was Robin.

The next few nights, you left a few art supplies on your window sill, and by the time you would wake up, they would be gone

This eventually evolved into letters that you would write to him. At first, you were met with silence, but you pursued. Eventually, you would finally see a reply and from then on, you two became friends.

Unspoken words lingered between you two.

They remained unspoken until a rumour goes around the rogues of Gotham that you knew the identities of the vigilantes.

You, not having any connections with them, lived in blissful peace. That is, until you’re kidnapped and tortured for your knowledge.

You spend hours in pain, never spilling a word. Not only because of the oath, but also to not put Damian in danger.

After a few hours, you were finally saved. High in emotions, Damian accidentally takes his anger out on you, before realising his grave mistake.

He isn’t greeted with your smirk, no, instead he sees your tears. That’s when he’s forced to confront his feelings.

During your recovery, he visited almost every day, apologising profusely.

The tension doesn’t go away even after your fully recovered, but you slowly but surely warm up to him again.

It takes a while to get your friendship to normal, but when it does, you get closer and closer.

In fact, you would say you two were closer than before. So it would come to no one’s surprise when you two eventually ended up in a relationship.

Some explanation -

The oath is basically self-explanatory. Should you break it, Lady Gotham would place a curse on you. It honestly just came to my mind while I was writing this and I liked it so I decided to add it

I also wanted to play around with the sentient Lady Gotham so yeah

Anyways, I'm so sorry this is kinda bad 😭I might rewrite this one day since I'm really not satisfied with it

I had to dance around the topic of reader being smart because I honestly didn't know how to write that

Tysm for the request tho! As much as I struggled with it, I absolutely loved the idea <3

I wanted to go into more detail but I got writers block in between and didn't want to make it multi-part so I had to do that last part like that 🥲

You guys know the drill, any mistakes are free to be pointed out and I will fix them as soon as possible

Don't know if anyone actually reads my long ahh A/N's, but if you do, asks are encouraged as I do love to interact with people and they give me motivation

[sparklespirit]

Just finished Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhou and it was incredible, have many thoughts on Qin Zheng that I must share. Spoilers below the cut (major ones are marked but the post has lots of spoilers so read with caution if you want to avoid)

Ok so he’s such a compelling character. He’s human and idealistic and ruthless and terrifying. He demands to be taken seriously. However I also think that on a conceptual level he is simply so funny. None of these moments are humorous in context but like. You will understand what I mean

featuring such hits as

“No I wasn’t being sexist, I was just literally dying and did Not wanna move thanks very much”

Being so incredibly disappointed that society is somehow more sexist and capitalistic than in his day 200 years ago. Like “aren’t you people better than this? No? You’re gonna get less sexist real fast or I’ll sic my wife on you. The capitalism I will solve myself using her ex-boyfriend’s underground crime networks”

his coronation speech was literally “in my capacity as the legendary god-emperor who founded your country, which I have done through my control of a massive fuck off dragon robot that can and will turbo-murder you, I declare that we WILL be having a communist Revolution whether you like it or not. All power to the people but no I will not resign my position or give up control of my bigass mecha thanks very much”

he simply will Not Think About how his new empress has been married before, kinda. And also her other boyfriend is now his head advisor which isn’t awkward at all, and no he’s not insecure but also anyone to copilot with Zetian had better be a eunuch for Perfectly Reasonable Reasons That Have Nothing To Do With Insecurity

Canonically does not understand dick jokes

he’s the only main character that hasn’t murdered his family so you would think he might be more hinged, and yet is responsible for the massive reign of terror, and is somehow even less hinged than Wu Zetian who has to be the reasonable one (and that is. Saying Something given that Wu Zetian in the last book was the angriest most ruthless character I’ve ever read and now she has to be the comparatively hinged one??)

worryingly literal about “no gods no masters”

and, crucially, the funniest one in my humble opinion:

Less than zero understanding of consent and bodily autonomy UNLESS AND UNTIL he’s actively fucking. Like man learned exactly One Lesson on consent but dude, making sure you have a safeword does not make up for the whole [MASSIVE SPOILER] nonconsensual egg harvesting and foot reconstruction and all that shit! [END SPOILER] Genuinely it’s hilarious to me that he is responsible about getting consent but ONLY about the sex shit and NOTHING ELSE which is arguably the more important shit (especially the you know, less-fake-than-agreed-upon pregnancy, which uh. Should definitely be a joint decision!!)

anyway this book was an experience and I will probably turn around and reread it before I need to return it to the library because I just KNOW theres things I’m not getting because I just wanted to Know What Happened

[HUGE SPOILER FOR END OF THE BOOK] and also the end of the book was just the meme of two astronauts looking at earth with Qin Zheng going “wait it’s all capitalism?” And the Heavenly Court going “always has been” which I will probably make at some point that is not 4am!

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

HI I wanted to request like, size different and first time with Dave, but maybe like, reader is at his house or something and she has a tendency to steal his stuff (probably bracelets, cuffs) Dave finds her in one of his shirts and it drives him wild. I leave it up to you but also I really love your writing!!

A/n: I KEEP STARTING FICS WITH MOTIVATION AND RIGHT AS I GET TO THE SMUT I LOSE IT 😫

Warnings: smut, size difference, rough sex, manhandling, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

He looks fucking ethereal 😩

Dave caught you stealing his things more times than he could count, but he didn't mind since you almost always returned them and it was always just little things; a bracelet here, a brush there.

Of course he knew he was bigger than you, he was bigger than a lot of people. You'd use it to your advantage when you were in bed with him doing domestic things; laying on top of him, letting him spoon you, playing with his hands. You'd use him for warmth and he knew it.

So Dave knew he was bigger than you, he just hadn't realized how much bigger, and he definitely didn't realize how much it turned him on until he walked in on you getting ready for bed in his shirt.

You hadn't been seeing each other for that long, Dave had hired you to watch his house while he was on tour but he quickly grew a fondness for you. Instead of paying you he just let you live in his house, which made the relationship work great.

Earlier while you were making breakfast, part of your daily tasks, you realized you were running low on groceries. Your plan had been to clean all day and you hadn't factored in any time to leave so you made a list and asked Dave to get food on his way back home.

You were helping him get everything put away, it was late and you were tired, Dave could see you struggling to keep your eyes open.

"I can finish the rest." He said, pulling you to his side and kissing your forehead. "Go get ready for bed, you can barely keep your eyes open." He gave you butt a gentle pat and sent you on your way upstairs to your shared room while he finished getting everything put away.

When he was done he went upstairs, expecting to find you already crashed in bed as usual. He didn't think to check the bed before he went to the bathroom, the lights were off and the pillows resembled you in the sheets enough.

He froze in the doorway to the bathroom, seeing you brushing your teeth at the sink in nothing but an old band shirt of his. The way it draped over your figure, the sleeves coming down around your elbows.

You spat in the sink as he came up behind you. "What do you think you're wearing?" He asked, tone dark and voice gravelly as he spoke.

You blinked at him through the mirror, looking over yourself tiredly. "Beatles." You mumbled.

"I see that." He said, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. "I meant, what are you doing wearing my shirt?"

You stared at yourself in the mirror a moment longer, running your toothbrush under water. You shrugged and set your brush in its place, taking a swig of water and moving it around your mouth before spitting it out.

"It's big." Dave hummed in agreement, eyeing your body closely through the loose fabric. "And comfy... smells like you..." You turned around in his arms to face him, shoving your face in his chest and wrapping your arms around him.

Dave lifted you up with ease, hands cupping your ass so he could carry you out of the bathroom and to the bedroom.

He laid you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. "You're tiny." He mused, kissing the tip of your nose.

You chuckled softly. “That’s mean.”

“I mean it.” He said, leaning closer and pushing his face into your neck. “You’re so small… how has no one broke you yet?” He pushed his hands under the hem of the shirt you wore, tracing the curve of your hips. “I should just be grateful that I get to do it, huh?” He asked, tugging your panties down.

You were tired and debated telling him to stop, but you also knew how caring he could be, and how easily you fell asleep when he made you cum.

You lifted your hips to help him take your panties off.

He ran his hands over your legs after tossing the small garment aside, cherishing the feel of your supple skin on his rough callouses.

He pulled his hands back and threw his shirt off, followed by his jeans and boxers. It’s not that you hadn’t done anything, of course you had, just not sex. Blowjobs, handjobs, mostly Dave was doing it to you because he liked hearing the noises you made, the small whines and soft moans.

Dave got off to making you feel good, it wasn’t a secret, but right now he wanted nothing more than to use you.

He ran his hands over your legs once more before hooking them under your thighs and pushing them up to your stomach, knees at your chest.

Your eyes widened and you yelped when he manhandled you, pushing you into the mattress with his weight. He smiled down at you. “That’s just perfect.” He mused. “Now hold them there for me.” You were hesitant but did as he ordered, holding yourself open for him.

Dave ran a finger through your slick folds, gathering your wetness and pushing a finger into you. “What a sweet thing, already so wet and I haven’t even done anything yet.” You clenched around his digit, biting your lip.

He pulled his finger back out and moved over you, lining himself up with your hole and pushing in, watching you writhe underneath him.

He brushed your hands off yourself and held your thighs tightly, mercilessly pounding into you as your moans filled the room.

You expected something sweet, the normal Dave that would talk you through it and focus on how good you felt, not the Dave that stared at the bulge in your stomach and pressed his palm down on it, not the Dave that squished and pushed and forced you into new positions.

Still, that look in his eyes, the way his lip curled. You called out his name, begging to cum.

“Aw, pretty girl thinks she’s good enough for that?” He grunted out, hips slamming into yours at a brutal pace. Your body was flushed, a thin layer of sweat covering you. He leaned down, hooking your knees over his shoulders.

His thrusts got faster, more desperate. “Fuck,” he grunted. “I fill you up so good, you’re so fucking tight.” You whined, clawing at his shoulder and burying your face in the crook of his neck, his thick hair covering you.

“Every inch.” He mused. “Every single fucking inch of you, mine.” His kissed along your neck, not slowing his pace. “All fucking mine.” He bit down on your neck, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your eyes rolled back, unable to stop yourself from giving in to the pleasure he was giving you. You moaned out his name, body melting into the mattress.

He let you ride out your high, coaxing you through it as he always did with praised and words of affection. “There you go, just let it out, darling, let me make you feel good.”

However, when you were twitching as you came down from it he didn’t stop. He pulled away for a second and flipped you over, forcing your head into the pillow and holding your ass up for him. “Pretty bunny.” He purred, leaving a last kiss on your shoulder before thrusting into you again.

[bluevaractyl]

Cozy Vibes - stargazing

Something had woken Sky, but he wasn't sure what. The echoes of his dream were fading, chased away by the brisk chill of the night air.

Sky rubbed the grit from the corners of his eyes. He sat up and looked around blearily, counting. He came up one short. Who…? The fireplace crackled. A breeze shivered through his sleep clothes. His gaze finally caught on the cracked door.

Sky tugged on his boots and stepped carefully between his sleeping brothers-in-arms. He pushed open the door, closing it behind him. The stars were bright enough to see by. Without conscious thought, his feet carried him down the familiar path to the skydiving platform.

Sky sat down, legs dangling comfortably over the edge. Breathing in deeply, he leaned back on his palms and waited.

Beside him, Hyrule was quiet. His shoulders moved in a soft sigh. "It’s so pretty here,” he said softly, like a confession. “I’ve never seen so many stars in my entire life.”

Sky’s heart ached a little at that. Centuries from now, these same stars would be dimmed by smoke. Ganon’s monsters had burned and ravaged the forests of Hyrule’s time, leaving the land barren and the waters polluted. While Demise’s forces had wrought similar destruction on the Surface, Skyloft had been safe and untouched high above the cloud barrier. Enough time had passed that the Surface was again green and vibrant, but Hyrule’s world still bore the scars.

Sky asked, “Does your era have any legends about the stars?”

Hyrule shrugged. “Not really. There are a couple of constellations, like the Rabbit and the Boar, but I don’t know of any legends.”

Sky hummed. “We have a few legends in my time. It’s said that the stars are the spirits of everyone who has yet to be born and everyone who has already died. Every time a star dies, a person is born.”

Hyrule stared up at the sea of light and whispered, “That’s a lot of people.”

Sky agreed, “Yes.” He paused, then carefully added, “You know, there’s lots of stars in your era too. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t still there, watching over you.”

Hyrule’s eyes shone with the reflected glow of a thousand points of light. “…Do you think you’re up there somewhere?” he asked. “In my era?”

“I don’t see why not. Me and Four and Time and Legend, and probably all the others too. They wouldn’t let a little thing like a split in time keep them away.”

Hyrule shivered. Sky shifted closer and lifted his arm in invitation. Tentatively, Hyrule leaned in and let the older hero pull him in against his side, sharing warmth. He slowly relaxed.

Sky arranged his sailcloth to cover them both. The Traveler gradually leaned more and more weight on him. When Sky dared to look down, Hyrule’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was deep and steady in sleep.

Soon Sky would bring him back. Whatever anxieties had brought him outside seemed to have been soothed. For now, Sky held his brother close and watched the stars.

[tanhands]

everyone you wanna be

for the klaine valentine's challenge. no content notes yet.

one: my fancy patter

"Hey there, Lone Ranger." 

Kurt looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, knees up and ankles crossed, as Blaine drops down next to him with a commercially pleasant smile -- though that's not indicative of much, since that seems to be Blaine's default expression like Santana's resting bitchface or Finn's perplexed forehead pucker. "Hi," he says shortly, because he'd come to sit in one of the unmonitored halls for a reason and doesn't feel the need to be welcoming. Blaine makes a small, nonspecific sound of commiseration.

"I know something that'll cheer you up," Blaine says, and follows it immediately with, "--this morning's numbers were rough, and I think we're both in the same boat with being down in the polls, but the best thing is to forge ahead instead of letting it weigh us down." 

With an arched brow, Kurt regards the other boy for a long moment, perversely until he sees Blaine's temples start to get a touch damp, the smile start to strain.The momentary spike of mean satisfaction is just that, fleeting, and he sighs inwardly before he says, "What's so fun that it'll take my -- our -- minds off dipping in the viewer polls and potentially getting voted out of the show and sent home covered in embarrassment and failure, the butt of memes and talk shows for weeks if not months if not years?"

Blaine blinks and breathes out a whoooo, barely audible, but recalibrates fast, something Kurt notes with interest. "Finn and Puck figured out how to work the deep fat fryers in the cafeteria," Blaine says. "They're frying everything they can find. Frozen cauliflower, those little round frozen peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, potato chips--"

"They're making fresh potato chips?"

"No, they're double-frying normal potato chips." Blaine pauses, considers. "They're not bad, actually. If you get past the singed taste." 

Kurt huffs derisively, letting his wrists dangle against his knees and thunking his head back against the wall. "A glowing review. I'll pass."

"We could maybe use the pancake batter to coat some candy bars and deep fry those. Better than potato shards?" Blaine starts reaching for Kurt's wrist to coax him up, but stops when Sam and Quinn come down the hallway, hands latched together between them. "Sup," Sam says with a lift of his chin towards them, which Blaine answers while Kurt tucks his own chin a touch lower and watches them go by. Quinn doesn't even look their way, her chilly, brittle smile reserved for Sam only, her posture the envy of dressage horses and hat racks. Their blond hair seems to provide its own source of light as they continue to sail down the hallway and out of sight, a yacht passing by two bobbing sailboats.

Kurt's startled out of his reverie by Blaine moving in closer, turning towards him instead of keeping his back flush against the wall. "They don't even really give a crap about each other," Blaine says, voice dipping lower as it sinks into more secretive levels, and Kurt feels a swirl of unease in his stomach. 

"They've been inseparable since Sam found the only shower room that's still got hot water. They probably bonded over sharing a bottle of highlight-preserving shampoo."

"No," Blaine says more insistently. He has extraordinarily thick, weird eyebrows, Kurt notices for the first time, like circumflex accents over the o's of his eyes. "It's been since they got their numbers and were dipping way below Finn and Rachel. That's when they got together." 

Kurt's teeth clack together in his mouth at Blaine speaking aloud what he's started to get a gnawing feeling about lately. The purpose of what they signed up for, this live reality programme about the making of a show choir through the unusual but attention-grabbing method of a survivalist situation in an unused high school, it wasn't about dating or romance or any of that. The pitch had been for performers, people with talent and moxie and charisma and screen presence, not people who intended to get by with looking pretty and sucking face 

When Rachel and Finn had declared they were together, and they'd immediately soared in the polls, Kurt had talked himself out of it; they were both talented and Rachel's looks were entertainment good, not magazine good. But Quinn and Sam were like Dresden dolls more than any sort of real competition in the talent department, with their adequate singing and dancing that happened to come out of appallingly photogenic faces and figures. Possibly a secret hairstylist they'd secured to give them an advantage.

"This is exactly what I didn't want," Kurt says sharply, drawing his knees in tight now, feet pulled in together. "I told myself that this would be a different sort of show, one based on ability and merit and not just whatever look is hot on social media right now. But no! It's the same old thing, isn't it? The so-called prettiest people get everything without having to try." 

"Hey, now," Blaine says, tilting his head. "You and me are pretty too." He bumps the back of one hand against the crook of Kurt's knee. "You a smidge more, but I think that'll work for us." 

Kurt raises his head slowly from where his chin had sunk down against his chest. "Oh, no," he says, and scoots to the side, watching in gathering concern as Blaine correspondingly scoots closer. His smile is just as commercial as before, but now there's something else to it, something more focused and determined, and that's much worse because damned if Kurt doesn't like being the spotlight of somebody's full focused attention. 

"Blaine -- it's Blaine, right?" Of course he knows the other boy's name, but if they're going to play a game then Kurt's not going in with the weaker hand. Blaine seems unfazed and just inclines his head, smile inching towards amused. "Look, Blaine, while I enjoy romcom tropes maybe more than your average person, to the point where I watch people go about their daily lives and immediately visualize their minor mishaps happening as meet-cutes, this isn't the route I want to take to be part of the New Directions. I want to win my spot through my gift and my hard work and, yes, being pretty, but that's not the main thing people should admire about me. And sure as hell not because I hook up with the flashy prep." 

"Whoa there," Blaine says, smiling full-on now, "hook up? I'm not that easy." He laughs and it's breezy, confident, which is annoying but also takes the awkwardness out of the whole thing, so Kurt un-tenses, just a bit, as Blaine continues with a shake of his head, "It's an advantage. We've obviously got the raw material needed to make it, but this isn't an even playing field, unfortunately, or we'd know the outcome already. It's a show, it's dramatics, it's will-they-won't-they." He sings the last bit, a plummy MGM flourish: "--that's en-ter-tain-ment!" 

"Trying to win me over with show tunes is … well, all right, it's effective. But this still isn't the avenue I want to stroll." Kurt thins his eyes at Blaine, considering, and the other boy takes it as an opening to make his pitch.

"Look, Kurt -- it's just for the cameras, and I'll do all the work. It doesn't have to look as though…" Blaine reconsiders whatever he'd been about to say and reroutes, "I'll woo you as if we're lovers in some silent black-and-white film! Big gestures, romance coming out our ears, I'll be so smitten that the audience is gonna fall in love with you through me, they'll be dying to see where it all goes and if I manage to win your affections. Or at least a duet." Blaine has his hands clasped now, pressed over his heart, and he tips his head in the direction that Sam and Quinn had gone. "One a damn sight better than 'Lucky'."

"Low-hanging fruit," Kurt says, but his heartbeat has tripped into double-speed, and he licks his lips, shifting to cross-legged so he can face Blaine. "I have conditions," he says, and Blaine turns even more towards him to say, "Naturally. We should both come to an understanding so there's no misha--"

"You need to find a KitKat and get it deep-fried for me."

Blaine halts in mid-reasoning, then he hops nimbly to his feet and sweeps a flourishing bow. At the crown of his dipped head there's a wave to his hair, little promises of curls, and Kurt files that away, too, in the moment before Blaine straightens. "Whatever your heart desires," he says in a silky murmur, and then more normally, "--next time we'll do this stuff for the cameras, okay? No point wasting it where nobody can see."

"Okay," Kurt says, and if his answering smile is a touch flat, it's just because he doesn't need to care. 

[katerinaaqu]

The silence that must have followed the killing of Hector must have been deafening around the Trojan plain! No one would dare to move a muscle, no one would dare to utter a sound. No cheer from the Greeks no moans from the Trojans. They are all frozen. Because this is not a triumph and the tragedy is too big to be spoken.

That was the very moment that both the Trojans and the Greeks shared the very same feeling of destruction; The Greeks and Trojans that moment synchronize their emotions. They both know they lost their best fighter that day...

The dead body of Hector hit the sand at the Trojan plain; suddenly their best fighter and their symbol of strength, their example was gone. The Trojans lost part of their spirit. The Greeks see their best fighter a step closer to the underworld that day; descending to madness as he is desecrating the dead. Even if they didn't know the prophecy about his premature death they know now that Achilles will die; for his hubris he will die! Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but he will. They probably know he was already dead the moment he saw Patroclus dead!

Ultimately the final face off and the final downfall of two great heroes. One towards immediate death and the other to madness and inevitable death!

Hector knew he was going to die; he knew no one ever survived Achilles. He went to that battle in full conscious. He does it for the honor of his people and his family for everyone he cares about. He knows his promise to his son would not be fulfilled. That his wife will suffer that his people will be left in danger without him since they used him as a symbol and support. And yet he goes. Because he has to. Because he also knows deep down that he triggered the rage of Achilles when he killed Patroclus.

Achilles knew he died the moment he saw Patroclus dead. He died inside and he is ready to die in the future. He wants to die and drag Hector with him. He knows he'll die because he'll fight. He also knew that his previous thought that he had nothing personal against the Trojans is long dead now. His fury and anger is not heroic; is destructive, sad, desperate and suicidal. He knows him fighting will lead to his death and he no longer cares...

Neither side took the upper hand that day. Neither side lost it. Both sides know they suffered a great loss... And that this would be just the beginning of the descend...

Something inspired by my conversation with @superkooku after our small conversation in my latest post you can find here

[the--highlanders]

how do you think jamie views each of the other companions he's travelled with?

(obviously, if staying with the doctor wasn't an option) do you think jamie would've left with any of them instead?

ooooh interesting!!

I do love that ben and polly canonically think of jamie as their younger sibling, and I think he probably thinks of them in similar terms. polly fusses over him a lot (and maybe sometimes oversteps and gets a bit condescending), and he worries about her and wants to keep her out of danger, but they also have a pretty happy joking friendship. jamie and ben are fairly similar - they see each other on a bit more of a level playing field once they're settled into their friendship, but also spend a lot of time ribbing each other. it's a pretty warm, light-hearted tardis team, and that helps jamie settle in. but on the other hand ben and polly are very much a unit, having their own situationship/relationship, and also with the familiarity that comes from being from the same time and place in amongst everything else going on. so I think jamie feels isolated from them at times, and this in part fuels his closeness with the doctor in s4 - they naturally gravitate to each other when they're feeling a bit alienated by or sick of ben and polly just Getting each other and leaving them in the dust.

victoria is....... incredibly important and also incredibly painful for jamie. I think he sees a lot of himself in her (their time periods aren't a million miles apart, she's just been through a deeply traumatic experience and is seeking refuge on board the tardis, has buckets of buried loneliness, is brave when she needs to be but would really rather just slow down and be kind). in many ways she's his mini me (the way they wear the same outfit!!!) and they genuinely get on like a house on fire. it's less jokey than with ben and polly, a bit more tender, with a LOT of care on both sides. for her part victoria latches onto jamie as well, because he's similarly familiar, and finds a lot of safety in him. but there's a fundamental misunderstanding at the heart of their relationship, because jamie especially thinks they're more similar than they are, and expects victoria to measure up to that even when it's killing her. she tries, too, but it's far too overwhelming. he genuinely thinks that she'll want to travel together forever because he wants that, and when she grows up enough to put her foot down and say no, I'm my own person, I have to do what's best for me, it takes him aback entirely. not in the sense that he doesn't want her to do what's best for her, but because he was so blinded by all their similarities that he couldn't wrap his head around this one major difference. & that irreconcilable issue hurts them both a lot towards the end. but also it's a relationship they'll both treasure forever because they really /were/ so similar, and did just click. I think both of them spend the rest of their lives turning around to tell each other something, and it sort of hurts forever but also they'd never want to stop.

all that hurt with victoria feeds into jamie's initial slight disapproval of zoe (as well as the fact that he feels like she's looking down on him) - in a lot of ways zoe is the doctor's mini me, and jamie definitely feels like he's replacing victoria far too quickly, whereas jamie himself probably isn't ready to open up to someone else like that yet. I think they do have a pretty rocky start beyond what they see on-screen, where neither of them understand each other's issues and baggage and they're both unknowingly hurting each other far more than they would ever want to. but eventually they find some sort of shared experience or something that makes things fall into place, and he ends up helping her a lot as she sort of tries to re-learn how to be a person. their dynamic is a bit more joking/teasing like with ben and polly, and that's also good for him after how serious his dynamic with victoria could get.

if he were to stay with anyone though, I do think it would be victoria. he'd be happy to keep in touch with ben and polly forever (and if he wound up in 60s england with victoria, he'd definitely be looking them up!), but I think he's conscious that they want to live their own lives. leaving with them would ultimately be leaving to be on his own, at least to some degree. he would clearly have been happy to travel with zoe forever, but if she'd left in the same way victoria did, I don't think he would have followed. obviously he doesn't actually go with victoria either, but I think the loss of her is one of his biggest /what if-s/, in that he'll always regret that she didn't want to stay with them like zoe did. adding that to how protective he is of her - if he was cut loose from the doctor and had to pick someone to go with, I think he'd go straight for victoria. which would potentially be challenging for /her/, because then she'd have to live her life with her very mother hen bestie rip

[nossumusstellae]

Officially Announcing the Release Date of My Debut Novella

Arriving April 10th, 2025 – The Starsinger Chronicles!

“This is a land of stories. Myths and legends dance with history.

Magic and wonder.

What begins as a simple journey to find the truth behind a myth becomes a centuries long tale, spanning multiple eras and empires.

Imbued in this tale is the Starsinger, a mysterious deity of ancient myth that few know anything about, yet this being influences the entirety of our history.

Welcome, visitor, to the waters of Ankyra.

I ask you to remember only one thing during your time here:

When the stars speak... listen.”

Hello everyone! Welcome to my little press release. I have been working on The Starsinger Chronicles for the past three years. Taking place in the island-filled ocean world of Ankyra, this novella is told in six parts, each leading into the next. A land of five peoples, Ankyra has a long and winding history, from its founding to the future. Featuring mermaids, pirates, air-sailors, and magic, The Starsinger Chronicles is a tale that is truly unique.

This novella was inspired by a lot of things. The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern is a big one. If not for that novel, I probably would not have thought that something like my book could even exist. I would not have been brave enough to use third-person present tense, either. I was also inspired by the novel Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, which has a similar multiple-part tale told over hundreds of years.

Unusually for a book, The Starsinger Chronicles got its true start in a series of pixel arts that I created. It was with these works I first fleshed out the world of Ankyra and what it might be like. The next year, I began writing. Most of all, this novella would not have happened without the guidance and encouragement of my late mother. I would have never ventured on this incredible journey without her.

And what a journey it has been. From simple pixels to a short story that became several that then became a novella, all the way to this blog on tumblr. Thank you, followers, for having faith in this writer.

I cannot wait to share this novella with you.

The Starsinger Chronicles will be available as PDF and EPUB.

~ Ella

the promised announcement tags: @yuucandoit @your-reluctant-optimist

[orthodoxchristianity]

Heartbreak: the art of letting go

This one is a bit personal for me, but I thought to share since I know many other people may be feeling the same way. Please read and share any advice or experience you may have, it would be greatly appreciated. God-bless!

The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, And saves such as have a contrite spirit.

Psalm 34:18

Heartbreak. It isn't easy. It's even harder being stuck in between two thoughts. Firstly obsessing over what could have been, thinking should I have said this, or should I have said that. Why did I not do this or why did I not tell him that? It's hard to let go of the expectations in your mind or the plans you made that you wanted to share, all the little daily updates you sent waiting to hear back from him. But secondly, as a Christian, my understanding that God does what is best for us stays in my mind. The knowledge that God takes care of us even when we do not understand it. For He knows and sees far more than we will ever understand, and that is okay. Having trust in His timing and His plan for us is vital. I pray every day "God please remove anyone or anything that is not meant to be in my life", and then why do I get sad when God answers this prayer? Maybe I thought I knew him but clearly he was not meant to be in my life anymore, no matter how sad it may be now.

Taking it day by day is needed because in some moments I feel okay, but in other moments I remember how he looked and me and the lovely moments we shared. I know that one day I will look back on all the moments I shared with him and be at peace. I know that love is never wasted. But one thing is to know and another is to actually enact it. It seems to be like a separation between my head and my heart. My head acting rational and reminding myself to not let the enemy tell me lies, whereas my heart still holding onto the hope of what could have been.

I keep thinking why wasn't he the one Lord? Why couldn't he have been the one for me?

I know that it was done for a reason, that the Lord has bigger and better things in store for me. Perhaps this is simply a lesson. My time with him is brief in the grand scheme of life and of all the people and things I am yet to experience. But it is still hard to let go, even though I know it's the end, that's it.

Perhaps I wasn't ready or he wasn't, but either way it seems the timing was not right. As I pray every day, "All in God's timing".

I know that when the right person comes it will be in God's timing and it will be bring me peace, rather than anxiety. I understand that I probably am still holding onto him because of the inherent fear of being single. Seeing so many of my friends get into relationships easily and of course I am beyond happy for them but it is hard to not think oh when will the love of my life come? I guess this brings me back to the concept of patience and trusting in the Lord for His plans and timing is far better than mine. I feel like this society really pushes for moving and doing everything fast, whereas the Bible tells us:

"Love is patient, love is kind...Love never fails." (1 Corinthians 13:4-8, NIV)

I harbour no anger or hatred towards him, for given the circumstances I can understand where he was coming from. I do, however, pray that he heals from anything that is holding him back. I pray for him to let go off anything from the past that is keeping him stuck emotionally. I pray he finds love and happiness.

I don't know if anyone else can relate to the feeling of 'intellectualising' my emotions. I try to solve them rather than feel. I have been trying to slow down and just let myself feel rather than simply keeping myself busy and giving myself no time to heal. I know there is a reason he came into my life, God is teaching me through this experience, so I need to slow down and feel my emotions.

If you are still reading thank you. I know heartbreak is a part of human life, it is something we all go through in various shapes or forms throughout our life. I hope this makes me stronger and I hope that you find peace and love and happiness. Whoever is reading, I hope you heal from any hurt and that the Lord blesses you abundantly in everything you do.

In Jesus' name,

Amen

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11, NKJV

[justtasia]

MORE, MORE BLOOD PACKS AND DAYLIGHT FINALLY ARRIVED!!!

I feel a huge need to show them soooo welcome in my unboxing/showing off bad financial choices post~! <3

At first photo there's my new purchases, the second shows how it fits into my full DL merch collection:

I'm really happy that now each of my top 5 diaboys (except Shu, but he has some kind of CD cancellation curse that doesn't let me get any) has at least two CDs related to them.

In the case of More, More Blood, I bought the deluxe version, so if you are curious what it looks like from the inside, I put the rest under the cut ⬇️⬇️⬇️

The first thing I noticed about these boxes is that they differ in more than just the covers!

The sand in the hourglass is flowing more and more with each volume. In the case of my dramas it's a little ragged, but with the full collection (or at least less extreme numbers compared) it definitely looks great. Also in place where the box opens there's small family crest which is really nice detail too!

But we're all here for the contents, not just to look at a foil-wrapped box (btw I can't imagine how people can keep this things in their original obi for years. I don't have as much control over my curiosity) so here we go:

As you can see, there are two CDs: the first with the main drama, the second with the ~10-15 minute bonus "Another Story", a tin badge and an illustration card. This card has also a diaboy comment/short description related to the plot of the CD on it's back. (For me the concept is a bit similar to Daylight's "message from vampire", but I feel like those things are more like cool teaser when daylight lettrers are good to read after listening to daylight to make you cry even more)

[dailyloweffortpace]

Day 121: hes died

[darthyolk]

I've finally finished my first boss for my demon hunting game Judgement Nights! A guard dog for a much stronger demon, Grub keeps their secret safe and hidden from all mortal or demonic eyes

[tblsomedoodles]

my wifi is out until probably sometime tomorrow and my 5g is barely hanging on enough to access Tumblr at all. AND! Even if I was able to scrape enough 5g signals together to answer asks from my phone (like I want to), the answer button is mysteriously missing for me.

so, with any luck, I will answer asks tomorrow as well as post my Friday doodles. (I might have more doodles by then. I am very bored and drawing Clara is very fun.)

[mitamicah]

.