#is that their ship name???????? what is it.

[blueberrymilkcookie]

from october

[dearest-darlingest]

me reading @the-sparkling-diamond-satine's stuff

[iliveunderarock]

i really just drew yaoi instead of doing my homework..what would god think

[justpendule]

Agree and would add Mike/Nacho as the "that one yaoi ship that has 2 fans", I can't get this ship out of my head.

guys do you see my vision here

[shy-writer-999]

Subby Ace + aphrodisiacs: your top turned bottom!

Summary: Poor Ace has gotten into something with sex pollen in it. He's a mess and you're the only person who can help him. There's something delightful about seeing your very dominant boyfriend reduced to begging, whining, and even crying for a crumb of your pleasure. CW: straight up SMUT. very very pathetic needy filthy whiny ace. afab reader w/gendered language ('princess'); sex, edging, masturbation, blow job, hand job, dacryphilia, overstimulation, you name it. countless orgasms from ace, use of 'good boy' and 'pretty boy.' minors do not interact - nsfw content!

Ace is so dramatic and sensitive in bed. It gets worse when he goes on an outing by himself, and just so happens to get exposed to some form of sex pollen. He staggers back to the ship and comes straight to you.

He just won’t stop cumming. He can’t stop cumming.

His face is twisted up in anguish and he’s frowning, genuinely so miserable you think he’s about to cry.

“Baby, please help me, I’m going crazy.”

His erection looks bigger than usual—you didn’t think that was possible, and for a split second you’re worried that it won’t fit at all. But of course it will. It has fit countless times before.

“I need you. I’m begging you, sweetheart, please.” He frowns and does puppy dog eyes at you. Your heart melts, but you have to set him straight.

“Ace,” you tut. “You don’t ever need to beg for me.”

“Can I, though?” He smiles back, and it looks like a bit of a grimace.

“I’ll allow it. But you have to do what I say, okay?”

Ace nods. “Of course.” He’s thrilled at the idea of you being in control.

You sit down on the bed next to him and rest a hand on his thigh. He flinches.

“Fuck.” You can see his cock jump through the fabric of his underwear.

A simple hand on his skin like this is enough to make him squirm? It’s going to be a fun night. He looks pathetic and miserable right now. His brows are bent at the middle and he’s doing the cutest, saddest little pout you’ve ever seen.

“Touch me more, beautiful,” he murmurs and closes his eyes, mouth hanging open in concentration. His mind is fixated how your cool skin feels against his, how soft your hand is, how close you are to his throbbing hard on.

Your fingers wander over his skin, conjuring goosebumps and shudders, eliciting whimpering sounds from Ace’s pretty lips. The whimpers quickly turn into muted sounds of pleasure.

Precum seeps through the fabric of his underwear and you pity him, reaching your fingers upwards to pull the waistband down. When his cock springs out, sure enough, it’s bigger than usual, a fact which is both troubling and tantalizing.

The tip of his long shaft is red, inflamed, and defined. It glistens in the light from the dim lamp in the corner of his cabin, highlighting the precum that smears his head and continues to seep out—it’s a ridiculous amount of precum. You’ve never seen this much before.

You take a moment to admire him. Your eyes wander from his erection to his defined abs and dark, thin happy trail. Your eyes meet his. His pupils are huge and there’s a visible sheen of sweat on his forehead that mats down the hair around his temples.

Ace is trying not to be impatient, but it’s hard because his body is screaming for attention.

“Please, princess. Use me. Do anything you want to me.” His voice comes out as a whisper, tinted in reverence, and bathed in lust.

When you hum in reply, you stand up, slipping off your underwear and bra. He scoots back onto the pillows and his thighs widen while you get on top of him. Your lower yourself down to sit on top of his erection. You don’t fuck him yet, though. You just lay his shaft flat on your core and stay there for a second.

Some teasing couldn’t hurt. So, you slowly start to roll your hips, rubbing yourself on Ace’s wet shaft. It’s starting to get you worked up, too, and before you know it, you’re soaking wet.

Gasp after gasp tumbles out of his mouth and no less than thirty seconds later, he starts to seize up below you, cumming on his lower abdomen. His breaths are shallow and ragged, and he’s lying there panting.

“Don’t stop,” he chokes out, again begging for something he knows he’ll get if he only waits patiently. “Please don’t stop.”

“Poor thing.” You lean down and kiss him. Even the mere feeling of your lips on his makes him let out the softest groan. He feels like his whole body is on fire, but it’s in a way he’s never felt before, different from the logia fire he’s so accustomed to.

His kisses quickly turn greedy and sloppy, and every drag of your aching core over his cock makes him let out repressed puffs of air in your mouth. Soon, he’s moaning straight into your mouth.

God, he’s so worked up it’s starting to be more fun than you imagined.

Lining up his sticky wet tip with your entrance, you finally start to sink down onto his cock, going deliberately slow so he doesn’t cum again (yet). But when he bottoms out, his hips buck up inadvertently, hitting your gooey hot spot inside.

“F-fuck, fuck,” Ace groans again. “Feels, ah, feels so good.”

He’s practically keening at this point, back almost arching off the bed, fingers digging into the skin of your hips.

You start to ride him slowly. Whatever way feels best. Sometimes you pull yourself up his shaft so only the tip is inside and plunge it back in, other times you keep him inside of you and grind your hips back and forth. One moment, you brace your hands on his chest for more leverage; the next moment, you lean in and kiss his neck, leaving love bites in a trail from his neck to his shoulder. The contact draws out a body-wracking moan from the dark-haired man beneath you—the sounds he’s making are delicious.

He cums aggressively again, hips jerking upwards. Each press of his cock up hits your g-spot and when he feels your body shift in response it drives him crazier.

Ace’s fingers are pulling you downwards, pushing himself deeper inside of you.

“Need more,” he chokes out.

When your legs start to burn, he does all the work for you. Muscly, rough hands come under your thighs, moving you effortlessly up and down until you’re the one cumming, writhing in ecstasy on top of him.

But Ace still doesn’t want to stop. “Keep going, please.”

He has the habit of saying please in bed. It’s endearing. When he asks so nicely, it’s hard to say no.

So, your hips move more. And more. And more. Until they’re numb and he’s fucking you stupid.

You’ve collapsed on top of him now, mewling in his neck from each thrust. “C’mon baby, give me another.” You murmur in his ear, voice seductive and honeyed. It’s all he needs to hear before he literally cums on command.

He’s usually an animal in bed. Buy boy, whatever sex pollen or aphrodisiac he ran into today is doing a number on him. You, very obviously, have no issue with it.

Feral sounds escape his lips while Ace pumps more of his hot seed inside. It’s seeping out of you, creeping down the sides of his body, and saturating the fabric of the bedspread below him. It’s going to leave a massive, milky-white stain. And he isn’t done yet.

“Keep going,” he looks absolutely pathetic. “Please, please, I—I’m going crazy.” He can barely get the words out, so pussydrunk and out of it that he’s on the verge of drooling.

You smile and kiss him on the cheek. “Missionary. But you’re going to go nice and slow, okay?”

Ace nods vigorously in return. He repositions. One of his warm hands is on your waist now, while the other gropes upwards to massage and caress your chest.

He takes his time, just like you told him. From this angle, you can see his face more—and it’s glistening, evidently he’s been crying. He’s been crying because of how good it feels. Something about the idea is wildly erotic. He wants pleasure so badly that he’s begging and crying over it, literal tears from those pretty brown eyes.

Every orgasm feels better than the last. He shoots more seed inside of you again, quickly, almost immediately upon entering you. But there’s a rebound period before his second orgasm where you decide to be a bit cruel.

“Slower, Ace.”

He complies, hips shaking, moving centimeters at a time. There’s so much cum inside of you that it’s almost sloshing out, squelching so loud you’re thankful no one is around to hear. His eyes are glued to where the cum seeps out of you, drinking up the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you with every pass.

Gravelly, obscene groans tumble out from him every second—it’s almost a constant stream.

“Wanna go faster,” he rasps, eyes snapping up to yours. You see more tears gathering on his lash line.

“Not yet, baby. Be a good boy and wait for it, okay?”

When he hears you call him that—good boy—a strangled sounding gasp erupts from his lips and his hips shudder. “Fuuuuhhhccckkk.”

Desperate, heaving breaths accompany his extreme efforts. He’s trying not to cum, trying not to buck and rut haphazardly and mindlessly into your cunt like some animal in heat.

A couple more moments of agonizing slowness pass. When you’ve decided he’s behaved, and when you’re similarly desperate enough, you give him the go ahead.

“Faster.”

His hips snap into action and he’s cumming again within a couple seconds. It’s amazing that he still has cum to give, that he’s not completely shooting blanks at this point, that he hasn’t drained his balls completely yet. But, surely, he’ll get there.

“Mmmpppphhhh,” he moans, deafeningly loud. “Ah, ah, fuck, f-feels so good, fuck.”

“Keep going, ‘m close,” you keen his name and his hips pick up the pace. Each time his cock pushes on your sweet spot it makes you see stars. You’re getting close and he’s getting overstimulated.

When you cum again the pleasure is white-hot and euphoric, buzzing every nerve in your body. Ace does the same—he’s too sensitive, can’t handle the feeling of your walls squeezing and milking him for long before he’s careening into his own wave of euphoria.

He slows down and starts to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. He’s sweaty and his body is hot. Looks like the sex pollen is making his devil fruit powers a bit harder to control.

“You want some more, handsome?” You ask, and he nods eagerly. When you move from underneath him, you ask him to lay on his back. Rifling through a bedside drawer, you bring out your vibrator. You usually keep it in his cabin because that’s where you get the most use out of it. But today, instead of using it on yourself, you’re going to try something new.

While you’re grabbing the toy, Ace reaches a hand down to start touching himself but you tell him to knock it off.

“You need to sit there and be good for me. Don’t touch yourself and don’t cum unless I say so, okay?”

When he hears your stern tone, Ace puts his hands behind his head, and peers down to see what happens next. It’s hard for him to stay still, but he tries his very best.

Situating yourself between his thick thighs, you turn the vibrator on and bring it to the head of Ace’s cock. He almost immediately starts to seize up. He’s going to cum again. But where would the fun be if you just let him?

You take the vibrator away and frown. “Do I need to tell you again? Don’t cum until I say so, sweetheart.”

He pouts and nods. You bring the vibrator back and put it on the lowest setting setting. He’s hardly holding on as is, but when you turn the vibrator’s speed up, he starts to writhe in pleasure.

“’m close,” he whines, biting his lip.

You take the vibrator off again, met with a strangled sounding cry of frustration from Ace. He takes a few minutes to cool back down until he’s ready for you to start again.

Twenty, no, thirty minutes pass like this until he’s on the verge of tears again. When you finally let him have it, he asks so nicely. It’s not like he hasn’t been asking nicely before, but this time his voice cracks and you can see the tears in his lash line.

“C-can I please, please cum?” He’s being so sweet and needy. It’s crazy to think this is the strong, courageous man who has protected you countless times. Reduced to a sniveling mess, asking for another orgasm.

You say yes. He’s being so polite, so why not?

After this orgasm, he’s almost ready to tap out. He can use his safe word, obviously but… he really doesn’t want to. It feels too good. He’ll keep going for as long as he physically can.

“You still have another couple to give me, right? Don’t you want to be good for me and keep going?” You say, looking up from between his thighs. The tip of his cock is inflamed from the relentless vibrating, and his abdomen is coated in a sheen of his own cum. He’s at the point where he doesn’t care about anything, fucked-out with his mind empty.

When he nods his head mindlessly, you take your turn. You sink down on his cock (again) and ride him for as long as it takes you to orgasm. For the record, it doesn’t take long, but Ace has lost track of time.

He’s being louder than usual. Every few seconds he lets out some form of a whine, a whimper, a “fuck,” a “please,” or a “’s too much.” His cheeks are bright red, accentuating those cute freckles, and his eyes are half-lidded. He’s so handsome it makes your stomach flip. He’s falling apart with minimal effort, and he’s all hands, too. He grabs handfuls of the plush skin of your hips and ass, kneading and getting himself more wound up.

Ace cums once while you’re working up to your own orgasm, then again when you’re cumming on his cock, and then a third time, when you pull yourself off his length and wrap a hand around his shaft. Every time he cums, you encourage and praise him. It drives him crazier.

“There’s a good boy,” you say. “Keep going for me. Don’t stop.”

You talk dirty to him while you give him one very long hand job. He eats it up, loves the idea of you speaking filth to nobody but him. Before you started seeing each other, he couldn’t imagine you had this sort of mouth on you—not in his wildest dreams. It’s his delight every time you’re in bed that you feel comfortable enough with him to talk like this.

“You’re just too sweet I can’t stop Ace,” your voice oozes in desire. “And you’re being so good for me.”

“’s good?” He slurs, holding your eye contact as much as he can manage.

“Mmmhm. Tell me what it feels like. Use your words, okay?”

His eyes flutter and his voice comes out as a whisper. “So good. F-feels so fucking good.”

You coo in his ear and bite his earlobe softly. “Don’t I always make you feel so good?” He nods in a silent reply, rocking his hips up to fuck himself with your fist.

As you milk more cum from him, he reaches a hand up—you initially think he’s going for your chest, but his hand falls on your cheek and he attempts to pull you into a kiss. He’s a bit weak in his current state, so you oblige him by leaning in.

It’s just gut-wrenchingly cute of him to be fucked dumb like this and still want to get kisses from you. He’s just thanking his lucky stars that you, of all people, is who he ended up with.

While you explore his mouth with your tongue, and cup his face with your free hand, his heart feels like it’s going to burst.

He cums again. The fact that he still has cum to give is preposterous in itself. You’ve lost track of time at this point, too.

You make him eat you out and he’s (understandingly) sloppy with it. His hot mouth feels just right on your core, and he pays just enough attention to your clit. Feeling you pull on his hair makes him feel more aroused than he thought possible.

So, he’s ready to fuck you again. He goes for another round in missionary, then puts you into a mating press. Afterwards, he gets tuckered out and you figure that he has one good one left in him, or, rather, he probably has more to give but he really should give it a rest after that. It would be way too cruel to make him keep going after this one, right? You’ll decide the answer to this question after he cums for you again.

“One more, Ace,” you pet his ruffled up hair and grace him with kisses. “You can do that for me, can’t you, pretty boy?”

He nods obediently.

“There you go,” you purr and start to trace your lips down his abdomen, licking up a small portion of the very large mess he’s made on himself.

His eyes widen as he realizes he’s about to get one of his very favorite things—a blowjob from none other than yourself.

He lifts his head up and watches in awe as you lick a long stripe up his shaft and then take him whole, hollowing your cheeks before you start to suck him off. You’re gentle at first, until he starts moaning louder, then you figure fuck it, he can cum. You let him off easy this time. He’s just been so good for you.

When you look up from your position between his legs, you make eye contact, nod, and then hum. It sends him over the edge. Ace’s fingers snake into your hair and he holds your head down as he cums down your throat.

“C-cumming, ‘m cumming, ah, fuck, fuhhhcckkk that feels good,” his groans are harsh and loud.

He’s so sweet afterwards that it’s heart melting. You know that he must be tired, but he doesn’t act the part. Not when you’ve been so good to him, when you’ve praised him, taken your time with him, coddled and kissed him. It almost makes you feel guilty how affectionate he is.

Pulling into you a long, tender kiss, he so sweetly says, “fuck, you’re perfect. I can’t believe someone like me gets to be with someone like you.”

You cup his cheeks and tell him to cut it out. Of course someone like him gets to be with someone like you. He’s perfect, after all. You cuddle him in bed for a while before he, again, very politely, asks if you’d help clean him up. He’s positively covered in cum and doesn’t want to stain anything else more than he already has. Seems like this is another pair of bedsheets that can be considered properly soiled. Not like that will stop you from doing the same thing in the future.

Now, where did he come across that sex pollen again?

this style of writing for me (when i just write straight up smut with no plot) is akin to a sort of slop. i am the lunch lady handing out scoops of questionable and most likely unsatisfying mush BUT sometimes on a good day it is delicious... i can only hope the slop today did not disappoint... >_> cant say this one is my absolute fave so apologies if it's trash T-T but i love the idea of him being so whiny like this..!!

check out my masterlist and also the best piece i've written on ace so far, if you liked this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune

taglist @eggrollforyou

[dcxdpdabbles]

Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

[rurutts]

Really miss reading mid to long Fanfics but I feel like I've reached the end with all my fave fandoms/ships ugh

Does anyone else get this lol

Maybe my interests are too niche or smthing but I swear I've read everything 😭

[witawwy-ponyboy-curtis]

Ace and Bev.... Toxic Yuri..... Save me.....

[vulturrr]

Just watched wicked. Do straight people watch that and truly not recieve any hint of lesbianism

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 24 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warnings: WRITTEN BEFORE THE ITHACA SAGA

“My love I’m finally home!”

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

As Telemachus’s ship neared the coastline, the familiar silhouette of Ithaca came into view. The salty breeze carried a bittersweet weight, reminding him of home and of the uncertainty that awaited him there. Yet, even as his heart swelled with longing, Athena’s voice echoed in his mind from the night before.

“Dock at the western port, away from the eyes of others. It is safer there.”

He hadn’t questioned her. He never did. Her guidance had saved him countless times during his journey, and though the eastern port was closer to the palace, something in her tone told him this wasn’t a suggestion.

“Acrisios, steer west,” he called out.

His friend furrowed his brow but obeyed without protest, guiding the ship toward the quieter, rockier shore. The crew worked silently, their movements efficient, until the vessel was safely anchored. Telemachus jumped onto the sand, the familiar earth grounding him after weeks at sea.

“Why are we docking here?” Acrisios asked, hands on his hips as he eyed the deserted coastline.

“Athena’s orders,” Telemachus replied, his gaze scanning the surroundings. “She didn’t say why.”

Before Acrisios could respond, a figure emerged from the trees ahead, sprinting toward them. Telemachus squinted, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized the flowing hair and frantic movements.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his breath catching in his throat. She was running full speed, her face streaked with tears. Her dress was slightly disheveled, and her sandals kicked up clouds of dust as she hurried toward him. Telemachus dropped his pack and ran to meet her, his heart pounding.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice filled with both relief and worry. When she finally reached him, she threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly as sobs wracked her body. Telemachus held her close, his arms wrapping protectively around her as he murmured her name.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, his voice trembling as he pulled back just enough to see her tear streaked face.

“They… they were going to kill you,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “Antinous and the suitors—they planned to ambush your ship at the eastern port. They wanted to throw you into the sea and… and force Penelope to choose one of them.”

Telemachus’s face hardened, his jaw clenching as anger and disbelief surged through him. “Antinous? My mother’s suitors?”

She nodded, her hands gripping his arms as if afraid he would vanish. “I overheard them… Antinous—he’s so blinded by hatred for you and his ambition for the throne. I didn’t know what to do. I just… I couldn’t let them hurt you.”Telemachus exhaled shakily, his heart breaking at the sight of her tearful, panicked expression. He reached up, brushing the hair from her face and wiping her tears with his thumb.

“it’s okay Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. “Athena must have known. That’s why she told me to dock here.”

She clung to him, her body trembling as her sobs subsided. “I was so scared, Telemachus. I thought I’d lose you.”

He pulled her close again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t lose me, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

Behind them, Acrisios cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, so… what’s the plan? Because this sounds…like not good.”

Telemachus straightened, his protective instincts flaring as he looked toward the palace in the distance. “The plan is to stop them,” he said firmly, his hand still resting on her back. “But first, I need to know everything. Y/N, tell me everything you overheard.”

She nodded, her voice steadier now as she began recounting the suitors’ plot. Telemachus listened intently, his resolve hardening with each word. Whatever it took, he would protect her, his mother, and his home.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Y/N and Telemachus stood near the ship, the sea breeze tugging at their hair as they exchanged soft laughter. Acrisios leaned against a nearby post, watching with a mix of annoyance and dread. He could already sense where this was going.

“Are you two done being gross yet?” Acrisios asked, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

Telemachus smirked, turning to Y/N with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you think, love? Are we done?”

She giggled, catching on to his plan. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to Telemachus’s, and the two began kissing—slowly, and with far too much enthusiasm for Acrisius liking.

“By the gods,” acrisios muttered, groaning as he turned his gaze to the sky. “What did I do to deserve this? Zeus, Athena, anyone listening up there, get me out of this nightmare. Get a room!”

Telemachus pulled back just enough to glance at Acrisius, grinning. “What’s the matter, Acrisios? Feeling lonely? Maybe you should tell her how you feel when we get back to the palace.”

Acrisios froze, his eyes narrowing as a flush crept up his neck. “Don’t you dare—”

She tilted her head, curious. “Her? Who’s her?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Telemachus said, feigning innocence as he kissed her cheek. “Our dear Acrisios has a little crush back home. Isn’t that right, Acrisios? Your father’s friend’s daughter, wasn’t it?”

Acrisios turned red, both from embarrassment and frustration. “You swore you wouldn’t bring that up!”

Telemachus laughed, pulling Y/N closer as if to shield himself from Acrisios’s glare. “I didn’t swear anything. Besides, we’re just talking about feelings. Isn’t love worth discussing?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Acrisios muttered, running his hands through his hair. “I swear, Telemachus, one more word and—”

“Relax, Acrisios,” Telemachus interrupted, now fully leaning into Y/N again. “Why don’t you take notes? Who knows, it might help you impress her when we get back.”

She snorted, burying her face in Telemachus’s shoulder to hide her laugh. Acrisios let out a long, exasperated groan, turning his back on them.

“You two are insufferable,” he muttered, stomping away toward the other side of the ship. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be praying to every god I know to send a storm and drown this madness.”

Telemachus couldn’t contain his laughter as he kissed Y/N’s temple. “I think he’s warming up to us.”

She rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her amusement. “You’re such a tease.”

“And you love it,” Telemachus teased before pulling her in for another kiss, knowing full well Acrisios could still hear their laughter echoing across the ship. As Acrisios stomped off, grumbling to the gods for mercy, a sly smirk suddenly crossed his face. He spun back around, leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed.

“You know,” he began, his voice dripping with mockery, “it’s funny how confident you are, Telemachus. Especially considering the night I caught you—what was it again? Oh, right. Naked, practicing with a pillow, muttering Y/N’s name.”

Telemachus immediately froze, his face flushing a deep crimson. “You—”

She blinked in confusion. “Practicing with a pillow? Telemachus, what is he talking about?”

“I—he’s lying!” Telemachus stammered, shooting Acrisius a glare that could rival Zeus’s lightning.

Acrisios chuckled darkly, clearly savoring the moment. “Oh, am I? Shall I paint the portrait for her, Telemachus? You were—what was it? Holding the pillow, all desperate, saying, ‘Oh, Y/N, I’ll be so good, I promise!’”

“Acrisios!” Telemachus barked, now completely flustered, while she stared at him with wide eyes before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my gods,” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “Is that true? You practiced on a pillow?”

Telemachus covered his face with his hands, his ears practically glowing red. “It was—it’s not what it sounds like!”

“Oh, it’s exactly what it sounds like,” Acrisios interrupted smugly. “And the best part? He got so into it that when I caught him, he practically jumped out of his skin. He’s lucky the pillow didn’t come to life from sheer embarrassment.”

She was laughing so hard now that tears streamed down her cheeks. “Telemachus, you’re adorable!”

“Adorable?” Telemachus groaned, glaring at Acrisius. “You’re dead, Acrisius. I swear, I’ll throw you overboard myself.”

But Acrisius only raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unwavering. “Hey, you’re the one who decided to perfect your ‘skills’ on a pillow. I’m just here to share the good news.”

She leaned into Telemachus, still giggling. “I can’t believe you went to those lengths for me. That’s… kind of sweet, actually.”

“Sweet?!” Telemachus exclaimed, clearly mortified.

Acrisios gave a hearty laugh, turning to leave. “Well, I’ve had my fun. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to pillow talk.”

As he walked off, Telemachus groaned, burying his face in his hands again. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Probably not,” she teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “But I think it’s cute that you were so nervous about impressing me.”

Teasing as it was, the soft kiss made Telemachus feel a little better—though he was sure Acrisios would pay for this later.

Acrisios wasn’t done. Oh no, not yet. He turned back once more, arms folded and a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, Y/N, that pillow story is just the beginning of how utterly pathetic he was over you on the voyage.”

Telemachus groaned, his hand already on his face. “Acrisios, don’t—”

But Acrisios was on a roll. “Oh, I must. She deserves to know the full story.” He smirked. “Like the time he tried carving your name into the mast and spelled it wrong halfway through because he was daydreaming about your ‘beautiful smile.’ The crew still laughs about that.”

Her eyes lit up with amusement. “You carved my name?”

Telemachus mumbled, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, but it was,” Acrisius said, grinning. “He panicked and tried to cover it up, so now the mast says ‘I/N,’ and he claimed it was a prayer to some obscure goddess of… what was it, Telemachus? Fishing?”

She burst out laughing again, and Telemachus turned a deeper shade of crimson. “It was just one mistake,” he muttered.

“One mistake?!” Acrisios snorted. “How about the time he made us stop at that random island because he thought he saw flowers that looked like the ones you like? Turned out they were just weeds, and we wasted a whole day while he dug around like some love struck idiot.”

She gasped through her laughter. “You stopped your entire voyage? For flowers?”

“They looked like the ones you liked!” Telemachus protested, his voice cracking. “How was I supposed to know they weren’t?”

Acrisios raised an eyebrow. “And let’s not forget how he insisted on fishing every single day, convinced he’d catch a rare sea fish ‘worthy’ of you. And guess how many he actually caught? None.”

She was in stitches now, clutching her sides. “Oh gods, Telemachus, you’re hopeless!”

“And don’t even get me started on how he lectured us all on how to be proper gentlemen, because apparently, ‘Y/N deserves nothing but the best.’” Acrisius mimicked Telemachus’s voice mockingly, earning a glare from his friend.

She wiped tears from her eyes, grinning ear to ear. “You really did all that for me?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Telemachus groaned, glaring daggers at Acrisius. “You’re just making it worse.”

But she leaned in, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. “It’s sweet, Telemachus. You’re ridiculous, but sweet.”

“Ridiculously pathetic,” Acrisios added, snickering. “But hey, who am I to judge? I guess it worked. She’s still here.”

Telemachus shot him a warning look. “If you don’t leave right now, I swear by Poseidon’s trident, I’m going to—”

“All right, all right, I’m going!” Acrisios said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. As he walked away, he muttered loud enough for them to hear, “I/N… honestly.”

Telemachus groaned, burying his face in her shoulder. “Why do I even keep him around?”

She just laughed, stroking his hair. “Because deep down, you love him too. And besides, now I have some hilarious stories to tell.”

Telemachus groaned again. “Great. Just great.”

——

As Telemachus leaned into Y/N’s embrace, his attention was suddenly caught by the soft sound of paws shuffling against the stone floor. His breath hitched as a figure slowly approached them—a familiar, graying dog, moving with measured steps.

“Argos?” Telemachus whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

The old dog’s ears perked up slightly at the sound of his name, his cloudy eyes lifting to meet Telemachus. Despite his age, there was still a spark of recognition in Argos’s gaze. Slowly but surely, he made his way toward the pair, his tail giving the faintest wag. She smiled softly and crouched down, holding out her hand. “Come here, boy,” she murmured, her voice gentle.

To Telemachus’s shock, Argos didn’t hesitate. He padded over and nuzzled her outstretched hand, his tail wagging a little more energetically now. Pandora ran her fingers through his fur, her touch careful and soothing.

Telemachus blinked in astonishment. “Wait… he lets you touch him?”

She glanced up at him, amused. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s a sweetheart.”

Telemachus shook his head, still staring at the scene before him. “Argos barely let anyone near him, especially after Father left. He was loyal only to him and mother. I mean, even I have to earn his attention most days.”

She chuckled, scratching behind Argos’s ears as the dog leaned into her hand with a contented sigh. “Maybe he just knows I’m not a threat. Animals can sense these things, you know.”

“Or maybe he’s just as charmed by you as everyone else,” Telemachus muttered, crossing his arms but smiling faintly.

She gave him a playful look. “Jealous of your dog now?”

“No,” Telemachus said quickly, but his expression betrayed him. He knelt down beside Y/N and reached out to pet Argos as well. The dog’s tail thumped against the floor, and Telemachus felt a swell of emotion in his chest.

“I can’t believe he’s still here,” Telemachus murmured, his voice soft. “I thought… after all these months, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again.”

She glanced at him, her teasing tone replaced by something gentler. “He’s been waiting for you, Telemachus. Just like the rest of us.”

Telemachus’s throat tightened, and he gave Argos a firm pat on the side, his fingers brushing against her as they both tended to the old dog. “I guess he’s smarter than I gave him credit for,” Telemachus said, his voice thick with emotion.

Argos let out a low, contented huff, resting his head on her knee. She smiled down at him, then looked up at Telemachus. “See? He approves of me. You should take notes.”

Telemachus laughed softly, the weight of everything they’d been through momentarily lifting. “Fine. You win. Argos likes you more than me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she replied with a wink, her fingers still moving gently through Argos’s fur.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world

@simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[pinechips]

Now, there are only 19 hours left before the finals close. Here are the (presumably hate?) comments directed at WN during this entire poll, along with my answers and thoughts.

"What the fuck is Warrior Nun?" or "Who are these people? Never heard of them." There is a perfect answer here from Almsy and this is my post from the previous round about why I love WN.

"Kill them!" or "I wish them all die." Over an online poll? You okay?

"Know your history." or "They don't understand the meaning of [ship name]." This was a good opportunity for me to learn about many other f/f ships, and I understood how each show represented women during that time. Still, that doesn't undermine the value of recent shows. The representation of women is important in every era, and Warrior Nun is an amazing show from this viewpoint, considering the current time we live in. I understand that history is essential, but Warrior Nun still holds a special meaning for me, just as [show name] does for you. This show was the only one that made me write fanfiction, and I wrote 400k about Avatrice (well, maybe now 500k, haven't checked recently).

"I saw Warrior Nun, and it is bad." Hey, I could've said the same thing about [show name], but I thought it would be rude. Jk, of course. We all have different tastes.

"I will never watch Warrior Nun." ...was it meant to be a hate comment? Because it's a good show, and if you don't watch it, it's a loss for either you or Netflix. I hope it's Netflix's loss cause I hate them. Have you heard that we put a freaking billboard in front of their HQ for a month?

"They do voter fraud!" Uh, I feel neutral about this topic. I think it would have been better if it were banned, tbh (look at the agony here), but apparently, it’s impossible to ban, and it's even encouraged by the mod of this poll. So well, what can I say? Also, when I look at the graph of the finals, the slopes of votes per hour from the two fandoms are nearly identical up to 27 hours after the start. I personally admire the enthusiasm of both fandoms, really.

"Let's do voter fraud!" The same as above.

Top Femslash Ships Bracket - FINALS

[divorcedtom]

SEVERANCE 2.01 - "Hello, Ms. Cobel"

[thessstrangeskeleton]

Oh… hey……..

[jamiethegardener]

"evelyn is gay for astra" i say into the mic. the people boo. i begin to walk off in shame as a voice speaks and commands silence from the room. "she's right" they say. i look for the owner of the voice. there she stands. its astra yao.

[beginning-writer]

Whit pleasure Sir.

So, at first my username was 'vaquinhadecogumelinhos', which was created when I was 11-12 years old. Well, I spent a long time before going back to using tumblr. And yet that name had a reason.

'Vaquinha-de-cogumelinhos' translate to 'LilMushrooms-Calf' and i named my blog like this cause when i was younger, i was OBSESSED with bulls and cows and calfs. And I was innocently wandering around Minecraft with my cousins and one of them drops the information that there is a mushroom cow. Mushrooms were another thing I had a big hyperfocus on for a good few years. I heard this and went looking for a picture or confirmation that it was real, and I came across the wonder of the cows on Minecraft's mushroom island.

I fell in love at first sight.

This was perfect, my two hyperfocuses on one thing. So I decided that I would name any social midia username after those perfections of fictional nature.

It's been a good few years since I stopped using tumblr and I came back in December of last year, and I fell in love with tumblr. But my username was no longer something I identified with, not even my profile picture was something I liked. So I changed everything.

My profile picture and dashboard are now as chaotic and weird as I've accepted myself to be. And I'm happy with that. But my name was another story.

I'm nearly fluent in American English, which is a blessing because it's also mostly in English. But I realized that for a social network that's mostly in English, my username could be as dificult to write as a dinosaur's. So I changed it to something simple, but that would describe me well. I could have put Angry-wild-racoon, but I chose beginning-writer. Cause whoever read it would know right away what half of my blog is about. Write. The other half is reserved for the five-person Cursed fandom and the even smaller fandom that ships Lancewain.

Tagging anyone who sees this!

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[mariiilume]

I converted from Angry hugs (Shrimpo x Goob) to Angry cuddlefish (Shrimpo x Goob x Finn) BECUZ! SHRIMPO! DESERVES TWO HAPPY GO LUCKY BFS! AND I THINK!! FINN AND GOOB WOULD LLVE EACH OFHER VERY VERY MUCH!