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jubshead · 1 month ago

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𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦

Paring: Agatha Harkness x Reader | Platonic Nicholas & Reader

Summary: Visiting your friend has some unexpected benefits when his mother is home.

A/N: This is the biggest thing I’ve written so far and I hope you guys like it!

This fanfiction is inspired by the song Stacy’s mom. There are a lot of references to the lyrics and the clip, so let me now which ones do you guys catch!

OH AND if you guys click on the clothe I’m describing, a link will take you to the image a had in my mind while writing.

This isn’t beta read and english isn’t my mother language, so bear with me.

Warning: Smut, (18+) age difference, (brief) mommy kink, fingering.

Word count: 8.1k

Date: Oct 29, 2024

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!

Masterlist

Tag list: @nyoclosmom @stayevildarling @sasheemo @thefutureisus2020 @harknessshi

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

Being back in your hometown feels weird, the feeling of seeing people stuck in time and unsatisfied with their life always gives you a turn on the stomach. You’d rarely come up here after your family moved a few years ago, the main reason for visiting was your bestfriend Nicholas, but more times than not he was the one who traveled to spend time with you. Your city was so much better in multiple senses, especially now that you live at the college dorm.

As you didn’t have any relatives in town, you inevitably stayed at Nickie’s house. This time though, you felt like an intruder. Your friend commented on his parents’ recent divorce and how tension had been high for a while in their house before the separation.

During the years you’ve known Nicholas, you hardly ever saw his parents, they were always on some kind of work trip and left Nicholas to be the host of the house when you were there. Weirder, though, was the fact that they were never together. From what your friend had told you, they traveled at the same time, but to completely different places. Apparently they were both on the enterprise business, you weren’t really sure of what.

You’d cross paths with Mr. Scratch a couple of times, but you hadn't seen his mother since moving away as a child, you just remember her imposing presence and the overwhelming crush you used to have on her.

Your friend had mentioned that she would be home this time. She hadn’t taken a vacation in years, but the separation seemed to bring calmness to her and she was trying to spend more time with her son, at least that’s what he told you, and it wasn’t like she needed to work overtime for money, they were rolling in it.

You shyly roll your suitcase into the house’s pathway, anxiety eats you away and you hope that the person who greets you is your friend. It would feel awkward enough having Mrs. Harkness around the house while you were there, you didn’t want to re meet her after such a long time without Nicholas as a bridge.

Letting out a breath when you see your friend’s smile, you jump into his arms, barely giving him time to catch you. His forearms circle your waist and lift your feet off the ground, shaking you left and right like a ragdoll. You huff and hear the sound of your bag hitting the ground after colliding with your foot.

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” You playfully pat him on his back and wait for him to settle back down.

“Excuse me for being excited to meet my friend, who I haven't seen in over a year, 'cause she’s too preoccupied with her studies.” He uses your own words to mock you.

“Well…I’m here now, aren’t I?” Your shrug and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Come on, be useful for once and help me with my bag.” You walk past him and leave your suitcase at the door.

“I forgot how insufferable you are.” He complains loud and clear, you turn back around in time to catch the smile in his face and stick out your tongue.

“You know you love it!”

“I might.” He mumbles under his breath and you ignore him, turning back around and going up the stairs.

Your relationship with Nickie has always been light and playful, he was like the little brother you never had and you allowed yourself to act childish in his presence. He reminded you of your childhood in this town and running across the street with the other kids. So, when he’d drop hints of something else, you’d just brush it off.

“Same room as always?” Your head peaks through the top of the stairs and you stare down at him as he struggles with your bag.

“Actually, no. My mom is remodeling that one into a massage room.” You raise an eyebrow and he shrugs. “You can stay at the end of the corridor. It’s a little further from my room, but I’m sure you won’t mind.” He settles the suitcase at the top of the stairs and leads you in the direction you’re not accustomed to.

“I sure don’t.” You assure him. “But I do wanna know where’s the illustrious Mrs. Harkness.” He lets out a chuckle at your nervous joke.

“She went out to run some errands, but said she’d be back soon and bring us pizza for dinner.” He stops at the end of the corridor. At the front wall there’s a door and on its side another one. He opens up the one on the right. “Like I said, my mom is remodeling some stuff, so this is the closest room we have available on this floor. This door is her bedroom.” He points to the other entry and you try not to react. It would be fine.

“Okay!” You exclaim and enter the enclosed space. The place was very similar to the one you were accustomed to, the only difference was spatially.

It had a window, wardrobe, bed and bathroom like all the others you had visited at the residence, but this one was faced to the back of the house. A big window opened up to the backyard and you could see the glistening pool water reflecting the orange light of the sun set. Facing the window was the bed and, on its left side, the bathroom.

Falling backwards, you bounce on the mattress and cover your eyes with the back of your elbow, all the adrenaline of the trip seems to leave your body at once.

Your friend throws your bag by your side. “What the fuck did you bring? It feels like there’s 20 bricks in here.”

“Stuff.” You reply passively, not moving a muscle.

He scoffs at you. “Okay, I can clearly tell you’re tired from your flight, so I’ll let you take a shower, put your ‘stuff’ away and I’ll call you when my mom arrives with our food. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, thank you!” You answer him gracefully and only take your arm away from your face when you hear the door close softly.

Lazily you sit up on the comfortable surface, open up your suitcase and search for your shower essentials. You feel clammy and stinky after spending a few hours at the airport and on the plane, so a bath is the first thing on your mind.

Finding a towel and adjusting the temperature is easy enough and in a few minutes you’re under the water pressure, tiredness mixes with anxiety and you slump against the wall.

You feel an overwhelming excitement at seeing Nichola’s mother and while it feels like meeting your boyfriend’s mom, it is also a completely different feeling. You don’t care if she thinks you are good enough for her son, especially since you don’t have that kind of relationship with your friend, but you wanted it, craved even, that she liked you.

Yeah, your childhood crush hadn’t passed.

You try not to let your thoughts eat you away by focusing on your routine and relaxing into the warm water.

When you’re done, you get out of the shower and wrap yourself up in a towel. Brushing your wet hair, you look out of the window, the day passed and with it the sunlight. You hope your hair will dry before bed.

You hear a soft knock and your friend’s voice. “Can I come in?”

“Gimme a second!” You scream back and hurriedly search your bag, grab a big shirt and pajama shorts. “Yes, come on in.”

Your friend pokes his head into the room and stares at you. You must be quite a sight from the way his eyes rank over your body. Your hair is dripping, wetting your shirt, there’s a brush in your cream slicked hands and your shorts are hardly poking out from the shirt’s waistband. You don’t understand the appeal.

“Yes, what is it?” You drawl out, taking him out of his trance.

“Mom is home, brought us pizza.” He beams at you. “I told her you like pepperoni.”

“And you are right as always, my friend.” You tell him in the worst southern accent someone has ever heard.

He chuckles and you throw the brush on top of the bed, grab the towel to clean your hands and follow him out of the room.

All your anxiety comes back as you go down the stairs, the smell of pizza fills the air and you hear movement in the kitchen. Entering the cooking area, you spot her right away.

“Mom.” Nickie calls by your side.

When she turns around, you feel trapped in a movie. It would be one of those scenes where a character is introduced and turns around in slow motion, with some random song in the back.

You try very hard not to gape at her. She is wearing a light brown loose suit accompanied by a white dress shirt underneath, her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and on her feet you see expensive pointy black heels. Her hair is dark and matches her gold jewelry, she aged so well you feel like you’re one point away from falling to your knees in front of her.

She opens up the biggest smile upon seeing you.

“Oh hun, come here! Let me take a look at you.” She motions her hands towards herself and you timidly step into her arms.

She places her hands on your forearms and slowly runs her eyes over your figure. You squirm under her intense gaze and uncomfortably think about your choice of clothes. You should have dressed up, she looks so elegant.

She lets out a hum deep in her throat and you feel like a bug caught in a spider’s web when she looks into your eyes and smirks.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, dear. Nicholas spoke highly of you, but I must say his words don’t do you justice.”

“Yeah? Wait until she opens her mouth.” Your friend says by your side and you shove him slightly.

Agatha laughs at your antics and winks at you when you look back at her, making you blush.

“Let's eat, shall we?” She claps her hands and brings them close to her chest, turns around and grabs the carbon box.

Nicholas leads you into the dining table and you sit in front of him, on the left side of the head of the table, where Agatha settles down. You were starving, eating was the next thing on your mind after a shower and now that you are clean, you can enjoy the meal. Politely, you wait until Nicholas takes a slice and offers it to you, nodding eagerly, you extend your plate in his direction.

You dive in and barely listen to the conversation they are having, that is, until you hear your name.

“Yes?” You swallow hurriedly and feel the piece burning your throat as it slides down.

“I was asking how college has been treating you, hun.” You gulp down the soda in front of you to smooth the pain. You are pleasantly surprised she knows something about you and is interested enough to ask.

“Oh, it’s been great! I really enjoy the course and the professors. It’s also a bonus that I moved out of my parents’ house.” You answer her excitedly.

“I bet you are taking full advantage of that, right dear?” She says with a playful smile and scrunch in her face, before sipping her glass of wine.

“Mom!” Nicholas exclaims by her side and you let out a nervous chuckle at the joke.

“I’m just kidding, honey.” She winks at him and waves her hands in the air in a dismissal movement.

“I sure am, Mrs. Harkness.” You return the jab and she turns to look deep into your eyes, her mouth slowly grows into a grin.

Distantly you hear your friend clean his throat and mumble “I didn’t need to know about that.”

You slowly let go of her intense gaze to turn into your friend’s direction.

“Don’t be a baby.” You throw your napkin across the table and he huffles in response.

After that, dinner doesn't last long. You patiently wait for Nicholas to finish what must be his fifth slice, before getting up and unspokenly offering yourself to clean up the dishes by grabbing the plates.

You feel a light touch on your arm. “You don’t have to do that, dear. You must be tired from your flight, Nicholas will clean up for us.”

“I really don’t mind, Mrs. Harkness.” You feel her hand run lightly up to your elbow and you hold in your shudder.

“Well, I insist.” Looking in your friend’s direction, he gives you a small smile and a nod. “And call me Agatha, hun.”

Rapidly blinking, you turn to face her and are met with a smile.

“Okay, humm…” Gently setting down the plates, you feel her hand slip from your arm.

You hesitate and Mrs. Harkness encourages you. “Go on.”

“Goodnight, then.” You practically run out of the room, stopping to glance back at them and give an awkward smile.

As much as you’d like to protest, Agatha is right. With a full belly, you feel your energy drain, your eyelids become heavy and you can only think about the big warm bed waiting for you.

The worry of being a bad guest slips from your mind as soon as your head hits the pillow.

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

The detergent runs down your hands and into the drain.

The window in front of the sink gives you a full view of the house’s backyard. The midday sun shines down into the grass, the pool glistens invitingly and a light breeze blows away a stuffy day.

Your night was uneventful, exhaustion seemed to take the best out of you and you woke up practically at lunch time. This time, though, you insisted on washing the dishes and wouldn’t take ‘no’ as an answer.

You got carried away by your task a while ago and now your hands move in their own accord. The idea of spending a day under the sun brings a renewed energy into your body and you practically vibrate in anticipation. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a pool or the beach.

You startled when your friend jumps to sit on the counter next to you.

“Jesus, Nicholas!” You exclaim loudly, stopping your sopped hand midway and preventing a wet shirt.

He gives you a boyish smile and says. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” You murmur out.

One second away from articulating your thoughts and suggesting your idea, you are interrupted by your friend.

“Should we spend the day outside?” He says and you look at him with big eyes and a wide grin.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” You exclaim. “I’m almost done here. You can go upstairs and change already.”

“Okay, bossy.” He playfully jabs while hopping out of the counter. On his way out of the kitchen he tells you. “I’m going to ask my mom if she wants to join us.”

Your whole body freezes. The image of Mrs. Harkness wearing only a bikini comes into your mind and leaves you lightheaded, when you look back at him, he’s already gone. Fuck.

You rapidly finish the dishes and dry your hand on a towel, run upstairs into your room and close the door softly.

Placing your suitcase in the bed, you sort through your clothes in an attempt to find your best bikini. Sprawling everything around and leaving a mess behind, you try to breathe and be reasonable. She wouldn’t be looking at you in the same way that you would look at her, there is no reason to be worried. Yeah, right. Just because she wasn't attracted to you didn't mean you didn't want her approval.

Pulling out your favorite red bikini, you let out a small commemorative sound. The two-piece consisted of a top adjustable sideways and held by two strings that made a bow on your nape. The bottom was very similar in style, the front covered you up and was held by little bows on the side that lead to a thong.

You change into it and look at yourself in the mirror. The color complemented your skin tone and the shape matched your body type. You repeat to yourself: there is no need to be worried.

Easier said than done.

You distract yourself by going into the bathroom and grabbing the sunscreen, the last thing you needed was to overthink and start biting your nails.

As you leave the bedroom, you follow the sound of someone in the kitchen and find Nicholas eating some kind of fruit.

His back is turned and you take a moment to really look at him. He was tall and defined, with a boyish light nature that seemed to make life easier. His light brown hair matches his father’s, but, other than that, he was Agatha though and though. Just as attractive as her and definitely broke as many hearts as his mother did. Maybe in another life things would be different between you two.

You shudder at the thought. Definitely not this one, though.

You approach him and grab a strawberry, barely registering his gaze appreciating your body as you lean into the counter and try to casually ask.

“What did your mother say?” You take a bite of the berry.

It takes a hot minute for him to take his eyes off of you and respond. “Said she’s happy to join us. She’s changing, but told us to go ahead if we want to.”

“Let's go then!” You exclaim and rapidly grab your friend and the bowl of fruit.

You open the glass door and a light breeze invades the house, you don’t stop to appreciate it. Afraid of fainting if you saw Nickie’s mother only in a bikini, you struggle to get into the pool before she comes down.

Placing your towel and the sunscreen in one of the chairs, you ignore your friend sitting next to you and move into the pool stair.

“Why are you acting crazy?” He asks with a frown while you step down into the water.

“I’m not.” You reply and he lets out a hum. Fuck him for seeing right through your bullshit. “I’m just excited, that’s all.”

You dive in. The pool is in the perfect temperature for the hotness of the day. It was mostly covered by the shadows of the trees, so, for now, you don’t have to worry about sunscreen.

Resurfacing and pulling your body into the pool’s edge, you throw a bit of water into your friend and say.

“Aren’t you coming in?” He nods and you add. “Bring the strawberries with you.”

Resting your head in the water, you let your body float freely. Your hearing is muffled and you take a moment to breathe in the space and relax. Having Nickie’s mom around was making you more anxious than you were prepared for.

You look up into the bright blue sky and observe the clouds. The day was so beautiful and your need for praise and validation was quickly increasing. There was nothing wrong with having a crush, but if it was affecting you this much, you needed to let it go for a while.

Your arms flow by your side and you clean your mind.

Time seems to stop in this position and you feel your body ease up for the first time since your friend told you his mother would be around. You hear a commotion outside of the pool and remain with your eyes closed, enjoying the empty pool before Nicholas jumps in and disturbs your peace.

That doesn’t last long. A few seconds later you feel drops of water splashing on your face. You look up from between wet lashes to find Nicholas with his feet partially inside the water and his mother by his side. He had been calling you.

“Yeah?” Wiping the excessive water from your face, you stand up.

“Would you mind sharing your sunscreen?” He asks you.

“Of course not.” You reply and change focus.

His mother looks even better than you’d imagine, if that’s even possible. She’s wearing a black two-piece and from afar you can see the lace covering the fabric. It fits her body perfectly, the top is similar to yours, but it isn’t sideways adjustable. The bottom, though, is very different, where your bikini is thin and revealing, hers has thick strands and you can see that it covers her butt a lot more than yours do. You were right in assuming you’d faint if you saw her outside of the pool. The image makes you dizzy.

“Enjoying the water, hun?” She tracks your body with her eyes and licks her lips.

You follow the action and it takes a noticeable second for your brain to process the question.

“Yes, I am, Mrs…Agatha.” You correct yourself and blush, from the slip up and the delay. Your face gets even hotter when she smirks and you realize you’ve been caught staring at her.

You just can’t help yourself. She sits down and spreads sunscreen on herself. This woman is a goddess you’d pray for until the day you die. Her belly is straight and defined, her boobs are small and compliment her body perfectly. When she turns around, asking Nicholas to help reach her back, you blatantly look at her ass. It was round and perky. You feel like a pervert, but that doesn’t change the fact that you wish it was you spreading sunscreen on her back.

God, if you had seen her anywhere else, you’d never guess she was more than 45 and had a son.

She catches you staring for a second time and winks at you. You dive back into the water to hide your red cheeks.

The afternoon runs smoothly. Nicholas joins you in the pool and you try to distract yourself by playing with him. If took a peak or two at his mother bathing in the sun, who could blame you?

It's around 4pm when your friend decides to go inside and grab more fruits. You had devoured the strawberries a long time ago and were now starving after splashing, fighting and swimming with him like a kid. The day had turned out as great as you had expected it to be.

You rest your tired head against the edge and hear a faint sound. You feel Agatha walk behind you, all the way to the pool ladder and fight against opening your eyes to stare at her backside.

It is the first time she joins you on the water and you hear Nicholas from inside in the kitchen. Your thoughts run free and as relaxed as you are, you get distracted by the image conjured up in your head of your friend picking up fruits and washing them.

You get slightly startled when you feel a hand running through your hair ends. Opening your eyes, you breathe in and try not to take a step back. Somehow, in your relaxed state, Agatha has crept up on you and is now standing a foot away. Her eyes are focused on the way her fingers twiddle your tips and in this proximity, you feel how hot her body is from soaking in the sun all day.

“I was trying to remember you as a kid.” She starts and looks up into your eyes. “You were the one with the pigtails, right?”

“Yeah.” You let out a laugh as you remember your signature hairstyle back then and add a nervous joke. “I’m all grown up now, though.”

“Yes, I can see that.” She replies slowly, her gaze drifting to your breasts.

Her hand leaves your hair and descends through the water until you feel a faint touch of fingers in your waist. She smirks, closing up the space between you two. The top of her bikini brushes against yours and pressed against the pool’s edge and her body, you panic when you hear the glass door open behind you.

She laughs at your wide eyes and dips her head into the water. Thanking all the heavens and architects that built this house, you turn around in time to see Nicholas rounding the corner.

“There you go.” He sits on the floor next to your sprawled arms and places the bowl in front of your face.

Feeling your heartbeat on your throat, you shove a grape on your mouth to calm yourself down.

“I think you should put on some sunscreen now. Your cheeks are really red.” You cough and blush even more, he runs his thumb through your face and you try not to flinch at the image he could have walked on.

“I was actually about to get out and stay under the sun for a while, so I’ll definitely do that.” You push yourself out of the water and feel eyes on your backside as you place your knees on the floor before getting up. Like mother, like son.

“Aw, you are getting out already?” He asks you with pleading eyes and you ignore him as you place yourself in one of the chairs.

“Already? I’ve been in there for hours. Look at my fingers.” You raise your palm up to show the wrinkled digits.

“You do look like an old mop.” He tells you with a side smile, you can only roll your eyes and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Come on! My mom just got in, we can’t leave her inside the water by herself.”

“Oh no, I’m not staying.” You both turn to look in her direction. “I just wanted to dip in to cool down. Grab me a towel, will you?” She tells her son with a flourish of hands.

He picks one from the pile while she steps up the pool stairs. You close your eyes, it wouldn’t be good to stare at your friend's mother in his presence.

They exchange a few words and Agatha goes inside. Nicholas sits by your side and relaxes into the lounge, mimicking your facing up position. The bowl is placed between you two and from time to time you brush your hands against his when grabbing a berry.

The sun shines down and your body heats up. The droplets of water evaporate and you avoid thinking about your little moment in the pool, you had promised yourself you would stop getting anxious around the house. What if Nichola’s mother may or may not be interested in you? That doesn’t change anything.

Yeah, right.

God, if Nicholas found out about this crush he’d be heartbroken. It’s been clear for a while that he has feelings for you that aren’t reciprocated.

He doesn't even know you are a lesbian.

“Tell me again, when will your classes start?” You ask and remain in the same position. A plan to let him down gently already formed in your mind.

“Same as yours.” He replies without looking at you.

You hum. “Are you excited for college?”

“I honestly am, which is unexpected.” He holds the conversation and you both remain with your eyes closed.

“Yeah.” You let out a small chuckle. “For a few years there I thought you had given up on the idea.”

“I had. I was thinking of taking over my parents' company.”

“Oh yes, I forgot you are a nepo baby.” You interrupt him and snort when you feel a towel landing on your face.

“As I was saying. I might still do that, but I shouldn’t run the business just because I’m their son. I want the knowledge to back me up.” He looks into your eyes and you give him a small genuine smile.

“Well, I think that’s very mature of you. I’m sure moving out of your mother’s house will help you decide what you want.” Sometimes you forget the 2 year difference between you two.

“Yeah.” He replies and pauses before adding. “Sorry about my mom’s comment yesterday.”

You frown and take a while to remember what he was talking about. The dormitory innuendo.

“It’s fine really, she’s right.” You laugh.

“She is?” He looks at you with big puppy eyes and you brace yourself for the blow.

“Yes. My roommate is cool about it and, more times than not, she thinks the girls I bring in are only friends.” You try to respond to it conversationally.

You look into his eyes and wait for a reaction, his brain doesn’t automatically catch up and he stares at you like you had grown a second head. As soon as it dawns on him you watch in slow motion as his eyes grow abnormally wide and his mouth hangs open. You were more worried about his feelings than a rejection, you know he’d never hurt you intentionally.

“Oh.” He lets out in a breath.

He seems to be stuck in place as he takes in the information, so you decide to move for both of you. Grabbing a towel, you place yourself on your feet and get up from the chair. Stretching your arms up and letting out a small groan, you turn in his direction.

Out of curiosity, you take a second to look at the house and search for your room’s window. It doesn’t take long to find, it’s the second last to the left and by its side a balcony leads to a spaced bedroom. Squinting your eyes against the sun, you try following the movement you see inside. It takes a while, but your eyes settle against the difference in clarity and you almost fall over.

Your brain catches up with the fact that Agatha’s room is next to yours a little late and inside the space you observe as she slowly unties her bikini with her back turned to you. She passes her head through the top knot and stretches her head from one side to another, before smoothing her finger through the indents caused by the bikini. You register your friend calling you and answer without taking your eyes off of her.

“Yeah?” You hum and add. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

You start walking without waiting for a response. You can’t take your eyes off of the scene being displayed in front of you, wishing she would turn a little more in your direction. When she starts removing the bottom, you feel the ground under your feet evaporating.

Literally.

One second you are walking along the pool’s edge and the next one you feel the breath leave your body as you collide hard against the ground. Your head swims and your left side hurts like a bitch, with your attention somewhere else you forgot the pool floor was wet and slipped on it, hitting your back and hip.

You faintly hear your friend getting up and have difficulty breathing through the pain, the world seems to twirl in front of your eyes and at the back of your mind you hear Mrs. Harkness calling out for her son.

“Did you hit your head?” Nicholas casts a shadow on you as he crouches down to inspect the situation.

Your only response is a groan.

Embarrassment doesn’t even cross your mind, the pain radiates all the way from your ass to your left shoulder and leaves you thoughtless. The only thing you can concentrate on is trying to help your lungs do their work.

“Can you get up?” Your friend tries again.

“Give me a second, will you?” You wheeze out.

“She’s fine!” He turns his back and shouts.

Dropping your head in the direction he’s facing, you see his mother’s face full of concern as she leans over the balcony with a towel on.

Your friend helps you up and you put all your weight on him as you hop into the house.

You throw yourself in one of the kitchen’s chair and your friend grabs a cup of water and pain medication, unspokenly offering to you.

Nicholas helps you all the way upstairs and into your room. When he leaves, you rapidly get under the water stream and wash out all the chlorine sticking to your body before exhaustion leaves you infunctional.

Out of the shower, you take a moment to look at your back in the mirror, purple spots are already forming and you just know you’ll be sore for days.

You throw yourself in bed and immediately pass out, wet hair and naked. A day in the pool has drained all your energy and the medication seems to knock you out completely.

Even as tired as you are, your sleep in conturbed. You turn around and rumble your bed, trying to find a comfortable position for your throbbing left side.

When you wake up, you are completely disoriented, night has fallen over and your room is pitch black, the only light comes from the moon as your open window curtain is blown away by a light breeze. You search around in the dark for your phone, the bright light shines in your eyes and you squint to look at the time: 1AM. You throw your head back and groan, you had fucked up your sleep schedule and everyone else was probably already asleep.

The feeling of an empty stomach gives you enough energy to get up and move to the kitchen. Ignoring the main light, you turn on a few lamps and lighter illuminations around the house, creating a cozy environment. You find a white box on top of the balcony and pop a pill into your hand, swallowing it down with a cup of cold water. The effect of the medication had passed during your afternoon nap.

Opening up the fridge, you find the leftovers of last night's pizza. You settle in the counter and eat it straight from the box, don't even bother heating it up. You shove up three slices and, in the meantime, decide to watch a movie. Throwing the empty box on the trash, you go into the television room and settle yourself laying sideways, your right side resting against the sofa.

You hear a faint sound of steps coming from upstairs and ignore it. Someone must be going to the bathroom. Deciding on a random channel, you relax into the couch, the ambience and light sound from the television helping with your pain.

The medication must be really strong, because you doze off once more. You open your eyes slowly and take a second to realize what has woken you up. Someone’s fingers are brushing through your hair lightly and a voice calls out your name.

Your vision settles on the image of your friend’s mother sitting by your side. She’s wearing a long black robe, its pattern has a mixture of purple and green and her hair is resting mainly on her right shoulder. You thank the darkness for hiding the blush covering your cheeks as she looks down at you and asks.

“How are you feeling, hun?”

“Better. I just took another pill.” You whisper.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your back?” Her fingers move from your hair and settle themselves lightly in your left rib.

You shake your head and lay more into the sofa. A shiver runs down your body as she slides the thin material of your silk pajama blouse and brushes her hands through, what you assume, is the purple blooming on your skin.

“Oh.” She lets out.

“Is it that bad?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, but I’ve got just the stuff for it.” She tells you and gets up, disappearing into the house.

You frown at her ways and focus on the television while waiting. Nicholas was probably asleep and wouldn’t wake up until tomorrow, being alone with his mom made you nervous beyond words, especially after earlier. You had no idea if she was only pushing your buttons, because she noticed you had a crush on her or if she was actually interested.

The teasing made the thoughts of her having been with a woman cross your mind again. You could imagine, she traveled a lot, her husband was never around and she didn’t seem to have an interest in him anymore. It would be so easy for her to fall in bed with a woman on one of her trips.

You hear her bare feet walk into the living room and look up to catch a smile on her face.

“Come one, turn over for me.” Her choice of words makes you obey without a second thought.

You cross your arms in front of your face and rest your forehead against them. You feel her presence behind you. Your back is turned to her and this time she doesn’t ask for permission before lifting up your shirt. Her nails run through your skin, following the movement.

“Nicholas has probably mentioned to you that I’m turning the upstairs room into a massage space.” You hear the lid of a bottle opening, before feeling something cold against your back. “Actually, dear. You should remove this.” She grabs your pajama top and you lift your head without a word.

Your bare breasts rests against the cushions and your head swirls.

She hums before spreading the lubricant around, it brings a nice sensation to your heating skin. Inspecting the damage, she concentrates the oil mainly on your left side.

Her movements are light until they aren’t, she puts pressure at the purple spots and you groan, pain blooming from your back and making you arch your chest into the couch, trying to avoid her feeling. She holds onto your waist to stop the motion, her hands are slick and placed much lower than normally appropriated.

“Come on, this will be good for you.” She whispers close to your ear and her hair tickles your back.

Like a child waiting for praise, you relax into her touch.

She continues the torturous massage and you can only let out painful moans that seem to sputter her on. Her fingers focus firstly on your shoulders, the reason for removing the shirt apparent now as her fingers circle around the muscle and ease up the tension. This part doesn’t hurt as much and you’re able to appreciate it when her fingers work on the tired knots. The tension starts leaving your body and from time to time you let out timid groans of appreciation.

The oil heats up against your back and her hands press down into your ribs. Her hands circle your body and her thumbs work hard on liberating the coagulated blood under the skin. The burning sensation brought by the lubrication helps with the pain and the way she aggressively grabs onto you leaves traces behind, you feel your hard nipples brushing against the sofa.

“Oh, honey. This is worse than I thought.” She tells you as her hands cascade into the worst part.

You fell ass first and most of the impact has been on the area. She runs her digits on the lower side of your back, brushing from time to time against the thin material covering your bottom. This part is more painful, but you face it up like a big girl. The bone causes a harder surface and she incessantly moves. You hiss through clenched teeth and pray she will be over soon. The pain is worse than in the other parts and the massage seems to stretch for an absurd amount of time, in agony you can’t even appreciate the fact that Agatha Harkness has her hands on you.

She finally stops and you relax into the couch. The silence hangs around you and you wait for her to get up and go back to sleep.

“Do you mind if I take this off?” She asks, stretching the waistband of your shorts before letting it go.

You blink rapidly and freeze. The question catches you off guard and you don’t have an automatic reaction.

“I’m not wearing underwear.” You whisper shyly.

“Not a problem, hun.” Somehow you can hear the grin on her voice.

Before you can move, she’s already running the fabric down your legs. Changing your body’s weight into your forearms, you help her by lifting your behind.

“Wait. Stay like this.” Your brain short circuits at the demand.

You are practically doggie style and your naked center is squeezed by your thigh in a pitiful attempt to hide it from her. You feel her moving behind you before placing a pillow under your hip.

“There we go. Are you comfortable?” She asks you without reservations.

You inspect the position you’re in. A large bolster props your uncovered ass up, your back is partially arched, following the weight deposited in your arms. Your hair is in a bun and your skin is covered in oil. Your nipples are hard rock and your breasts are begging for attention. You feel wetness in your lower lips.

Biting your lips, you nod.

“Great.” She lightly claps behind you.

You feel the couch dip by your side and tense up as she straddles the upturned side of your legs. Her thighs are pressed against yours and her weight doesn’t bother you. You estimate your ass is leveled with her ribs. If she got on her knees, she could be fucking you from behind.

Oh god, honestly the worst thought you could have when your cunt is practically in her face.

Her body shifts as she picks up the bottle on the table, a light texture is poured on top of your rear and you feel it run down your legs. She places the bottle back down and grabs a fistfull of your ass, you let out an involuntary moan and hear a malicious chuckle behind you.

“Enjoying yourself?” She teases you.

Your cheeks heat up at the joke and you don’t respond, your voice seems to have escaped you.

Her hands wander around and squeeze, you have the vague impression that she’s feeling you up instead of actually doing a massage. The palpation worsens your current aroused situation and you try to close your legs as much as possible without her notice. She focuses all of her attention where the purple is mostly concentrated, her fingers are firm and direct, this time though, the pain mixes with pleasure and you grab hard into the sofa in an attempt to hide your needy moans. Her hands graze your center a few times and everytime it happens, you buck into it.

You feel like a bitch in heat.

The wetness between your legs seems to gather unstoppable and you are barely able to contain your sounds. You’ve never felt this aroused in your life.

You faintly register Agatha calling out for you.

“Yes?” You hoarsely let out, previously unnoticed drools run down your chin and your eyes are shut closed.

“You are making a mess of my hand, hun.” You blush so furiously a salmon would be jealous of you.

You register the wetness of your center sticking in your thighs and joining the oil she was using. You are left speechless for what feels like the 100th time in her presence. Her hands move up through the outside of your legs before harshly grabbing your hip and bringing it close to her own center. She leans over the curve of your back to whisper in your ear.

“Let mommy take care of you.”

You moan aloud at the name.

You feel her breath ghost against your cheek as she laughs at you. Her nails run down your ass and brush your center, ignoring it. You knew in your state it wouldn’t take much for you to come, but, unfortunately for you, Agatha’s number 1 hobby seemed to be teasing.

She pulls back and focuses her attention on your backside, while her white acrylics run from your knees all the way up, her mouth works on scratching her teeth through your right ass cheek.

Her palm carefully grope your purple spot and you let out a small yelp at the harsh bite she delivers on your good cheek. She kisses it better and shows the same light appreciation to your hurt side.

Her lips leave your skin as she manhandles you. The grip on your hip pushes your ass higher and you rise up on your elbows. If you were playing about having your center in her face before, you definitely weren’t laughing now.

“Oh, dear. You are drenched.” On her knees, she parts your folds with her fingers and you lean against her. She runs her digits down and easily finds you clit, pressing it lightly and causing a restrained whine to escape you.

“Don’t do that. I want to hear all your pretty sounds.” She tells you in an almost sing-song voice, but you know she's not asking.

Obeying as she applies more pressure, you let out a free moan. Your face burns and you pant against the couch’s armrest. The oil on your skin seems to be some kind of special brand as it burns you up, your nape feels sticky as sweat starts to leave your body and you can’t focus on anything else besides the pleasure Agatha is giving you.

Your head swims when you feel her digits run up your slit and enter you. She pauses inside and you thrust back, whining from the delay. She seems to find amusement in your torture and laughs before slowly moving her digits.

She takes pleasure in watching you bend yourself to chase her finger and holds into your waist to contain part of your harsh movement. She teases you by letting her finger plunge in the slowest motion possible.

Even with the leisure pace you feel your pleasure building brick by brick. It’s a new sensation to have your orgasm sluggish reach you and, as good as it feels, it’s also not nearly enough to drive you over the edge. You moan, whine and trash against the sofa.

“Agatha, please!” That’s just about what your brain is able to formulate in your aroused muffled head.

“Such a pretty girl using her words.” The praise only seems to worsen your condition and you let out a frustrated cry at the light way her fingers keep moving.

The sound has an effect, though. She applies pressure and curls her fingers, hitting just the right spot to make you sob. She sets a forceful rhythm by using her hips as leverage, enough to make you hit your head against the couch headboard and hold onto it for dear life.

Your moans come out uncontrollably and you barely register, you could be screaming at the top of your lungs and you wouldn’t know. The pleasure comes in waves, your back undulates against her firm grip and your nails scratch at the fabric under your fingers. It’s so much and not enough at the same time. You try to voice your thoughts, but only a groan leaves your mouth.

“Yes, I know.” She smoothes you and gently takes your hair from your face, contrasting her other actions.

She does seem to know, because a few seconds later her hand joins the other one in your center, her movement is continuous and it takes a second for her to find your clit. When she touches it and applies pressure your vision turns black. You’d be worried about your temporary blindness if the circular motions on your clit, coupled up with her finger hitting the perfect spot inside you and her nails leaving a delicious stinging behind, hadn’t made you double over as your climax finally hit you.

You’re sure this is the longest time you’ve spent coming in your life. The waves seem to crash into another as Agatha keeps entering you and drawing out the pleasure. Her pace doesn’t slow down and when you think it’ll be over it starts for a second time. Your head in thoughtless, you had literally been fucked stupid and was pretty sure that somewhere your mind couldn’t reach, you heard yourself moaning like a bitch.

After what felt like minutes, your body completely slumps down into the couch. Your breath is coming out in harsh puffs and you don’t even feel the pain of the fall anymore. Someone brushes fingers through your scalp and you look up to catch Agatha’s dirty smile.

Her robe is rumpled and open, you barely have time to appreciatively run your eyes down her naked figure before hearing.

“Mom?”

Fuck.

#I’m actually proud of this one!#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #fanfiction

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agatharkn3ss · 2 months ago

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Blink and you miss it - clues on Nicholas Scratch

I'm currently working through the episodes looking for clues, trying to make more sense of what could actually be going on. And I've been finding some real gems!

One of them is this short but very interesting moment - when Agnes O'Connor returns to her office at the precinct. One moment we see a plant with a rabbit next to it (see lower left). The next second the plant is replaced with a photo of a young boy. Then, just as quickly, the next time we see that spot, the plant is back and the picture is gone.

I am not quite sure yet of the meaning of this quick transition at this point in the spell.

But it's the only image we have of Nicholas Scratch so far. I don't think it could be anyone else - by now we all probably realise all those images of rabbits around Agatha's house are a link to Nicky - there was even a rabbit right next to his "school award" in his bedroom.

Also, there was another scene just after Agatha came out of her spell and found Senor Scratchy in the basement - just in that briefest of moments we hear the same music that played when Agnes O'Connor was looking into her son's bedroom (I call it now "Nicky's theme").

Nicky must have loved rabbits and Senor Scratchy must have been his pet - I imagine both Agatha and Rio helped him come up with that name. OR Nicky was originally Spanish (maybe he was born there?) and that's why Rio and Agatha sometimes use Spanish phrases, a little memory of their son.

Side-note: Rabbits in some pagan beliefs were associated with fertility, as well as rebirth and resurrection. So I wonder if maybe this is somehow linked to how Nicky was created in the first place?

(Crazy thought - if Agatha did actually walk the Road before - which I still have big big doubts about - how cool would it be if it was her and Rio because they wanted to have a child together? So because they weren't seeking power, the Road looked completely different to them than what they are going through now? Unlikely, but cool! Though it would be that much more heart-breaking to lose their son after that effort)

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #kathryn hahn #rio vidal #aubrey plaza #agathario #agatha x rio #nicholas scratch #senor scratchy

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beelze0-0 · 24 days ago

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I bury my own heart

Here with you, my child

CW: death

(ID: image 1: a still life of a pomegranate, a small knife, and dandelions image 2: an overhead scene of Rio Vidal and Nicholas Scratch lying partially submerged in dark water, surrounded by foliage, bodies in a state of decomposition end ID)

#agatha all along #agatha all along fanart #rio vidal #agatha harkness #nicholas scratch #agathario #cw death

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deathbxnny · 3 months ago

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Soo do you remember when Boothill came out, so many people (me included) compared him to Arlechinno and say that he’s “genderbent Arlechinno” despite being literally the opposite of her?

Can i request Boothill with an Arlechinno!reader as a twin sibling?

Context:

Boothill and the reader are twins and they are the absolute opposites despite they’re similar appearances. One is loud and brash while the other is quiet and stoic, one is a normal kid while the other is for some reason cursed? No one in their little family knew why or how the reader have a curse but there wasnt much they can really do about it. Regardless, Boothill and the reader are as thick as thieves, never seen without the other. But then the IPC came and blew up their planet which finally seperated the two twins. The reader somehow survived bc of their curse but now they sometimes glitch (like how Arle does in her idle animation). Now the reader nor Boothill knows that the other survived for a while but then they bumped into each other and you can take the reins from here

Hope you have a lovely day/night!

(Somehow im in a Boothill fever.. i blame Nicholas (DanHeng’s VA) for his damn Boothill song)

- Flower Anon 🌸

Oooh, I really love this idea, Flower Anon!! I have to admit, though, that I struggled writing this so bad, so I'm sorry if it turned out horribly.

Thank you otherwise for your request and sorry it took so long!!<3

Content: Platonic relationships, twin sibling reader, angst, vague mentions of Boothills past, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

The summer we died in. (Boothill x Twin!Reader)

"If I didn't know yer so well, I would've maybe been shocked to see you alive." Your brother's southern drawl shook memories awake in your mind. Memories that had been left slumbering in the fields of your old home, under the warm sun and in the tall grass. And yet... you didn't feel anything.

"... I suppose I could say the same thing about you -" "-Boothill. That's the name now." You hum dully as you crossed your arms and turned your head away from the confused Trailblazer in front of you to look at him. You had come to Penacony for business, or rather revenge, only to be dragged into its mess on accident. You therefore didn't expect to see the remnants of your formerly dead brother standing before you.

But could you even consider him alive in the state he was in now? A blurry image of what he looked like once came to mind, yet melted away just as fast. You didn't actually remember how he looked like anymore.

"Boothill then."

Silence filled the air, the tension thick and suffocating, yet neither of your gazes faltered. You just... didn't know what to say. There was a time in which you'd childishly dream of seeing him again, the way you'd throw yourself into his arms and then return with him to your families farmhouse. You'd act like nothing happened, become the siblings again that you always were.

But the realisation that it was all just that, a dream, made you press your lips together in the near... disappointment? You should've known better than to become so disillusioned from everything, and yet the reality still hurt you deep, deep down, under the endless layers of your curse.

"Uhm... my apologies, but you know eachother?" Robin asked carefully, seemingly saying exactly what your other companions had been thinking. Your gaze thoughtfully shifted around the twisted yet nostalgic landscape of the dreamscape, not knowing how to answer. You knew eachother once. But now? You weren't sure. You had never met "Boothill". And your brother, therefore remains dead.

Said man scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh yeah, that's my twin -" "-Reallyyy??? You guys don't look nor act alike at all!" March gasped out, only to be quickly hushed by Dan Heng and the Trailblazer. "... Hah, did ya hear that? Things never change!" Boothill grinned at you the way he used to, another memory of pranks and mischief under the moonlight filling your head again, which you just waved away. "Some things don't. But most do... How did you make it?" "Always so straight to the point." Your brother's grin widened as his relief and excitement began seeping through at last. His shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling with a familiar spark you found yourself nearly stepping away from.

"But let's just say I'm after the same man you are." Ofcourse he'd know exactly what you were in Penacony for. You were one in the same when it came to your wrath. You wanted revenge for your lost family and for eachother, unknowing of the others' fate beyond death. You would've found it funny if you could have felt anything at all.

"Right." You didn't want to know more than that yet. "How'd you get in? Doubt you swam in that lil' pool all the way here." He hummed, which made you tilt your head. Why was he so casual? Why was he acting like neither of you had died? That both of you were together all along throughout the years you missed? It was bizarre and yet so awfully fitting. "... Remember the curse?" You held up a clawed hand that glitched through the force of the dreamscape. You couldn't remember what made you gain this ability, having woken up this way after the catastrophe. But it came in handy in moments like these.

Robin raised a hand to her chin. "You... were able to bypass the dreamscape and just enter it?" "Yes." You replied, and Boothill chuckled at that. "Wish you got that sweet ability sooner. Would've helped us out lots during the ol' days." You stared ahead, nearly through him. Was he trying to cope with your appearance before him this way? Was he trying to deflect the realisation that he wasn't totally alone after all? You didn't know what to think.

"... Let's go together. I overheard your part of the plan from the Trailblazer, and time is running out. If we want to defeat Mr. Sunday, then we have to get going." You said, voice as intimidating and cold as it used to be. It seemed to snap everyone out of their confused daze as they proceeded with the plan. Boothill met your gaze amongst the general commotion of your companions quickly speaking over eachother before taking their own respective leaves.

You stood there, seemingly stuck on how to proceed, which felt so out of character for you. You were used to ordering people around, intimidating them, and demanding the near impossible. But here you were now, speechless and hesitant. Did this perhaps hit you harder than previously expected? Boothill just tipped his hat and led the way automatically, another memory flickering of him doing the same during your nightly pranks. You'd sneak out and hop over the wooden fence surrounding your home to bother your old, grumpy neighbor. Those days were always so warm, the summer heat seeping into the night that began to cool off on your skins.

Those days never seemed to end. It was never cold. Always warm, scorching warm. Burning, flames, smoke filling your lungs and then total destruction.

"-Remember that day? The last one." Yes, you did. It's all you thought about during your travels. It's what fueled your revenge. You said nothing in reply, but he didn't mind. "It was warm. Last day of summer they said but it didn't feel like it to us." The false night sky of the dreamscape stretched out over the extravagant city. You looked down on the dreamers who decided to live a lie rather than face reality. There was a time in which you'd find them pathetic, but now you see yourself in their crowd, gazing right up at you with an equally as unreadable face.

"It was the summer we died in. So I guess they were right. It was our last day." He loaded his gun and raised it to the sky, his body turned away from you. The bright lights below illuminated his sides, hair flowing in the wind whilst the hat covered his eyes. It was a foreign image, one you couldn't recognize. "Why... are you like this?" You asked after a moment of consideration, but what you really meant was why he didn't even feel affected by you being alive all along.

Yet then again... you didn't know if you felt anything either.

Despite your differences, you were the same deep down, he was right there too. And deep down, you realized too late that you weren't the same you used to be either. Death had taken you both. You weren't siblings here. You weren't related at all. The only thing connecting you was his shadow you stood in. But even that did little to shake you physically.

"Because it doesn't matter anymore who died that summer." He shot the flare into the air, hundreds of lights beginning to fill the night sky soon after. He looked back at you with a wild, unrestrained grin. "What matters is that we get the revenge we need for the dead, ain't that right? That's something your serious behind would say, at least."

You couldn't help but dully chuckle then. It was barely heard, so weak he could've nearly missed it, but he didn't. Stepping up next to him, out of his shadow, you gave him the faintest smile.

"You're right, Boothill... Let's get revenge for those who died that summer."

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr boothill x reader #hsr boothill #boothill x reader #boothill

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flurry-of-beaus-pop-pop · 1 month ago

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The more that I look at/ponder the images that has everyone convinced that Rio is going to betray Agatha, the more I am convinved that it's Rio's trial or at least part of Rio's trial.

1. We have pictures of Rio and Agatha in rather exaggerated versions of their typical outfits (Agatha in the purple gown, Rio in the black) which would support it being a trial, becsuse whenever they have been in "costumes", its been a trial, this one is just one where whatever they're needing to overcome is as close to it gets to reality (which honestly makes complete sense because I truly believe the core conflict at the center of this entire show is Agatha and Nicholas and Rio)

2. We also have photographs/video of Agatha seemingly looking triumphant during what seems to be a similar setting (her looking up triumphantly with her face scratched), which can support the idea of it being Rio's trial if she succeeds, because that means it would be the last trial and she reaches the end of the road.

3. This entire show is based around what Agatha did to her coven and the daughters of those witches chasing Agatha. Yes, I 100% think Agatha had motives for getting to the end of the road completely outside of the Salem Seven, but being able to stop them is a biggie. As of right now, they haven't had a major role in anything outside of just us being reminded they are there. I definitely think this is going to change and they are going to become more prominent and would not be remotely shocked if they were the final conflict and part of those scene with Agatha and Rio are actually them battling the Salem Seven

4. Narratively speaking, if the final conflict is not with the Salem Seven, then it has to be with Billy in some capacity. You don't introduce the dude that is supposed to essentially become the leader of the Young Avengers (a group that is getting their introductions) and not have him be involved in the ending somehow. Also, just narratively speaking, as things stand currently, there's nothing that points to it making sense for Rio to betray Agatha. The deal going in was Agatha got what she wants, and Rio gets dead bodies. Obvioudly things can change in the next four episodes, but there's nothing that points to that now.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agathario

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blueiscoool · 20 days ago

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King Tut’s Iconic Death Mask Was Intended for Someone Else

Research from the University of York points to an "overlooked clue" hiding in plain sight.

Tutankhamun’s death mask is one of the most-recognized images around the globe. Measuring 21 inches tall, inlaid with a detailed mosaic of precious stones, and featuring a 5.5 lb golden beard, the artifact is surely one of the world’s most iconic objects. But researchers think that the pharaoh’s ears may be hiding a secret in plain sight.

The death mask was found in 1925 by the Egyptologist Howard Carter during his excavations of Tutankhamun’s tomb which his team rediscovered in 1922 in the Valley of the Kings near the city of Luxor. Carter’s records are kept at the University of Oxford’s Griffith Institute which was established 17 years after Carter first discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb as the center for Egyptology at the university, named after the university’s first Professor of Egyptology, Francis Llewellyn Griffith.

Tutankhamun, known as the “Boy King,” came to the throne aged just nine and ruled Egypt for around nine years between ca. 1332 and 1323 BCE. He was riddled with ailments including scoliosis and a cleft palate, thought to be due to his parents being brother and sister.

But new research out of the University of York suggests that the mask was not originally designed for the young Pharaoh, and was instead intended for a regal female burial—perhaps Tutankhamun’s stepmother Queen Nefertiti who died before Tutankhamun, though no specific date for her death is known. This theory hinges on one key detail of the death mask: Tutankhamun’s pierced ears.

Piercings were typically only found on the death masks of female rulers and children. Lead researcher Professor Joann Fletcher said in a documentary for History Hit in 2022 that “research suggests that the King wouldn’t have worn earrings beyond childhood, so by the age of 20 when he died he would not have been portrayed with pierced ears” calling the pierced ears of the mask a “long-overlooked feature”.

When compared, the gold used on the face of Tutankhamun is entirely different to the gold used on the rest of the mask, suggesting—as Fletcher put it—that Tutankhamun’s face was “effectively grafted on” to the pre-existing mask of a previous—and likely female—ruler.

There is no doubt, however, that the likeness is of King Tut, as the likeness of a death mask was considered imperative should the person’s soul be able to be reunited with their body for judgement by the god of funerary practices and guide to the underworld, Anubis, after their death.

“I was sure the death mask was not specifically designed for King Tut”, Fletcher said.

Fletcher suggests that the originally intended recipient of the mask could be the Pharaoh Nefertiti, who married and ruled alongside Tutankhamun’s father Pharaoh Akhenaten. This theory was first proposed in 2015 by the British Egyptologist Nicholas Reeves. There is scholarly debate about whether Nefertiti ruled as pharaoh on her own for a short time between her husband’s death and Tutankhamun ascending to the throne. Nefertiti’s tomb has never been discovere

The reason for this make-do-and-mend approach to the burial of, at that point, the most powerful and wealthy man in Egypt may be due to the suddenness of his death, aged around 19. Theories on Tutankhamun’s cause of death have included murder, but it is currently believed that he passed away from malaria and an infection the young ruler developed after a serious chariot crash which left him with a broken leg at the time of his burial. The lack of preparation for this death may have led to the decision to alter a pre-existing mask rather than commission a new one from scratch. Other details suggesting that Tutankhamun’s burial was hurried were patches of paint on the walls of his tomb which would have still been wet when the tomb was sealed.

The mask is kept in the Grand Egyptian Museum in Cairo, which re-opened last month after an 11 year delay.

By Verity Babbs.

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dragonomatopoeia · 1 year ago

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Air's End-of-Year Youtube Video Rec-List Round-Up

In light of recent events and also because I wanted to, I have put together a rec list of various (mostly longform) videos that I've enjoyed this year. Not all of these videos were released this year, however-- I just happened to see them for the first time in 2023. For readability and quality of life purposes, I have put this list under a readmore and divided the videos up by category, then creator, which means that some youtube channels might appear in multiple categories

I reserve the right to edit this later as I remember more videos, but I feel comfortable publishing it as is, considering it has almost 100 videos on it at this point

Cooking

Get Curried Chili Garlic Rosemary Chicken Recipe | How to Make Chili Garlic Rosemary Chicken at Home | Prateek Anardana Chicken Recipe | Delicious Himachal Style Anardana Chicken Recipe at Home | Chef Prateek Old Delhi Style Tangdi Kebab | How to Make Indian Starter Tangdi Kebab Recipe | Chef Prateek Dhawan

How to Cook That The $10 Million dollar lie (Betty Crocker) Debunking the Pink Sauce Controversy | How To Cook That Ann Reardon Top 7 Best Easy Lemon Recipes 🍋 | How To Cook That Ann Reardon Toxic Foods promoted on TikTok! | How To Cook That Ann Reardon Why is Pyrex exploding? | How To Cook That Ann Reardon

Library of Congress' Youtube Channel El Camino del Mole a New Orleans El Camino del Pan a Baltimore

Immaculate Bites LEMON BUNDT CAKE FIRECRACKER SHRIMP

Simply Mamá Cooks 3 EASY Beef Pot Roast Recipes perfect for the cold weather EASY Chicken Tamales Recipe | How To Make Tamales Easy NO-KNEAD Soft Dinner Rolls + FLUFFY From Scratch Milk Rolls Recipe Zuppa Toscana Recipe EASY | Olive Garden Potato Sausage Soup Recipe

Fraud, Grifts, and Scams

FoldingIdeas Contrepreneurs: The Mikkelsen Twins The Future is a Dead Mall - Decentraland and the Metaverse In Search Of A Flat Earth This is Financial Advice

Maggie Mae Fish Is the "Off-Grid" Lifestyle a Lie??

Münecat I Debunked Every "Body Language Expert" on Youtube The Problem with Tony Robbins (Deep-Dive - Pt.1) The Problem with Tony Robbins (Deep-Dive - Pt. 2)

Super Eyepatch Wolf The Bizarre World of Fake Martial Arts The Bizarre World of Fake Psychics, Faith Healers, and Mediums Influencer Courses are Garbage: The Dark Side of Content Creation Tom Nicholas Griftonomics: Why Scams are Everywhere Now

We're In Hell A History of Spam on the Internet Hustling America: I Can't Believe This Show Is Real The Problem with Voluntourism WE Charity & the Nonprofit Industrial Complex

Gaming

Hbomberguy Halcyon Dreams: The Legacy of Dragon's Lair

Jacob Geller Games that Aren't Games How Can We Bear to Throw Anything Away?

Li Speaks An Exploration of the Avata Star Sue-niverse It's Time For You To Play Flash Games Again The Strange Case of Kissing and Flirting Games Untangling the Lore of Devilish Hairdresser

Mandaloregaming The Mystery of the Druids: A Bizarre Adventure Game

People Make Games The Games Industry Must Not Stay Silent on Palestine Investigation: Who’s Telling the Truth about Disco Elysium? Working at Valve: 'A Fearless Adventure' or 'Lord of the Flies'?

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na-t0 · 2 years ago

Text

𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x reader (fem)

nsfw . male masturbation . multiple mentions of religious themes . minors please do not interact

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth...shit, what's next?"

Despite of what others think, Nicholas D. Wolfwood has come to the conclusion that he is indeed, the perfect example to belie the thought commonly held by people that him, and all the other children of the Lord who is high in the heavens, are made in his image and likeness. He is just a man, a mere mortal, vulnerable and weak in the face of temptation, son of original sin. Trying to atone for, and amend, the errors that life has brought within his path, and from which he cannot seem to escape.

Same life that unfortunately has also placed him in the way of your so intoxicating self. As if it were an unforgivable and cruel test to endure the strength of his already cracked spirit, a test to prove how much he is capable of resisting when the sharp claws of lust slowly scratch his back when he tries to sleep and the image of your beautiful face invades his mind. He also claims being able to feel them scratching once again when, after what seems like an eternal week of waiting, he manages to spot you sitting among the 47 people that fit in the orphanage’s chapel at the time of the religious ceremony he presents on Sundays at 10 in the morning.

Nicholas talks to himself all the time. He talks about a whole bunch of different things to stay busy and distant from the loneliness that his profession entails. He also writes, on a small black notebook that shamelessly reads Holy Bible on its cover, which he keeps in the inside pocket of his suit all day. It is possible to find random thoughts scrambled between its pages, occasional unfinished sketches of the kids who visit him frequently, prayers and attempts at poetry that, despite the ease he possesses to release a speech towards an audience made up of people full of faith in the word he preaches every weekend, the simple idea that one day you might inadvertently read what lies on those yellowish paper sheets terrifies him to the point where he can feel each and every one of his nerve endings on the surface of his skin, pulsing with the same intensity as the wings of a flying hummingbird.

He writes for you, more specifically. Even though in life, there are weaknesses that sometimes, do not allow the deepest feelings of the heart to flourish freely.

"I am just an object waiting to be ashes, and it is precisely for that reason that I would like my body to burn until it is consumed as one with yours. So at the end, dust will be the only thing that remains of our spirits, mixed together, to be later carried away by the wind of this unforgiving desert we call home."

“I have reached such a degree of insanity that, not even with the help of a thousand divine healing rites, my composure will return. I have even considered exchanging the blood of as many sinners as necessary to the Devil in order to melt into the blazing but purifying fire that surely arises with the single touch of your lips, and if you allow me, to endulge in the perfect contradiction that lies between your legs. A place both sacred and infernal, a place where good and evil converge and is powerful enough to drive even the most righteous and ruthless of religionists to an infinite madness. A place that I can only imagine feels like heaven and hell at the same time, capable to burn but also soothe the wounds in the soul of a disgraceful believer, one such as myself, your humble servant.”

“And I am not ashamed to affirm in front of the cross in which the son of God was punished because of filth like me, that, your mere presence encourages me to violate every order imposed by the invisible power of my belief, all that for what he, the same guy I mentioned earlier, sacrificed himself for in the first place. He sacrificed himself for you and especially for me, and above all, for the atrocities that come with the human race to disappear from the world. Such as the kind of things that flood my mind when my gaze manages to distinguish a little glimpse of your underwear when you put on that pretty dress of yours and you take a seat in the front row. A dress I like to imagine you only use for me.”

When Sunday comes, the ceremony starts and it's your turn at the moment of communion. It all happens in a matter of minutes every single time, a fleeting contact that is difficult to remove from his system. The host is delicately held by Wolfwood's hands as he stares at you, the abyss of his obsidian orbs capturing your attention to ask for your permission. You nod and look back at him too, subtly batting your eyelashes and slowly sticking out your tongue in an inviting way, that more than innocent, seemed diabolical, as if you knew which cards to move to obtain an absolute victory. And he feels it, he feels something struck his chest. Like a pair of magnets who can't fight the silent attraction that tries to unite them. You glance at the thick fingers infront of you for an instant, and then once again, you lift your stare towards him to take the host. His breathing stopped the moment he felt the back of his fingers get in contact with the wetness of your tongue while accommodating the wafer on it, and he almost, just almost, stutters in his words, but he doesn't, it takes all of his will not to. He blinks and his hand moves away from your lips to continue with the the other presents. You turn around and go back to your place without looking back. Luckily for him, the robe that covers his body does not allow to reveal any trace of what could give away his growing hunger for you.

Reminiscing something that he himself already wrote once in his notebook.

“It’s a disgusting sight, truly. How you take the sacramental bread from the hands of a sinful bastard, how you try to be purified by the same hands that are permanently stained with the obscene thought of consuming your body, your entire being. But you don’t have an idea of how much I love it, how much I want you to be mine.”

The lecture finished at 10:57 a.m. Nicholas remembers glancing at the watch on his wrist to regain the track of time he lost when you got close to his body. Seeing that people were starting to get up, he decided to clean his instruments to leave everything in order, and at the same time, bring some peace to his mind. He didn't have long arranging his space when Wolfwood felt a sudden and intense urge to look back, and when he did, you were the first thing that he focused on, stumbling upon the surprise of your eyes already searching for his while walking to the exit, wearing the most precious smile he’s ever seen on your face. A smile just for him.

By 11:23 a.m. the chapel was completely empty and Wolfwood walked with an unbearable weight on his feet towards the confined space of the confessional, along with a box of matches in hand that he took from an old cabinet. He closed the door, took a seat and leaned his head against the wall, which protested with a slight screech, as if it knew what was going through the troubled man's mind. Of course you appeared immediately, the images of every time you two have exchanged greetings in the streets, in the market, or even at the events to raise funds for the orphanage.

First came the color of your eyes, which seemed to dominate and illuminate the darkness of the small space he was in, then your eyebrows and the expressions that characterize your words while speaking. Thirdly, your mouth, the Eden he dreams of so much, reflected in the shine that your lips acquire when you bite and wet them with saliva. Imagining how they move to the compass of your voice, if they are rounded, if you smile or if you stay quiet. Nicholas raised his right hand and gently touched his own mouth to try to calm the urgency of joining it with yours. He closed his eyes and remembered the slight meeting he had with it an hour ago. The warmth of your breath on his knuckles and the softness he touched with the pads of his mistreated fingers. How easy would it be to draw a whimper out of you, the sweetest sound he can think of. His pants began to feel more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute, the pressure exerted by the growing erection in his groin started to become unbearable. Will he be able to obtain salvation if he confesses everything, here and now?

"God...please" And just as he often does, he began to talk. "I want her more than...a-anything in this world...can't I have her either?" The hand that previously touched your lips, traveled up to his crotch and gave a first cautious squeeze, allowing himself to be carried away by the venom of the serpent that condemned us all as sinners centuries ago, which little by little contaminated his veins and blinded his sight. Now not only did he imagine the Eden in your beauty, he was about to enter that precious place, only to break the rules. "I haven't been...a g-good man, but..." His breathing began to falter, with great gulps of air, his chest rose and fell, trying to oxygenate his racing heart. "I swear I...I can treat her right." The restraint of the stiff bottoms was starting to be painful for Nicholas, so he reached for the button, hastily undoing it to reach into his underwear. The burning heat of desire greeting him. And as he could, he pulled out his member from the base without removing his pants. The cold edge of the zipper brushed against the prominent veins of his rigid sex while his hand tried to conciliate the relief he so desperately needed. He kept traveling with his mind through your neck, your chest, your waist and your navel, the unknown nudity that he longes for unfolding before him in an imaginary scenario within the four small walls of the confessional. His breathing became more and more disturbed and growls began to sprout from the depths of his being.

"I'm sorry, God...I'm so s-sorry" He started to apologize because he knows exactly what is next. He enjoys being rough with his wicked self, he is violent. Pulling his own hair with one hand while the other strokes himself harshly. He spits on the tip, and watches how saliva slowly rolls to the base. He grunts, an animalistic type of sound that reveals the wildest part of his existence, his human predatory instinct, the part that he tries to repress with calling himself a preacher of the Lord’s word. He likes to tighten the grip in his member to the point where the veins on his forehead begin to become visible and the color of his shaft changes entirely with the accelerated flow of blood. Suffocating in his own body, a prisoner of his dark desires.

"Our Father, who...a-art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is...i-in heaven." It was in that moment when he began to pray. And the drops of fluid that came out of his slit with anticipation gave his hand more access to stroke with a quicker pace. From outside the confessional, it was possible to hear the faint slippery sound of friction from skin to skin and the murmured pleas of a man sunk in perdition.

"Give us this day our daily bread, a-and forgive us our trespasses...as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temp-temptation...but deliver us from...evil."

Would God be able to truly forgive such an act?

"A-Amen."

And it's just when he finishes his pleas that he finds himself betrayed by his own mind, letting your name slip from his lips, over and over again, like a renovated prayer, but profane and corrupted. The peculiar burning sensation in the lower part of his abdomen starts to approach. He bites the collar of his white camisole and drool escapes from the sides of his mouth in the delirium of a near orgasm. Squeezing his eyes shut he imagined your breasts swaying in front of his face as you grind on top, your angelic face contorted with the ecstasy of a fictional encounter, and your core eagerly receiving each of his thrust. The sweet aroma that your sweat must have and all the possible ways you could moan his name.

"Ni..cholas, ah...Nicholas...Nic..."

The entirety of his skin crawls to the thought. And his hips begin to move with an unbridled, involuntary frenzy, consequence of the carnal instinct that species keep hidden in their bodies.

"Oh...God..please, please...ple-please." He calls uselessly for the only one who could redeem him, the only one who could accept a sin like this. Finally, he rapidly drags his hand a couple of last times and the orgasm begins to hit his senses. A last growl comes out of his chest before his teeth unconsciously loosen the fabric of the shirt to let out a deafened cry. With some last thrusts, his hips rise in a lost rhythm from the bench on which he is sitting as his seed spills violently into his right hand, staining some of the fabric of his black pants along the way.

The warm sensation of contact with his own release brings him back to himself, and he can only at this point, contemplate more clearly the mistake he has made.

“Divine forgiveness, what a bunch of shit.”

He drops the other hand that was tugging at his brunette locks in the heat of the momentum inside his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, places it in his mouth and proceeds to wipe the remains of cum on his right palm with a handkerchief, so he can pick up the matches he had brought with him, light the stick, and take a hit, trying to quell with smoke the latent nectar of lonely intimacy impregnated in the air. He takes a few moments to let the haze of the moment pass completely as he watches the mess in his lap and his now softened member.

The cigarette is half finished, he is a fast smoker.

He inhales and exhales once more, and then, there’s a subtle, almost silent, knock on the door, followed by what he recognizes is your voice coming from the rusty confession room's grate.

“F-Father Nicholas...?”

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