#and it’s so good her writing is INCREDIBLE

[covenofagatha]

Any chance you'd write Agatha x reader fic where Agatha is a teacher/professor but reader looks up to her & also has a crush & Agatha notices it. Maybe some slight manipulation, mommy issues etc etc 😂

I'm so sorry this took so long to write 😅 this one's from November and I apologize to everyone else who submitted requests months ago, I promise I am working on them and I will get to them sooner or later

Shoutout to the two teachers who I would do anything for and may have been used as some inspiration for this one (also I have no clue how this one got so long and I really hope it's good)

The power she holds

You're Agatha's TA for her History of Witchcraft class and you're more than happy to help with whatever she needs

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: manipulative Agatha, mommy issues, massive praise kink, fingering, slight mommy kink, oral (barely)

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

“Good morning,” you say with a knock on the open door to Professor Harkness’s office. She glances up from her seat at the desk and gives you the hint of a polite smile, beckoning you in with a hand. 

You plop down at the desk in the back of the room, the one closest to hers, and your backpack hits the ground with a thud. 

“You’re here early,” she muses, typing something on her computer without looking at you. 

But your cheeks still grow hot. She hasn’t said anything about your punctuality so far, even though you always try to get to her class at least ten minutes before it starts. Not because you want to impress her or get her to notice you or anything. You’re just being a good Teacher’s Assistant. 

Agatha Harkness was your teacher last semester in History of Witchcraft, and when she sent out applications for TA’s for the spring, you had jumped at the chance. You had gotten one of the highest grades in her class and often attended her office hours, so you had gotten pretty close to her, as far as teacher-student relationships go. 

You would never tell her this, but you strived for her approval. You didn’t try half as hard in your other classes, partly because they were easy, but there was also something about getting validation from her that made it all worth it. 

Your relationship with your mother is tense, with you never feeling like you were good enough for her, so you know where it comes from. It’s happened before, with older female teachers, where you would neglect everything else just for a chance for them to tell you that they were proud of you. 

But it’s a little different with Agatha, because of how attractive she is. She’s also incredibly smart, and when she looks at you, it’s like she really sees you, and that makes you warm inside. 

You know that she likes you, at least more than the average student, but you were still surprised when she had picked you to be her TA.  

It’s only a week into the semester and she hasn’t had you do anything yet. Her class is held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and both Monday and Wednesday this week, you’ve just been sitting next to her desk while she lectures. 

You’re thankful that she’s not bogging you down with work, you already have enough of it in your other classes, but you wish she’d give you something to do so you could feel like you’re being useful. Except you know there isn’t really anything she needs help with yet, with it being the start of a new class and the students haven’t had any real assignments for you to help with. Seems like you’ll just have to wait.

She mutters something to herself while moving to flip through papers on her desk and you frown. “Is there anything you need help with?” You ask and she turns to face you finally, but in the process, knocks over her mug of coffee. It spills all over the floor and she jumps up to avoid getting wet. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath just as the door opens and students start to come in. She looks at the mess on the floor and then up at you, and you spring into motion. 

You practically run down the hallway to the bathroom, pump the lever on the paper towel holder about ten times, and rip the bundle off, ignoring the confused looks from the other girls washing their hands. You sprint back and drop to your knees to soak up the coffee. 

“Who knew I could get my assistant to do other things than just help me grade papers?” Agatha asks rhetorically, voice light and teasing, but you blush. 

After you clean the floor and stand back up, you shake your hair out of your face and nod to her now-empty mug. “Do you want me to get you some more coffee?” 

Agatha’s eyes light up and she holds out the cup for you to take. You ignore the electricity that flares up under your skin when your fingers brush against hers. “Black with two sugars,” she says and you nod. 

She smirks before straightening up and walking to the front of the classroom to begin her lecture while you throw the wet paper towels away in the trash and go down to the student union to the coffee machine. 

You tap your foot impatiently while the maker whirrs to life and starts to spit coffee into the mug. Your nose wrinkles; you’ve never been a big coffee drinker, and even the smell gets to you sometimes. 

Finally, the cup is full and you add in two sugars, stirring delicately, and then carefully walking back to Agatha’s classroom. She’s talking about the Valais Witch Trials in Switzerland, the first systematic European Witch Hunt. You make sure the door closes quietly behind you before walking over to place it on the lectern where she’s standing. 

She pauses to watch you before leaning in close and whispering, “Thanks, hon. Appreciate it,” into your ear and you can feel your heart start to pound. Can she see how flustered you get? It’s just a simple thing, barely any praise at all, and yet – you suddenly have lost the ability to think.

“Of course,” you stammer out quickly and then rush to the back of the classroom, back to your desk, where you can breathe without the heat of her body radiating against yours. 

What is wrong with you? Agatha was just being polite, nothing more than that. You’ve seriously got to get your mommy issues under control. 

You pull out your laptop and try to work on stuff for other classes, but you keep getting drawn into Agatha’s lecture. It’s fascinating, the way she talks about historical events, the way she waves her hands around in the air. 

It’s something you didn’t notice last semester while you were in her class, definitely too busy scrambling to write everything that she said down, but now you can appreciate how much she talks with her hands. Her fingers wave around, curling and flexing, adding extra emphasis to what she’s saying, and for some reason, you can’t look away. 

You’re so entranced by her that you’ve completely zoned out, not even comprehending a word of what she’s saying. And then, for some reason, your eyes flick up to meet hers, and you find – much to your surprise – that she’s already looking at you. 

She winks so fast you think you might’ve imagined it. But what you’re not imagining is the rush of heat that floods through your body. You shift in your seat. It’s possible that your appreciation for the professor has grown into more of a crush. 

The class period ends sooner than you think it should, but you haven’t noticed how much time has passed because of how intently you’ve been watching Agatha. You start to slowly pack up your things so that you won’t have to leave before she comes back to her desk. 

And sure enough, you’re just zipping up your backpack when she drops into her chair and heaves a big sigh. 

“You okay?” You ask, repressing a giggle at her theatrics. 

She spins to face you. “Half of those kids are about to turn in god-awful rough drafts for us to look at next week. We’re going to have our work cut out for us, sweetheart.” The pet name turns you to putty and you have to make a conscious effort to regain your thoughts. 

“Well, I’m happy to help in any way you need,” you say before you can think of the innuendo that might be implied, and then inwardly curse. Will she think you’re offering more than what’s professional? 

Agatha just smiles pleasantly and you relax. Of course she wouldn’t. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good weekend, honey. I’ll see you on Monday.” 

You nod in agreement, a bit sad that she’s dismissing you so quickly, but you don’t want to overstay so you leave and go back to your dorm. 

Your thoughts hardly stray from her Saturday and Sunday. 

When the week starts back up again, you’re ten minutes early to her class. She hums a greeting when you open the door but doesn’t look up after, even when you sit next to her. 

“Good weekend?” You ask, trying to make small talk. 

She shrugs. “Just lesson-planning. You?” 

“Oh, yeah, it was all right. Went to the gym, did some homework. Pretty chill.” Agatha does look up at the mention of the gym and runs her eyes over your body, raising an eyebrow in approval. You feel something in your stomach, not entirely unpleasant. 

But she doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to her work and raises her cup to her lips and frowns. She sets down the mug at the edge of the desk closest to you – an invitation. “Be a dear and get me some more coffee?” 

It’s not exactly a question, but there’s no way you’d say no anyway. You jump out of your chair and grab the mug, hurrying to the student union so maybe you can get the drink back to her before class starts. 

“Two sugars?” Agatha asks when you put it down in front of her. She’s still at her desk, only a minute before she has to get up and teach, almost like she was waiting for you. 

“Of course,” you answer and she takes a long sip despite the steam coming off the top. 

She exhales and stands up. “Thanks, hon. You’re the best assistant I could’ve asked for.” And you know she’s just saying that to be nice, an over-exaggeration of course, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. 

On Wednesday, you borrow your roommate’s mug without asking and fill it up with black coffee and two sugars before even getting to Agatha’s class. 

When you place the mug on her desk, her eyes flit up to yours in surprise. “Look at you, sweetheart, bringing me coffee. How thoughtful,” she says, something unrecognizable on her face, and she raises it to her lips to take a drink. When she puts it down, she nods to the mug that’s already sitting there – her mug – which, much to your chagrin, is full. “Why don’t you take that?” 

“Oh, Professor, I couldn’t. I don’t really like coffee anyway,” you say hastily, but she shakes her head, picks it up, and holds it out to you. 

She urges you to take it with a nod. “Try it.” There’s something between the two of you, a thick tension that grows, when you reach out and take it. She watches you slowly lift it up to your mouth and you part your lips around the rim, feeling the hot coffee flood your tastebuds. 

Agatha never breaks eye contact, even when you wince at the bitter taste. You think you’d need at least ten more sugar packets before you’d be able to stomach it. But you swallow it, and her pleased look almost makes up for it. 

“Good girl,” she says in a low voice, and your breath hitches, your mind instantly short-circuiting for a second. She sees it too, but instead of looking disgusted or creeped out by how you react, she looks intrigued, delighted even. 

You open your mouth with absolutely no plan or knowledge of what you’re about to say, but thankfully the door opens and students strew in, taking their seats. Agatha gives you a wink, for sure a wink this time, and stands up, taking the coffee you brought her up to the front of the room with her. 

This time, you force yourself to work on homework for your other classes and don’t allow yourself to get distracted by Agatha or her hands or the way she talks or walks or breathes in your direction –

Agatha says your name and you jump in your chair, almost knocking your laptop off the desk. 

“Yes?” You squeak, completely embarrassed, especially with the thirty-plus undergraduates looking at you. 

Her smirk is gleeful, like she knows what you were thinking about. “I was just telling the class that if they have any questions about the material, that my brilliant TA is more than happy to help them. After all, you did get one of the highest grades in my class, possibly ever. I have no doubt that she can give you exactly what you need.” You’re not sure you could blush any harder, and you hate how you can feel yourself getting wet. 

Is having a praise kink a little too on the nose for a burnt-out gifted child? There’s something about it coming from Agatha that just makes it affect you even more.

“Um, yeah, just send me an email or talk to me after class. I’ll also read your rough drafts for the papers if you want some feedback on them, but they have to be turned in seventy-two hours before the due date,” you add, trying to keep your voice level. You can’t even be sure that she hasn’t already said that information; you haven’t been listening at all. But she nods in approval and you stare at nothing on your computer screen for the rest of the class, willing your brain to work but it just won’t. 

When the period ends, she walks back slowly to where you are and drums her fingers on your desk. You watch with bated breath as she sits in her chair facing you, and her eyes scrutinize you while you try not to squirm. “Thanks for bringing me coffee, honey. I really appreciate it,” Agatha says.  

And so it becomes the routine: you bring her coffee before every class period in a mug that you take from your dorm because you don’t have any, and she praises you each time. You get better at hiding how much it turns you on, which you swear makes her try even harder to get to you. 

She practically purrs one time about how thankful she is that she has an assistant as good as you. Sometimes, it’s all you can do to barely resist going to the bathroom during her class and shoving a hand into your pants because of how worked up she gets you. 

Masturbating after each class also becomes part of your routine. 

But as the semester progresses, so does your workload, both for your classes and hers. Her students flood your inbox with questions asking for clarification on assignments or about the material, and you spend hours on the weekends pouring over essays and giving feedback. Some of them aren’t terrible, while others have you wondering how they even got into college. 

You spend more time after the class talking to Agatha about her pupils, how you watch some of them shop on Amazon the whole time while she teases you about the boys and girls that blatantly check you out inside of taking notes. 

“I’m not really interested in boys,” you say off-handedly one day. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and leans in. “Oh, really?” But something in her tone makes it sound like she already knew that. 

You nod slowly, wondering if she’s going to drag any more details about it out of you. You wonder if she’ll ask about your type, in which case, would you admit that your type is brunettes old enough to be your mother? 

It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together then, especially for someone as smart as Agatha. 

Thankfully she doesn’t ask, and you don’t volunteer that information. But now you’re curious – what about her? There’s no pictures on her desk, and in the little over a semester you’ve known her, she’s never mentioned a partner, kids, anything. 

Not that it matters. You’re a student, you’re her teacher’s assistant. That is definitely against some rules. 

Plus she would never think of you in that way. 

Except there’s the way that she tells you what a good girl you are for bringing her coffee and getting all your work as her TA done. The way she’s gotten more touchy with you; what first started as a brush of her skin against yours every now and then has turned into a hand on your shoulder, dragging her fingertips down your arm when she walks past you. The way her eyes find yours all the way from the front of the classroom when she’s teaching and says something funny. The wink she gives you when she catches you watching her. 

She has to know what she’s doing, right? 

“Ugh, I don’t have time to go to this fucking meeting,” she groans after class one day, dropping her head into her hands. 

You’re just about to get up and go, currently texting one of your friends about lunch plans, but you immediately look up at the older woman. “Everything okay?” 

She shakes her head, her dark, curly hair falling and blocking her face from view. “I have to go to this department meeting right now, but I need to finish inputting these grades and it’s taking forever.” You know along with History of Witchcraft, she also teaches at least one other class, a general one with a lot more students. 

And you also know that as a TA, you’re not technically allowed to help with what she’s doing right now. But that doesn’t stop you from asking: “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Oh, you don’t want to do this,” she says, the corners of her mouth quirking up, like she’s pushing. Like she wants to see if you’ll offer again.

You look at her earnestly. “I can help. I know how stressed you are, let me take some things off your plate.” 

It doesn’t take much convincing and she looks thrilled that you’re insisting. She stands up with her laptop and puts it in front of you on your desk, bending over so her mouth is right next to your ear, her arm firm against yours. 

You forget how to breathe. She is so close. 

“All you have to do,” she murmurs and goosebumps explode all down your body. You keep your eyes trained on the screen so you don’t accidentally do something stupid. “is copy the grade from the spreadsheet into the portal. The names aren’t in alphabetical order which is why it’s taking so long. This is the last time I have them submit anything like this. I thought it would be easier because the form they filled out automatically inputs their score into this, but there’s no order. Make sense?” 

You nod stiffly. You can feel her hot breath on your ear and it’s driving you crazy. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Truly, I don’t know what I would do without you,” she says and it almost makes you melt. “And this has to be our little secret, okay? I’m serious, I could get into serious trouble if anyone found out a TA was putting my grades in for me.” 

There’s a good chance you might combust on the spot. “I won’t say anything, Professor,” you croak and you don’t have to look at her to know she’s smirking. 

“That’s my good girl,” she says and it feels like your entire body is on fire. “And please, call me Agatha.” 

She walks away, but her perfume lingers, vanilla and wood and a hint of something darker. Powerful, even. It makes your mouth water and if you close your eyes, you swear you can still feel her presence next to you. You text your friend that you won’t be able to make it to lunch, and lose yourself in the work. 

You don’t even realize how long it’s been until Agatha comes back from her meeting and is surprised to still find you there. 

“Honey, you’re not finished yet?” She asks. 

You blink and look at her, startled. “Oh — yeah, I’m almost done though.” She puts her hands on either side of your body from behind and her head gently rests atop yours while she looks at her computer. You suddenly lose the ability to move, think, and breathe. 

“God, you’re doing so well,” she says, her hands now moving to stroke up and down your arms. Your mind wishes she was saying that in a different context — you’re on your knees for her, fingers inside her and tongue licking at her while she praises you — but you force yourself to snap out of it. “Think you can finish up for me? I really need to get organized for my next class.” 

You swallow hard and your stomach rumbles. One of Agatha’s eyebrows raise, you can see it in the reflection from the screen, like she’s waiting to see what you’ll do. “Yeah, of course,” you finally agree. You can get food after. 

Her hands squeeze your shoulders. “Thanks, hon, you’re the best.” And you’re only too happy to keep working if it gets her to say more of those things. 

Agatha gets much more comfortable asking you to do things that aren’t specifically in your job description as a TA after that. You start putting in all her final grades. You teach a few classes here and there. She consults you for help with project ideas and lesson plans. 

She knows all she has to do is ask nicely, throw in a bit of praise, and you’ll do anything she wants. 

You know she might be using it to her advantage. But the way you feel when she smiles at you and says “There’s my good girl” makes any reservations you have melt away. 

Halfway through the semester, right after midterms happen, you and Agatha are both in her classroom; you’re already getting a head start on homework for next week while Agatha is tapping a pen against her desk and staring at you. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” She asks. It touches you in a strange way, usually she doesn’t bring up life outside of the classroom unless you do it first. 

Maybe she’s starting to like you, too. You pull up your calendar. “Oh, I’m going out tomorrow night with some friends to celebrate surviving midterms. Probably just go to a bar or a club or something.” You glance at her, expecting to find Agatha nodding in approval at a typical college kid’s night out, but instead she looks pissed. 

“You don’t have work you have to do instead?” She says stiffly, and you wonder what caused this change in her mood. 

You shake your head. “No, we’re just getting back into material in my other classes and I’ve already finished grading my half of your midterms. You saw that I put them into the system, right?” 

“Yes,” Agatha admits and looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t. “Be careful, then.” She gets up out of her chair, your coffee cup in hand, and leaves the room. 

It’s clear she doesn’t want you to be there when she comes back, so you pack your stuff up, feeling completely confused, and start to go back to your dorm. 

You walk through the student union, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and your stomach sinks when you see her laughing with one of her students and you grit your teeth as jealousy gnaws at your stomach. Her eyes flit to yours, somehow knowing that you’re there, and she gently pats the student’s arm with her hand, nothing more than a casual touch, but you think you might throw up. 

Why are you having this much of a reaction? You shouldn’t be storming off, there shouldn’t be tears stinging your eyes, but it feels like everything is crashing and burning around you. 

For some reason, it feels like Agatha is upset with you, disappointed even. It shouldn’t be a big deal – it shouldn’t, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling. 

Should you go back and talk to her? Should you text her? Maybe you can make it up to her somehow, you’ll bring her two cups of coffee or volunteer to grade all her work, whatever it takes to get her to look at you with the same light she always did, with the same light she just gave one of her undergrads just now. You’re supposed to be special. Agatha is supposed to think that you’re special. 

You’re going crazy. The logical part in your brain knows it. You take deep breaths on your walk and try to calm yourself down, convince yourself that Agatha still likes you. She’s allowed to be nice to other people. It’s okay. 

And yet, anxious thoughts plague your mind the rest of the day, and you spend practically all of Saturday obsessing over every little thing that you could have possibly done wrong. It’s almost enough to make you cancel your plans with your friends, but then you realize that getting drunk might be exactly what you need. 

It’ll at least be a way to loosen up. This semester has been taking its toll on you, with the workload from your classes and all the extra stuff Agatha has you doing for her. Not that you’d complain about that or ever say no to her, but you do often end up skipping lunch and staying up late in your attempts to get your work for her done as quickly and as perfectly as possible. 

Yes, you think, a few drinks couldn’t hurt one bit. You fish around your closet until you find an acceptable outfit, feeling the best you have since yesterday morning, and you’re getting ready when your phone buzzes with a call. 

It’s Agatha. 

Immediately, your stomach erupts with butterflies and your heart starts to pound almost painfully in your chest. 

“Hello?” You ask after you raise the phone to your ear, clutching it close to you like you don’t want to miss a thing she says. 

There’s a moment of silence and you’re about to repeat yourself when she starts talking. “Hey, honey, listen, I’m really sorry to bother you right now, but do you think you could come to my room? I really need some help with the last of the midterms and then putting the grades in.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little crestfallen that this is all she’s calling about, and you weigh your options. You really want to go out with your friends, and some part of you thinks that maybe you can get her back after yesterday. Will she be as jealous as you were if you blow her off for your friends? “Can it wait until tomorrow or Monday? I’m about to go out.” 

Agatha gives a little hum. “I would really like all this stuff to be done tonight.” 

“Agatha, I–” You don’t know exactly where you’re going with it, you’re not sure exactly what to say. Why is it so hard to say no to her? You have every right to, you should toughen up and tell her that you can’t, you’ve already done enough for her, you’re not even supposed to be doing what she’s asking you to do.

“Please, honey?” She asks, so sincerely that it turns your insides to mush. “I just, I really need you right now. I really need your help.” 

You know what she’s doing. You know and it makes you really fucking angry, but also it makes you feel more wanted than you have in your entire life. “Will it take long?” You ask and listen to her relieved exhale. 

“An hour tops,” she promises, and you know it’ll take longer, but you tell her you’ll be there in ten minutes anyway. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, sweetheart. You’re my good girl.” She hangs up and you hate yourself a little for letting her control you so easily, but you still text your friends you’ll be late and head across campus. 

You’re still grappling with the conflicted feelings in your head when you push open the door to her classroom. Agatha’s sitting in her normal spot, legs kicked up on her desk, typing on the laptop in her lap. She looks up at you the second she hears you and smiles. Her eyes rake up and down your scantily-clad body in the dress you picked out to wear for the bar. 

“Sorry to drag you away from your plans, but thank you for coming,” she says. “I’m almost done, I just have a few more papers to grade. Thought it would go quicker if it was the two of us.” 

It’s almost enough to make you furious that she called you all the way over here for just a little bit of work that she easily could’ve done herself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, voice taut with frustration. 

She either doesn’t notice, or just ignores it, and she holds out a small stack of completed midterms. You snatch them and sit down at your desk, stealing a pen from the cup of writing utensils near Agatha. You’ve graded enough of the exams that you don’t even need the answer key and you fly through marking them up before handing them back to her and standing up. 

“Is there anything else?” You ask cooly and she raises an eyebrow at you. It’s not that you intend to sound rude, it’s just the general annoyance at yourself and at her that leaks into your tone. 

“Running off so quickly?” She retorts lightly. “I thought you would stay for a bit, maybe we could order some food or something.” The look on her face shows that she’s expecting you to give in. 

But you scoff. “I have plans. You know I have plans. And for some reason, you made me come here and do work that you would have finished in ten minutes. And now you want to just ‘hang out?’ Why?” 

You’re expecting her to give up the ruse, the pretense. What you’re not expecting is for her to slump down in her chair, eyes falling to the ground. 

“Look, honey,” she starts, and panic spikes through you. Is something wrong? “I’ve just been really stressed lately, and you have been helping me with that so much. You’ve been such a valuable assistant to me, and I deeply apologize if I’ve been taking advantage of that in any way.” 

And now you feel like the worst person ever. “No, no, it’s okay,” you rush to say, and if you were paying closer attention, you might have noticed the glint in her eyes. “I’m happy to help, really. Is there anything else I can do to help you feel less stressed?” 

It’s like you’ve said the magic words. Her head springs up, a smirk on her face. “What all are you offering, sweetheart?” 

You gulp, suddenly feeling like you’re in dangerous territory. “Um, well, I could go get us something to eat, or take some work off your plate, something like that?” 

“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, tossing the options around in her head. Even though you’re standing above her sitting in her chair, you feel like she’s looking down at you. “You really are such a good girl for me, aren’t you? You know, I really should reward you for all the things you do for me.” 

Is it possible for all the air to get sucked out of a room just from one sentence? “Oh,” you start, your throat suddenly dryer than it’s ever been in your life. Surely she can’t be implying… 

Agatha stands up so she’s nose to nose with you and she cups your cheek, running her thumb over your bottom lip. You shiver under her intense gaze and your pulse quickens. It’s like every nerve inside you is vibrating with anticipation. 

You never thought in a million years that this would be happening. You had hoped, of course. “Agatha,” you say softly and she smirks, tugging at your lip, eyes burning into yours. You can hardly see the blue in them. 

“You take such good care of me,” she purrs. “Let me return the favor, honey? It’ll be such good stress relief for me, too.” 

Nodding breathlessly, you can feel the fire stoking to life in your stomach and her hands trace down your body to grab onto your hips, pulling you firmly against her. 

“You’re such a good girl for me,” Agatha murmurs and your cheeks heat up. Can she see the flush creeping down your neck too? 

She leans in, ghosting her lips over yours, and you chase when she pulls away, needing to feel her. “Ah ah,” she tuts. “Why don’t you get on my desk?” 

You throb when she says that and she slides her laptop and papers out of the way so you can hop onto it. Her hands find your thighs, stroking up and down, enjoying the warmth of your skin. Your head is already spinning with want and you can feel the mess between your legs. 

Agatha comes back in and you think she’s going to kiss you, but her head drops down and she presses her lips to your chin. Your head rolls back, giving her more access, and your eyes close at the sensation. 

Her fingers inch more up your thighs, getting closer to the heat at the juncture and you wrap your hands around her shoulders to get her closer. You bury your fingers in her hair as her lips move down your neck and she sucks, making your hips jerk. There’s a livewire under your skin, connecting the pulse point she flicks her tongue against to your pussy and you’re dripping. 

“Agatha, please,” you groan and she chuckles, her hot breath on your skin making goosebumps appear. 

She scrapes her teeth against your naked collarbone. “Please what, honey? Use your words like a good girl.” 

Your hips roll to try and get her to touch you where you need her. “Please – I need you, please fuck me,” you splutter and she smirks into your neck. 

Her fingertips stroke up your underwear and she gasps when she feels how wet you are. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so needy. “God, sweetheart, is this what I do to you? I call you a good girl and you’re dripping for me.” 

“Like you don’t know,” you whine, struggling to get more stimulation. 

Agatha barks out a laugh. “Oh, I do know, honey. I see how much I affect you. How you’ll do anything I ask as long as I give you a little praise. I love it, sweetheart.” 

You should be insulted that she thinks you’re easy, that you just got confirmation she’s been taking advantage of your mommy issues, but you can’t find it in you to care when she slides your underwear over and buries two fingers in you up to the hilt. 

A gasp tears itself out of your throat when she drags her fingers out and thrusts back in, filling you deliciously. “Fuck,” you swear and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” she mumbles and starts to set a slow pace. Your walls grip her, trying to pull her in, and she reaches a thumb up to rub your clit. You clench around her fingers and moan obscenely. 

“Agatha, god, please,” you whimper. “I need more.”

Her grin is wolfish as she takes in the mess you’ve become. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” she says, beginning to go faster, scissoring and twisting and curling her fingers, each movement making you sharply inhale. “You look so fucking pretty like this, honey, you’re taking me like such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.” The praise makes you keen, the tension quickly building in your stomach. You know you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast if she keeps that up. “Say it,” she demands and through the fog in your brain, you can just barely understand what she wants. 

“I’m your good girl,” you cry, hips meeting every thrust, fingers scrambling to hold onto her shoulders for leverage and stability. “Fuck, please, Agatha.” 

Her lips kiss down the expanse of your chest and it’s like fireworks lighting up. Each touch only pushes you further and further towards your release, and you need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life. 

“So fucking perfect for me,” Agatha mutters. Your walls pulse around her and she smirks to herself. She has you exactly where she wants you, exactly where she’s been wanting you. “You’re everything I ever wanted. My good girl.” 

“Yes, fuck,” you sob, getting closer, so close you can taste it, you just need a little more. 

Agatha shoves her fingers back inside you as far as they’ll go and curls them so she finds that spot and it makes you moan. She licks up your earlobe, swipes at your clit hard, and whispers, “Mommy’s good girl.” 

And it sends you straight into an orgasm, noises slipping from your lips as you ride through the most explosive one you’ve ever had. She breathes more praises into your ear while still gently moving her fingers inside you and it only prolongs the pleasure you feel. 

How did she know exactly what you needed? 

Once you come down completely, she peppers your face with kisses while you take focus on inhaling and exhaling to slow your racing heart. “You did so good for me, honey, so good,” she says and you smile weakly. 

You examine the professor and see the desire and heat on her face and you know what you have to do. Your fingers release the locks of her hair you were holding onto and fumble with her belt and she helps you undo it and she slides her pants down and kicks them over her shoes. 

Agatha steps back and before you can make a sound of protest, she slinks down into her chair and spreads her legs so you’re able to see the wetness through her underwear, and fuck, she’s almost completely soaked through the fabric. 

As if in a trance, you slide off the desk and drop to your knees in front of her, leaving soft bites up the skin of her inner thigh and getting immense pleasure from the red marks that litter once you’re done. 

You should’ve texted your friends that you weren’t going to make it to the bar at all tonight, but that’s the last thing on your mind when you toy with the hem of her panties and she lifts her ass off the seat so you can take them off. 

“Be a good girl for Mommy,” she says, putting a hand on your head, tangling her fingers in your hair, and leading you to between her legs. 

Your mouth waters at the smell of her and you moan at the taste when you first lick through her folds. Your eyes flick up to watch Agatha’s head loll against the back of the chair. 

“God,” she sighs, looking down appreciatively at you. “You really are the best assistant I could’ve asked for.”

[delulupunk]

can you please write batboys (including Bruce) getting jealous when their crush subtly mentions her ex when they do something similar to her ex bf. (e.g. reading a book/watching a show/an activity that her ex used to love etc.)

Of course! Sorry for the late response time, I’ve been in a bit of a writing slump.

Bruce Wayne

He immediately clocks it and he doesn’t feel the need to mention it. Bruce has already been told by his kids that he’s too controlling, it doesn’t seem ideal in his mind to push you away.

Bruce will try to put the activity into perspective, for example if it’s a tv show then he’ll learn to appreciate, that everyone watches TV shows. It’s no surprise that you like a TV show your ex also happens to like.

Bruce himself has had lovers in the past and has also picked up little habits from them.

Occasionally if he’s frustrated about a case that’s not going well, he will feel a twang of jealously for your ex lover. He won’t take it out on you for fear it will push you away. Instead he just acts indifferent.

Dick Grayson

Immediate side eye, and a cheeky comment.

“Oh yeah?” His arms slip around your waist as he buries his face into your hair, “Well they’re not with you now are they?”

He spends all his time proving to you why he’s the better option and by the end of it, you’ll forget your ex’s name before you can blink. It’s all apart of the never ending charm he seems to have in spades.

Deep down though, Dick is happy that you feel comfortable enough to share that with him. After spending years under Batmans controlling wing, it’s refreshing to see freedom, you’re not afraid of what he’ll think. Comfort is a big part of relationships with Dick and he’s grateful that you trust him.

Jason Todd

He’s gritting his teeth by the time you’ve ended your sentence. There’s an instant change in Jason’s demeanour. Luckily this is only temporary and by showing him that you’re interested in the things he’s shared with you too, you’ll have him back in no time.

There’s one issue though. The never ending comments. Every time you mention watching something his subconscious response is to mention your ex’s TV show, in a goading tone. You want to order take out? He’s willing to bet you want it from that place your ex used to take you. You want to read a book, ITS YOUR EX AGAIN.

All you’ve succeeded in doing is giving him material to mercilessly make fun of you with.

Tim Drake

He rolls his eyes but encourages you to continue telling him about it. This man is a chronic napper though, so if he’s not interested he’s going straight to sleep.

To put it simply Tim couldn’t give any less of a shit that you like something else your ex likes. Tim’s life is simply too busy for him to be getting jealous over something so simple and human, that’s not to say he doesn’t get jealous though you’ll find he’s more than capable of doing that.

Tim likes to look into things you’re interested in whenever he’s bored and he’s got time. You’ll be laying together with your head his lap. He looks like he’s just scrolling aimlessly on his phone, but the silence will be interrupted.

“Your ex does have good taste.” He’ll mutter.

Damian Wayne

The great Damian Wayne could never admit this, he’s a detective, he’s meticulous, he knows all the facts. But he forget your ex’s name… It’s all down to a mixture of ego and stress. Damian is such a good lover in his mind, there’s no reason to be jealous of any other person. He’s the only one who’s worth your time. Damian is also incredibly busy and with all the cases he works his brain can only take so much. So if he has to exchange your ex’s name for the potential name of a killer he’s making the sacrifice.

Damian’s happy for you to have hobbies or media you like, so long as it’s not disturbing or something that makes him wonder if you’re mentally ill in the worst sense. Therefore he doesn’t flinch when you mention how much your ex loved that show, because he doesn’t realise your ex is your ex.

Duke Thomas

“Umm ok?” Duke is awkward he isn’t sure how to respond. Do you want him to be jealous, or do you want him to not care? Is he doing too much or too little? Has he not said anything for the past ten seconds either?!

The conversation is turned onto a different topic so he doesn’t have to deal with his confusing emotions.

Later he’ll ask you though if you had more in common with your ex than him, out of sheer nervousness. He wants you two to be on the same page and is secretly worried that you don’t want to break his heart so you’re stringing him along. He knows his fears aren’t the most logical, but it’s his emotions taking over.

However the conversation helps with your communication in the relationship and soothes his seething fears.

[bitchface24-7]

Hi V! I was wondering if you felt comfortable doing a fluff fic of reader x viktor or jayce comforting reader on her period ?

All goods if you can't!!

I really enjoy your writing and I live all the attention to detail you put into your stories !!

THIS SUCKS… - VIKTOR & JAYCE X READER

synopsis: you're on your period, you feel bloated, agitated, and your stomach hurts. You can't tell if you're hungry, if you're cramping, or if you really need to shit. Your lovely boyfriend sees you struggling, and takes care of you the best he can.

warnings: menstruation (obviously), pain, fluffy fluff of our boys taking care of us.

genre: m/f or gn/m

p.s. I'm going to write this in the style of bullet points. Also, why not get both? This isn't Jayvik, so if you prefer one over the other, you can just read one part. Love ya! ❤️

VIKTOR X READER

You dread everytime your menstrual cycle hits you. It's painful, messy, and makes you agitated at the littlest things.

It makes you unintentionally be snippy with Viktor, something that upsets you even more since he hasn't done anything to deserve that treatment.

He's incredibly understanding. As someone who deals with chronic pain he understands that pain can make you act in ways that you typically wouldn’t.

Your pain may not be 24/7, but he knows it comes once a month for a week straight.

He has pain killers, a heated weighted blanket, and light food that surprisingly fills you up ready for you.

He’ll even make you sweet milk when you ask for it.

You typically do parallel play, he’ll continue to work, but he’ll make sure he's in the same room as you.

More times than not, he's cuddled up with you in bed, your pleading eyes and pouty lips will be his downfall. He can never say no to you.

Viktor makes this part of your life so much easier, and you can't thank him enough for it.

(its actually his way of thanking you. You take care of him all the time. Adjusting his spinal brace, his leg brace, making sure he has his cane. Helping him take off his assistive devices when he asks. Making sure he eats, he sleeps. He appreciates your care and love more than you'll ever know. So he tries his best to help you when you need it.)

JAYCE X READER

Jayce has a good idea how to take care of menstruation aches and pains. He's practically Cait’s older brother. He was around when she went through puberty.

It was not a pretty sight.

He knows you'll crave sweets, chips, sushi, fried chicken, really anything super flavourful and bad for you.

He knows teas help with cramps, so do heating pads, and lightly massaging your lower abdomen.

He knows you'll alternate between wanting to be alone, and being cuddled.

He knows you'll accidentally get snippy, feel bad, and want to hug him.

He knows it all.

It’s like it was ingrained into him on how to take care of you. He just appreciates that the hellish years he had to deal with a pubescent Cait paid off in the end.

(no he swears she was going to kill him at one point)

Being able to cook delicious food because of his mama makes it even better. He’ll make so much food you honestly wont know where to start. But they'll for sure be something there you can stomach.

They'll always be there to take care of you ❤️

Hi Anon! Thank you for the compliment! Sorry this is much shorter than you probably expected, I just don't deal with my period often? I go like one to three months in-between cycles and I just take care of myself when it happens. I medicate myself and essentially sleep away the pain for a day and a half, then I'm back to normal, I’m just bleeding now as well.

The longest time I went without a period was six months back in 2022 (I was 20 and had gotten it in November after my assumption of extremely early onset menopause LMAO, after that I got a tracker app to help me remember when I get it) and no I was not pregnant. Unless I’m Mother Mary reborn, that wouldn’t be possible.

[loveafterdeath-if]

Update (more like me rambling than an actual update, tbh)

Hope y'all are doing alright! I saw my inbox filled with asks and kind words (y'all are the best, as always), and I'll start answering everything once I wrap up Chap 2, Part 2. I want to focus fully on writing so I can get you the whole chapter before March at least, haha.

I'm gonna start correcting what I've written so far to avoid ending up with 100k words to fix all at once. We're about 50% through Chap 2, Part 2 (38k words, but it'll probably hit 40k with corrections). There are branches that have messed with my brain because I wanted to include scenes for each RO, but I don't regret it. I love games with lots of replayability (is that how we say it?), so I want mine to offer that too.

Chap 2, Part 2 will have a ton of branches for each RO, plus the option if you're not pursuing anyone, so it might take a while to get that full chapter out. I honestly don't know how other authors keep track of so many branches! I've always respected them as a reader/player, but being the one writing makes me wanna hand my future kids over to those incredible authors…

On top of that, I'm dealing with another issue. I've been writing so much that I think I'm slowly slipping into that "They gaze at her and say," "They take the paper and it falls" vibe (is that even a thing? Idk). You know, the kind of writing with no real description. I find myself double-checking everything to make sure the descriptions are 'good,' and I think I'll just play some IFs when I got time, to help me regain my groove without turning phrases all weird (I hate reading books, that's why I'm gonna play IFs). This is making me slow down a bit.

I've been pushing myself to write at least 4-5k words each day for the past 3 (4?) months, and I think I shouldn’t have done that. I'm putting pressure on myself without even realizing it. It's only when I end up with 'only' 3k words that I start feeling upset and push through to hit minimum 4k. I'm feeling good for now and don't mind writing that much, but I really don't want to wake up one day and boom—burnout. A Ko-fi member and some folks in my inbox have kindly reminded me to take breaks and take my time, so I think I'll slow down a bit. Like, maybe aim for 3k words?

I've been writing for years, (started on Wattpad in French, and yeah, it was… something) so no worries about the game going on hiatus or anything. I love writing, especially interactive stuff—so basically IFs, haha. Just wanted to keep you in the loop!

Anyway, this ended up way longer than I intended. Stay safe, don't forget to eat your greens, stay hydrated, and all that! <3

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION I.

(a/n: Hey everybody, back with the continuation! 🙋‍♀️ as you can see from the title this is only the first version of my bllk manager 'story' meaning there's more to come ^^ The current plan is to write with multiple players a similar episode like the one below. So I hope you enjoy it!! ❤️)+if u see any grammatical errors let me know tyy

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.4 k words, so buckle up cause it's gonna be a looong ride again sry T_T

ALSO: requested tags ❤️-@ttheggrimrreaper @god-is-disappointed

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…1, Itoshi Rin.”

'Player number one, Itoshi Rin. Player number one, number one…number…'-the words rang in your head like a mantra as you tried to process the information over and over again.

“PLAYER NUMBER ONE?!”-you exclaimed once realisation hit you in the face. Perhaps, a little too loudly, earning yourself quite a few envious looks and surprised glances. Standing in the room for a few seconds, you didn’t move due to the shock of what just happened. You might have stayed like that forever, if one of the girls who were still waiting for their turn, hadn’t shouted at you.

“Yeah, we heard that the first time!”

Rude. You thought, before snapping back to reality and heading towards the door that had the ‘MANAGER’ label on in bold, black letters. Stepping into the room, to your surprise, was Anri waiting there, sitting at a desk with neatly arranged papers, folders, and all kinds of pens on it. Sensing your presence, she stood up, and when you got there, she extended her hand, saying “Congratulations” with a bright smile. You thanked her before she turned around, searching through a pile of booklets before stopping her finger on the with your name written on the cover.

“Here. It’s kind of like a little guide, it will be very helpful for adjusting to your player. This thing contains your new routine and some useful information as well.”-she said, handing it to you.-“Good luck and welcome to Blue Lock!”

She then directed you to Team A’s soccer field, where the boys were currently training. Walking your way there, you felt your hands starting to sweat, heart beating a little faster than normal, and the feeling of excitement from earlier coming back. After all…

Imagine being THE Itoshi Rin’s manager, who’s the best in Blue Lock with his jersey number confirming his position.

Itoshi Rin, with whom your first meeting couldn’t have gone worse. Who, after only 5 minutes, tells you with a straight face that:

“I don’t need a manager.”

Leaving you stunned at his plain attitude and bluntness. Seeing as you stare at him, without another word, he turns around and starts to walk away, which causes you to panic. Not knowing what to do in this case, you call out his name multiple times, hoping he stops. That doesn’t seem to work, so you decide to shout at him the first thing that comes to your mind.

“ARE YOU ITOSHI SAE’S BROTHER?”

The moment those words slipped out of your mouth an incredibly awkward silence fell over the room. Oh. My. God. This was probably the dumbest thing you could have said, but in your defense, it did make the boy stop in his tracks.

Catching up to him, you apologized, saying this was just a slip of the tongue. Rin looked unfazed, but the way his body tensed up told you that you probably touched a sensitive topic there. Before you could open your mouth again, he sighed and gave you a nasty stare, walking past your figure without sparing a second glance.

Great first impression.

——————

•Rin, who after that incident starts ignoring your presence. Whenever you hand him a water bottle or try to strike up a conversation, the only thing you get back is an uninterested look. Your apology the day before was also left on heard.

•Learning it through the hard way, but working with him meant keeping his brother’s business or any news or posts related to him out of your mouth. Even mentioning the famous footballer's name was forbidden territory, and although you never questioned his strange behaviour towards the older one, you do wonder what happened between them.

•Rin, who has a particularly strict routine that he follows without a break, doesn't expect you to be near him, but when the opposite happens with you sticking around, like an annoying fly 24/7, he wishes to find a way to somehow get rid of you.

•He doesn't know that you work your butt off, spending your free time watching every single match he has previously played in as well as analysing and taking notes of his every move. From waking up earlier than the player himself to prepare his yoga mattress and drinks for the morning to staying up until midnight to help him collect the footballs he shoots for late-night practices and cleaning up as soon as he finishes.

•However, it takes weeks until he finally talks to you, his first words being "Move over!" because you were standing in front of the weights he was gonna use. Over time though, even if it's just a short yes or no, a huff or an ugly look, but he starts to answer the many questions you ask every day out of concern or curiosity.

•Rin, who’s stoic and not a man of many words, silently starts to appreciate the way you have his daily routine and training engraved in your mind. You, who's always within arm’s length making sure he doesn’t overwork himself to death or forget his meals. You, who never knows when to shut up, sticking to his ass all day to confirm he’s alive and well, complaining or scolding him for being rude and unfriendly to his teammates, and showering him in compliments from time to time like:

•“You were amazing on the field earlier!” or “I’m jealous of your eyelashes!” and then there’s his favorite line that goes -“Isagi looked soooo shocked at your goal!” (it’s not a compliment, he thinks it is)

——————

•After weeks of working together, you’ve mastered the art of reading his microscopic facial expressions to know what he wants or thinks without him having to tell you directly. You’re busy, work schedule being fully packed, but still making time to accompany him in the evenings to rewatch and analyse his games before bed.

•However, sometimes too tired to stare at the screen, you end up falling asleep on his shoulder, making him complain to you the next day to quit drooling on his uniform and get a grip. He doesn’t want you to 'slack off' he says, but ultimately the underlying message is to take care of yourself.

•Rin, who works ten times harder during the preparation for the U20 match, training to face his brother on the field and making you constantly remind him to: “Get some rest” or “Relax, otherwise you will get injured before the real match!”-your words being ignored as usual.

———————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Rin’s popularity skyrockets following the victory of Blue Lock, yet he always manages to respond in a raw, unfiltered way at press conferences and interviews, that leave many reporters and paparazzi speechless.

•His newfound fans, on the other hand, adore his cold demeanor, and the comment sections are each time filled with either compliments about his plays or looks and never the ridiculously simple answers he gives to the media.

•Joining the team of PXG also makes the teal-eyed boy change in many ways, but surprisingly his attitude towards you somehow remains the same.

•Rin got 'new' teammates, a new coach/mentor, and new training routines. Everything is new. Better. Yet, he’s somewhat relieved that you're still his manager. The one who’s not afraid to call him out or nag at him. Knowing when to leave him alone at times. Letting him focus on his goals without getting in his way. Keeping him away from Shidou Ryusei outside the field as much as possible. Shoving down his throat the meals made according to his diet and making sure he sleeps exactly 7.5 hours.

•He hates to admit it, but you’re perfect…for being his manager of course. The only problem he finds is the way you make his heart move a little when you come to his games, supporting him with his jersey on, proudly wearing the name Itoshi Rin and number 10 across your back.

•Heck, these days he also can’t seem ignore the way you stare at him for an unnecessary amount of time during his warm ups and stretches, the slight shade of pink covering your cheeks every time he runs to you after a match, covered in sweat asking for some water and his towel.

•He notices your flustered state when he bends down a little to hear you better, or the way he sits just a tad bit closer to you during your French tutoring. It’s distracting. Not only to you, but to him as well. Yet, he doesn’t mind it nor does he do anything about it.

•Maybe in a few years, he thinks, if you'll still have some affection left for him, he could allow something other than just a strict, professional relationship between to two of you.

•However, currently, there’s no place on his priority list for you since football is his number one goal after all. He knows you understand that, that’s what he loves about you. Besides, you’re going to stay by his side for a long time, so what’s there to rush?

———————

(Gosh, my eyes gave up after rereading this for the third time 😭 hope you guys enjoyed it, let me know if u think this was a little too long and tyyy for the support ❤️ (★‿★)

[taintedcigs]

sarah U ABSOLUTE angel. <333

don't wanna double tag the ppl already on here bUT I NEED TO add....

the insanely talented aly who's fics i can always imagine VIVIDLY cuz her writing is out of this world & she's the sweetest @strangerstilinski ! my angel andy n all of her perfect (but GUT PUNCHING) series @andvys ! talented roe and her ability to always make me sweat with her delicious smut @hellfire--cult ! leah who manages to write the FILTHIEST smut and the cutest fluffiest fluff @eiightysixbaby ! everything ghost touches turns to gold (maroon) (all of her oneshots) but SPECIFICALLY 24 hours will forever consume me as a whole. @ghost-proofbaby !

beloved powder who i hope is doing ok and i miss seeing on my feed, and changed the trajectory of my life w hai (the lore is just so. SO GOOD) @powderblueblood ! kay is SO. so incredibly talented and every single one of her works is beautifully written i can feel the emotions OOZING from the screen @munsonsreputation !! chloë's writing is my life esp the smutty blurbs.... filthy masterpieces !!!! each fucking time!!! @doomsdaybby !!

jasmine has some of the BEST series on here, i havent dabbled into her eddie stuff yet bUT THE STEVE ONES ARE IMPECCABLE @supernovafics !!! angel talented becca who i desperately need 2 write more st fics again @lovings4turn !!! mimi who's writing ALWAYS just makes me feel so warm @pricelessemotion !! sweet nyx who writes the best and smuttiest blurbs yet also kills me w angsty oneshots (i still think abt illicit affairs SUE ME) @etherealxwitch !! and dani is so very talented but esp her fuckboy eddie occupies my brain 24/7 @littledemondani !!

Hey lovely writers and followers,

I hope everyone is having a great start to the new year. I was wondering if anyone can recommend any Eddie Munson fics that are one shots, a series or multi parts? I am having trouble finding new stories to read, and I so miss my boy. Thank you so much in advance! #neverchange

[mcrololo]

Bechloe fic recs

(in no particular order)

You Make Me Believe In Magic by @shikariix

In the opening stood a woman with a tiny frame, bending forward slightly and breathing heavily. The light pouring in from behind her made it hard to see just how dirty and scratched up her clothing was. “Hey, uh,” she started loudly, still panting, “not to freak anyone out or whatever, but there's kind of a dragon on the loose. You all gotta evacuate.”

What can I say? It's got magic, it's got dragons, it's got gay flirting AND a kick-ass moodboard that inspired the whole shebang. Exactly up my alley, and if you said 'hell yeah Rolo, me too!' then what are you waiting for!! (nudges the author to write the soft epilogue i so truly desire) (in the meantime also read this new years one-shot & also this incredible piece of writing by my love and heart)

All is fair in Love and War by @pulledpurplecurtains

It's not about having feelings. It's about what you do with them. There's never a choice where the heart is concerned. The mind, however…the mind always comes up with choices. And sometimes life tends to happen as well.

Honestly I'm due for a reread of this but I remember immensely enjoying this fic. I certainly had a blast getting the go ahead to analyze it, almost as much as Ana probably had writing it! They're in high school, they're in gay love & also they are idiots. What else would you need?

"Something angsty, Rolo," you might say. And boy do I have the fic for you by the same author! (read the tags, be mindful of the warnings)

it takes two (to be santa claus) by @becasbelt

With their marriage on the brink of divorce, Beca and Chloe vow to do whatever it takes to give their daughter one last perfect Christmas- even if it means tracking down a rare American Girl doll two weeks before Christmas.

I know I already recommended this the other day but I just... It's so fucking good. I don't have words. Actually I do, go read it y'all (and when you're done then also read the cream in my coffee by the same author because I'm also still thinking about that one.

i think (s)he knows by @pinkpastels113

The Starbucks espresso machine broke again and Chloe is supposed to be taking care of everything, but the mechanic who showed up to fix it is making her job more difficult than it already was.

I forgot how much I love me a coffeeshop AU until I read this one. I don't often see flustered Chloe Beale in fic but here it's so blatant and I adore it so much!! I need more flustered Chloe Beale in my life pls (also go read this one too it's so fun!)

All I Ask of You by @kailoraurelius

From day one, Beca has always been there for her. If Chloe can count on anything, it's Beca. So now, pacing her kitchen anxiously, she waits for Beca to show up. Chloe has something very important to tell her…

Listen, Stained Glass will always have a special place in my heart, but I think AIAOY actually knocked it off its place because the found family characterization in this one just HITS. It's off the charts!! It's got everything; love, humor, and me on the floor crying (positive!) tears because the writing is so so beautifully descriptive.

naked in manhattan by @afh48

"Hi, it's Chloe! I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy. But I would love to see you! So call me when you can!"

From the first chapter onwards I was HOOKED. I love experimental works and what is a first ever fic if not finding your writers voice? I enjoyed the journey of unlearning internalized homophobia; of characters clearly making decisions that were bad for them because of fear. But the fluff is the sweet, sweet cherry on top!

those days turned into nights by hedaswolf (the baddestwolf)

Beca kisses Chloe in the heat of the moment after winning Worlds. Of course, she proceeds to avoid the topic altogether. You can imagine Chloe’s surprise when Beca suggests they change their flights so they can drive to Stockholm in search of Swedish Princess Cake. But how long can Chloe go without bringing up the kiss? or, the Denmark to Sweden roadtrip fic that no one asked for

I swooned reading this. It's romantic, it's funny, it's angsty because they're pining idiots.... On top of that it's in 2nd pov and I LOVE 2nd pov <3

Life on Shuffle by @yelena-belover

“I know you don’t know me, Beca. But I’ve basically known you my whole life.” Bechloe // The Time Traveler's Wife AU -- Beca Mitchell suffers from Chrono-Impairment, a rare genetic disorder that causes her to spontaneously and uncontrollably time travel. Living life out of order isn't easy for Beca, and it's just as hard for Chloe, who struggles to cope with her frequent, often dangerous absences.

Chapter 8 and 11 shattered me in all possible ways. The way this fic weaves the timeline together so seamlessly... Time fuckery is hard to write, and it needs to be done right in order to feel satisfying; though still an ongoing fic, this one does it so masterfully that it scratched all of my itches as is.

Forgive Me These November Days by @obstinate-questionings

Why Chloe Beale didn’t graduate—and why she finally did—as told through yearly celebrations of Thanksgiving.

This fic made me take the first step into loving myself. imho it's one of the best Chloe Beale character studies out there and I genuinely can not stop thinking about it. If you're having a rainy day and need a pick-me-up, I definitely recommend reading this!

[xjulixred45x]

I kinda want to see more to the Nezuko Kamado! Reader with Shoko Ieiri headcanons. Since the reader and her older brother were the only survivors of the curse attack and were taken in by Shoko, I’m kinda thinking that the reader would slowly turn into a platonic yandere because she technically saved them from being sold to a clan who would slowly ruin them into the clans image.

Same thing with Shoko, since she has the mother’s instincts i can imagine her having THAT type of a mother’s rage if anything happens to them.

I’m curious about Gojo and Geto (and their adopted children too) slowly turning into yanderes because of how incredibly kind Tanjiro and Reader are.

(And I’m not sure if you ship Gojo x Geto x Shoko), but I wanna see more fathers and mother headcanons since both children lost their parents and younger siblings at a VERY young age

Am all for Female Yandere characters! And is pretty interesting writing not only a Yandere character, but a Yandere Reader!

Thanks for the challenge!

Platonic Yandere! Shoko Ieri(+Satosugu) x Platonic Yandere Nezuko! Reader(Plus Tanjiro)

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: female AND male, depending if You want to be Nezuko or Tanjiro.

Warnings: yandere behaviors, platonic Yandere on both sides, overprotection, violence, unhealty mindset, both N!Reader and T! Reader has ISSUES and trauma. Some Fluff here and there.

• Nezuko and Tanjiro were grateful for the life they had now.

• Of course, it wasn't perfect, nothing is. But they were happy to have stumbled upon the right people.

• It would have been a few years since Shoko welcomed them into her home, after the attack of a curse that left them orphans. They were young children, and had the potential to be powerful, so Ieri acted before the other clans did.

• Neither Nezuko nor Tanjiro knew what their lives would have been like if they had been taken in by the Zenin or Kamo clan, but Shoko's almost horror stories made them think less about it. And of course, be even more grateful to have ended up in a kind foster home.

• Shoko, for all her flaws, was a good mentor, a good mother. She genuinely cared about them, wanted them to learn on their own, and above all, protected them from malicious people. The high ranks, the clans, the curse users…

• There were also Gojo and Geto.

• Both sibilings met them, they were the ones who found them after the incident after all. Although they honestly didn't expect them to become an important part of their lives.

• Or maybe it was just the bad habit of waiting for that…

• Satoru was by far the most animated, the one who lifted the children on his shoulders and even made them fly with infinity. It was one of the best childhood memories they had.

• He was also the one who let them get away with it most often. Bringing candy home, buying soda, even bringing animals (even if they had to be released at the end of the day).

• There was a particularly pleasant memory in Tanjiro's mind related to Satoru Gojo. When they were just adjusting to living with Shoko, they didn't have many clothes, so Tanjiro and Nezuko simply made do with sewing what they already had.

• Until Satoru found out about this.

• And the first thing he did was take them shopping for clothes, especially kimonos for Nezuko.

• It was a pleasant experience. Almost cathartic. Tanjiro's family couldn't afford this kind of thing before, so seeing Nezuko enjoy cute, new clothes was…beautiful.

• And then, there was Geto.

• To be fair, Suguru already had experience with children, in some way unknown to Tanjiro and Nezuko, Geto already had two daughters. So it was easier to adapt to him in a way.

• He had his rules, but very sweet and gentle. Nezuko loved when he did her hair. And Tanjiro had to admit that his presence was relaxing.

• Also, he was much calmer than Gojo. So they could talk to him about certain… topics, and not have as visceral a reaction as Gojo would.

• Even with all the good that his strange family had, Tanjiro had to admit that they tended to act in a… disproportionate way. Especially when he and his sister were involved.

• It's not that he had seen them do anything, but the three of them definitely had suspicious attitudes.

• Shoko, for example. He would never let another doctor treat Nezuko or Tanjiro. He said it was to save money on medical bills, but you could see the anger in his eyes when someone else examined Nezuko, or laid a hand on Tanjiro.

• Tanjiro doesn't remember how long he had to talk, beg and convince Ieri to let him and Nezuko join the academy. It wasn't even because the academy was dangerous. It was because she couldn't take care of them there.

• Fortunately, Satoru jumped up to support them and say that he and Suguru would take care of them. After all, they would be his teachers.

• That, ironically, only made Tanjiro more nervous. Why did they feel the need to watch them 24/7?

• Although, on the other hand, this helped him get the answers he needed about his caregivers.

• The first days at the academy were normal, there didn't seem to be any obvious favoritism at first.

• But the more difficult the classes became, the more obvious it became.

• Gojo and Geto would end up taking Tanjiro and Nezuko out on missions if they deemed them “too dangerous” (even if their other teammates could go), making them practice over and over and over again until “they were ready” and that never came—

• That wasn't the worst though.

• The worst thing was if someone pointed out favoritism.

• Nezuko used to have a classmate in her class. From the Zenin clan. When he noticed the preferential treatment the girl was receiving, he had no better idea than to say that it was because she was doing them “favors.”

• Satoru heard this from the other side of the court, and in less than a second he broke the boy's jaw. He did not return to the academy.

• Although it was the only time they were violent in front of the children, they know for sure that it is not the only time they have done something like that for them.

• There was a time when, when the children were teenagers, the higher ranks were discussing whether to keep custody of Shoko or give it to one of the clans that had already requested it.

• They didn't want children, they wanted possible weapons. An image, a toy.

• They informed Nezuko and Tanjiro that they would have to prepare for when the elders made their decision in case it was not the one they wanted.

• And both sibilings returned home, crying.

• Shoko was out all night. Even if she left them dinner, it only made the desperation level increase.

• Until the next morning came, Shoko come home, with bruises on her face, bloody knuckles, and a satisfied smile on her face.

• Nezuko hurried for the first aid kit while Tanjiro frantically asked her what happened.

• But Shoko only said a few words when Nezuko was applying bandages.

• “Do you know that I will always protect you?”

• Tanjiro was…confused.

• But Ieri just gave him a ruffle, happy that he knew.

• Tanjiro and Nezuko didn't really know what to think of their family.

• On the one hand, they knew very well that what they did was bad, it was not right for them to hurt people, no matter what.

• But on the other hand… did they find themselves justifying them?

• A part of them wanted to believe that this was normal, that this is what you do when you really love someone, you protect them, defend them, you love them.

• After all, who else has looked out for them other than Shoko, Gojo and Geto?

• Who has told them bedtime stories? Who makes sure there are no curses under the furniture? Who makes their food? Who loves them unconditionally even when they themselves might be horrible people?

• They. Shoko, Satoru and Suguru.

• Nobody else. The rest are gone, left or betrayed.

• Tanjiro was tired of feeling guilty about it, of feeling guilty about finally having a family again, a familiar feeling, a home.

• You can't expect them to not sincerely love these people.

• They cannot expect him to harm these people. He won't allow it, nor will Nezuko.

• They are older, they have the resources and the power necessary to be able to take what they want, and if someone, anyone, gets in the way of what makes them happy...

• They will have to pay the price.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[asheepinfrance]

GOOOOOD this is weird ok. First fic! Ever! Anywhere! Huzzah! I hope someone likes it :) Please feel free to leave comments on like grammar things or writing style things to improve because I do genuinely want these to not give people frontal lobe migraines to read. Also im essentially 85 and have no idea how to make these look pretty and have pictures so Sorry I Guess. Thanks lovelies <33

It’s frankly astonishing that someone can look this good at their most vulnerable. It’s enough to question if God really does have favorites, though the vision in front of you is essentially confirmation. If he does, Tashi Duncan’s a good choice. You’d probably make the same choice, if given that grand, unimaginable celestial power. Not that it really matters, because here she is, laying in your bed like it’s so simple. So easy to find a spot in someone else’s space. For her, it is. She fits herself seamlessly into just about every piece of the world she finds herself. You’re lucky she’s willingly found herself here, and on multiple occasions, no less. Her injured knee is tucked under her, and she’s contorted her back into some position that looks absolutely horrific to be in for 8 hours of sleep, but she looks calm. And isn’t that what matters? You can always help with the aches later. Her hair’s not in place, and yet it doesn’t really look out of place, either. She’s got this incredible ability to never look bad. It’d be aggravating if it wasn’t so damn nice to look at. You reach out to touch the smooth skin on the cheek of that calm, restful face, but it feels sacrilegious, somehow, to touch something that beautiful. Is it allowed? You grant yourself the possible sin, because it’s just too painful not to. And when her brown eyes peek open, and she’s offering that perfect smile in your direction, you notice that she’s looking at you the same way you look at her: with pure, unadulterated reverence. Whether or not that’s deserved, especially from her, doesn’t matter. What matters is it’s there. So when she doesn’t move your hand from its spot on her face, mumbling something about how “my neck is fucking killing me”, it feels like a victory from some battle that you never knew you were fighting. You’d been right after all. You do end up helping with the ache.

[hyukascampfire]

HYUKASCAMPFIRE NATION i truly believe that you would love this one. you’ve gotta give it a read. for me!! >.<

kipo. KIPO. let me just say that this is about to be my entire personality!! i cannot wait for this series. you are absolutely one of my, if not my favorite, authors on moablr. you know exactly what makes a story. this is a PERFECT prologue, and i am hooked immediately. not to mention, as a personal writing style buff, that you have mastered prose. you know exactly when to keep things functional AND when to wax poetic, when to keep the plot moving and when to inject a little more personality into your writing. good prose should fade into the background for immersion, and this did exactly that. not once was a line clunky or anything. this is quite literally professional writing, and we are so blessed to be reading this for free. and, you know me. the fantasy aspect/world of this is just… insane? i LOVE when you can tell an author has crafted their universe with love and care. this is exactly what fantasy should be. i would quite literally read this as a book! you are incredible and never cease to amaze me. waiting very patiently for the next part. holy hell.

first of all, i am so in love with kai. his personality is smth DIFFERENT i just cannot put it into words, but i am drawn to him freaky style. like, i love this kai, and can tell i am going to be so attached to him. and can i just give u a good round of applause for this MC? and the dynamic between her and Kai? and just the storyline thus far in general? wow.

okay. here are my thoughts while reading :3!!

Dark hair fell over his warm-brown eyes, but you could still see how kind they were as they watched the other members of the Collective almost fondly. His green hood was over his head and he fiddled with the seams of his white pants with pale hands. KAIIIIIIIII I FEEL IT IN MY BONES

“If I may?” the voice asked. You looked to the side, eyes meeting dirty brown boots whose eyelets caught in the bright sun. They trailed upwards to white pants and gold embroidered filigree onto a light, forest-green velvet fabric. OH YOU MAY

“U—No worries! It was nothing, really. Kai.” He stammered over his words before his eyebrows raised. “My name. It’s–I’m, uh, Kai.” mama i LOVE him

You watched the slightest hints of green feather away around the lengths of your fingers, so fast the color was barely distinguishable. A smile spread across your face from ear to ear. WHAT. LOOK AT U GO. call that determination. i rlly love this MC quite literally off the bat. MCs sometimes fall flat for the importance of plot points in the ff writing world, but you’re doing such a great job making MC/reader into a PERSON. love it to death.

“Knowledge, my owlet. There’s much more out there than the green thumbs of Pith—the royals and the wealthy.” Althea spat out green thumbs like food stuck on her tongue. You knew she never liked the Collective, but to this day, she still never told you why. this worldbuilding is quite literally just insane and wonderful. GOD i love fantasy. thabk you for feeding me kipo

“The Forest That Watches, it is called,” she continued. “Its white-barked trees have black eyes drawn onto them by people from long ago and its drooping pink leaves kiss the sacred ground.” fantasy lover in me is literally just thriving right now. hell yeah.

And how you wish that it was Althea who plucked you from the streets instead of Lamia. me too. me n my homies hate lamia. althea is the mom that stepped up 😞💞

“Green?” she asked you, accusatory. You're unsure whether her accusatory tone was towards you or not. wait althea please. please 😞

Your brows knitted at the change in her demeanor, but you concluded that it was better to leave it be. GUYS PLEASE WHAT IS GOING AWN. i feel a stirring that i do not like

You giggled to yourself, letting your arms flow in the harmony of the wind. You twirled and moved your body to the tune of nature—to the sounds of the forest’s edge behind you with its rustling leaves and chattering animals. The crown of sticks and fallen leaves fell down further onto your forehead and you laughed more. You didn’t even notice the single brilliant blue butterfly that landed on it and completed your costume. literally cannot explain to you how happy this passage makes me and my faerie freakishness. oh kipo you GET it

You sang and danced around in the grass, pretending that you weren’t human at all, but faerie. That you were queen and the lands stretching from the edge of the forest to the inn was your kingdom. You wished you lived in Faerie where all the other magical creatures resided. That you and Althea could live there together, happy. Maybe even Kai could join you too. You giggled more at the wonderful thought. THE WHIMSY KIPO STOP. i think that this series is abt to become my personality. this is scratching an itch that i have not been able to reach in a fantasy book for a WHILE.

You turned your attention back to the doll propped up on a rock, watching you. “Don’t look at me that way,” you say, twirling once more before making your way over to it. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again:: I LOVE THIS MC. she’s very in tune with herself.

Too lost in your own dream-like world, you don’t notice the crunching of leaves beneath boots. “Well, all Queens need a King to stand beside them,” a voice said behind you. You spun in place, clutching the doll to your chest. Kai tilted his head at you, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Don’t you think?” he concluded. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“I see Kai has finally found someone willing to lay with him!” one shouted sarcastically. DAMN!

Kai took your hand in his and bent over to press his lips to the back of it, his eyes flicking up to look at you between his lashes. oh i’m fucking sick. where are my iron bars so i can gnaw at them.

“Well, you’ll find that I am the best of the best,” Kai spoke, lowly. His eyes dropped to your lips and he swayed a little. “Nobody stands a chance against me.” NAWWW WTF KIPO ARE YOU INSANE

“Why don’t you show her your magic wand!” a voice behind you and Kai yelled in your direction. The two of you broke apart, yet Kai’s hand remained on your cheek. Embarrassment crept up your neck and you could tell from Kai’s red ears that he was feeling the same way. He turned to where the voice came from, brows drawing together to form another dirty glare. i’ll kill you

The silence lasts for a moment before all sound comes rushing back to you so fast it felt like your ears were bleeding. There was screaming and crying and more cracking of bones set into place. You opened your eyes to see that the once green pasture you danced in was covered in red—red so dark it was almost black, and disfigured bodies and torn limbs were everywhere. WHAT IS GOING ON. WHAT IS GOING ONNNNNN.

“Shut up. Go. I never want to see your vile face again!” Lamia screamed, her wrinkled face turning as red as the sunset behind her. She pointed a shaky finger away from the inn. You stood up on weak legs, your knees shaking. “But—but, Mom—” you cried. MC my sweet darling angel you do not deserve this

Love is a very wretched thing. It lets in the rot and the maggots and the ash. But, you still couldn’t help scraping off the corruption and placing it gently in your heart anyway. You couldn’t let go of the thought that maybe it could be beautiful, that it could be worth the cracked skin. saving space for this beautiful paragraph. i am simply a woman that cannot help but appreciate good sentence turn. yes.

Silence penetrates the air before he speaks again. “They kicked me out,” Kai says, his lifeless eyes still boring into you. “They kicked me out of the School of Pith.” they’re both alone and have lost their ways in a sense, now. she doesn’t have her home or mother anymore, and kai the pith. it’s so sweet that he came right to her :((

WAS SO SAD SEEING IT END but now i just get to wait with so much anticipation for the next part. whew.

BETWEEN TWILIGHT SKIES ───𝓅𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾: 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

in a world that’s on its dying breath, the once green and lush landscapes get buried in more and more layers of ash. the once flourishing streets that were full of magic are now a dull hum. yet, there is still hope—and it lies in the hands of you and kai, the last people to possess magic. suddenly, you remember the story of a forest that watches, and a well of life that lies deep within. you’re determined to save your bleak world in any way that you can, yet, you weren’t expecting to end up in a brand new world entirely.

pairing ⸝⸝ huening kai 𝑥 fem!reader 𓄵 𝓯eat. ꔛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳!𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢 (𝘰𝘤) & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳!𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢 (𝘰𝘤)

genre ⋆ 📖 ⸝⸝ angst, fluff, a lot of yearning and longing (both romantic and platonic), magic, sorcerer!kai

warnings ⸝⸝ kidnapping, toxic environments and parental relationships, implied bullying, two instances of reader getting slapped, violence, death (of people & animals), depictions of gore, implied anxiety attack and abuse, hand holding & staring into each others eyes, tension filled kissing

𝓴ipo’s note ⸝⸝ the series has finally started!! now listen, listen, listen!! i know what you’re thinking, “a prologue and it’s 7.6k????” but i need you guys to STAY WITH ME!!! stay with me and lock in and after reading it all you’ll understand why it had to be this long lmao… next chapter you’ll meet yeonjun hehe~~ i hope you enjoy!!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ❨ 7.6k ❩ ╱ ❨ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ❩ ╱ ❨ 𝓼𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝒎𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ❩ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏  ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

‎ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏  ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏͏ 𐦍 ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏NEXT ⤇

The world around you had begun to wither away and decay long before it had started to end. As most things do, the rot had started to creep its way in through love. It had used it as a gateway, spreading its sickness all throughout the things you touched until it was the thin wisps of ash coating your cracked fingertips. Still, you let the rot in—let it corrupt the things you loved and change them into something unrecognizable, something unimaginable—something that was now dead and gone. You just couldn’t let go of the small doses of love you were granted with—naively gulping down tasteless sips to fill that hole inside your heart left by people you never even really knew.

You cradled love like a child guards its favorite toy; with fear and hesitancy. It was clear in the way your body hunched over and you looked up at every grown-up through wet lashes. Obvious in the way your dirty clothes hung limply from gangly limbs—once a tight fit but now they seemed to be made for a child much older than you. It must’ve been what enthralled her, what made her decide to pluck a random child no older than five off the street in the middle of the night and take them home.

In a way, you guess you had to thank her for the senseless crime she committed; for it gave you a warm bed to lay your head at night and food to fill your growling belly. It didn’t bother you that it all had come at a price, in fact, you were none the wiser. But, you’d know soon enough. The mask can only stay on for so long before it starts to crack—before it starts to rot like everything else did.

Lamia, is the name she sweetly whispered next to your ear as she tucked you into a bed that was never yours that night. “But, you can call me Mom,” she said, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

It was hard watching things change in front of your very eyes. It was never the way people described it for you. Not the slow twist of vines along a column or the grass growing taller than a fence—no. It was the whipping of wind across your face. You’d go to wipe your teary eyes and find the sunny and warm scenery was now cold and dead with glittering snow laying everywhere.

You hated it.

You wished that things could stay as they were for as long as they could. You hated watching the faces of people you’ve grown to know dip and sag with age in an instant. You hated watching the life leave their eyes in a quick blink. And you hated how life seemed to go so slow for everyone except for you.

If you could dare to wish for one thing, it would be more time.

Sweet nights and even sweeter days began to sour, and Lamia—your mother—wasn’t as kind as she used to be when you were still a child. You think that that is what hurt the most with this odd whipping of wind, that you were forced to watch the love your mother held for you leave her eyes faster than you got to grow up to the young teenager you were today.

“Welcome to the Freywolf Inn!” you heard her voice exclaim to the ringing bell of the door. It was a careful blend of welcoming and cheerful. The sound was drowned out of your ears by the incessant sound of a brush against hardwood and soap mixing with water. You sat back on your knees, throwing the brush into the soapy mess and letting it clang against the floor, sighing. You wiped the back of your wet hand across your forehead and sucked in a breath.

Your knees ached and your hands were sore and cramped. This was the worst part of your mornings. No matter how hard you scrubbed these wooden floors, it wasn’t enough for Lamia. If they didn’t shine as if freshly polished when you were done then you scrubbed them wrong and she made you clean them again. Standing up on weak legs, you looked over your shoulder at the new customers as you reached for the bucket of dirty soap water. A soft gasp left your lips and you had to hold on tight to the bucket handle with both hands to ensure its contents didn't go spilling all over the floor.

You’d recognize them anywhere—the Collective, with their hooded, light forest-green cloaks embroidered with gold filigree and its golden satin insides. You never saw a member in person before—not that you were particularly excited to. Seeing a member of the Collective, so far away from the School of Pith, could only mean one thing…

The rot was here.

Frozen like a deer caught on sacred ground, you stared wide-eyed at them as they made their way to the common room, their carefree laughs carrying in the air around them. It felt like a bad omen—a confirmation. You tried so hard to ignore the fate of the things around you, but seeing that you could no longer hide from it was like a punch to your stomach.

Strangely, you also couldn’t help but be morbidly fascinated by it all. You exhaled slowly, steadying your racing heart and stilling your shaking hands that grasped the handle of the wooden bucket. Distantly, you felt the sting of pain across the back of your hands and shut your eyes. Only when every last molecule of air was absent from your lungs did you allow yourself to gulp in more to soothe the burning—just like your mother taught you.

Your eyes fluttered back open and landed on the group of sorcerers. They playfully practiced their magic out in the open—ringlets of green floating in the air and curling around their fingers and forearms. Their hands moved in peculiar ways, a jerk here or a smooth twist of their wrist there. You couldn’t understand it, but the more you watched them perform magic in front of your very eyes, the more you wanted to. 

One member stood out to you in particular. He sat off to the side, a small distance away from where the others engaged and practiced their magic at, by himself. Dark hair fell over his warm-brown eyes, but you could still see how kind they were as they watched the other members of the Collective almost fondly. His green hood was over his head and he fiddled with the seams of his white pants with pale hands. There was a ghost of a smile on his face and—unbeknownst to you—there was one on yours too.

He didn’t practice his magic like the others did. He seemed content in just watching, having no need in the selfish display of power the others showcased. It piqued your interest what set him apart from the others and already you could feel a growing favor blossom in your chest for the boy.

He had to be only a few years older than you were and your cheeks warmed at the thought. He reached his arms up and pushed the hood backwards off his head, seemingly oblivious to your staring as were the rest of them. The filtered daylight washed over his body and you saw him more clearly. Your eyes greedily scanned over the slopes of his face, desperate to take him all in as quickly as you could. You couldn’t lie, he was beautiful.

You trailed your eyes over to the wisps of the green in the air. It’s different knowing that magic exists in a world so bleak and actually seeing it in action. It made you wonder where the ash was here in your small village—the rot—so you could watch them smother it. You needed to see those ringlets of green curl around it tighter and tighter until it didn’t exist anymore. Until all of the ash was gone for good.

You wanted to know what it felt like to wield such magic. Your fingers itched to replicate their movements in hopes that green wisps of your own would emerge. Maybe then would your touch not bring about destruction.

A hand roughly grabs your shoulder and breaks you away from the trance you were under. “Stupid child! Can you not hear?”

Lamia’s wrinkled face startlingly comes into view and you feel the bite of her nails in the flesh of your arm through the fabric of the thin dress you wore. You stammered, unsure of what to say and what her previous words were, and blinked rapidly at her accusation.

Wind whipped across your face and too late did you feel prickling pain spread across your cheek. The inn fell deathly silent and your eyes started to water. You swallowed down the lump in your throat thickly, your watery eyes finding your mother’s. “When I ask you a question, you answer it. Do I have to repeat myself?” your mother asked you.

Slowly, you shook your head and willed yourself to find your voice. “N-no, mother.” Your voice came out in a quiet squeak, completely pathetic and weak.

“Good,” Lamia responded. “Dry these soap-covered floors before our customers slip. Then, I want you to ensure the rooms for them are ready.” 

“Yes, mother,” you said in that same weak voice.

She looked you up and down for a moment before tsking. Then, she turned on her heel and returned back to where she was behind the counter beforehand. Smoke curled from her mouth as she leisurely flipped through the sign-in book, unaware of the way time changed around her.

You swallowed thickly again, fingers tightening and untightening around the handle of the bucket you still held. Slowly, you turned just enough to look over your shoulder at lounging customers. No longer did they smile and laugh with a carefree attitude and swirls of green in the air. Instead, they stared at you with barely disguised shock. Your gaze snapped to the boy you were spellbound with earlier to find him staring too, mouth slack and sitting at the edge of the couch like he was eager to stand. His eyes met your teary ones and you broke away from the sudden connection.

Lifting the bucket closer to your chest, you rushed off into the direction of the rooms, embarrassment weighing you down and the once unshed tears now falling down your face. You ignored the sloshing sound of the water inside of it and the way the wood hit against your stomach, spilling over the metal lip and onto the floor below, creating an even bigger mess.

Sniffling, you hid yourself in the supply room. Your tears fell freely and a large sob wracked your body. You let the bucket slip from your fingers just inches from the rocky floor without a care and with a piercing thud. Stupid, you thought to yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Get it together. Stop crying.

Yet, the tears wouldn't stop. You heaved in breaths of air that refused to reach your lungs. You didn’t have time for this. If the floors weren’t dry and the rooms weren’t checked on in a timely manner then you’d get worse than a slap across the face. Harshly, you dug the palms of your hands into your cheeks and wiped away the fallen tears. You compelled yourself to take a deep breath, to let the oxygen reach your lungs and not be blocked by the false closing of your throat. 

Closing your eyes, you took in another deep breath, and another and another until your body no longer began to tremble. You straightened your back so you weren’t hunched over anymore and wiped your hands down the front of your damp dress. When you felt like you weren’t unravelling at the seams only then did you step out of the supply room to face the world.

Instead of the loud chattering coming from the Collective like from when they arrived, it was quiet and sparse whispers. When you got closer to where they were in the common room, the whispers grew.

You tried to drown their whispers out—opting to instead get to work on your mother’s request. Dropping to your knees, you took the clean towel and aggressively dried the wet section of hardwood floor beneath you, letting all your focus fall onto the repeated action.

Footsteps sounded behind you, but you didn’t hear them until an unfamiliar voice stunned you from your focus. “If I may?” the voice asked. You looked to the side, eyes meeting dirty brown boots whose eyelets caught in the bright sun. They trailed upwards to white pants and gold embroidered filigree onto a light, forest-green velvet fabric. Your hand halted its aggressive drying as your eyes ascended further to meet the boy from earlier’s handsome face. Your eyes widened to saucers and his seemed to be just as big as they looked down at you. “It will all go faster if I do this,” he continued, some of his words wobbling around the edges.

You remained silent, not trusting your voice to not come out raw and abrasive. The boy extended a hand out in front of him and with a twist of his wrist wisps of green emerged and wrapped around it. They swirled out around the two of you, lightly fogging across the floor. You turned to the wet floor in front of you and watched as it suddenly dried, the wood shining in the sunlight pouring in from the window. Your jaw slackened as your mouth fell open.

“It was a simple spell—you shouldn’t have to be on your hands and knees drying a floor,” the boy stated, the second part lower than the first so your mother didn’t hear. He outstretched his hand to you. Your mouth was still open as you turned back to stare blankly at his hand. An amused and warm smile pulled his cheeks upward and you suddenly came to the realization that you must’ve looked ridiculous.

“T-thank you…” you trailed off, voice barely above a whisper, still starstruck by the display of magic and the boy’s smile. You straightened your back before blinking a couple times. Clearing your throat, you accepted his outstretched hand and the boy helped you to your feet.

He chuckled and you felt your knees weaken more. His hand was still holding yours, the both of you forgetful as your gaze seared into each other. The smile slowly fell from his face, his lips parting with unspoken words as he gaped at you as if bewitched. Snickering to your side brought the two of you back to real life and you pulled your hands away from each other. 

“Uh,” the boy said, clenching the hand that was just holding yours and trying to form a coherent sentence. His gaze snapped briefly to the other members of the Collective before landing on you again. “U—No worries! It was nothing, really. Kai.” He stammered over his words before his eyebrows raised. “My name. It’s–I’m, uh, Kai.”

Kai outstretched his hand again before he thought better of it and swiftly yanked it away, instead rubbing the back of his neck with it. If you weren’t so disoriented you’d laugh, but you just stare at him instead, the heat slowly creeping up your neck. You then realize how much of a mess you must look and quickly wipe your cheeks to get rid of any remaining tears. “Um,” you start, “I… I’m—”

Your name slices through the air like a knife. You jump, eyes darting over to where your mother stood behind the counter, a saccharine smile pulling her lips as she looked at the two of you. It felt as if you were watching a snake rattle its tail. Looking back to Kai, you offer him the tiniest of smiles before rushing away again, leaving him standing alone.

You’re not quite sure when the obsession with magic started. Maybe it was when you saw how carefree the Collective looked wielding it, as if it was second nature. Or, maybe it was when Kai had so graciously used it to help you out so you didn’t have to spend the remainder of the morning on your hands and knees. All you did know was that it had sunk its claws inside of you, gripping fiercely at your heart and making the hole inside of it larger.

Maybe it was when you started sneaking away from, or even downright rushing to finish, your duties so you could watch them practice magic. Maybe it was the rush you got watching their hands twist and jerk in specific movements for specific outcomes, green coils emerging from the motions.

But, you think it started when you lifted your hands into the air, daring to copy them.

At first, it was nothing, and frustration built up like a brick wall inside you. Then, that frustration turned to resentment, and that resentment into anger.

The Collective were here for a week so far and you weren't sure how long you had left before they departed. Why weren’t you born with magic like they were? If you had magic, it would change everything. No longer would everything rot around you when you could smother the rot all out—bring everything that has long been dead and gone back to life. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

You flicked your fingers in the air angrily as green smoked around the member’s fingers and not yours. Something a mix between and groan and a growl emerged from your throat instead. But, you were determined—and you refused to give up.

Perfecting the twists of your wrists and quick jerks of your fingers, you exhaled steadily and focused on getting the same result the member of the Collective did—cracking open a single walnut without touching it. The walnut sat on the floor in front of you mockingly and you scowled at it before focusing again.

“Come on,” you whispered to yourself. “Come on, come on. Work, please.” With one final twist of your wrist, you heard the distinct cracking sound and a soft gasp pushing between your lips. Your face broke into a smile and it took everything in you not to cheer at the top of your lungs. You watched the slightest hints of green feather away around the lengths of your fingers, so fast the color was barely distinguishable. A smile spread across your face from ear to ear.

“Yes!” you proclaimed, taking care to keep your voice low. A pleased laugh left your mouth and happy tears filled your lash line, “Yes!”

Your view snapped back to that of the Collective in the dining hall. You listened to the way they joked with each other and made water spin into wine—getting themselves drunk and red-faced. As your stare analyzed them, you noticed that Kai wasn’t among them.

It was odd, you thought, but it reminded you of the first time you saw him and how he sat apart from the others. How different he seemed from them. Just from watching the Collective members interact, you already didn’t like them. Maybe Kai felt the same.

You haven’t talked to him since that day—haven’t really seen him around besides quick glimpses, either. A peculiar feeling stirred in your chest and you weren’t sure what it meant. You just hoped that your paths would cross again.

When you weren’t at Freywolf Inn, you were at the craft guild with your nose buried in a book. You were there so often that you were on a first name basis with the stationer, Althea, a sweet lady who distinctly had the look that reminded you of a barn owl. In the entirety of your small village, it seemed Althea was the only one who wasn’t victim to the rot. You felt safe being around her—and she always remarked how much you were like a daughter to her.

She let you freely borrow the books she received or binded and even let you hang out behind the counter while she dealt with artisans and people wealthier than you could ever imagine who came to see her from all over the world. You remember asking her one day why people came from all over to see her wares.

“Not that they’re bad,” you quickly added, leaning the open book onto your thighs as you looked up at her from your hiding spot underneath the counter. She threw you a witty smile over her shoulder from the press she was at, hair the color of cinnamon sticks falling over her shoulder. The two of you felt as if you were moving at the same speed—you barely realized the fact that streaks of white slowly became more prevalent in her hair. “I mean, this is just such a small village… Wouldn’t they go to communes or the King’s Roots where the school is?”

Althea’s voice was nothing like you’ve heard before despite her saying how she grew up in the village. It had a strange accent and the way she spoke was like silk against the bark of a tree. Althea turned from where she worked to meet your questioning look, leaning over and resting her elbows on her knees so she was just about eye level with you, “Not… quite. See, I offer words that you won’t find on a shelf at the School of Pith. Illustrations they wouldn’t dare to let one of their students witness.”

You sat up more underneath the counter, completely abandoning the still open book in your lap. Your eyes shined with curiosity and Althea laughed—a sound that resembled crackling fire. “What kind of words?” you asked her.

“Knowledge, my owlet. There’s much more out there than the green thumbs of Pith—the royals and the wealthy.” Althea spat out green thumbs like food stuck on her tongue. You knew she never liked the Collective, but to this day, she still never told you why.

Althea stood and walked over to one of the shelves that you never touched, but was always only open for certain customers who came inside the guild hooded and quiet. Her finger ran along the spines as her white brows drew together, “There is a forest in this world, buried deep within another.” Her brows lifted as she found the book she was looking for and she made her way back to the counter.

You crawled from beneath the counter, twisting to watch as she laid the thick book down onto it and opened it to the beginning pages. You gently discarded the book you were reading off to the side of the counter, your focus now on the twirling of words and stirring drawings. Althea’s fingers gently caressed the pages. Her face was distant and longing, like recounting a memory that happened centuries ago. “The Forest That Watches, it is called,” she continued. “It’s white-barked trees have black eyes drawn onto them by people from long ago and its drooping pink leaves kiss the sacred ground.”

For a moment, Althea was quiet. You waited patiently, decidedly taking in the open page until she was ready to speak again. You could tell that this forest was a sensitive topic for her and you didn’t want to pry. You looked up at her when she wrapped her arm around your shoulders. She regarded you with a fond smile, “The forest has never been found, though, and it remains watching—waiting. Its pink leaves hide what’s inside; the Well of Life.”

With her free arm, Althea flipped through the pages until it landed on the Forest and the Well. “Woah,” you muttered, leaning forward to get a better look at it. Even from the illustrations you could tell how beautiful it was, feel the magic that radiated from it all.

You knew why it hadn’t been found yet—why it never could be. That much power in the wrong hands would be detrimental. But, you couldn’t help but wonder how different your world would be if it had access to the magical waters Althea was telling you about.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Althea breathed wistfully. “We’ll meet there one day… under the pink leaves and drink from the Well.” She returned her gaze to yours. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Then the turning of the sun won’t seem so fast.”

You sighed to yourself as your eyes fell back to the pages. You leaned your head into Althea’s side and she wrapped her arm around you tighter. “That would be nice,” you say.

In the darkness of the night, you let the shadows listen to your deepest wishes. And how you wish that it was Althea who plucked you from the streets instead of Lamia.

You wander Althea’s shelf now, hands running along the spines. Your fingertips still buzz with the magic you emitted earlier and you swear you can feel the contents of the shelved books calling out to you. Stilling, your fingers halt onto a book. The pull was just too strong to deny and when you turn your head to read the spine you find that the lettering has been rubbed away by time. You hum in slight annoyance before pulling the book from the shelf.

You can feel how Althea’s eyes trail you, especially when you walk over to the counter to take your familiar spot under it. In the corner of your eye, you can see her head tilt. “You feel different. And you’re quiet—quieter than usual,” she says quizzically.

Looking up from your book, a corner of your mouth raises. “Magic, Althea…” Your face breaks out into full-on excitement. “I have it! At least… sparks of it…”

Althea’s face doesn’t change from its quizzical expression. She shifts in her seat in front of the press. “Green?” she asked you, accusatory. You're unsure whether her accusatory tone was towards you or not.

The excitement swiftly falls from your face and you sit up more under the counter. “I… Yeah…” you mutter, avoiding her stare.

“It can’t be,” Althea states matter-of-factly. Her white brows furrow, and she looks away from you. “Can’t be…” she quietly trails off, more to herself than to you. “Green is… can’t be, can’t be. Doesn’t make sense.”

“I think it was green…” you pipe up, voice falling flat towards the end when her piercing black eyes snap to yours. “I didn’t really see the color, it all happened too fast.” It was true, but in your heart you wished it was green. You just wanted Althea to stop acting all fidgety and looking at you the way she did. You held the book in your arms closer to your chest and Althea’s gaze dropped to the movement.

Althea’s body physically relaxed from the tense state it was in, and if you looked close enough, you thought you could see the ghost of a smile on her lips. She hummed, suddenly pleased, “Magic… how enchanting. Have I told you about the White Fawn? Or, the prophecy of Eternal Winter?”

Your brows knitted at the change in her demeanor, but you concluded that it was better to leave it be. You shook your head at her question. “What about faeries?” Althea asked. 

“No,” you responded, “what are they?”

Althea slid to the ground in front of you, a grin pulling her mouth and exposing her teeth. She tapped the book you desperately clutched to your chest with an ivory finger. “Why don’t you take a look?”

You giggled to yourself, letting your arms flow in the harmony of the wind. You twirled and moved your body to the tune of nature—to the sounds of the forest’s edge behind you with its rustling leaves and chattering animals. The crown of sticks and fallen leaves fell down further onto your forehead and you laughed more. You didn’t even notice the single brilliant blue butterfly that landed on it and completed your costume.

If your mother saw you right now, she’d be furious. She had sent you out here on punishment with the intention of having you clean the stables behind the inn. Instead, you were dancing The Dance of Youth and pretending to be the Faerie Queen.

You spent all day yesterday reading Althea’s book on anything magical you could get your hands on, which mainly consisted of faeries and the realm they occupied. The books conjured up tales, legends, and myths of those more than human—people with glittering or colorful skin, wings, horns shooting from their heads, and even human-like versions of some of the animals you were already familiar with. It was completely enthralling reading about it all, and feeling all the magic pour off of the pages made you even more giddy. The magic the School of Pith had was nothing compared to the magic you had read about.

In a kingdom so sunny and full of bloom, A deadly winter approaches to cause mass doom. Drowns the kingdom in layers of snow, And becomes a place where nothing grows and no one goes.

You sang and danced around in the grass, pretending that you weren’t human at all, but faerie. That you were queen and the lands stretching from the edge of the forest to the inn was your kingdom. You wished you lived in Faerie where all the other magical creatures resided. That you and Althea could live there together, happy. Maybe even Kai could join you too. You giggled more at the wonderful thought.

Rustling in the forest drew your attention and you halted your dance. You leaned forward, listening closely and peering at the way the setting sun shined through the leaves, but then laughed at how ridiculous the notion was. Of course there was rustling, it’s a forest. You turned your attention back to the doll propped up on a rock, watching you. “Don’t look at me that way,” you say, twirling once more before making your way over to it.

The doll was a sightly thing made out of straw and sticks that Althea gave to you as a child. After all these years you still had it, and you cherished it deeply—making sure to keep it hidden from Lamia so she wouldn’t toss it out. You could hear her voice now, “A girl born in the summer of the thirteenth year of the King still playing with dolls? How preposterous!”

You hummed, bending down to retrieve the doll. “What an odd thing to say… Why should I find a man to marry in order to rule? I am the Faerie Queen. This is my kingdom, I shall rule it how I see fit!”

Too lost in your own dream-like world, you don’t notice the crunching of leaves beneath boots. “Well, all Queens need a King to stand beside them,” a voice said behind you. You spun in place, clutching the doll to your chest. Kai tilted his head at you, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Don’t you think?” he concluded.

His cloak was covered in ash. He and the other members of the Collective must have just returned from defeating the ash in the area for good. The heat immediately rushed to your face and your mind raced. Kai stood mere feet from you and you were stumbling over your own thoughts on what to say. You stood up straighter, trying to appear nonchalant, “I-I suppose…”

How embarrassing it was to be caught in such childlike endeavors—by Kai of all people! You moved the doll behind your back in an attempt to hide it, yet Kai’s gaze followed the action before flicking back up to your face. Behind him, you saw the rest of the Collective ride up on horses towards the inn, snickering at the two of you. “I see Kai has finally found someone willing to lay with him!” one shouted sarcastically.

Kai’s face soured and he looked over his shoulder at them with a glare before turning back to you. Face softening, he took a step towards you. “Ignore them,” Kai says, “They think they’re funny and they’re not.”

He stripped off his velvet green cloak and gave it a good shake away from where you stood. Ash clouded off of it in front of him, making the two of you cough a little. “Sorry,” Kai coughed, letting the cloak fall onto the rock next to him. “So… The Faerie Queen, huh? What’s that? Does that have something to do with your dance?”

You looked down to your feet in even more embarrassment. “It’s… It’s nothing.” You sat down on the rock that your doll was previously perched on. “I can’t believe you saw that…” you muttered under your breath.

“It looked like fun,” Kai laughed, and you looked up to catch the way his smile lingered as he looked down at you. “You seemed really into it, didn’t even notice me coming up behind you. You jumped like a caught baby deer.”

It was your turn to laugh. “A baby deer?” you asked and Kai nodded. “I guess you could say that, but you scared me!” Kai sat down next to you. He pointed his chin upwards, his eyes on the crown of sticks and leaves on your head. “Is that your crown, Faerie Queen?”

Biting your lip, you took the crown off and placed it in your lap. You toyed with the leaves in it. “You should make me one,” Kai says. You looked up at him. He was much closer than you originally thought he was, his shoulder brushing up against yours making you nervous. This close up you could see all the details of his face—his eyelashes that occasionally rested softly on round, smiling cheeks, and the curve of his plump, pinked lips. And his warm, brown eyes that never left your face. “You know… Queens and Kings and all of that…”

You smiled, looking away from him so he wouldn’t see how flustered he made you. “Really?” you questioned, braving his stare once again. “Yeah!” Kai exclaimed. He leaned closer to you, “Only if you see me fit, though, my queen.”

Kai took your hand in his and bent over to press his lips to the back of it, his eyes flicking up to look at you between his lashes. The action set you alight and you were so sure that Kai could feel the heat radiating off of your body. “I’ll have to put you to the test,” you mutter, barely managing to get your words out. “Only the best can rule with me by my side.”

You felt the vibrations of Kai’s laugh against your skin before he sat back up, his hand still grasping yours. His face was even closer to yours now. All it took was one of you to lean a little closer and your lips would meet. “Well, you’ll find that I am the best of the best,” Kai spoke, lowly. His eyes dropped to your lips and he swayed a little. “Nobody stands a chance against me.”

“Is that so?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mhm,” Kai nodded. He closed the gap between the two of you and pressed his lips against yours. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he used it to cup your cheek and lift your chin to kiss you deeper. You melted into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his. It was perfect, and the feeling of his soft lips on yours was like heaven.

“Why don’t you show her your magic wand!” a voice behind you and Kai yelled in your direction. The two of you broke apart, yet Kai’s hand remained on your cheek. Embarrassment crept up your neck and you could tell from Kai’s red ears that he was feeling the same way. He turned to where the voice came from, brows drawing together to form another dirty glare.

The rustling in the woods was more prevalent now and both you and Kai’s head snapped to the edge of the forest. Before your ears could even pick up on the growling, a large wolf jumped out from between the trees. Both you and Kai raced to your feet and he held a hand out to guide you behind him. You hugged your doll to your chest in fear. Besides his body being tense, Kai remained relatively calm.

The wolf growled and snapped at the two of you, its sharp teeth piercing the air as spit ran down the corners of its jaw. “Awe, he can’t even handle a single wolf… the Ash is going to smoke him out!” Members of the Collective laughed behind you, but Kai paid them no mind. He guided you slowly backwards and away from the edge of the forest.

Kai quickly glanced back at you and the way you trembled, terrified. “It must be hungry,” he said, focusing back on the wolf. Green swirls of magic wrapped around the two of you. “It probably smells the meat from the nearby butcher’s.”

“It wouldn’t kill us, right?” you asked with a shaky voice, already knowing how foolish the question was before finishing it. Kai looked over his shoulder at you again, his face the most serious you’ve seen it, “Make something scared and it’ll do just about anything to get rid of the feeling.”

Just as Kai turned his head back towards the wolf, it pounced at the two of you. Behind it, more wolves prowled out of the woods, snarling. You barely registered that the harrowing scream that filled your ears was your own before you were pushed to the ground.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for once in your entire life. The members of the Collective who were snickering and poking fun at you and Kai jumped into action, spirals of green emerging from their fingertips. More of them piled out from the inn, along with Lamia. You don’t realize that a hand is grabbing your arm and lifting you to your feet before you’re being pushed out of the crossfire.

All you see is green. At least, at first.

Then, splatters of red cover your vision. The screams and cracking of bones fill your ears and bodies fly through the air. Hot tears run down your cheeks and you close your eyes. Then, there is complete and utter silence.

The silence lasts for a moment before all sound comes rushing back to you so fast it felt like your ears were bleeding. There was screaming and crying and more cracking of bones set into place. You opened your eyes to see that the once green pasture you danced in was covered in red—red so dark it was almost black, and disfigured bodies and torn limbs were everywhere.

You stood up from the mud, eyes scanning through the green in the air in search of Kai. When you found him, tending to one of his members whose leg was missing, you breathed a sigh of relief. He was covered in blood and viscera, but it looked like he was unharmed. Barely taking a step in his direction, nails dug into your arm, bringing about a sharp sting that you were all too familiar with.

Body swinging in the opposite direction of Kai, you came face to face with your mother. Her hand reached up to roughly grab your chin. “What have you done?!” She screamed at you.

You glanced around you, never hearing her this angry before. More tears slid out of your eyes and to the dirt below and you tried to talk around the lump in your throat. You took in the destruction all around you, at the dead wolves that were now being carried towards the butcher who stood a couple feet from you. His voice caught in the air, “...a lamb, yeah.” You looked at how many lives the Collective lost in a sheer matter of minutes—and how it was all your fault. “It… I—” you started.

“You brainless child!” Your mother’s hand striked you so hard across the face that you fell back down to the mud at your feet. “Do you know how bad this is for business? Members of the Collective are dead on my soil!” You held your searing cheek with the hand that wasn’t still clutching onto your straw doll as you looked up at your mother with tearful eyes.

“I… I didn’t m—”

“Shut up. Go. I never want to see your vile face again!” Lamia screamed, her wrinkled face turning as red as the sunset behind her. She pointed a shaky finger away from the inn. You stood up on weak legs, your knees shaking. “But—but, Mom—” you cried.

“Go!”

You gave her one last pleading look before taking off, stumbling over your own feet. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t need sight for the place you were running to. You could find Althea in the dark, bound and soundless, if you had to.

You pushed open the doors of the guild and fell to the floor just in front of the counter, startling Althea and the customer she was engaging with. Your chest heaved and your tears formed a puddled at your scraped and dirty knees. “S-She… They’re all…” Your whole body shook and you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

Althea rushed to you, taking you into her arms and completely abandoning her customer. You caught a glimpse of them from Althea’s chest and didn’t know what you saw… Scaly skin that caught the light before a clawed hand pulled the hood further over their face, maybe? Althea shushed you and rubbed comforting circles into your back. “It’s okay, my owlet, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

Love is a very wretched thing. It lets in the rot and the maggots and the ash. But, you still couldn’t help scraping off the corruption and placing it gently in your heart anyway. You couldn’t let go of the thought that maybe it could be beautiful, that it could be worth the cracked skin.

Instead of your usual hiding spot under the counter next to where Althea worked, you were hidden away between shelves at the back of the guild, alone. A book sat open in your lap, but your mind was too distracted to read any of the words in it. You heard the soft pattering of feet along the hardwood and turned to the sound.

Kai stood before you, completely distraught and still covered in blood from the wolf attack.

You waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. You moved the open book in your lap to the side as you sat up. Your lips parted as you thought of something to say. “T-Thank you,” you said finally. “You saved my life.”

Kai’s eyes weren’t the warm brown that they were earlier. Something shifts in them and you swallow thickly. They were cold, lifeless. Kai just nodded and slumped down to the floor next to you. An awkward silence filled the air and you didn’t know what to say to resolve it.

“How did you find me?” you asked in a meek voice. Kai’s eyes shifted over to you from where they looked out the window to the dark sky. “I saw you run here,” he says plainly. “Followed you.”

Silence penetrates the air before he speaks again. “They kicked me out,” Kai says, his lifeless eyes still boring into you. “They kicked me out of the School of Pith.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you rush to apologize, saying how it was all your fault, but Kai just shakes his head and looks away from you. He’s still in his Collective uniform, but now the light, forest-green of his velvet cloak seems dull and dark. It doesn’t help that it’s now splattered with blood. “I guess it was my last chance.”

There’s no inflection in his voice, nothing to show whether the result makes him sad or angry or even annoyed. His face is expressionless. The only hint to his inner turmoil is the way his fingers pull harshly at the seams of his dirty white pants. The tips of them are reddened, like he’s been at it for a while now.

Kai turned back to you and reached a hand up to gently rub his thumb along your bruised cheek. His gaze then dipped to the book on the floor. “What are you reading?”

You hand the book to him, the page opened onto the legend of the White Fawn that Althea told you about. Kai hummed, “You don’t really believe in all that stuff, do you? This myth?”

“You don’t?” you asked incredulously. “You have magic, but don’t believe in a white deer that brings about luck and fortune?”

For the first time that night, you manage to get Kai to chuckle. “I suppose you’re right…” he trailed. “I might not be the firmest believer in myths and legends, but I do know a lot about them. We learned about them at the school—more things than you’ll read about in any book.”

Kai glances at you and catches the way your eyes light up. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. The light still isn't back in his eyes—and his smile doesn't reach them either—but, it’s a start. You look at him as if he just hung all the stars in the pitch black sky.

“You want me to teach you?” Kai asks, and you desperately nod your head.

‎ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏  ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏͏ 𐦍 ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏NEXT ⤇

[ kipo’s note . . . ] wow… a lot happened… you see why it had to be almost 8k words now?? lmaoo i had to set everything up! but tell me how you feel about it all!! what do you think about the faerie realm, or the myths of the forest that watches and the well of life? the white fawn and the prophecy of eternal winter??? lemme know all your thoughts, don’t be shy!!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝘀��𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺.𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

🏷️﹙ 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @hyukascampfire @xylatox @ghstzzn @izzyy-stuff @sunoosgfv @jihyokat @whosserina @jellymochii @innocygnet @sumsumtingz @riribelle @yeoningz @minaateez @beombunni @jiryunn @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @usuallyunlikelyfox @blossommi @tinycatharsis

© jjunbug - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[covenofagatha]

Going up

A morning of working Agatha up ends in an elevator

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: GP Agatha, cumming in pants, blowjob, slight handjob, public (no sex though), oral, light edging

A/N: I don't even know if this is good or not lol but I had the idea and couldn't get it out of my head so hopefully people enjoy it

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

When you wake up on Saturday morning, your first thought is: no work today! This week has been especially rough, the end of the fiscal quarter upon you, and your boss has been working you and the rest of the company to the bone. 

Your head lolls back on the pillow, tilting slightly to your left, where you see said boss sleeping next to you and a smirk spreads over your face. 

Her hair is fanned out across the pillowcase, the creases on her forehead that you’re used to seeing at work not as evident. She looks peaceful, more relaxed than she ever does awake, and it does something to your chest. 

Agatha Harkness is the Chief Operating Officer for the largest law firm in New York City. She runs a no-nonsense ship, barking out orders to everyone and anyone regardless of who you are. There’s rumors that she’s made interns pee themselves with just a single look. 

It’s no secret that she’s tightly wound and, without a doubt, a piece of work. The running joke between some of the attorneys was that she really needed to get laid. 

And while you found that incredibly sexist, that’s where you came in. 

For some reason, Agatha had always had a soft spot for you, one of the top Senior Associate attorneys for the company. Whereas when everyone else turned in reports and whatnot and got a mere eyebrow raise, she actually smiled at you. 

You were certain it was just a fluke that kept happening over and over again, but one night in her corner office, the two of you were tirelessly working on a lawsuit for a tech company and you had taken off your blazer. The air conditioning had broken, and you were working up a sweat.  

She was sitting adjacent to you on the couch, and you can still remember her swallowing hard when you undid the top two buttons of your silk blouse. She shifted, hands dropping to her lap uncomfortably, but you didn’t think much of it. 

And then you had decided that writing on paper against a book in your lap was too hard, so you had slunk off the couch onto your knees to use the coffee table as a better surface and Agatha had groaned. 

You had looked up in concern to find her fingers digging into her thighs so tightly her knuckles were white and you could see a faint tent in her pants. 

“Do you need some help with that?” You had asked, eyes wide and feeling like you were in a dream. Of course you had a crush on Agatha, she was powerful and bossy and the hottest woman you’d ever seen, but you had been convinced she would never even think of you as anything more than a subordinate. 

It was stupid to offer, she was probably going to report you to HR the next day, but she had made a small sound and gave an affirmative jerk of her head, and the next thing you knew, she had pulled out her cock and you were sucking her off right there in her office. 

Turns out, the other attorneys had been right. 

Agatha was in a much better mood the next day, actually saying thank you to the intern who brought her morning coffee instead of ignoring him completely. 

That night three months ago was the start of a mutual coworkers-with-benefits relationship, if you could call it that. You had brought it up to Agatha one time and she had snorted before fondly telling you to go bother someone else. 

With the end of the quarter coming up though, there had been a lot more late nights, including last night, when Agatha had stopped you from getting into your car after working until ten pm and dragged you into her company car, her mouth on yours before the partition between the backseat and the driver had gotten all the way up. 

The two of you had fucked for close to an hour when you had gotten back to Agatha’s penthouse apartment and promptly passed out. 

And you’re hoping more than anything that today, a planned day off, is full of more of Agatha’s cock inside you. 

Your boss stirs next to you, exhaling heavily, and when she presses her hips against you, you can feel her half-hardened length. It instantly sends a thrill straight to your stomach and you slowly inch down the covers to reveal your still-naked bodies. 

You reach out your hand and run your thumb over her nipple, watching it pebble quickly, and then skim your fingertips down the smooth skin of her back, a trail of goosebumps following. She’s laying on her side facing you so you’re able to watch her eyebrows knit together slightly. Your hand reaches her hip and then slides down and you’re about to touch her cock when she suddenly grabs your wrist. 

It makes you jump. Agatha’s blue eyes flutter open to meet your surprised ones. 

“What are you doing, babygirl?” She rasps, voice still hoarse with sleep, and it makes you shudder. 

“I thought I’d help you out with your problem,” you tease. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully, letting go of your hand and stroking her cock. You watch with rapt fascination as it hardens fully under her touch and you have to squeeze your thighs together to try and satiate the burning feeling in your stomach. “I think that’s only fair,” she decides. “seeing as it’s your fault I’m turned on.” 

You grin and maneuver her onto her back and straddle her thighs, bending over her to suck her nipple into your mouth. She makes a muffled sound and her hips jerk up, her now-leaking cock brushing against your stomach. You tease her for a minute or two before kissing down her stomach and you scrape your teeth against her hip bone. 

By the time you get to her cock, she’s already thrusting gently against nothing for stimulation, red, hard, and messy and when you run your tongue up the length while holding eye contact, she lets out a loud moan and her hand flies to your hair. You trace the vein on the side until she’s practically whimpering, legs shaking beneath you, and then you take the tip into your mouth and suck. 

Agatha keens and her back arches off the bed. “Fuck,” she mumbles. “God, babygirl, your mouth feels so good.” 

You move your head down her cock and you feel her pulse in your mouth and her hips jump, shoving herself further into your throat. You gag and she groans and you start to move faster, Agatha throbbing inside your mouth and –

– her phone rings. 

Agatha swears and scrambles to answer it, barking out a “What?” right as you swallow around her cock. She fixes you with a warning glare as you laugh, the vibrations forcing her to clamp a hand over her mouth. 

You hold her stare and take the whole thing into your mouth, rubbing your tongue against her and her head falls back onto the pillow. It’s getting harder for her to stay quiet, especially with you bobbing up and down her cock and she eventually has to pull you off her before she inevitably cums into your mouth while on the phone. 

So you just watch her, licking your lips and taking a moment to breathe. She’s getting more and more pissed by the minute, eyes becoming dark and angry, a frown etching onto her face, and you can hear the other person saying something about a contract and a multi-million dollar deal and how the company could be fucked without it, and when Agatha’s erection slowly softens, you know what it means. 

She hangs up the phone and your head falls onto her stomach dramatically. “Do we have to?” You groan and Agatha huffs out a sigh. 

“Stark Industries might be pulling out unless we amend some of the clauses in that contract. We need to go in,” she says. 

“Can I at least finish you off first?” You offer and her cock twitches at the thought. 

Agatha chews on her lip like she’s seriously considering it, but then pats your cheek. “Maybe later, babygirl.” 

You roll your eyes and flop onto the bed and she chuckles as she gets up and pulls some clothes out of her drawer. She puts on a navy blue suit and tosses an outfit at you, a black pencil skirt and white blouse. 

“Let’s go,” she orders, never out of boss mode for too long. You petulantly make your movements as slow as possible until she threatens to spank you for it later, and although it doesn’t really seem like it’d be much of a punishment, you hurry up. 

She grabs two apples from her fridge, hands one to you, and calls her car. The driver is waiting right outside when you get down to the lobby and you slide in after her. 

“You know what I’d rather be doing?” You ask conversationally after leaning forward to press the button for the partition to go up. 

Agatha’s scrolling on her phone and hums in acknowledgement. 

“Sucking your cock,” you answer and Agatha stiffens. “I love the taste of you, love how you lose composure for me, love how it feels when you cum in my mouth.” 

She’s biting her lip now and you can see the outline of her rapidly hardening cock in her pants. You reach out and put your hand on the bulge and she grits her teeth, still turned on from earlier. 

“Honey,” she warns through a clenched jaw. “Don’t.”

But you don’t listen. You slowly start to move your fingers, stroking up and down and feeling her throb in her pants. She swallows roughly and she’s getting harder, a flush settling into her cheeks and neck. 

You lean in and flick your tongue against her earlobe and she shivers. 

“Don’t let this think you’re in charge,” she says tightly. “You just wait until we get back to my apartment. I’ll remind you.” 

You laugh. “Really? Cause it feels like I’m holding a lot of the power right now.” And to emphasize your point, you give her cock a tight squeeze, immensely enjoying the way she groans. 

“You’re going to be on your knees,” she says in a low, gruff voice. It ignites your stomach. “My cock down your throat, and then I’m going to cum all over that pretty little face and you’re going to thank me for it.” 

The image securely mounts itself in your mind and you gasp. 

“And then, I’m going to fuck you into the mattress until you can’t remember your name and all you’re going to feel is my cock deep inside you,” she continues and you can feel your mind going foggy. Your hand has stopped moving, but you can feel just how much the thought is affecting her, too. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, your underwear practically sticking to you. Agatha smirks triumphantly, now both of you overwhelmingly turned on, but the joke is on both of you when the driver pulls up in front of the office building. 

You both groan and reluctantly get out of the car, despite you asking Agatha for five more minutes. The cold air in the lobby does little to quell the heat in your stomach and you drag your feet on the way to the elevator. 

Much to your surprise, there’s quite a lot of other employees working on this Saturday, most of them not from your law firm, so when the doors open and everyone steps on, all different numbers are pressed. 

With fifty-five floors, it’s one of the taller skyscrapers in the area, and the executives of the law firm are on the top. There’s at least twenty other stops on the elevator ride and you roll your eyes and follow Agatha straight to the back corner, turning around so your back is facing her. 

You go up one floor and the doors ding. Five more people get in and you’re practically on top of Agatha now with how packed it is. You move your body sideways to make more room, your hip knocking against Agatha. 

“Sorry,” you murmur and she makes a small sound, hand coming up to ruffle her hair. You pull out your phone and you’re scrolling through emails, clicking on one from one of the paralegals asking for advice about a case they’re working on and typing out a quick response, when you hear Agatha sharply inhale. 

And then you feel it. 

You had thought that once you’d gotten out of the car and you were no longer directly and purposely touching her, she would calm down. 

That is clearly not the case. 

This is the hardest she’s been all morning. 

You try and catch her eye, which takes longer than it should because of how hard she’s trying not to look at you. 

Really? You mouth when she finally gives in. 

Agatha turns uncharacteristically red and you feel your body flush. You had no idea you could affect her this much and it’s seriously turning you on. 

She tries to turn her hips away but there’s no room so your boss has no choice other than to keep her throbbing cock pressed against you. 

The elevator dings at the eighth floor. One person gets out. You tilt your head up at Agatha and find a slight sheen of sweat on her cheeks and glassy eyes. She’s staring straight ahead, lips pursed tightly together, looking like she’s in sweet, agonizing pain. 

How much stimulation is she getting right now? You’re not moving, she’s not moving, and yet she sometimes doesn’t even look like this when she’s inside you. 

Should you be offended? You decide to not be, based on what you’ve put her through this morning. 

Eleventh floor. Three people get off and she sucks in a deep breath when you can finally step away from her. Your eyes flicker down to the very visible tent in her pants and you clench your thighs together. She watches you and you swear you can see her cock throb through the navy fabric of her pants. 

Twentieth floor. More people get in and you’re pushed back against her. She lets out a small gasp and you gently lay your fingers on her wrist. 

Agatha shudders and you can feel your wetness on your inner thighs. You might have to go to the bathroom when you get out of the elevator and take care of yourself. 

Not like you would last more than three minutes right now. 

Your boss is now fully staring at you, barely any blue left in her eyes, a look you’ve never seen before on her face. 

It’s thrilling. 

Thirty-third floor. More people file out, muttering excuse me and sorry as they wade through the crowd. 

Now there’s more room in the elevator, enough room where you could step away from Agatha and give yourselves both some breathing room. 

You don’t move. 

Agatha is taking deep, slow breaths, her cheeks surely burning to the touch right now, and at least she’s wearing a dark color to hide the stain she is assuredly going to have on her pants. 

Babygirl, she mouths pleadingly when you finally look at her again and you have to stifle a moan at how needy she looks right now. 

And what kind of person would you be if you didn’t help her out? 

You’ve been standing perpendicular to her, your hip and side of your right leg pressed against her body. 

Fiftieth floor. 

Mostly everyone has cleared out by now. 

You slowly turn your body to face the doors, making sure to carefully drag your ass against her, and her hand grips onto your arm with a vice-like grip from behind you. 

She twitches and pulses and then throbs, and you can feel warmth spread on the back of your – her skirt as she cums in her pants, ever-so-slightly rutting against you. Agatha lets out a muffled groan, followed by a cough for show; there’s still three other people in the elevator. 

The elevator dings on the fifty-fifth floor and Agatha takes a shaky breath as the two of you exit. You feel like you’re burning up and each step you take reminds you of how much of a mess you’ve become. 

“You okay?” You murmur as you walk down aisles of cubicles. 

Agatha weakly laughs. “Next time I’ll just let you finish sucking me off before coming to work.” 

The thought makes you smirk and she opens the door to her office, holding it for you. She walks around her desk and pulls out a pair of underwear and pants for herself (you’ve both started having to keep extra clothes for times like these) and she beckons you into the private bathroom attached. 

You eagerly follow, and you’re even more thrilled when she slams you against the wall and sinks to her knees. Her hooded eyes look up at you as she pushes up the skirt you’re wearing and your head drops back with a gasp escaping from your lips when her mouth sucks on your pussy through your panties. 

Agatha quickly moves them to the side, having enough of her own teasing, and buries her tongue inside you and it pulls an obscene moan from deep in your chest. 

It feels so fucking good and you’re already on the edge from getting Agatha all worked up this morning. She chuckles at how wet you are, how you’re already getting her face soaked, and she swirls her tongue around your clit and your hips roll, chasing more. 

She brings you right to your orgasm – it’s almost embarrassing how quickly it happens – and you’re shaking, trembling, begging, but she stops. 

“No, Agatha, please,” you whine, hand in her hair and trying to push her back against you, but she stands back up and licks her lips. The bottom half of her face is glistening, shiny with your wetness in the harsh light of the bathroom. 

She pouts mocking and makes quick work of turning around and changing her clothes while you frantically start to rub yourself with your own fingers. You’re so close–

“Uh uh,” she tuts, catching your eye in the mirror. You almost sob and she whirls back around to suck your fingers into her mouth. They slip out with a pop! “You got me all worked up until I came in my pants like a fucking teenager, babygirl. You think I’m going to let that slide? You think you’re in charge? Well, now I’m going to get you all worked up and you will not be cumming until we’re back in my apartment, got it?” 

All you can do is whimper and the grin she gives you is wicked. With one pat to your cheek, she pushes you out of the bathroom just in time for one of the attorneys, Alice Wu, to come into her office. 

Agatha slides into her chair while you awkwardly stand next to her desk while Alice lays a contract on it. 

You can’t even pretend to be paying attention, still focused on the orgasm you were just denied and how maybe if you just press your legs together really hard–

Agatha says your name. Probably not the first time she’s said it, judging by her annoyed tone, but when you look at her, she winks, like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

You roll your eyes, step closer so you’re next to Agatha, and lean over so you can see what Alice is talking about. You have to repress a gasp when you feel your boss’s hand tracing up the back of your thigh through your skirt, just low enough so no one can see. 

Agatha watches you carefully out of her peripheral vision, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a smirk. 

You are fucked.  

[chippedshake]

prompt request: cherry and bob on their first date WALK WITH ME ON THIS ONE

okay okay so I will definitely be writing this in the near future but for now here's the skeleton of my idea because I'm impatient ok (i've never written either of these characters so bear with me):

we open with a Marcia and Cherry scene

Cherry's getting ready to go on her date with Bob and she's kinda not all that excited because she's gone out with guys before and she always thought they were sweet and smart and nice and whatever but they turned out to just be assholes who were into her because she was pretty and popular

so even though she likes Bob, she can't convince herself that he's different from everyone else

I have developed a whole strategy for how she'll pick out her clothes

I love Marcia so even though she isn't in these bullet points you better believe she's gonna be in the fic

Then Bob appears

Cherry describes like an archetype of what first dates are usually like and Bob will subvert. every. single. point.

like 1st one is the guy always shows up with flowers that are always a pain because they die quickly and Cherry doesn't even like flowers all that much but lo and behold Bob shows up with a chocolate chip cookie from her favourite place

when she asks he says she mentioned once that she doesn't like flowers and finds them depressing and that they ran into each other in the bakery a couple months ago and she said it was her favourite place

Bob is down bad okay

1.5th point because I'm adding this later and don't feel like editing everything: the guy will always say "you look pretty" the moment they see her and Cherry doesn't like it because it feel artificial, like it's just their obligation to say it

Bob trained with Bev (idk if you've seen/heard of the musical but she's a Soc girl they made up to be friends with Cherry and Marcia) about what to say to a girl and compliments her earrings in particular and the colour combination

then the 2nd point is that they always bring her to a way too fancy restaurant that neither of them really like

They go out for a picnic and it's actually a really pretty setting and Bob is a terrible cook so he brought like sandwiches or something that his mom had to help him make

also 3rd point. guaranteed awkward silence when they have nothing to talk about, followed by the guy rambling about himself.

First question Bob asks: what do you wanna work as

and they talk about how Cherry wants to be a kindergarten teacher

then she asks the same question back and he says he wants to be a lawyer

when she asks why he just says his dad's a lawyer

maybe a cute moment where she says he’s his own person? idk

4th point: at some point the guy puts his hand on her thigh or something and she tries to wriggle out as subtly as possible

subverted, as usual

I'm sorry but Bob absolutely will earn the "stood out from the crowd" and "he was sweet" title, okay? In Ponyboy’s words: Cherry's smart. She wouldn't like him just 'cause he's good-looking

5th point: they're ridiculously smooth and are still flirting with her on the date, and it feels like they're trying to conquer her or something and it's incredibly uncomfortable

Bob stutters a bit and messes up and goes back on his words and will accidentally make like fifteen innuendos and apologise each time but Cherry likes it because it makes her feel like he actually likes her and is nervous (that's because it's true mijita)

finally, 6th point: they always try to kiss her goodnight even when she makes it abundantly clear they won't be seeing each other again

Bob actually fucking shakes her hand and goes to head back to his car

They end up hugging goodbye and make sure to coordinate a second date

the end

they're very cute and I love them. I hadn't ever thought about them really so thank you for the ask <3333

[gatheredfates]

Yes, you've hit the nail on the head for me! It's why I wanted to preface that the utilisation of mods for personal joy/accessibility is not my issue with them, and I think that people should be able to expand on character customisation—especially while SE continues to struggle with afro-textured hair (as just one example). It's the elitism around mods and the belief that if you don't have mods or don't agree with them that you're somehow 'lesser' and not worth the same amount of time as someone who sinks that level of commitment into their characters.

Let's be honest? It is a commitment, but that isn't necessarily a good thing.

When a (former) friend got hers, she got mad at me and said "I didn't know you had a photographer, I didn't give them my code" then left.

And

Another former friend said if a place has no public synchshells, she leaves.

Are endemic of a community that values aesthetic over substance; who cannot bear to have their character perceived in any way other than what they have meticulously crafted using third party tools to the detriment and exclusion of people who cannot or will not access them. Maybe it's that I'm just old(er) now? But, at least back when I wrote in WoW and text-based RP, you could slap a picture of an anime character/actor down and be like 'they look like this but with black hair and green eyes' and it was fine. You didn't need a picture at all, really, and it was STILL fine! Because it was the content of their writing, their personal character and their drive for inclusion that meant something. You could use your ~imagination~ to envision the gaps in the game engine or picture(s).

It's incredibly sad that I can walk into a room on Sarrai, someone who is very extroverted and loves to chat and include people, and be outrightly ignored and/or made to feel like I'm 'intruding' on a space because I've not been there previously (and am unknown to the group at large) or that my clothes/hair/etc. might still be vanilla. There's an irony when I'm included once people work out I run the Compendium, but it's not nice.

It's a double-edged sword for me when people tell Pepper and I they feel safe at the Fireside because we interact with people no matter their skill/mods, because it's the highest praise to know we have created a venue that is safe, but that's in direct competition to places that aren't. I don't care if you use mods or not! I have highly modded characters (El) and characters that don't have mods at all (Kor) because I'm happy with how she looks. Why should I modify her just so she fits with the crowd? It's ridiculous and needlessly gatekeep-y when roleplay is already a weird hobby to begin with. None of us are cool, guys! I promise! You're weird and it's fine actually!

The answer is there: You have to work on making spaces that are welcoming to everyone. But it also means a lot of the community has to do some introspection on why their mods matter so much within their place in the community and why everything has to be meticulously crafted and squeaky clean, otherwise people will have an aversion to you. We're roleplayers/gposers/etc. We're not companies!

I'm begging people to be more earnest and vulnerable. Anyone with half a brain will see it. You don't need to adhere to the aesthetic unless it makes you happy. We need to do more to be open, accommodating and kind to people; especially those who are limited to vanilla, writing, etc. I'm tired of writing, the tool we all use to expand on our character(s) place in the world, being undervalued.

Playerscope, modding and the hunt for aesthetic: why you should be more upset about mods and community expectations than you already are.

I love that this sounds like an academic paper but HONESTLYYYY. I need to put my thoughts to paper in regards to my burnout with xiv, otherwise I think I'll go insane. This is a controversial yet brave post. I am well aware that I partake in some of the things I'm going to be critiquing; aka, "thank you, dinklebottom, we live in a society." I'm also not critiquing mods from a space of offering more accessibility to people and/or facilitating representation not currently offered within the context of the game. There is nuance to every discussion and I'm coming at this from an overarching view around mods and community expectations/standards rather than player joy. I hope this makes sense. I'm also predominately writing from a roleplay perspective, though I'm sure a lot of what I end up saying can reflect in the art party/social space. Just know if I haven't mentioned the latter it's because that's not my scene and I don't pretend to know otherwise.

Anyway. For those who don't know, there's a new mod that's causing some strife in the xiv community called Playerscope. Here is the reddit thread about it. I'm not going to be talking too much about the mod in general because that's not the point of this post, but seeing discussion around it today just made me feel more exhausted than I already am when it comes to modding and the xiv community around it. It made me realise... I'm actually really sick to death of mods. I'm sick to death of what they're doing to the community when it comes to gatekeeping, policing and in general the interactions we have with each other in the community.

Let me explain: I wrote a post about the roleplay mod on bsky that kind of articulates at a surface level what I mean.

I think what makes me sad, which I'm sure is echoed by a lot of people, is that mods feel like the standard now rather than an option and that there's a certain expectation for people to have them if they want to engage with facets of the community—whether intentional or not.

Unlike XIV, WoW has a supported mod scene (within reason) and TRP 2 and the like have been accepted for years now. In a space where people can't slap on an RP tag, having that tool readily identifies you as a writer/roleplayer and you can include as much or as little of your character as you like. The general idea is if you have one of these tools enabled, you're a roleplayer to some capacity. You can dress up the profile to a certain degree, you can add links and supported pictures, but you're mostly reliant on what you put to paper in regards to your character. Even then, I find filling out what my character is doing currently and marking the rest as a WIP doesn't necessarily exclude me from roleplay if I want to find it. A lot of people will do that and a super simple description to incite interest around their oc.

These days in XIV... I don't know. I do think communities have gotten more insular—it's why I'm so pedantic about trying to find them for the Compendium—but I also think mods and, to a certain extent, the 'nightclub' scene have gotten in the way of it as well. My argument is such.

I want to go to an event (for example sake, I'll call it Seascape). In order to fully participate, I may need:

Their discord.

A roleplay addon.

A carrd/google site/etc.

Their synchshell (including mods, mare and everything else)

Potentially a mod of some description so people know I can see theirs (and vice versa).

Also that your mod isn't made by a shitty person.

Appropriate understanding of the scene/social space.

Some luck and a prayer that it's an inclusive space and not a closed rp group advertising as being open and/or a mod showcase advertising itself as something different.

Like??? Holy shit you guys. If you are someone who doesn't want to mod because you're worried about repercussions it really just feels like a big 'fuck you, good luck'.

And let me be clear, not every community is like this. I'm incredibly lucky to have found fantastic roleplay within my own rp event/community, I have great friends who run awesome, inclusive events for people of any skill (writing or otherwise) and I do fully believe you can just enable the rp tag and find fun, fulfilling roleplay. But I've also found the above a lot of times, too. I've had people point-blank get mad at my partner because he won't install mods and try to exclude and/or circumvent him in spaces. It's weird. I've been to events where the only time I felt like I got proper interaction(s) was when I joined the aforementioned, even if I have my character's profile linked in my about. It's weird.

Honestly, no wonder new roleplayers feel overwhelmed. Not only do they have to learn roleplay etiquette, they have to be a mod expert overnight? It feels less about what someone can bring to the table as far as a story but what mods they can install to either look cool or pass an unspoken social barrier. As much as I'm down bad for aesthetic and looking the part, I hate it being at the cost of accessibility and fun for someone else.

Arguably it's the same for gposing and the like as well, which contributes to my exhaustion alongside all the graphical changes and I just. I'm gnawing at the bars of my cage.

I don't think it's going to change and arguably it's more of a Twitter/X issue than a Tumblr, one but Tumblr lets me write mini essays and Twitter will tell me to kms.

Ergo, I'll go with the essay-writing platform.

Anyway, I guess this is just a reminder that you don't need 4596419651 mods to be in the community and that people should be more vigilant on including people who don't have them for whatever reason, provided they operate in good-faith and want to contribute. I think we're careening to a slippery slope of expectation for something unsupported and I don't like it.

[fiftyfiftyfinchy]

hello hello, hope you’re doing well <3

i would like to request a lil fic of george clarke x reader where the reader is a huge metal artist and george essentially forces the boys to attend her band’s show and they’re front row, just rlly fluffy and george being the hugest simp ever. thank you so much <33!

This request was such a fun challenge to tackle—it really pushed me creatively, and I absolutely loved every minute of writing it. Thank you to everyone who has sent requests in!

The backstage air reeks of hairspray and stale beer, a kind of chemical cocktail that feels like home. I’m cross-legged on a couch that’s seen better days, my guitar on my lap like a second ribcage. The strings dig into my fingertips as I strum a few lazy chords, trying to pretend I’m relaxed. This is supposed to be fun—a surprise gig at a tiny venue, the kind of place I played before everything got big. And yet, the familiar hum of anxiety sits low in my stomach, coiling tighter with every muffled cheer I hear from the crowd outside.

There’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” I call, half expecting my manager with another last-minute update.

But it’s George. He steps in with his usual boyish grin and a large bouquet of red roses, which he’s holding like he’s not sure what to do with them. “Hey, rockstar.”

My heart does that stupid flutter thing, and I have to bite back a smile. “George! What are you doing back here?”

“Had to wish you good luck in person,” he says, handing me the flowers. “Also, you look incredible. Not that you ever don’t.”

I laugh, setting the roses on the table next to an abandoned coffee cup. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” he says, closing the distance between us. His fingers find a stray strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re going to kill it tonight. I’ll be out there, front row, taking way too many pictures like a proud mum.”

“You’re impossible,” I say, but I’m grinning anyway. George has this way of making me feel seen in a way that’s too much and not enough all at once. “You know you’re going to stick out, right?” I gestured to his pale blue sweater and lightwash jeans.

“Good thing I’m not trying to blend in,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Break a leg out there.”

“I just might!,” I call as he heads for the door. He pauses, throwing me a mischievous look over his shoulder.

“Oh, and… you might notice something interesting when you’re on stage. Just keep an eye out.”

Before I can demand an explanation, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my curiosity and the soft scent of roses.

——-

Out in the crowd, George adjusts the band T-shirt he’s just purchased, the fabric still stiff from the merch table. “Come on, lads, it’ll be fun. Just keep an open mind.”

“Mate,” Arthur Hill says, glaring at the mosh pit as though it’s personally offended him. “You’re more excited about this than you’ve ever been about my gigs. Should I take it personally?”

“I’ll come to your next one, I swear,” George says with a laugh. “But admit it—tonight’s going to be a story to tell.”

Chris groans, already rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ll remember it when my ears are bleeding tomorrow.”

“Earplugs, mate,” Isaac says, holding up a pair like he’s just won a survivalist competition. “Be smart.”

Chip is practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes locked on the chaotic throng in front of the stage. “This is going to be sick. ArthurTV, you ready to throw down?”

ArthurTV’s eyes widen. “I… don’t think that’s my thing.”

“It’s everyone’s thing if you try hard enough,” Chip says, grabbing his arm and hauling him toward the madness. George stays back, shaking his head and smiling like someone’s dad at a theme park.

——-

By the second song, the crowd is a single, writhing organism. My guitar roars like an animal, each solo ripping through the air like claws. The fretboard is a battlefield under my fingers, precise and unforgiving. I glance out into the chaos and immediately spot George, bright and obvious, phone held high as he snaps photo after photo. His friends… well, they’re trying. Chip is fully immersed, dragging a flailing and slightly horrified ArthurTV into the pit. Even Chris and Isaac are nodding along by the fourth song, though Chris looks like he’s silently mourning his eardrums.

Backstage staff pass by, chuckling. “Your boyfriend’s mates are… something else,” someone says.

“Tell me about it,” I reply, but I’m smiling so hard it hurts. George’s support is one thing, but seeing his friends—most of whom probably thought metal was a punishment—start to come around? That’s something else entirely.

——-

The final chord fades, the house lights flicker on, and the crowd’s roar feels like it’s rattling my ribcage. Backstage, I’m still coming down from the high when the door bursts open and George strides in, his grin wider than the Thames.

“You were incredible,” he says, pulling me into his arms before I can even catch my breath.

I bury my face in his chest, his heartbeat grounding me. “Thanks. But, uh, your friends look like they’ve been through a war zone.”

“Oi, we survived!” Chip says, flopping onto the couch like he’s just run a marathon. “ArthurTV even moshed.”

“I was dragged,” ArthurTV clarifies, collapsing beside him with a groan.

Arthur Hill smirks. “I’ll admit it, George. She’s got more stage presence than you ever have. No offense.”

George doesn’t miss a beat. “None taken. I told you she’s amazing.”

Chris gives me a reluctant nod. “Alright, that was fun. Don’t expect me to become a regular or anything, but… yeah. Good show.”

George pulls back slightly, brushing a thumb over my cheek. “I think I got some good pictures. Sorry if I blinded you with the flash, though,” he said with a giggle. 

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, laughing, watching him scroll through the more than fifty pictures he took of me on stage. I sneak a glance at his face, alive with excitement and pride. My chest swells with something too big to name. His support has always been loud and unwavering, but seeing him drag his reluctant friends into my world and watch them get swept up in it? It felt next level.

As his arm slips around my shoulders and he leans down to kiss the top of my head, I realize it doesn’t matter where I’m playing or who’s in the crowd. If George is there, it’ll always feel like home.

[iwannascreameurekaa]

pjo characters favorite Chappell roan looks part 1

guess who found this stupid list again I keep forgetting I do these things. spoiler warning this is ooc and very bad. I did most of this at 3-5 am so get ready for sleep deprived writing. part 2

Leo's is 100% this look from the 2024 VMAs. You tell me he wouldn't absolutely adore the edits of her saying "not me bitch" he would actually say "zoo wee mama" unironically okay

Percy's is this from the album cover for the rise and fall of a Midwest princess photo shoot both because of how it has an intense feeling of being out a place and because it's BLUE! Also he likes the lighting of the photo

Pipers is the marching band outfit from the hot to go music video

Jason fav is the butterfly look from Coachella 2024 

Hazel is absolutely obsessed with the tiny desk concert look and I agree because OH MY GODS. Hazel loves the layering of the hair, and that there's a trash bag in Chappells hair. Her favorite part about the whole outfit is the socks but the little butterfly clip in Chappells hair is so cute to Hazel. 

Annabeths favorite is the Statue of Liberty look from the governors ball yes it might be because she's an architecture nerd but also she's a bi disaster mkay

Franks is the white swan look from Jimmy Fallon. He will scream the bridge to good luck babe even tho he's a man and he will BLAST THAT SHIT TOO. 

Grover's fav look is when she was on the comment section podcast. It's whimsical and cute and he adores it. Also he supports Chappell roan 100% on the boundaries she set bc SHE IS A PERSON BE NICE YALL ☹️ he's a Chappell defender for life 

Drews favorite is the casual mv dress (whoa sapphic drew anyone???) let's just say she had a "situationship" thing and now I wanna write angst anyways FUCKED YOU IN THE BATHROOM WHEN WE WENT TO DINNERRR

Katie loves the giver outfit. The plaid is something that Katie can't NOT love okay. The curls and whole country vibe really get her 

Lit loved the taxi dress. he recognizes cunt when he sees it and he cracks up at the green paint 

Nyssa loves the snl look but specifically with the hat the hats important okay. I think a kid of Hephaestus would really like this outfit bc of the rope things and um idk how to describe it you know what I mean tho okay 

Blitz absolutely adore the pink pony club outfit from chappells performance on snl. The seamless white dress that sparkles and looks like literal heaven is something that can't be hated by someone who loves fashion as much as blitz does. He loves the stripe of white in chappells wig and the bow on the side of her waist. Really the whole outfit is incredibly and he will not hesitate to tell you 

Georgie likes this look from either one of chappells tours or from when she opened for Olivia Rodrigo I cant remember but she loves the tassels (?) and the shininess and everything about it. This is the outfit an 8 year old would adore

Alabasters fav is this magician look from a photo shoot that I can't the remember the name of. Maybe a little cliche but shush

Ethan's favorite is this incredibly look that I have no idea what to call or where it's from. All I know is that Chappell is serving all sorts of things and Ethan agrees with me okay I'm literally Rick himself 

Shels favorite is the snl look but without the hat. She likes the waist pieces she says they look like butterflies and she really likes the slick back look of her hair and then the curls messy in the back. It's a vibe. 

Sams favorite is the look Chappell had on Sabrina carpenters Christmas special A Nonsense Christmas. There's two pics because I absolutely adore this look. She's so elegant wtf.

Lavinias favorite is the dress Chappell had on when she was invited to perform with Olivias Rodrigo at one of her concerts. It's pink it's flowery it's sparkly, what more could you ask for? 

Cecil would've tried to recreate this makeup look and he would've failed miserably. The tights really pull this outfit together. The neck ruffle, the flowers in her hair. Cecil loves everything about it.  

Calypsos favorite look is the Marie ann look with the wig because a) it absolutely eats and even this 6000 year old girl can recognize an icon and b) calypsos a sucker for the flower embroidery on the front 

Gwen would've loved this like I don't know anything about her but she feels like the kinda gal to be obsessed with marriage culture and not in a "I wanna get married and have a big beautiful wedding" way I mean a "I know every aspect of this, good and bad, and am willing to be the backbone of the failing society" way 

Rip Lou Ellen you would've loved kaleidoscope. Rick can you give Lou a book and then make her a tragic lesbian I would love that please and thank you. Also the freaking star clips in this outfit are fiahkajda. Btw this is chappells kaleidoscope outfit and yes it's lous fav and it's beautiful. 

paolos fav is the angel look. Basic? maybe. but stunning? yes

Zoes fav is this blue cowboy look. It's shiny and she likes the color blue. Also the sparkles kinda look like stars... whoa who said that whattt

Bianca's fav is this wonderful look that is glitching and the backgrounds gone my phone is about to explode I apologize. The detail on this is insane. The tassels hanging from every end, the points and curves that really give it that alternative and crazy look. Rip Bianca you wouldve loved the subway.  

Dionysus but Mr D specifically. He's a queer icon and he loves the other queer icons as well. This outfit from the guts would tour film premiere is his favorite  because of many reason. First is the red mesh the entire dress is made off. Chappells whole red aesthetic really does remind me of red wine and shit and also I'm just grasping for ways to connect this to Mr d so bear with me. Also the flowers on the dress are so freaking pretty usgajfjwhwh love those. The black boots contrast great with the rest of the outfit and I know Mr d would like that detail. Also the fact that her tits are almost out. yes Dionysus wouldve love you yes Chappell get it girl I love you

Luke's favorite is this look. I don't know where it's from but I think this reminds Luke of his mom. Maybe his mom liked animal print idk I just like this outfit

Junipers fav is this one and I also don't know where it's from. It's a simpler outfit than others but it's so adorable and juniper would love chappells aesthetic okay like juniper would be the biggest fan of California I just KNOW

and that's all I have. of course there's so many more looks and characters so if I missed anyone or a look you like feel free to request it I am bored out of my mind rn

part 2

[elpeadro]

Part 1: The Good Ending

Part 2: The Bad, Tragic Ending

If the writers wanted CaitVi to be their canon OTP so bad, they had two ways of going about it…sike there was a secret third ending all along!

THE DISJUMBLED, TONAL MESS OF AN ENDING WE GOT:

Despite the pacing and dialogue issues of the first three episodes, I have nothing bad to say about Act 1’s ending. Caitlyn’s corruption arc, while extremely rushed in getting to this point given where her characterization was at in season 1, reaches its climax as we see just how far she has fallen: being willing to shoot a child, lashing out and hitting Vi, saying some incredibly bigoted things toward Vi, and, the pièce de résistance and one of my favorite scenes in the entire show, becoming the dictator of Piltover as the enforcers and Noxians beat their chests in salute to her. When Ambessa drapes that cloak over her shoulders and Caitlyn thumps her fist against her chest, it feels like the birth of a monster - and I mean that in the best way possible.

And she is a monster…except her actions are mostly confined to two music montages in episodes 3 and 4 and then shuffled off to the side for Warwick in Act 2 and the Machine Herald War in Act 3.

Just as it is a major problem when she goes from naive and priviledged, but good-hearted S1 Caitlyn to “let’s commit war crimes against a civilian population” S2 Caitlyn in the span of the Heavy is the Crown + Hellfire montages, it is even more a problem when the near-entirety of her dictator era is confined to the Paint the Town Blue montage. Because while I would begrudgingly accept the former being rushed to set up the latter’s payoff, the writers don’t pay it off.

At the end of episode 3, Caitlyn ascends to dictatorship. At the beginning of episode 4, she is questioning Ambessa, the justifications for martial law, and Maddie even suggests she could reinstate the council and remove herself as dictator. Can you say ‘jarring’?

That’s not how this works! You don’t write a good character having a fall from grace into a villain arc, then fast forward through the lowest and worst points of said arc. It’s like they made her a dictator just for the flavor it would give her character combined with the angst of her and Vi breaking up. Which, that’s bad writing process to begin with, but it’s especially bad when the writing has her BECOME A FASCIST DICTATOR.

You absolutely cannot evoke the political imagery of fascism only to not follow through on it. It is a conscious, deliberate choice to write and animate the end of episode 3 and the opening montage of episode 4 as they are presented.

In the Paint the Town Blue montage, we see: 

banners with the Kiramman crest being hung up all over the city

security checkpoints for Zaunites with armed enforcers standing watch

a prison with watchtowers and tall, barbed wire fences

enforcers acting as riot police (complete with riot shields)

Zaunites throwing Molotovs at said riot police

unarmed Zaunites running from armed enforcers

a Zaunite prisoner being photographed standing against a wall with a bag over their head (I really want to point this one out)

an enforcer stepping on the head of a Zaunite who is already laying on the ground and being handcuffed by another enforcer

Zaunite rebels hiding in a boarded up shop from armed enforcers

Zaunite prisoners being marched forward with their hands behind their heads

an enforcer beating someone

a line of Zaunites kneeling with their hands cuffed behind their backs as an enforcer beats another prisoner

Caitlyn being framed in shadow with a brooding, sullen look

graffiti of Jinx as a revolutionary figure waving a blue flag

In short, a dictator’s regime putting up propaganda posters and symbols, political repression by the state, mass imprisonment, police brutality, civilian resistance against an authoritarian state, and people rallying around a revolutionary symbol. And don’t forget the opening of episode 3 where we hear the recording of Cassandra Kiramman say “the people of the Undercity deserve to breathe” only for Caitlyn to immediately go “umm actually no they don’t; time to weaponize toxic, carcinogenic smog against them and revoke the most basic of human rights.”

(Side note: “Paint the Town Blue” as the song for this montage doesn’t feel right, tonally. A bit too energetic and idk, peppy? This is a montage showing an oppressed group of people being brutalized by a fascist state. Maybe go for something somber and/or horrifying? Or something that makes viewers sick from how angry they are at the sight? Just a thought.)

If the writers were going to do something with all of this, then they did a good job - song choice notwithstanding. 

The problem is they don’t. Not a single character confronts Caitlyn over the atrocities she committed.

When Vi sees her - the woman who broke her heart, who betrayed her, who became a dictator and stepped on the necks of Vi’s people for a year - she’s more annoyed and mad at Caitlyn for attacking her on accident than she is for, I don’t know, THE WHOLE DICTATOR THING? Season 1 Vi would’ve let Caitlyn absolutely have it, if not outright fought her for what she did to Vi’s city.

In what is one of the most stunning bits of character assassination I’ve seen, Jinx APOLOGIZES to Caitlyn for killing her mom.

Ekko got written out of the story to where he never interacted with Caitlyn this season, because if he was giving her shit in season 1, then he would’ve let her absolutely have it, even harder than Vi did.

Sevika got written out of the story entirely after episode 4.

Jayce never comments on it once he gets back.

Mel never comments on it once she gets back.

The writers try to trick us with Vi and Caitlyn’s argument in episode 8, and then Caitlyn’s one-sided venting to Jinx in the jail cell about how they can never repay their crimes, but those are both so weak and half-assed.

We never see Caitlyn realize the weight of her crimes. She needed to have a scene where she “wakes up” and is horrified at how far she’s fallen and all the terrible things she’s done. We don’t get that. She’s already woken up and questioning things when we see her for the first time in episode 4. Nor does she suffer from the guilt of said crimes. Again, I’m going to complain about the blatant Macbeth reference in her part of the intro credits, because how do you deliberately evoke fucking MACBETH for a character who undergoes a villain arc and commits these horrible actions only to not have her crumble under the weight of her sins…you know…like what happens in Macbeth.

So Caitlyn isn’t held accountable either externally or internally. This wouldn’t be a problem if handled properly. A villain doesn’t have to be held accountable nor realize they’re a bad person to be an effective, satisfying character.

The problem is the tone of everything that comes after the opening of episode 4.

It’s almost like the writers are actively trying to have Caitlyn commit as few on-screen, bad actions as possible during her dictator era. Really all she does is threaten Singed with the prison cells she has deemed too inhumane to use. (Oh yay! She hasn’t been as awful as she could have been). After that, she immediately flips back to Vi’s side to help save Warwick, has a very surface level argument so people can say “but Vi did call her out”, “wins” Vi’s affections over Jinx and has sex in a jail cell with Vi going down on her (that sex scene could be its own post god I hate it), gets to be one of the good guys in the war without any pushback, and gets her happy ending with Vi.

The framing of all of this, both textually and by word of God via the authors, is simply incompatible with the weight of her crimes. 

The jail cell scene is presented as Vi and Caitlyn reconnecting and finally coming together, complete with a happy pop song - ignoring Vi’s sister being clearly suicidal and Vi certainly having trauma from spending 7 years in prison where the warden beat her enough times that he didn’t bother keeping count, to say nothing of Caitlyn not having earned Vi’s trust and intimacy. (Also, Vi couldn’t have gotten any pleasure or attention? They couldn’t have taken it to an actual bed?)

The way Vi talks about herself going behind Caitlyn’s back is unhealthy and toxic. (“I went behind your back (for my sister, who has committed far less heinous crimes than you, who just watched the kid she sorta adopted die right in front of her and is now a mental wreck, after you locked her up using your unilateral power as dictator of Piltover.)”)

Vi being very, very emotionally fragile and in no way composed enough to have sex is ignored. (It shouldn’t have to be said, but if someone is this close to having a breakdown and has already punched the wall until their knuckles are bruised, you absolutely should not have sex with them when they’re in such a vulnerable state.)

The “I’m the dirt beneath your nails” line is framed as cutesy and romantic, when that’s actually a horrible, demeaning thing for someone who is a member of the oppressed class to say about herself when her partner is a member of the oppressor class and quite literally was a dictator that violated the human rights of people like Vi, called them animals, and said their blood made them this way.

And most importantly, Caitlyn never has to confront the fact that she became a dictator and did all of these terrible things while in power.

Which, I truly cannot believe I am having to say this, but if you aren’t going to touch on the fact that a protagonist went down a dark path and became a fascist dictator, DON’T WRITE HER BECOMING A FASCIST DICTATOR.

(Or you embrace the tragic, toxic nature of leaving that stuff unaddressed, as discussed in part two.)

TL;DR: the ending CaitVi got is framed as a happy ending, except Caitlyn didn’t put in any of the work for it to be anywhere near a happy, healthy relationship, so it comes across as hollow, forced, and tonally off.