#feedback: it’s definitely you

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Words: 1699

Chapter 3

The sun had almost set by the time you found yourself in Westview, the paper with Agatha's adress tucked into your pants' pocket.

You walked the empty road, feeling eyes on you behind pulled curtains. The neighbours were uneasy, having chosen to lock themselves into their houses; but you could not blame them.

If what Agatha said was true and had managed to gather a coven, those poor people must have seen a few odd figures heading the same way as you.

Witches could not help it. They always had this aura, making them easier to stand out. Sometimes, their energy was enough to make someone have this uneasy feeling deep within their guts; though being as ignorant to the supernatural, they could never truly understand why.

At last, you reached the house that seemed to belong to Agatha.

The first thing you noticed was the lack of a door, but you speculated that some unfriendly visitor had found Agatha earlier that day. It would explain this sudden and urgent need to go down the Road in such short notice.

Stepping inside, you could hear voices in the background; indicating that you might be the last one to arrive. Your eyes barely glanced at the rather odd decoration of the house. None of it was screaming Agatha; you knew cause you had lived with her even for a short amount of times.

"Wait," you heard the voice of the teenage boy calling, putting a pause at the overlapping voices of the other witches. "We are one witch short," he pointed out, clearly talking about you.

You decided to make yourself present by letting your steps sound a little harder against the wooden floor, earning different pair of eyes on your form.

"No, you are not," you corrected him, one hand in your pocket.

You quickly scanned the room, sensing the different magical signatures while quickly studying them as well.

They were very different from one another, from their ages to their outfits and, of course, their magic affinity.

Yet again, it was often needed for a coven to be diverse. Though you could not help but wonder if such intense diversity would actually work, the tension between the witches and Agatha was thick enough to almost be visible.

"Sugar," Agatha greeted with a small smirk, not caring that she used your nickname in public.

She never hesitated to do it before, even though you had tried to argue a lot of times. You preferred privacy, and such nicknames, in your opinion, should exist behind close rooms and during intimate moments between two people.

Of course, Agatha never truly took into consideration your opinion and continued. There was something powerful, possessive even when she was the only one to call you such a name. Not to mention, it showed others that in a way, you were hers; some sort of invisible claim that warned others not to test their luck.

Agatha had not changed ever since, at least with that part. Despite the years you two had spent away, despite the rather unknown nature of your relationship; she still kept claiming you, often impressing even herself with ways she could find.

She studied you for a moment as your eyes connected and took notice of your outfit. While other witches chose dresses, skirts, or hippie pants; you went to the other side of the spectrum.

You had chosen a white professional shirt whose shade was bright enough to draw attention from afar. However, that was the only white thing on you.

Your buttoned up vest had white lines, but the base was black, a matching shade with your well tailored pants. Even your tie was at the colour of black, giving you a more unisex and professional look.

Needles to say you had impressed her, since for centuries you were a big fan of simple white clothing. You barely chose any other colour to wear, always having a strong connection to the bright shade.

Yet here you were now, the dark on you, almost fully covering you; the darkness of your solitude and hurt past casting a shadow to your once brighter and naive self.

It tempted Agatha, curious for a moment to test your reaction by having her hand drag across your body; testing if you would stop her when she would try unbutton your vest and take off your tie...oh, and what she could do to you with that tie.

The intense staring and sudden silence had drawn curious looks on you, some wondering what your connection to the dark Witch that had gathered them all.

The moment was interrupted by Lilia, who had been watching between the two of you until her mind and gaze trailed off.

"Two of swords!" She gasped, earning everyone's attention on her.

She did not say anything else, as if she was not conscious she had said anything or not. That alone quickly made you realize which role she played in this coven, a divination witch that was always needed in almost every mission; especially one as dangerous as the one you all had chosen to participate in.

Before any more questions or comments could be thrown, Agatha clapped her hands once.

"Well, gang's all here. Let's hit The Road." She said, trying to change the topic.

However, Jen was not done yet. "Wait," she exclaimed, and Agatha immediately knew this was not going to be good. "Where's our Green Witch?"

"Oh, do we really need one of those?"

"Of course we do." Jen argued and then looked at you. "Unless you are a Green Witch, though you definitely don't look like one," She continued, her tone judging you as did their eyes; going up and down your form.

"I am not," you corrected her, unfazed by her gaze.

You had this passive expression on your face, a cold mask that nothing could truly penetrate. Your aura was calm but hid danger behind it, like a dark peaceful sea whose waters were far deeper than they looked; dangerous creatures lurking within, waiting.

Your answer only fueled the argument between Jen and Agatha, one insisting on the importance of a Green Witch and the other arguing there was no need.

Eventually, Teen joined by referring to one member they had not invited from the list; a black heart.

This made you arch an eyebrow and look at Agatha, who at that moment did the mistake of looking at you as well.

Once again, you quickly saw right through her facade and saw both the fear and annoyance she tried so hard to hide. Whoever this black heart meant to represent was a deep scar from Agatha's past; one she did not wish to bring up.

In the end, Agatha left; excusing herself she was going to bring back the last member so they could all start the ritual and open the door to the Road.

The moment she left, the main attention fell on you; each individual in the room had different thoughts, but you were part of all of them.

In the end, it was the boy who chose to speak up. "Wait, I am confused." he even lifted his hand, like a student asking permission from the teacher to voice his question. "Jen is Potions, Lilia is Divination, Alice is Protection... what are you?"

Jen nodded her head. "The boy is right. What are you?"

That judging look once again.

It made you wonder if she looked at others the same or she felt both offended but also threatened by your presence.

It would not be the first time a witch had reacted negatively against you, especially once they realised your affiliation. Your type was not often welcomed, the duality of your nature often a wildcard that no one wished to possess.

"Backup," you explained, choosing to remain vague with your answer.

There was no need to go into detail, at least not now. You barely knew one another, and it was evident there was no trust between any of you. A common goal brought you forward, but it was not kindness or the need to find a coven.

It was selfish, and you knew that too well. Even your reasons for joining could be considered selfish.

After all, no one else chose to walk the Road unless they had a deep selfish goal in mind. Ironically, this one was what was tested the most during the trials that awaited down the Wicked Path.

You turned to the boy, realizing he was still confused by your presence. Sure, your name was on the list, but you did not seem to be part of the main four needed; according to both the Ballad and Agatha.

"To walk down the Road, you need four basic witch paths to help you and also unlock the door. Anything else is extra help, " you explained, your tone slightly softer

You could not help it. Just by seeing into his dark, innocent eyes, your defences dropped. He was a young boy, too young to choose such a path, and it made you wonder what he truly needed to take such a decision.

Jen opened her mouth to argue when Agatha walked into the room, dragging with her an older woman.

You could immediately tell she was a human woman, no drop of magic within her, and something told you the others realised that too.

Looking at Agatha, you saw her silently asking you to remain quiet on the topic, and you obeyed. Though deep down, you could not help but wonder how this would truly work.

A green witch would be needed for the trial, and only after it was passed, she would no longer be of need.

You did wonder how this would work out, but your trail of thoughts was interrupted by the faint sound of a wold howling. Your head immediately snapped to the side, eyes distantly gazing out the window as the darkness of the night covered the sky.

Agatha must have realised it, too, for she clapped her hands yet again. "No time to waste, vamos!" She said and started to walk towards the stairs leading to her basement, leaving you all no choice but to follow.

Chapter 4

[mischiefbuckley]

no one could ever make me hate Bobby like you have this man so excited to participate and compete over a haunted house at the fire station for kids and he’s all dressed up as a vampire doing the voice and narrating for the children as “Cap Dracula” as they enter the 118’s version of their own spooky haunted house with Hen, Chimney, Eddie and Buck also participating because Bobby is competitive and wants to be better than all the other firehouses and it gets ruined by Bobby’s pseudo son of all people yk ordering an actual dead body as decor and then he’s convinced he has a curse like again this show is something else I swear lmao

[onlyglass]

you guys olric isn't dateable bc he has a crush on merri ... also just bc he doesn't wanna date us doesn't mean he's aroace 😭😭😭 i think it's kind of weird to say that if someone isn't interested in u that they must be aroace. he very well COULD be and you're not wrong for having that headcanon. but i feel like that in tandem with the puppydog stupid himbo thing is kind of infantalizing him.

[brinndle]

Work in progress got some places I need to tidy up (plus I need to learn how to do pants better because it looked so much better uncropped if I had the skill) but this is probably the closest I've come to actually finishing a drawing EVER so before my imposter syndrome hits I've gotta post it. The Wind Breaker hyperfixation is real. When I tell you this man lives rent-free in my head and I'll happily continue to let him free load.

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3

[weetlebeetle]

Paulie to complete the trio ❤

[bottle-of-allay]

Who's the man with the plan? Skizz-le-man!

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧.

✦ info: this is a piece for @soleillunne's event, saudade. the first half was written by @llovelessly and i picked it up from there.

✦ featuring: kamisato ayato.

✦ warnings: some angst (?), not proofread.

✦ notes: hi hello my apologies for the lateness life has been life-ing real hard </3 i've done my best, but i still think it could've been better lmao

it’s strange, you think.

you sit in the comforts of expensive silk and lustrous linen, being doused into the arms of sleep and the soft sheets bit by bit—yet your eyes are laden with everything anxiousness has to offer. with a stifled sigh, your hand moves to lift you off the bed, and your feet start its nightly spiel. wooden floorboards creak beneath your step, and you do your best to focus on the crevices of your timber footing rather than the unease that begins the prelude of many, many endless and sleepless nights.

the hands of the clock by your bedside dance between the hour of midnight and eleven thirty, with a sharp yet almost inaudible tick when each second passes by.

it’s driving deeper into your anxious spiral.

why is your lover, ayato―not home yet? oh, but he promised he’d be here some time after dinner, saying in-between a quiet laugh that by the time he greets you with a sarcastic bow the food is still warm and you’d have plenty of time to ramble on about what happened in the midst of your day—however he’s nowhere to be seen. your ears are accustomed to the sound of his grimy soles, always noticing the close sound even in a crowded room—so he couldn’t be inside the house (and the chances of him toying with you were low since he loves you like the sun).

but—of course, finally—the impeccable timing of the clicking of key and lock never fail to snap you out of your strung-out haze, a welcomed arm pulling you by the waist into a quick hug before your lover places his muddy shoes under your shared bed and asks,

“how was your day, darling?” with that familiar, august tone you know dearly. you pull him into a sweet yet short, kiss—and glance at his soiled shoes.

you note they’re less dirtier than usual, and when you check upon the doormat by the entrance, it’s smeared with less sod and ground than the night after you washed it.

“. . . it was nice.”

a smooth, somnolent voice drawls between your worry and gut; reminding you that the carpet doesn’t matter more than the hours of slow dawn with your lover—so you prompt yourself to bed and forget anything but him the next morning. . . . . . it’s strange, you draw out on the patterned cloth, leg bouncing up and down from both stress and strain.

ayato has yet to arrive at the restaurant you sat in—with your hair done the way he likes it and clothed expensively in his gifts from various other nations. you bit your bottom lip each time the rusted bell that hung atop the door jingled, only to signal someone else entering and not him.

you straightened your posture, feeling your spine protest while you shift in your seat; moving your hands to either fidget below the table on your lap or on the table, where the knitted red material creases because of your awaiting and nervous actions.

just when will he arrive and kiss you like the sun?

it was as if time had grown languid with a single flutter of your lashes, watching painfully as each shift and hail had amounted to mere seconds when even just one breath had begun to feel like it weighed an hour of misspent moments on your shoulders. the quick veers from an edginess bordered by humiliation to a forced politeness (that you try to keep as light as possible to make it more believable), become more and more habitual with the minor bow of your head at the waitress checking in on your table, asking if you’d like to order something or be served more water—to which you answer that you’re good,

you’re fine,

you’re just waiting for someone—and she asks who it is—but your vocals thin to prevent you from saying anything other than,

“oh, just someone i know.”

then she nods and goes back to the mazes of the dirty kitchen, leaving you to count how many minutes it’ll take for her to come back again and ask the same questions again.

—

and so the ticks continue to sound in your head, a clock of your mind’s own making reminding you of the passage of time far better than the sounds that chime through the restaurant. and your presence feels like a statue made of stone, weighing heavily into the fabric of your surroundings. the eyes of people who entered long after you linger on the empty seat in front of yours, pity and curiosity dancing together in their gaze. 

 it’s strange, you think. he promised to be here before eight.

you’re intimately acquainted with waiting for him, the sounds of time passing by a bosom friend, the silent agony of anticipating his presence a slowly compressive pressure on your being. but he’s never made you wait this long.

not without a message, a lick of correspondence, an apology via one of his assistants, something, anything. 

where is he? 

anticipation twirls and swirls until it turns to anxiety, a glossy spill of viscous worry atop clear thought.  

where are you, ayato?

the grandfather clock made of gilded oak chimes nine, and you rise. you cannot bear the waitressess’ pitying looks anymore. to wait alone is easy enough, but under eyes that glow with condolence?

there is lighter torture in hell.

tears prick the back of your own eyes, and you cannot tell if they’re of frustration, worry or a combination of both. nevertheless, you hold your head high. the screech of the chair as you move it back rattles your skull.

the wait makes the journey home feel as if it merely flew by, as fast as lightning, the briefest flash of white in stormy skies. yet the ticks of the clock you cannot see haunt you all the same. 

hours later, long after you reach home, the hurried footsteps beyond the door, the click of the keys in the lock and the turn of the handle alerts you to his arrival.

“kamisato ayato.” you say, without bothering to turn. “where were you?” a waver betrays your emotions, your concern, your worry.

he rushes to grasp your hands in his, rare sincerity in his eyes. the raw emotion etched across his face, a clay tablet engraved by a stylus, is uncharacteristic.  “look at me, please.” his voice breaks.

slowly, you raise your gaze to meet his own.

“darling, i—” he pauses to swallow at the sight of sadness lining the rims of your eyes. “i’m so sorry.” 

“you said you’d be there before eight.” your words sit heavily in the air, laden with emotion you can’t quite verbalize. “i waited.” like i always do, you think, bitterness sharpening the edges of your thought.

“i know.” he hangs his head, moving to look at the silken lavender sheets. “i…i fell asleep. on my desk, after a meeting.”

the admission takes you by surprise. 

you glance at the shoes by the fireplace. though the luster of shoe-polish is no longer as distinct, you cannot see any evidence of dirt or sod or sand marring the sleek blackness. he really was in the office, you think. 

he loves you like the sun. you know he does. but not all of us have the luxury of basking in it when we want to. life binds our hands and our feet together in the dark.

and just like that, your heart softens against the resolution of your mind. the bags under his eyes are heavier than you’ve last seen them. “you look tired,” you murmur.

“i’m never tired for you,” he replies.

“i was worried.” you say, holding his hand tighter. i was worried about you not sending a message. i was worried that you forgot about me. i was worried that i’m not as important to you as the things that occupied your mind. 

he pulls you closer. i’m sorry for making you feel that way, he says wordlessly, with the way he draws circles on your skin.

and at last, his lips are upon yours, desperate, wanting, rushed despite exhaustion, so unlike the thorough, careful, controlled man he is. 

 “i’m sorry,” he whispers fervently, over and over, as his hands worship your skin with reverence. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers against your shoulder when you lay fast asleep. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers to your hair, in hopes you hear his apologies in your dreams.

this time, he makes another promise. to never promise you time out of his schedule that he cannot give. to never make you wait longer than you should. to learn to put his burdens into the hands of those willing to help, so he can swear to devote days to you, and only you. he knows both his happiness and his love revolve around you, and they will for as long as the heart in his chest beats.

after all, he is but the earth to your sun. 

[starieldraws]

Digital painting I did of my dog

I put hours into this one layer drawing (didn’t take any wip pics) and all I got was this lousy timelapse;

[oldgaysbrainrot]

that one scene where megamind gets worked up and roxanne is like "sorry, sorry. he's just not used to positive feedback."

i imagine that scene as raeda.

[elephantlovemedleys]

.

[lilyoffandoms]

My January Challenge Masterlist

I’m challenging myself to draw a little something for each prompt for @choicesjanuary2024. I started back in December and have fallen behind a bit but I’m gonna keep at it as best I can. So this is for me to keep track of all the ones I’ve completely finished.

Day One: Mal x Daenarya Silhouette (Blades for @storyofmychoices)

Day Two: Detective Lilah Rose (CoP for @storyofmychoices)

Day Three: Winter Princess (Nightbound for @ladylamrian

Day Four: Leaf, King of Birds (TCH)

Day Five: Lancelot x Guinevere Silhouette (Guinevere)

Day Six: Tatum x Aubrey Silhouette (FA)

Day Seven: Ethan (OPH for @peonyblossom)

Day Eight: Kieran (TCH)

Day Nine: Aerin x Raine (Blades for @oh-so-youre-a-nerd, abandoned sketch)

Day Ten: Nora Rose (CoP for @inlocusmads)

Day 11: Tyril Starfury (Blades)

Day 12: Saini Rusanen (ID for @aallotarenunelma)

Day 13: Sebastyan Thorne Case File (CoP)

Day 14: Trystan x Nora (CoP based on this by @inlocusmads)

Day 15: Mal Volari (Blades)

Day 16: Nia Ellarious (Blades)

Day 17: Kajsiab (Alpha)

Day 18: Imtura Tal Kaelen (Blades)

Day 19: Luca O'Rinn (ID for aria-ashryver)

Day 20: Aerin x Raine (Blades based on this by lovehugsandcandy)

Day 21: Together We Win (Blades MC)

Day 22: Eva Archer (WTD MC for @dutifullynuttywitch)

Day 23: Lilah Rose (CoP MC for @storyofmychoices)

Day 24: Wallace (Blades)

Day 25: Letter from Dad (CoP based on this by @inlocusmads)

Day 26: Marianna Howard (DaD OC for noesapphic)

Day 27: Ash Clark (ID OC for @aallotarenunelma)

Day 28: Trystan (CoP for @stars-are-within-me)

Day 29: Gabriel Rose (CoP based on this headcanon)

Day 30: Casey MacTavish (OPH MC for @jerzwriter)

Day 31: Trystan x Gabriel (CoP)

[delta-bw]

Hi all! Wanted to survey y'all about the idea of potentially creating a nice little social Discord server. It would foster discussions of Delta BW, of course, but also general Pokemon discussion :-) Would also be a space for me to provide smaller updates that I might not post on the blog, post art, as well as field questions. This server would be firmly SFW, and would be open to people of all ages. Any major updates would still be posted to the blog, to be clear, so joining the Discord would not be necessary to stay up to date. It would just be a fun little thing for anybody wanting another little Pokemon community!

If you have any additional comments, questions, or suggestions, feel free to leave them in the replies! I'd be happy to hear your feedback ^^ Thanks!

[soggypotatoes]

uni started today, tell me why our week one task suggests that we might use chat gpt to explain to us what a beneficial therapeutic relationship consists of to inform our answer

[sflow-er]

.

[cosmosnout]

I have so many projects that I need to start working on but ended up drawing more of these two