#but agatha's just taking a tune she likes and running with it

[bunniebubbleswrites]

Ooo can I request for a fluffy/angsty Lady Lesso x Never reader, platonic please... the reader has a panic attack? Hurt & comfort? Cold Lesso turns soft?

Not so Cold

Lady Lesso x Never! Reader (Platonic) A/N: Started working on this during my chem class! Perks to sitting in the very back. I also wrote about how panic attacks feel for me so please be weary of that. This also is more based on the book but not very much. I'm also so sorry this took so long. My life has been kind of hectic right now. Warnings: Hurt & Comfort, details of panic attacks, Words: 1083

You didn’t know how it happened. It just did all of a sudden. One minute you were in class with your friends screwing around while waiting for your teacher to appear. Then it just hit you, the sound of your heartbeat was louder than anything else. 

This became a common thing, you learned how to handle them quickly. Oftentimes no one around you would even know that anything was going on beneath the surface. You had always been so good at hiding things. You never wanted to worry anyone for no reason if you could take care of it yourself, but your panic attacks worsened throughout the year. 

--------

Class hadn't started yet; paper airplanes were being thrown across the classroom and profanities were being flung back and forth at your peers. The sound of a cane hitting the ground along with the sound of heels moving in sync with it. Students rushed back to their seats and then silence filled the room. It was so quiet that the sound of your heartbeat seemed louder than before.

Shit, this can’t be happening now. In Lady Lesso’s class of all places.

You tried to steady your breathing but it was difficult and the sound of your heartbeat just made it even worse. Trying to keep calm, while your teacher walked into the room. You kept your eyes locked onto the blackboard behind her. If you didn’t look at her she wouldn’t call you out for not paying attention. 

You had zoned out for the most part. When you had tuned back in you were calm and breathing normally, now paying attention to the woman at the front of the room. She was going through each and everyone of us, making us show to the entire class how we’ve been progressing with our special talents. 

Luckily for the kids in the back row she didn’t have time to get to us. Kids rushed out of the classroom, books and papers falling out of their arms. You were one of the last ones out of the classroom. You felt a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of your skull as you walked out the door. The Trial by Tale was coming up and you weren’t going to lose the chance to get those first place ranks. 

The day of the Trail came, everyone was nervous even if it didn’t seem like it. You were praying to whatever god that would listen that you didn’t mess this up. You would win, hopefully. You had a plan and it was a good one. No one would even see you coming.

You planned to tackle opponent after opponent grabbing their flags not caring about the color and throwing them on the ground and sending them back to the school. Even though Hester was one of your dearest friends and the both of you would willingly take down Tedros. You both knew that teaming up wasn’t an option. One of you would get those first place ranks no matter the cost. 

Sophie and Kiko went in first and after a few hours of waiting it was your turn. You walked through the gates with some Ever you hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. You both ran off in opposite directions. You tackled and jumped on whoever you saw, you even threw a couple of attacks. The adrenaline running through you made you forget about the looming danger that you would possibly be facing. 

Soon it was only you, Tedros, and Hester. Hester didn’t let up at all during her attacks. She was going to win no matter who got in her way. Somewhere along all the fighting Sophie and Agatha came into the picture. 

The fight turned into a bloody battle from what you can remember, one second you were there the next you weren’t. Lesso’s eyes were on you.

She knows something’s wrong. Damnit.

You rushed back to your dorm, your blue cloak was easy to follow throughout the darkened halls. Your breathing was heavy and your heartbeat was pounding in your ears. You didn’t even make it to your dorm room before you collapsed. The tears fell down your cheeks, you needed to be alone right now, anyone could just walk up and see you like this. 

The sound of a cane hitting the floor alerted you, your mind wanted you to run but your body just couldn’t move. The sound grew closer and when it was right behind you it came to a stop. 

“(Y/N), how long have they been happening?” Lesso’s voice rang through your ears. It was softer than usual. You couldn’t respond and Lesso soon saw that and sat down beside you and put her hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. It took you a good long while to calm down. 

In that time Lesso had taken you into her arms and was slowly rocking you back and forth, as she ran her fingers through your hair. Your breathing became steady and your sobs became sniffles. 

“Hey, nothing can hurt you right now. I’m here.” Lesso said loud enough for you to only hear. You look at her, your eyes red and your cheeks stained with tears.

“They’ve been happening since the beginning of the year.” You told her finally answering her question that she had asked so long ago.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Lesso’s eyes were filled with worry.

“I didn’t tell anyone because I thought it would make me seem weak.” Your eyes were filling up with tears once again.

“These panic attacks are not a sign of weakness and coming to people for help isn’t either.” Lesso wiped away the tears now rolling down your cheeks. 

“Let’s get you back to your dorm room, you’ve had a long day and I think it’d be best if you got some rest; and don’t worry about your classes tomorrow. Take the day off okay.”

You nodded as you got up off her lap. Lesso stood up shortly after and walked you back to your dorm. Her door was always open should you need it. Once you reached your dorm room, you turned back to Lesso and wrapped your arms around her. 

“Thank you, for everything Lady Lesso.” You quickly retracted before anyone saw. Her smile was only there for a brief moment before you went into your dorm and plopped down on your bed and fell into a deep sleep without a worry in the world.

[aparticularbandit]

for @p-nymph, who wanted Agatha cuddles.

Agatha Harkness knows a thing or two about hating days.

Not all days, mind you, although she knows a thing or two about that, too.  But she knows what it is to run into specific days, ones that repeat annually – like Arbor Day or Presidents Day – and think, you know what, this day?  It’s not for me.  She has plenty such days herself, although she will never mention them aloud.  Most of them take place in the dead of winter, when she can sit outside in the steadily falling snow and stare out into it as if that will reveal things to her, paths she could have taken, paths that she didn’t – as though the snow will make her as clean as it is before it gets sprayed with smoke and ash and turned into those coal-like grey clumps it ends up as in parking lots, the last strongholds before even it, too, melts away into nothing.

Sometimes, more often than she would like to admit, she feels like one of those clumps, melting away.

So Agatha notices it in you, when those days come and you start to close off. She notices them the first time they happen, and she notices when they come back every year, and she never presses for context because she knows, if you wanted to give it, you would.  (It isn’t that she isn’t concerned, mind you.  But she doesn’t want you to press her on her bad days, either, so she will not press you on yours.)

Sometimes, Agatha thinks it will be good to take you out, to distract you with something better than whatever darkness or lingering memory is plaguing your mind.  On her softest of bad days, this is enough, to override the bad with something good. She takes you out to carnivals and theme parks in particular on bad days because there is so much going on there that it is easy to get overwhelmed – not in a bad way – it’s just that they are loud, there are lights and screams everywhere, you can go on so many rides together (and, yes, she makes the most frustrating expressions just before the cameras take a picture, and you always buy the ones where her eyes are glowing purple with her fear, even though she sticks her tongue out at you when you do), and Agatha wins for you any prize you want.  After three hundred years of carnivals and tests like this, she’s gotten very very good at them (and she always argues with the Guess Your Age people because they always think she’s in her thirties or forties instead of her third century, and they never believe her when she tells them the actual truth).  That’s not even getting into all of the different kinds of food they sell in such places (most of which she shares with you; you’ve snapped a selfie where the two of you split a boysenberry milkshake – Agatha had insisted, since it was purple, and you’d given in, since she’d been so attentive on you the rest of the day), and it’s certainly not getting into the children’s rides where Agatha had taken advantage of the darkness.

But some of the dark days…the attempts to distract you only make it worse, only make you curl up harder in on yourself, only make you want to hide even further into your shared bed, pull the covers up over your head, and pretend that it isn’t today, even though you already know that it is.  Agatha doesn’t try to drag you out of your bed on those days, instead, she curls up next to you, guides your head against your chest, and sings.

It’s never anything with real words, at least not anything that you’ve ever been able to make out.  The tune differs each time, you think, but those days don’t come often enough for you to compare, and when they happen, your brain doesn’t straighten enough for you to try and record it.  All you know is that she hums lightly as she strokes your hair, as she leans back against the headboard, as she closes her eyes and cradles you close, as she lets you burrow further into her chest.  She calms you by being, and she calms you by so doing, and when you let out a little whimper of discontent, she draws your head up so that she can meet your eyes, murmur how much she loves you and is glad that you’re still here with her, and then kiss your forehead before drawing you closer to her and wrapping one arm around you.

When the days pass, Agatha never brings them up, and although you’ve heard her sing outside of that, it’s different than the intimate etherealness of the bad days.  You still hate the days, but she gives you some reassurance that she’ll be there even if they get worse.

[top-tier-tickles]

Im sorry, but could you explain the swap au? Like, who's swapped with who?

Yes! I'd be happy to explain it! It'd probably make the comic make more sense

So the AU is called Dark Inception, yes I know inception doesn't make sense but it sounds cool so I'm keeping it.

It is a swap au, sort of like UnderSwap, bit there's a few things different about it

The Au follows the same plot as the game

Dark Inception follows the same plot as Dark Deception. Where someone is trying to atone for their sins to revive someone or gain a new life (or something like that idk until chapter 5)

2. Who is swapped with who

Elise and Doug are swapped, but Elise is still a bipolar person who wasn't getting properly treated for it, and Doug is a lot more kind and wad an actual good husband and father than the Canon universe. By which I mean he didn't cheat, he spent some time with Tammy, and tried his best to understand everything. While we don't know everything right now, we do know enough to know what they are supposed to be.

Elise is more like Doug, meaning she was the one with a successful job, she was the cheater, and she was a lot more aggressive. Doug is the one who dies in the car accident. And that's really all I can tell you without a spoiler.

Malak and Bierce are swapped, Agatha is the same. Malak is the deal breaker who sacrificed Agatha, so he's a human in this au. Bierce is the demon who adopted Agatha and she runs all the demons.

The Dread Duckies and Murder Monkeys are swapped. The Duck's are called Murder Mallards and the Monkeys are now the Panic Primates

Agatha and Tammy stay in their original roles.

The Gold Watchers are swapped with the Reaper Nurses. The Watchers are now the Harvester Surgeons and the nurses are the Silver Reapers.

The Clown Gremlins are swapped with the Trigger Teddies. Their names are the same, but Mama Bear takes the place of the Clown Goliaths, and I needed a character to replace mama, hence the creation of Mama Clown.

The Joy Joy gang are an interesting case. They basically stay the same overall, but thier individual roles and personalities are swapped. Lucky now has Penny's personality, and he's an absolute crazy sweetheart. Penny now had Hangry's personality, so she's obsessed with ribs. Finally, Hangry has Lucky's personality, so he's the leader and the jackass.

That's all of them right now, until Chapter 5 releases.

3. About the comic

The Dark Inception comic is inspired by Blueycapsules, it has its own Twitter page with a link to my main. I am the only artist working on it.

(Please don't mention this tumblr account tho, I'd like to keep it my own personal thing away from everything else.)

All of designs are made by me.

In a Q and A Live, Vince said that if you have a question about copyright, just email Glowstick Entertainment and they'll look over it to see if it violates anything. I have done that, and I am awaiting a response to see if it violates any copyright laws.

Each portal is a separate chapter.

There are only a few pages out right now, but I am hard at work on it along with other projects (stay tuned for next month *wink wink* 😉)

Finally, I realize that some people may have similar Aus to mine, but I am NOT trying to copy them, and you should NOT you go and attack them for having similar ideas. Everyone can have their own ideas for things.

My main thing on this tumblr account is still tickle content, I just wanted to show off another idea I have.

And thats everything for now, at least without spoilers. If you have any more questions. I'd be happy to answer them! Don't be shy!

[toodleoorblx]

Natural Order

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Word Count: 2,203

۫ ּ ֗ ִ ִֶָ ׄ . ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִֶָ ִ ⠀ ִ ۫ ִֶָ ּ ֗ ִ ִֶָ ׄ . ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ִֶָ ׄ . ִ ۫ ּ ֗

Summary: Agatha sees not one but TWO old friends. And finds out what her son has been up to.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - /?

Warnings: Cursing, talking of violence.

A/N: I love Alice sm.

Chapter 8

Westview, New Jersey 2023

Agatha- or rather Agnes, stands in her kitchen, the kettle's whistle echoing in the lonely silence of the room. She's dressed in a yellow sundress and Margaret's red ribbon in her hair, tied in a messy bun and her mothers brooch hanging on a necklace around her neck. As she makes herself a sandwich, she hums a tune, trying to inject some life into the desolate atmosphere. Agatha feels trapped, suffocated by the monotony of her existence.

It's been two and a half months since her defeat, and Wanda has made no attempt to confront her. Agatha still can't fathom how she allowed herself to be bested by a baby witch (who didn't even know she was 1)! The thought gnaws at her, fueling her frustration and resentment. 

She's become a spectator in her own life, observing Agnes' repetitive routines day in and day out. It's like watching a rerun of a show that never changes, each episode more infuriating than the last. Agnes' life has become a prison of predictability, driving Agatha to the brink of madness. And to add insult to injury, her magic has dwindled to almost nothing. She can barely sustain herself, her power lying dormant within her, a cruel reminder of her former glory.

Agnes and Agatha hear the doorbell ring. Agatha tenses, her instincts urging her to ignore it, but Agnes, ever curious, pads to the door at the sound of frantic knocking. Agatha rolls her eyes.

“Coming!” Agnes calls out.

As Agnes opens the door, Agatha freezes, her breath catching in her throat. Intense emotions swirl within her—regret, confusion, and a touch of fear.

It's Alice.

Agatha's mind races, memories of their past encounters flooding back. She wants to run, to teleport away and erase Alice's presence from her mind. But she remains rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away.

Alice stands before them, her hair shorter and adorned with neon orange highlights. And she's wearing a… police uniform? Is she with the fucking police?! Agatha's mind reels at the sight. Alice, once a rebel against authority, now seemingly part of it.

Meanwhile, Agnes, unaware of the tension, leans against the doorway with a welcoming smile. It's been awhile since she's had anyone bother to talk to her without her initiating it. People get annoyed easily saying ‘drop the act’ or ‘Agnes is still being controlled’. Agatha can feel how much it confuses Agnes, and hurts her. But Agatha doesn't care.

“Hiya officer? Anything I can help you with?” Agnes asks cheerfully, her smile inviting.

Alice's reaction is delayed, her mind seemingly short-circuiting for a few moments before she regains her composure. She clears her throat, her hand instinctively resting on her gun holster, and Agatha notices the intricate runes embedded within the weapon—typical Alice.

“Hello, you’re Agnes, correct?” Alice asks calmly, her demeanor composed but her eyes betraying a hint of urgency.

“Yep! Is something wrong?” Agnes responds cheerfully, her obliviousness to the situation only serving to heighten Agatha's unease.

Alice shakes her head, a faint tremor in her voice. “No, not at all, but I’d like to… talk to you, in private.”

“Oh, of course, come in!” Agnes gestures for Alice to enter, her hospitality unwavering. “I was just making tea, would you like some, dear?”

Agatha scoffs internally, her patience wearing thin at Agnes's naivety.

“No thank you, I won’t be long,” Alice replies, her tone curt as she follows Agnes into the living room and takes a seat on the couch.

Agnes settles in on the farther end of the couch, a smile still playing on her lips.

“So-” Agnes begins, but before she can finish her sentence, Alice lunges forward, seizing Agnes's temples in a swift motion. Agatha's vision floods with pink hues. Agatha blinks. Actually blinks. With her own eyes. She can feel, with her own hands. This shock of sensations sends Agatha squirming in shock, she quickly sits up, rubbing her eyes. Her senses overwhelmed by the sudden rush of sensations.

As Alice retreats, leaving Agatha visibly stunned, Agatha's mind races with questions. Did Alice just save her? Why?

“Amazing to have you back, Harkness,” Alice remarks sarcastically, her eyes rolling in exasperation.

Agatha's glare intensifies, her suspicion growing with each passing moment. “How did you find me?”

Alice huffs, crossing her arms in frustration. “A ‘thank you’ would be nice, but whatever,” she mutters under her breath. Regaining her seriousness, Alice meets Agatha's gaze with a steely resolve. “I tracked you down.”

Agatha's jaw tightens, her frustration boiling to the surface. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘tracked me down’?! Why?”

Alice settles into the loveseat, her expression serious as she crosses her legs. “Exactly what I said. I need your help.”

Agatha ignores the last sentence. “You didn't answer my question, dear. How. Did. you. Find. me.” She emphasizes each word, her tone sharp with suspicion.

Alice sighs, her frustration evident as she rubs her eyes. “I followed the traces of chaos and dark magic. If I'm correct, you still have that hunger for magic?” There's a pointed edge to Alice's words.

Agatha narrows her eyes at the veiled insult but says nothing, rolling her eyes instead.

“I'll take that as a yes. Anyways, I thought maybe you wanted to figure out who or what was producing such magic. I went door to door, trying to sense if any magic was used in a home, but I only felt chaos, until this one. Hell, it reeked of dark magic. But I was right.”

Agatha huffs a mirthless laugh. “Why are you here?” It's not a question; it's a demand.

“I need your help,” Alice states simply, her voice resolute.

Agatha lets out a full-bodied cackle, the sound echoing through the room. “And why would I help you?”

Alice meets her gaze without hesitation. “Because your son is acting like his mother.”

Agatha's face falls into a deep frown.

Nicholas.

She hasn't said his name in a long, long time. She shouldn't be the one who should be helping. He wouldn't want to see her. He has every reason not to. Fear fills her to the boiling brim; she clenches her jaw.

“What do you mean?” Agatha finally asks, her voice meek, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress nervously. She feels like a child again, being held accountable for whatever misbehavior caused something worse to happen. She hates it.

“He has been draining the magic of unsuspecting witches all over the world. Leaving them dead, not even bothering to hide the bodies. He’s up to something. Something big. We-”

“We?”

Alice falls silent momentarily, then speaks again. “I’ll tell you who once I know that I can trust you.”

“Trust me?”

“Yes, Agatha. Trust you. Trust that you won't try to take their, or my own, magic.”

Agatha feels a lump in her throat. At some point in the fifties, Agatha had tried to take Alice’s magic, not knowing it was Alice. She hasn't felt the urge to take magic since her direct connection with the Darkhold was severed. When Wanda opened it a few weeks ago. That's another issue.

“I won't.”

“We’ll see. Anyways, we had counted how many young witches died, and as far as we know… he killed nearly 300 witches in the span of a year or so.”

Agatha’s blood runs cold. The last time she saw Nicholas, he was 6 years old… Now he's killing hundreds?!

Fucking hell.

Alice continues. “We figured we could use your help, not just because he’s your son, but because your magic is exceptional. It's useful.”

“Um, honey, there's one problem with that.”

“What?”

“The Scarlet Witch has my magic.”

“WHAT!? I thought she was a myth!”

“She's not. She's new to this.” Agatha clears her throat. “She.. Bested me when I tried to take her magic.”

“You let a baby witch win.” Alice chuckles.

“Shut the hell up, Alice, I was distracted.”

Alice's tone drips with sarcasm. "Sure you were." 

Alice stands up. “I think I have an idea on how to get your magic back.”

Agatha’s heart freezes, her hopes high. But how can she do anything?

“But The Scarlet Bitch has my magic.”

Alice chuckles. “Not that magic, your coven magic. It's dormant. The Darkhold tainted and suppressed it. But the Darkhold can't latch onto magic if there isn't any to begin with. The Scarlet Bitch, as you called her, has your dark magic, the magic the Darkhold gave to you. Your magic is still there, but we just need to… heal it.”

Agatha could laugh. Heal it? For Hecate's sake. “And who would do that?”

Alice shrugs. “I know a witch. You have to trust me.”

Agatha purses her lips, her eyes perfect slits. “But what's in it for me, me helping you?”

Alice sighs and puts her hands in her pockets. “Well, I mean… the fact that you get your old magic back seems like a good enough deal to me.”

Agatha rolls her eyes. It's definitely not her dark magic, but… it's magic. It's the best she can do for now. She'll have to go on a magic hunting spree, but that hopefully shouldn't be hard.

Agatha stands up and sighs. She extends her hand out to shake, which Alice does.

“Deal.”

Alice smirks. “Perfect. Also,” She lets go of Agatha's hand. “Do you know any other witches that might be able to help us? It was just the two of us, we need numbers.”

Agatha thinks. Who does she know that's of good use? Agatha never made friends; they were just so exhausting to keep up with. But she does have 1 old friend.

Lilia Calderu.

“I… know someone who might.”

Alice grins. “Let's go then.”

“Wait, I need to change. I’m not leaving like this.” hse gestures to her sundress and blue heels.

Alice laughs. “Hurry up then.”

Agatha quickly takes out her bun and ties margarets ribbon on her wrist. Then goes upstairs to change.

__

In Alice's car, they sit in silence. Agatha told Alice that Lilia lives on the outskirts of Pennsylvania. Agatha stares out of the window, dreading the impending confrontation with Nicholas. It's been so long since they've seen each other. He probably wants her dead, or worse, to exact his own revenge.

She doesn't exactly blame him. Agatha admits she wasn't fair to him all those years ago. She wasn't fair to anyone. But she needed to make her mark on the world somehow. And power was, and still is, the only way to do it.

Speaking of power…

“Alice?”

“Yep,” Alice replies, popping the 'P'.

“You freed me from Wanda’s spell, how?”

“Who’s… Oh that's The Scarlet Bitch. Well, whoever she is, she didn't do a very good job. The spell was easy to counter since it wasn't well-rounded. But… I couldn't fully get rid of its… effects.”

Agatha blinks. “What the hell do you mean?”

Alice glances at Agatha briefly, one hand on the wheel. “Well, she might not be the best witch, but she's strong. Her magic is. I got rid of Agnes mostly, but she's still in there. She's just dormant. She can't hear or see us, but she's there. And from time to time… she can come out.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that she’ll break free and reprise her role, not permanently, but maybe for five minutes or so.”

Agatha sighs. She thought she was finally free of Agnes, at least she couldn't feel her presence.

__

“And you said that this rickety fortune-telling shop is where your friend is?” Alice gestures at the old building as she parks.

Agatha sighs. “Yes, dear, it is. She runs it. It's more to attract young witches though.” Agatha shrugs.

Alice gives her a look. Agatha sighs. “To help them, not to harm them.”

Alice nods slowly.

They step out of the car and enter the old shop.

It's rundown, but the walls are adorned with a deep shade of purple, and various mystical items decorate the space - tapestries, candles, fabrics, symbols, and runes. It's like a magnet for novice witches.

“Lilia!” Agatha calls out.

“Agatha, long time no see!” Lilia’s voice holds a mix of surprise and amusement as she steps forward. Her curly gray hair frames her more aged face, but her eyes still sparkle with wisdom. Lilia is a witch born without actual magic but with supernatural qualities; she can have premonitions and specializes in any form of divination. But she can't cast spells. Witches born without magic are extremely rare. Yet, Agatha knows that even if she did have magic, Lilia prefers to age naturally.

“Lilia,” Agatha nods in acknowledgment, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in her chest. “I need your help.”

Lilia raises an eyebrow, her expression curious. “My help? Well, this must be serious if the infamous Agatha is seeking assistance.”

Agatha exhales slowly, her gaze flickering to Alice beside her before returning to Lilia. “It is. We're dealing with something big, and I believe we could use someone like you.”

Lilia’s smirk softens into a more thoughtful expression. “Well come on then,” Lilia inclines her head towards the closed curtain. “Let's talk.”

[crowdvscritic]

round up // SEPTEMBER 22

My September was filled with hidden gems, wartime epics, yummy recipes, and lots of processing of the passing of Queen Elizabeth. Keep reading to fill your October with new discoveries, inspiring stories, delicious dinners, and insight into where culture is going.

September Crowd-Pleasers

1. Gilmore Girls: The Official Cookbook by Elena P. Craig and Kristen Mulrooney (2022)

Kyla and I took a break from our regular podcast programming to review this delicious and fun cookbook. Which recipes are easy enough for Lorelai, and which are perfect for those with Sookie’s level of expertise? Which taste like Santa Burgers and which taste like Sookie’s incredible peach sauce? (Spoiler alert: They’re all pretty yummy!) Listen to the full review of the book in ep. 128 of SO IT’S A SHOW.

2. The Woman King (2022)

Another version of this film could have been a capital-G Great Awards Season Contender, but the smartest thing about The Woman King is it taps into the thrill audiences felt in Wonder Woman and in Black Panther when female warriors led the charge. Read my full review for ZekeFilm. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

3. Feeling Design Lab: Playlists, art prints, newsletters, and more!

Jenna O’Brien and her Feeling Design Lab add joy to my earbuds, Instagram, inbox, and home decor. If love playlists with moody vibes, art prints built around beautiful color palettes, or newsletters that tap into your nostalgia of growing up on Disney Channel, she will also add joy to your life. I just bought this Harry Styles-inspired print, and I’ve been feeling my feelings with this collection of tunes about growing up:

4. See How They Run (2022)

Sam Rockwell, Saoirse Ronan, and Harris Dickinson as Richard Attenborough are riffing on Agatha Christie, and what a charming little whodunnit it is! Read my review for ZekeFilm, and check out this Hollywood Reporter article after you’ve seen the movie for comparisons with real life. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10 

5. The Negotiator (1998)

Samuel L. Jackson negotiates with kidnappers and terrorists for a living—who can save the day when he’s the one taking hostages? When Jackson becomes convinced extreme measures are necessary to root out corruption in his police precinct, it’s Kevin Spacey’s job to talk him down, and F. Gary Gray’s action thriller turns up the excitement to 11. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7/10

September Critic Picks

1. The Bridges of Madison County (1995)

In ep. 129 of SO IT’S A SHOW?, special guest/Meryl Streep correspondent Maddie Brophy joined me for a chat about the ‘90s romantic drama The Bridges of Madison County. We discuss another instance of Streep and her whole accent thing, movies about cheating, and a Gilmore Girls episode that reminded Maddie of her 14th birthday. What bridges does Rory need to cross with her grandparents, and where does the episode “Friday Night’s Alright for Fighting” rank among Gilmore fans? Grab your umbrellas because Clint Eastwood is staring you down in the rain waiting for an answer! Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

2. On Golden Pond (1981)

I saw a glimpse of my future in the first 20 minutes—my goal is to be Katharine Hepburn shouting at loons in 40 years! Henry Fonda and Hepburn both won Oscars  for this film, but they weren’t just legacy awards. More movies about old people like this, please! You can find this on my Letterboxd list of every film I remember making me cry. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9.5/10

3. Ballad of a Soldier (1959)

Many war films feel indulgent in tragedy, obsessed with unsettling the audience to the point of provocation. The Russian feature Ballad of a Soldier, however, finds moments of joy and humanity while still acknowledging the injustice that surrounds Alyosha as he heads home on leave to visit his mother during World War II. Also on my Letterboxd list of tear-jerkers! Crowd: 7/10 // Critic: 9/10

4. WE ARE by Jon Batiste (2021)

Jon Batiste won an Oscar for his music in Soul, which was my favorite film of 2020. Earlier this year he won Album of the Year at the Grammys, and I’m co-signing this, too. Flash back to your childhood in “BOY HOOD” or get inspired by “FREEDOM”—either way, you’ll be glad you spent time with this album.

5. Good Reads

A short stack of good reads I’ve spent time with lately, including… 

In memoriam pieces for Queen Elizabeth:

“Requiem for a Queen — A Humble American's Tribute to Queen Elizabeth II,” MandyManley.com (2022)

"Queen Elizabeth: A Visual Dictionary,” NYTimes.com (2022)

Thoughts on writing from a film critic, a film writer, a songwriter who often references films:

“How to Write a Book,” wilkinson.substack.com (2022)

“The Nora Ephron We Forget,” NewYorker.com (2022)

“Taylor Swift Reveals Her Writing Process in Nashville Songwriter Awards Speech,” HollywoodReporter.com (2022)

Attempts to understand what the hey is happening at Warner Bros. right now: 

“Why HBO Max Removed 6 Streaming-Exclusive Movies, with More to Come,” IndieWire.com (2022)

“DC Films “Reset” Adds More Confusion for Warner Bros.’ Slate,” HollywoodReporter.com (2022)

“Warner Bros. 'Cut Its Losses' by Axing $90 Million Batgirl Movie: Lawyer,” newsweek.com (2022)

“Warner Bros. Discovery Is Rebuilding the DC Universe. What Can They Learn From Their Biggest Rivals?” TheRinger.com (2022)

Permission to give ourselves rest and go small: 

“I Don’t Need My Life to Be Remarkable,” NYTimes.com (2022)

“Hidden Signs You’re Heading for Burnout - and How to Stop It,” AestheticsOfJoy.com (2022)

Excitement for the new season of SNL:

“Mary Ellen Matthews's Hot Shots,” emmys.com (2022)

"Lorne Michaels Discusses the ‘Year of Reinvention’ Coming to SNL,” NYTimes.com (2022)

Inspiration and influence of costume design:

“All the Details on Brad Pitt’s Workwear-Inspired Bullet Train Look,” HollywoodReporter.com (2022)

“The Euphoria Effect Is Turning Costume Designers Into the Next Influencers,” WWD.com (2022)

Celebrations of Albert Pujols hitting his 700th home run

“A New Bat, Old Friends, and Timeless Magic as Cardinals’ Albert Pujols Soars to 700,” STLToday.com (2022)

“On Danny Mac, Albert Pujols’ 700th Homer and the Power of KMOX,” STLToday.com (2022)

Miscellaneous movie rankings:

“The 33 Best Romantic Comedies of All Time,” VanityFair.com (2018)

“A Ranking of Matt Damon’s Best Cameos,” TheRinger.com (2022)

Miscellaneous cultural observations: 

“The Long Lines for Women’s Bathrooms Could Be Eliminated. Why Haven’t They Been?” TheAtlantic.com (2019)

“Is Old Music Killing New Music?” TedGioia.substack.com (2022)

“I Can’t Stop Thinking About This,” NewYorker.com (2022)

“The Antihero’s Last Gasp,” NYTimes.com (2022)

6. A New Leaf (1971)

A hidden gem! Henry (Walter Matthau) is broke. The solution? Marry a rich gal fast so she can pay off his debts. But when he sets his sights on the absent-minded professor Henrietta (Elaine May), he gets more than he bargained for. He’s a grouch and she’s one of the biggest schlemiels in cinematic history—what could go wrong? Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

7. Elizabeth Holmes + So Many Thoughts

If the pieces I shared above only whetted your appetite for Royal content, let me introduce you to Elizabeth Holmes. I started following her on Instagram a few months ago per recommendation of a fellow Royals-enthusiast, and her thoughtful coverage of Queen Elizabeth’s passing has made me a new email subscriber. These channels showcase her expertise on European Royal families, including how their fashion choices add to (or confuse) their official messaging, and she’s an insightful writer who also knows how to explain unfamiliar historical context. I never skip her Instagram stories—high praise in 2022!

8. Five Graves to Cairo (1943)

Another hidden gem! It’s a lesser known WWII espionage thriller set in Northern Africa (at least compared to Casablanca), but you won’t be let down with Billy Wilder writing and directing. Imagine a film this good being one of your forgotten works! Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 9/10

Photo credits: Cookbook, Feeling Design Lab, Jon Batiste, Good Reads, Elizabeth Holmes. All others IMDb.com.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Chaconne: Part 9 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: With the first concert of the season approaching, you continue working as the personal assistant of Maestra Agatha Harkness, while attempting to juggle your relationship and future in the process.

Word Count: 5K Words

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCfDtxcFoyM

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to Part 9 of Chaconne. One quick thing...I have decided to extend this story by just a few parts, I really don’t want to rush through the ending and there are a few more things I want to write haha. Anyways, I included a link to the first movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and it’s briefly mentioned throughout the story so if you feel inclined feel free to listen. I really hope all of you are still enjoying the story, and that you enjoy Part 9! As always, please feel free to leave a comment and my asks/messages are open if you have any questions :)

Tag List: @annie-mit-ie​  @celasteria​  @danvers97​  @imthedoctorlove​  @mcfriggingonagall​  @meowsaidmissy​ @notsosecretlyalesbian​ @sarahp-stan​ @scarletwxtxh​ @scarletmeltstheice​ @shinkomiii​ @sxfwap​ @thestrangeundoing​ @teenwonder​ @upsidedowndanvers​  @venticalooks​  @vintagegoddess12​  @everythingmarvelsherlockspn​  @thoroughly--confused​

You weren’t sure how long you were frozen on stage, completely lost in your thoughts before the sound of Agatha’s heels came clicking from backstage. Just as you managed to clear your head of Wanda’s offer, the alluring scent of lavender invaded your senses. Even from a few feet away you could hear the conductor mumbling to herself about god knows what. As soon as she spotted you, however, the ramblings immediately stopped.

“Ah, there you are,” Agatha said, offering you a rare but genuine smile as she set her belongings down on the podium. “I see you set the stage.”

Nodding you motioned across the hall. “It didn’t take too long but I gave the winds extra room like you requested.”

The conductor nodded before curiously eyeing you. “Are you alright, dear? You seem distracted.”

Well you could tell her that her least favorite concert pianist had just suggested you move to Vienna. Or how Wanda was apparently aware that there was something going on between the two of you. A part of you did think it would be important to inform Agatha of that, but you also didn’t want to make the situation any worse than it already was.

You quickly nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

Agatha’s eyes searched yours for a moment before nodding and turning her attention to her Dvorak score. A few minutes later, various MSO musicians arrived and began unpacking on and off stage. You eventually headed out to sit in one of the front rows, and you realized you never told Monica that she would be getting a new stand partner.

Luckily it didn’t take long for the violinist to enter the hall, followed closely by Jimmy and Darcy. Her face lit up when she saw you, and went to set her violin down in the row you were sitting in.

“Hey Y/N,” Monica greeted you brightly, before frowning when she noticed something was amiss. “Where’s your violin?”

“I...I’m not playing with the MSO anymore,” you explained quietly, watching Agatha berate the second chair oboist on stage for the way she tuned. “Hayward had blind auditions to fill the chair and I didn’t get it.”

“That’s whack,” Darcy immediately replied, causing Jimmy and Monica to glare at her. “What? It is.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Monica said sincerely. “You’re really talented, I hope you know that.”

“Yeah and it’s only one audition,”  Jimmy pointed out. “Hayward’s always been a bit hard headed when it comes to filling seats, especially if it’s someone he picked.”

“It’s okay,” you insisted. “And Monica you’ll be getting a new stand partner so I’m sure he’ll be really good.”

“Which one is he?” Darcy asked curiously as she scanned the hall.

You discreetly glanced around the room before you found him. He was already heading on stage, violin in hand. You hadn’t really paid him much mind before the audition, but now you seemed to notice every detail about him. The sure way he presented himself as he practically strutted up the stage. His rigid posture as he sat in his seat, as if that was a comfortable way to sit.

You motioned your head to the stage and Darcy let out a quiet snort. “Oh good. John Walker.”

Monica rolled her eyes at her friend. “You know this guy?”

“Of course I do,” Darcy replied. “I know everyone.”

“What’s his deal?” Jimmy asked curiously. “He seems a bit...”

“Like he has a stick up his ass?” Darcy guessed, and Jimmy laughed.

“I was going to say uptight, but sure.”

“Walker fancies himself to be a bit of a prodigy,” Darcy explained and shook her head. “He’s good, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not amazing. I played a few gigs with him last summer in the Hamptons and I dreaded every moment spent in his company.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Monica argued before giving you a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I agree with you,” you reassured the violinist. “I’m going to go see if Ag- Maestra needs anything before rehearsal so I’ll see you guys later?”

Agatha was leaning against the podium, drinking her water when she saw you approach her. The conductor appeared exhausted again, and you made a mental note to make sure she went straight home after rehearsal.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

Agatha handed you her spare Dvorak score. “I’ll need you to tell me how the sound projects through the hall. We’ll be running the first movement today and I need to make sure the opening cello theme is clear enough.”

“Right, and if something isn’t clear what do you want me to do?”

“Well you could always throw something at Dottie,” Agatha suggested. “That would certainly get my attention.”

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “I’m being serious.”

“As was I, dear. Dottie needs to look up from her music more. Perhaps that would encourage her to do so,” Agatha replied nonchalantly before sighing at the look you gave her. “Fine. I’ll ask you at the end of the movement what your notes are.”

“You mean my notes on sound projection, right?”

Agatha shrugged. “Or any suggestions you have on how to improve different sections. I...” the conductor paused and glanced around the hall to make sure no one else was listening in. “I do value your opinion.”

Your felt your heart sing at those words, and it took everything in you to not grab the older woman and kiss her senseless. Instead you gave her a bright smile. “Well I suppose I can try really hard to come up with a few meaningful suggestions.”

Rolling her eyes at your words, Agatha shook her head. “Try not to make me regret my decision, dear. Take a seat a few rows back, I’ll be starting rehearsal soon.”

Sure enough, just as you took your seat Agatha had the orchestra tuning before instructing them to start at the beginning of the first movement of the Dvorak. You loved every movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and while you adored the fourth movement, there was something quite special about the first. There was this beautiful building intensity that started in the strings before slowly rising to include the entire ensemble. It was passionate, colorful, and left you eager for more.

As much as you loved performing, and you did more than anything, you found yourself enjoying getting to observe the rehearsal from your seat in the audience. It allowed you to focus on so much more than when you would be sitting in the first violin section. Before you never saw how Jimmy appears to have his entire part memorized since he usually has his eyes locked on Agatha the entire time. Or how talented Darcy was. You knew she had to be a good percussionist to be subbing for the MSO, but she performed with so much energy you found it hard to tear your eyes away from her.

Then there was Agatha. The conductor appeared lost in the music as she mindlessly conducted, but you swore you never saw anything more beautiful. Every single time you had the privilege of watching her conduct you swore she kept finding new ways to draw you in. How someone could make the simple movements with a baton and her hand so enticing. She had so much energy in her while conducting, and the love she had for the music was so clear in her eyes. What was even more fascinating to you was how easily the rest of the orchestra seemed to follow her. All of her cues were perfect, and she never missed a downbeat. She was by far the best conductor you had ever seen and you would never tire of getting to see this side of her.

The movement progressed and you turned your attention to the first violin section. Monica was was entirely in her element, and you immediately felt a slight pang at not being next to her on stage. You had a few stand partners who had been lovely over the years but Monica was better than all of them combined. She was so precise in her playing, and her technique was absolutely flawless. But what made Monica so unique was how genuinely kind she was. A lot of violinists were so focused on their craft it didn’t matter who they stepped on to get their way, but it was clear Monica didn’t play by those rules.

As you felt your eyes wander, they landed on the new violinist. John Walker. He was...good. The egomaniac violinist inside of you wanted to argue that you were better, but you shoved those comments away. For one thing he used far too much bow on his tremolos, and you were worried he was going to send his bow flying across the stage with the way he was holding it. Then there was his posture, he sat so rigid in his seat. After a few moments, you realized you were sounding more and more like Agatha.

Tearing your eyes away from the first violin section, you wrote down a few notes on sound quality throughout the movement and forced yourself to stay focused. The movement progressed and you couldn’t help but note how good the orchestra was sounding. Granted Agatha ran them hard, but it was clearly paying off. They were good before, but they were finally playing with more of a purpose. Unfortunately, you didn’t think Agatha felt the same was. As soon as the final chord rang out, the conductor whipped her baton on her stand, and you could tell she was angry.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Agatha spat out as she flipped through her score. “That was the saddest attempt of Dvorak I have ever heard in all my years of conducting. I’ve worked with youth symphonies who sounded better than all of you combined.”

Personally you felt Agatha was exaggerating a tad, but you watched her continue to rant.

“Woo, your projection is eons better than before but I still need more,” Agatha called out to the winds section, and you saw Jimmy shoot up in his seat as the conductor called his name. From the percussion section, Darcy also appeared to notice Jimmy’s change in posture and she glanced over and shook her head at you.

“If the rest of you could play as well as Woo I doubt we would be having this conversation but alas,” Agatha sighed, before tapping her baton on the stand. “Flutes, I’m starting to wonder if all of you are deaf or just enjoy the sound of my voice berating you, because what the hell was that? Jones, all of your solos are splitting my brain open. Either work on your intonation and have it fixed by tomorrow morning or I’ll be moving you to second chair.”

Dottie slouched in her seat and you bit your lip. Agatha had lost her temper before during rehearsal but this was slowly starting to get worse.

“I don’t have to time to rerun all of this because we have the idi-Miss Maximoff joining us shortly, but please turn your attention to measure seventy-five,” Agatha instructed the ensemble, before turning her attention to the first violins. “First violins, I need this melody to be sweet and light as we begin, don’t give me too much too soon.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the new violinist raise his bow to ask a question. Oh good. That would definitely end well...Agatha continued rambling on about vibrato and tone, seemingly unaware of the violinist and a part of you hoped perhaps he would simply move on and ask the question later. But it appeared he was the persistent type as he cleared his throat to get the conductor’s attention. Although you were positive Agatha heard him, you were a few rows back and the sound was clear as day, she continued her rant, ignoring him completely. At this point the rest of the orchestra seemed aware of what was going on and everyone seemed to be waiting for Agatha to acknowledge him.

“Maestra? I had a question,” The violinist’s voice boomed through the hall, and you internally winced as you watched Agatha whip her head to look at him.

“Ah yes, our new addition,” Agatha said briefly, as she eyed the violinist. “John Walker, is it?”

He nodded. “I hate to interrupt Maestra-“

Agatha cut him off, appearing to grow more uninterested with every word that came out of his mouth. “Yet you still proceed to act like a privileged toddler to get my attention, so please, Walker, what is it?”

“I merely wanted to suggest a different approach to measure seventy-five,” John explained and he had far too much cockiness for your liking. “I know you feel it’s best to take a softer approach, I was always told to start with a bigger sound then slowly decrescendo. It’s just a suggestion.”

There was another pause as Agatha stared at the violinist with a calculating and cold stare. A part of you wondered if this would be the day she finally snapped and whipped her baton at someone. You had heard rumors of a betting pool the interns had on when Agatha would inevitably strangle someone for making her too angry. You had thought they were being a bit drastic at the time, but seeing the way she was looking at Walker was making you reconsider that.

“Thank you for sharing your very generous suggestions with us, Mr. Walker,” Agatha replied, and there was emphasis on the word suggestions. “I’m not sure if you are aware of where you are, but this is my orchestra.”

John frowned at that, and once again unwisely opened his mouth. “Maestra, I wasn’t attempting to overstep. I just thought I would offer my opinion on how to make the section stronger.”

“Ah yes, my mistake. I must have forgot when I asked for your opinion,” Agatha retorted. her temper appearing to grow more and more heated. “Would you like to offer any other suggestions, Walker? I’m positive the entire orchestra is simply dying to hear your words of wisdom.”

This time John remained silent, but you saw how darker his appearance grew at being called out in front of the entire orchestra. Agatha appeared satisfied by that and she tapped her baton against the stand again. “Lovely to see the newbie catching on. Measure seventy-five.”

The rehearsal of Dvorak continued to drag, and you marked a few notes for suggestions like Agatha had asked you to. You would occasionally check the clock, wondering when Wanda would be arriving since the orchestra was set to rehearse Rachmaninoff at 8:30 sharp. Eventually the doors to the hall opened, but instead of Wanda entering the room it was one of the interns Agatha hadn’t managed to scare away during her early reign of terror. The intern appeared nervous about something, who knows what, and they quickly sought you out.

“Y/N, you have to tell Maestra Harkness that Miss Maximoff won’t be attending rehearsal this evening,” the intern told you, and it looked like they were going to pass out from the fear of having to tell Agatha.

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal?” You asked curiously.

The intern quickly nodded. “She’s sick.”

Sick? You had just seen the pianist a couple hours ago and she appeared fine, but maybe she just came down with something. Giving the intern a small smile, you stood up. “I’ll tell Maestra, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” the intern said sincerely. “I’m pretty sure if I tell her she’ll find a way to fire me.”

The intern hurried back out of the hall and you slowly made your way to the front of the stage, hoping Agatha would call for the orchestra to take a break so you could make your move. With there only being a few rehearsals left until opening night you knew the absence of a soloist would send the conductor over the edge. But hopefully her strong dislike of Wanda would lighten the blow. As if the two of you were telepathically connected, Agatha turned around as you approached the stage and signaled for the orchestra to stop.

“Let’s take ten,” Agatha instructed them. “Have Rachmaninoff ready by the time we come back.”

The musicians all but hurried off the stage, and said hello to the few you had gotten to know over the past few weeks. Darcy caught your eye as she walked down the stairs and motioned her head to where John Walker was standing by his case, rolling her eyes in the process. You swallowed the laughter that threatened to escape as you went to join Agatha on stage. It didn’t take the older woman long to realize something was wrong.

“If you’re going to say I was being too hard on Walker, don’t,” Agatha quietly warned you, and it was apparent she was still fuming.

“I need you to promise me that you’re not going to throw a temper tantrum after I tell you this,” you said, and your tone was light, but Agatha gave you a look.

“I do not throw temper tantrums,” the conductor hissed as you motioned for her to follow you backstage.

“Of course not, Maestra. Your outbursts are completely normal for a woman of your-“ you quickly paused as Agatha arched an eyebrow at you, clearly unamused.

“My what, darling?” Agatha questioned, giving you an unconvincing glare as you laughed.

“Your stature,” you corrected yourself.

“You’re on thin ice,” the conductor warned you. “I’m not sure I like how easily you tease me.”

“Coming from the woman who’s done nothing but tease me since we met I think it’s only fair,” you offered, and Agatha smirked. “But really, please don’t freak out.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’ll have no choice but to tie you up and force the words out of you myself,” Agatha mused, causing you to blush, which made her smirk grow wider. “Ah, do you like the sound of that, darling?”

“The rest of the orchestra is only a few feet away,” you warned her as she took a step closer to you. “If our relationship is supposed to stay private wouldn’t it be a bit unwise to...”

“Oh no, dear, don’t stop using your words now,” Agatha practically purred, she closed the distance between you, lightly shoving you against the wall. “We’re just getting started.”

“Agatha, I really think maybe we should do this somewhere-“ you began to say, and you truly had every intention of trying to be the rational one here, but any remaining brain function you had left was erased as Agatha’s lips began trailing up your neck, occasionally stoping to nip at skin. “Agatha...”

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Agatha whispered against your ear, the warm air of her breath sending tingles down your spine. “Or do I need to encourage you a bit more?”

“I don’t know how you doing this is supposed to encourage me to talk,” you argued, and bit back a moan as the conductor bit down on your earlobe.

“I’m just trying to help, darling,” Agatha insisted, pulling you impossibly closer to her as you were pressed against the wall. “I can help even more if you would like.”

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal,” you finally managed to let out with a gasp, and Agatha paused her movements at that.

“Darling, I know I’m a bit distracted but I believe you just said the Sokovian dingbat won’t be at rehearsal,” Agatha said slowly, as if she was trying to wrap her brain around what you just said.

Unwrapping yourself from the conductor, you nodded, trying to gauge her reaction. “She’s sick so she won’t be in attendance today.”

Agatha scoffed, shaking her head at your words. “Wanda Maximoff doesn’t get sick and miss rehearsal. I was-I worked with her long enough to know that.”

“Well that’s what personnel told me, so I’m not sure what to tell you,” you said, and you found yourself stuck on what Agatha had almost said. What wasn’t she telling you?

The conductor took a moment to pull her phone out of her pocket and her frown deepened even more. “Oh for the love of...” Agatha trailed off before whipping her phone against the wall, shattering it in the process.

You jumped at the sound, but Agatha barely seemed to notice you as she was entirely too lost in her thoughts. “Agatha, what’s wrong?”

“Cancel the rest of rehearsal,” Agatha said dismissively as she straightened her sweater. “Those idiots are infuriating me far too much and without Wanda we won’t make any progress on the Rachmaninoff.”

Gaping at her, you took a moment to process what she said. “You’ve never cancelled rehearsal before. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Now, Y/N. I have something I need to do,” Agatha said before storming out of the room, leaving you alone.

To say the MSO musicians were relieved Agatha had cancelled the remaining two hours of rehearsal would have been a vast understatement. You swore you never saw half of them move so quickly when you gave them the okay to leave. Since Agatha had apparently left for the day, you took the liberty of grabbing her belongings and dropped them off in her office on your way out. It wasn’t out of character for Agatha to lose her temper, you had grown used to her yelling and ranting. But her outburst backstage was unlike anything you had ever seen before. There was something the conductor wasn’t telling you, and while you had no idea what it was there was a sinking feeling in your chest that it had something to do with Wanda. Regardless of how curious, and anxious, you were over Agatha’s abrupt exit, you knew there was no good in worrying. She would tell you what was wrong...right?

It had been two days since you heard from Agatha. You received a call from management personnel early Saturday morning informing you that the conductor had cancelled all weekend rehearsals due to a stomach bug, which made you immediately go to call her until you remembered she left her shattered phone backstage. It wasn’t unusual for you to go a day without hearing from Agatha, the conductor valued her privacy and you respected her enough to give her what she needed. But after the practical smothering you had received from the older woman since the blind audition, it left you with a gut feeling that you had done something wrong.

What were the odds that Agatha was sick mere hours after storming out of rehearsal? They were slim, and it didn’t take a genius to tell you that. You had told Sam and Bucky what happened, and while they thought it was suspicious they also agreed that giving Agatha space would be the smartest move. Rationally speaking you knew that everything was fine, it just would have been nice to have received confirmation from the woman you were worrying so much about.

It had been a long time since you last had a Saturday off, so you spent your weekend watching Disney movies and napping while trying your best to keep your mind off Agatha. In fact you had been so distracted with the radio silence from the conductor that you almost forgot about Natasha Romanov and Vienna. The keyword being almost. You knew you needed to make a decision on if you were going to meet with the violinist, and you needed to make one soon. There was no guarantee Natasha would even choose you for her group, but still you found yourself imagining a world where you were performing in Vienna and finally getting to live your dreams. Only those dreams seemed somewhat bittersweet at the prospect of having them without Agatha. It was cliche being this attached this soon, but you couldn’t help it. You had never felt this strongly for anyone you dated before, there was something so different about Agatha that kept drawing you in.

Would it be fair to her if you moved to another continent when you were just starting your relationship? You knew she was concerned you would leave the Symphony after not getting the chair placement. While she had never directly told you, it was what made the most sense when considering her recent behavior. You didn’t want to leave her, you really didn’t. Agatha had given you so much while asking for nothing in return.

But the voice in your head asked if it was fair for you to stay somewhere you wouldn’t be happy. Would you grow to resent your job, or Agatha by association by remaining on as her assistant? Sam had been right when he said there were other jobs in New York City, but you knew nothing here would compare to the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. While quitting would allow the two of you to date publicly, maybe, it would also ruin any chance you still had of hoping to join the MSO. Was that something you were willing to sacrifice? You had a lot you needed to consider, you just wished Agatha was there to help you.

Monday morning came far too quickly for your liking. You were anxious to see Agatha, to make sure she was okay, but you also had to make up your mind on whether to meet with Natasha Romanov. Wanda had sent you a polite, but short, email late Sunday night asking if you made a decision or not. You were still just as torn as you had been all weekend, and sadly this was a decision only you could make for yourself. As you exited the coffee shop, you were slightly surprised to see Agatha’s car waiting for you. The rear window was rolled down and Agatha had her gaze fixated on yours. Giving her a small smile, you approached the car while balancing both coffees.

“Good morning Maestra. Fancy seeing you here.”

Agatha rolled her eyes before helping open the door. “Yes yes, good morning dear. Please hurry up and get in before I have Hank leave without you.”

“You’re in a mood today,” you said lightly after making yourself comfortable in the vehicle. “Rough weekend?”

Agatha grimaced at your choice of words before shrugging. “Oh it was fine. A lot better since I didn’t have to hear those morons butcher Dvorak on Saturday.”

You gave her a look as you motioned to your coffee. “Oh right, your stomach bug? Maybe this won’t sit well then, should I give it to Hank?”

The conductor all but snatched the coffee out of your hands, glaring at you. “Funny, as always darling. I’m feeling much better now.”

So she was sticking with the sick story. As much as you wanted to press and find out why she stormed out of rehearsal so suddenly, you thought it best to not start a possible argument this early in the morning. Besides, Agatha wouldn’t lie to you, right?

You decided to take the safe approach. “Well I should probably keep my distance in case you’re still contagious. Wouldn’t want to catch anything.”

“If that’s what you think best, dear,” Agatha replied. “I would hate to get you sick.”

That’s how things remained the rest of the day. Agatha was clearly not over whatever upset her on Friday, and it appeared she wasn’t willing to share her troubles with you. So you did what you did best, and ignored the persistent voice begging you to talk to her. You busied yourself with various tasks both in and out of the conductor’s office. Opening night was in two weeks and there was much to do still. Even though Agatha had promised to be nicer to the interns, it appeared her generosity had run out as you began counting the number of crying individuals sent running from her office since lunch. Her mood was only growing more and more unstable as the hours passed, and even you found being in her company to be slightly unbearable. Agatha was clearly stressed, and you understood she was under a lot of pressure, you just wish she thought of healthier outlets to relieve it.

Towards the end of the day you received yet another polite, yet persistent email from Wanda and you knew the time had come. On one hand you wanted to ask Agatha’s opinion on the potential job, for you valued her opinion over anyone else’s. But the fear of a fight, especially over something involving Wanda, was enough to make you realize now was not the right time to bring up a potential move to Vienna. Plus you were only meeting with Natasha, it wasn’t like she was going to offer you a job on sight. There would be little to no harm in setting up a meeting. Then you could talk to Agatha.

Satisfied with your decision, you sent a quick reply to Wanda stating you would be interested in meeting with Natasha before heading back to Agatha’s office. Hopefully the conductor had enough time to cool down to consider leaving work within the next few hours. However, when you opened the door you were surprised to find her hunched over her desk, eyes locked on her laptop. She didn’t appear to hear you enter, and a part of you wondered if you should leave and come back later. Ultimately deciding that you would stay, you lightly knocked on the door to attempt to draw her attention away from the screen. It worked, only when she finally looked at you, you saw something unfamiliar in her eyes. Fear.

“Y/N...” Agatha trailed off, and you could practically see the frown lines become embedded in her skin.

“Agatha?” You barely recognized the sound of your own voice as you approached the conductor. “What’s wrong?”

Before the conductor could reply, your phone began to repeatedly ding. Pulling it out of your pocket you felt your heart sink at the notification. You had several texts from Sam, Bucky, Monica, even Darcy, but what caught your eye was an article from The New York Times.

‘Agatha All Along? An Inside Scoop to the Alleged Affair Between MSO Conductor Agatha Harkness and Concert Pianist Wanda Maximoff’

[slashbitch2]

The Very Nosy Neighbour

this fic was 100% inspired by this one here , but I mean it practically wrote itself I couldn't resist

NSFW

You can't remember much past waking up in an unfamiliar room- though 'room' is really a sugarcoated description, as in reality it qualifies more as some kind of cavern. You're sitting in a chair, ankles and wrists bound by an indistinguishable material. Whatever the binds are made of feels strong, so any attempts to struggle against it are futile. Yet, in spite of what really should be an extremely stressful situation, you find yourself completely relaxed. You briefly wonder whether you've been drugged, but with every sense feeling fully operational, that theory is soon dismissed.

Instead of choosing a more logical response to the circumstances you've found yourself in, you decided to focus more on your surroundings: not to form any resemblance of an escape plan, but simply out of curiosity. Although, the investigation is equally as ineffective. You're unable to name anything around you except for stone walls, strange (glowing?) vines and weird symbols carved above a few archways. Everything beyond that is either entirely lost to you, or shrouded in darkness.

With little else to do, you start to think back on the events that led you there, trying to glean any useful information from the blurry memories. The clearest image, therefore the most recent, is the smirking face of a woman, Agnes you realise. Though the malicious glint in her eyes doesn't quite match your perception of the nosy neighbour. But where is she now? Is she also in danger? You may not have known Agnes for very long, but are reluctant to let any harm come to her regardless.

With a clearer head, you consider calling for help, but a small voice at the back of your subconscious warns you against this. And the voice sounds smart, so you elect to listen to it. But what should you do instead? Where did this voice come from? And most importantly, should you trust it? Luckily, you aren't given much time to overthink the decision.

While trying to tune into this voice, footsteps echo in the distance, gradually drawing nearer. You hold your breath as the sound suddenly stops, leaving your eyes scanning the vicinity for any movement. The unpleasant reality dawns on you all too quickly: the footsteps were approaching from behind you.

“Well, well, well.” Someone says playfully, then snorts as they start walking closer. "Sorry to be a total cliché. I couldn't resist." It's Agnes. She narrows her eyes and smirks, folding her arms as she examines your constrained form. Subjected to her scrutiny, you find yourself swallowing, but your throat is too dry. Other small discomforts also become noticeable; your cramped limbs, aching back and the bruises on your hands. Well at least you put up a fight. The more rational part of you, however, realises that your hands are no longer bound. You stare down at them, flexing each finger as if checking they were all still fully functional.

Something suddenly knocks into your head and you grimace. Left reeling from the impact, you realise that you're slightly nauseated. Though not enough to stop you from reaching out to grasp the floating cup of water. The fact that the glass is suspended in mid-air doesn't go unnoticed, rather ignored, since there's too much happening simultaneously to comprehend any of it in sufficient detail. You swirl the liquid round, hesitant to drink, unwilling to trust your captor's apparent mercy.

"Drink up, dear." Agnes drags a chair forward, which seems to have just appeared out of thin air. She sits backwards on it, legs spread and arms resting on the back casually. "That's all you're getting until we're done here." The tone of her voice is both threatening and teasing. You're reluctant to admit it's quite a turn on.

One glance up at her prying expression and you relent, downing the chilled water way too quickly. Though you aren't given a chance to mourn your impatience, as with an effortless wave of her hand, Agnes refills the glass. While you sip at the water, she refuses to tear her eyes away from you for even a second. It's slightly disconcerting.

“Now," She claps her hands, startling you. "I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Not really.” You confess, unable to pinpoint why anyone would go to so much effort to kidnap you, especially Agnes, who up to this point had been an eccentric yet kind neighbour.

She sighs, more for show than anything else, and rubs at her temple. "Come on Y/N, let's not play dumb now."

Embarrassingly, a heat begins to pool deep in your gut, but you quickly dismiss the unwarranted lust. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh really?" She quirks an eyebrow, sitting upright. "You really have no idea?" The inquiry is ridiculing, and you can see that your naivety is starting to annoy her.

All you can do is shake your head and pray the sincerity is reflected in your eyes.

"Okay." She slams her hands down on her thighs. "I guess we'll have to go about this the hard way then, toots." A sharp gesture and your hands are bound before you once again.

By the time you're looking up, she's striding toward you with purpose, which does nothing to ease the building heat between your legs. Her hands clasp on the armrests either side, essentially trapping you, not like escape would've been possible without the extra precaution. Up close you finally recognize this isn't Agnes- in fact it never has been. There's a feral yet wise appearance to her, the facade of nosy neighbour dissolved in an instance to be replaced by a deranged, frighteningly powerful woman (or witch, you're undecided).

Despite your better judgement, you're unable to stop yourself from asking. "Who are you?" Your voice barely breaches a whisper, but she's standing close enough that nothing less intimate is required.

She looks mildly impressed, the corner of her mouth twitching almost indiscernibly. "Agatha Harkness." She extends a hand, smirking upon realisation that you're a little too tied up at the minute to reciprocate. "Lovely to meet you."

You swallow again, finding your throat to be a little less dry. "Likewise." Then decide to take another risk. "So what do you want from me?"

“Wanda's true identity.” She replies so quickly that you almost miss it, looking at you with an eagerly expectant expression.

Agatha's question confuses you further. “I don’t know what you mean.” Although your answer is honest, something at the back of your mind hisses lies.

"There's no need to lie here." Her patient humour had disappeared. "Trust me, no one will hear you, so drop the act."

For some unbeknown reason, her accusation angers you. "I'm not putting on an act, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me." The bravery dissipates all of a sudden as you remember that you're not exactly in the position to command such authority. "Please, stop this."

Agatha purses her lips, stands up and turns away from you. She calmly moves forwards a few paces, and in the short amount of time you manage to convince yourself that she's given up. Until in a completely unprovoked move, she swings her hands to the left, sending her chair crashing into the wall in frustration. Whether this is part of her interrogation performance or not, it works. Your heart starts racing, and confusingly, the awkward heat between your legs pulses.

She runs a hand through her hair, still facing away from you. "Don't make this any harder harder than it needs to be." You can practically hear her grinding her teeth, but don't doubt that she was getting some enjoyment out of the situation.

"I can tell you that Wanda is my sister and only real family, that I moved to Westview with her and that I couldn't live without her." You start listing off some basic facts, desperate to prove to Agatha that nothing is hidden. That you're normal.

"What about your brother?" She swivels round, clicking her fingers as she tries to recall something. "Pietro!" She exclaims.

"Pietro..." You falter. Why does the name sound so familiar? The nausea worsens. You shake off the feeling. "Never heard of him."

“Liar.” In one swift movement, Agatha is right by your ear. The feeling of her lips brushing against your skin causes you to close your eyes. The close proximity was becoming overwhelming, and your body had chosen to react in a rather unfortunate way. Admittedly, you'd always had a thing for Agnes, but Agatha was on a whole other level. You dreaded to open your eyes, worried that she'd noticed your current state. Instead, you internally begged for mercy.

“Don't go all shy on me now.” She pushes your shoulder into the chair, compelling you to open your eyes. "If you don't want to talk, I have other methods." Her hand raises, a purple flow emanating from the tips of her fingers. It crackles and sparks, as if the power was barely contained, yet as she shifts closer to brush the hair out of your face, you don't flinch. One finger remained touching your forehead, then traced down to your jaw, and finally along to grasp your chin.

While the vaguely sinister movement terrified you, it also forced you hold your breath and grip onto the armrests for dear life. Why you'd decided this was hot was beyond you considering the many connotations of her words, yet your thighs pressed tighter together as she drew closer. You attempted to turn your head to the side, longing for distraction, but her hold on you kept your head still.

"This won't be much fun for you, dear." She sighed in mock pity, her breath hot against your skin... Which just tipped you over the edge. As hard as you tried to stifle the noise, a broken moan escaped your lips. You'd definitely hit a low point here. Too ashamed to face your apparent arousal, you screwed your eyes shut. Although, at Agatha's silence, you relented and opened them barely a minute later.

To your relief, or perhaps dismay, the woman was grinning like a maniac. Her eyes flickered down to your parted lips as she chewed on her own. Then carefully, as if she were testing the waters, her fingers began to rub against your jaw, and upwards to your mouth. Your breath deceives you by hitching as her thumb slips between your lips, stroking your tongue. At the contact, you can't help but arch into the touch. Agatha chuckles.

"I take it back." She murmurs, removing her hand. "This will be fun." Although the intimidation factor prevails, there's a certain desire mirrored in Agatha's expression which cancels out any remaining common sense. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and even if you wanted to, there was little you could do to stop her. So, you give into your yearning, sighing as she climbs to sit on your lap. Immediately, her hand switches to gripping the back of your neck as she slams her mouth onto yours. You willingly indulge by opening further, allowing her tongue to slide between your lips. Her other hand lowers to grab at your chest, like she were trying to tug herself impossibly closer.

Without removing her lips, the hand massaging your chest shifts to your thigh. She still keeps her lips firmly pressed to yours, and with the lack of oxygen, you can feel yourself growing lightheaded. It almost feels like a challenge, one which you're determined to succeed at. Though when she eventually does break away, her hand suddenly slips between your thighs, and your breath is stolen from you once more. Wasting no time, she massages you through your clothes, dragging out an inevitable whine. The touch is both too much, and not enough. But judging by her malevolent smirk, that was exactly her intention.

Even though you were currently incapable of producing any reasonable thought, you still noticed that Agatha wasn't entirely unaffected. Her breathing was laboured, hips occasionally jerking against your thigh and eyes struggling to stay open. The influence you were having on her only encouraged you to moan louder, craving to see her equally dishevelled. Your plan seemed to momentarily fail as her hand retreated. But you'd certainly earned her attention.

She licks her lips, then abruptly changes her expression to look disturbingly like that of Agnes. "You wouldn't leave me out of the fun now, would you dear?" Her voice is high pitched as she basically sings her words. Although the question must've been rhetorical as doesn't await a response, instead you find your hands unbound, flung behind your back and bound together all in a matter of seconds. Then, she shifted her position, yanking your bodies closer so that your crotches were pressed together. She grunts, heaving forward to rest against you for a moment and regain her composure. And finally, without warning, starts to grind your hips together.

It doesn't take long for her movement to become more frantic, accompanied by her hair spilling onto her face. She remains impressively quiet, however, or perhaps you were just comparably loud. With the little pride you have left, you decide to take matters into your own hands, and start meeting each thrust with equal vigour. Miraculously, it works. She throws her head back with a remarkably loud moan, proceeded by change in strategy as she starts almost bouncing on top of you, hips losing their rhythm, pleasure overwhelming her. Startled by her lack of self-control, the heat in your stomach begins building exponentially fast. Your eyes slam shut.

A hand grasps onto your face. “Look at me!” She growls, then emphasises her demand by rolling her hips torturously slowly. The movement ceases. She leans her forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. “Come with me.” To your surprise, there's an audible plea in her voice.

At a loss for words, you nod. The pleasure had been building for so long that you knew it'd only take a few more grinds to push you over the edge. With your confirmation, Agatha resumes her thrusting, though soon succumbs, throwing her head back and uttering an exceptionally loud, high-pitched moan. She arches her back, pressing herself so far into you that the pleasure peaks. You groan, lurching backwards in a moment of pure bliss. All you can feel is Agatha, all you can think about is Agatha. Coming down from the high, you sigh and collapse forward to bury your face in the crook of her neck.

She tenses slightly at the contact, but soon relaxes into the strange embrace. You gently press your lips against her skin and feel her shiver, confirming your suspicion that it'd been a while since Agatha had received such affection. Motivated by a new, more innocent desire, you continue to pepper light kisses across her throat and behind her ear, simply enjoying the unexpectedly intimate moment.

Agatha finally breaks the silence, leaning away from your touch to look down at you curiously. "Wanda really has you under her mind control too, huh?"

Although still stuck in a post-coital haze, you muster enough brainpower to consider her words. "Mind control?"

"Oh, right." She smirks, a slight sadness perceptible in her eyes. "Forgot to mention." Before you can say anything, she swings one leg to the side, stiffly sliding off your lap and clasping her hands together. "You might want to reconsider where your loyalties lie, dear." She glances at you, then ambles to the opposite side of the room. "That's one fucked up family situation right there." Her voice teasingly calls out.

You feel yourself flush, strangely offended by her comment, and annoyed by her vagueness. "Like you can talk." Your response is a total shot in the dark, but must've hit a nerve since she slowly turns back to you, a suspicious expression upon her face. "Just a guess." You add, unwilling to know the details of whatever sensitive topic you'd just touched upon. Agatha easily shrugs it off, leaving behind a stifling silence. Eventually, it's a mixture of your own boredom and concern that prompts you to end the lull in conversation. "Are you still planning on interrogating me about something I know nothing about?"

"Oh, no I read your mind." She waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Got all I needed."

Again, you're left suffocating in the confusion her ambiguity provokes, with nothing else to ask except. "How...?"

The inquiry must've been exactly what Agatha wanted to hear as she immediately dropped what she was doing to turn around and lean on the wall, arms folded in a casually smug pose. "Sex leaves you vulnerable." She smirked. "All I did was take advantage of the opportunity- but I'll spare you the boring details." With a flourish of her hand and a flash of purple, the binds holding your ankles and wrists disappeared. "You can go now. First door on the left."

Without sparing you another glance, she busied herself with some witchy task, allowing you to see yourself out. Massaging your wrists, you stood slowly, watching her expectantly. Surely she wouldn't just let you leave? Yet as you sauntered over to the door she'd directed you to, she made no move to stop you. "Bye then?"

Agatha looked up at you and winked. "See you around, neighbour."

[mcwritingblog]

Immortal: Chapter 1

A Girl and Her Cat

Pairing: Javier Pena x reader

Summary: A small town barista meets a handsome Javi.

Rating: G

Author’s note: Hey guys I'm sorry this doesn't have a lot of Javier in it, its really a big set up chapter for the story.

Word count: 2k

1975, a random fall Tuesday 

I don't know how it even happened, or how I met him. At the time I was living in a small town in Columbia run by Americans, keeping to myself, not drawing any attention to myself. He walked into my cafe and got a small black coffee. He stayed a while, reading his small novel.  

“Hi there, stranger, I got your coffee”, you said as you set down his drink. “Anything else?”

“No ma’am. Thank you”

“No problem”, you went to turn away but you had to know, “Um, hey?”

“Yes?”

“You've come in before.  What's your name?”

“Javier”

“Javier. I'm y/n. Let me know if you need anything. Maybe next time you could try a latte”, he lets out a snort. You go back to cleaning. It was extremely slow today so you got the go-ahead from your boss to close up early. 

“Miss?”

You turned around and saw Javier leaning up against his truck with a smile. 

You grasp your chest. “You scared me. I didn't notice you there.”

“Were you about to walk home?”

“Yes”

“Would you mind a ride?”

“My apartment isn't that far from here, but thank you I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

And like that, you were walking home, enjoying the weather. It was chilly and the leaves were falling beside you everywhere. You didn't mind the ten-minute walk to your apartment. You don't even get in the door before your cat starts meowing at you. 

“Avery, give me one moment. I'll feed you I promise.”. You love the hell out of the black cat but the girl is so needy.

You flick off your shoes by the front door, bending down to pet Avery. You walked past her to shake some food into her bowl. With how she rushes to it, you'd think she never got fed. Silly girl. You walk over to the couch and lay out, grabbing the blanket to get comfortable, a few moments pass and your cat hops up to snuggle up to you. You flip on your tv to find something to have in the background and settle on Hawaii Five O. There's something about cops that attracts you so much. You find yourself falling asleep, Avery radiating heat on your stomach. 

---

You were woken up the next morning by your alarm clock; another day, another dollar. You were on second shift today so you didn't have to be in until 11. You got up and made yourself toast and eggs, making sure fatso had her food too. 

“Pretty girl”, you say scratching her chin and heading towards the door, adding an “I’ll be back later. Byeee”

The walk to the shop today was extra nice. You can smell the aroma of a pumpkin pie as you pass the houses in your neighborhood and hear the sounds of children playing outside. The giggles brought life to the quiet afternoon. As you come closer to the city, the more you hear the sounds of cars passing and smells of bread being baked at the bakery down the street. The bakers wave at you as you pass the front window. You hold up two fingers, gesturing back. Two shops down is Mrs. Rivera trying to hang up plants, struggling to steady herself, AND the hanging ivy pot.

“Here let me help you.”, you say as you come behind her and catch the pot, succeeding in hanging it up on her awning.

“Thank you, sweetheart!”, she says as she wipes her hands on her apron.

“No problem. I have to get going but come by for a latte?”, you ask.

“Yeah. I’ll see you” 

And with that, you were back to it. Half a block down and you come to the shop's front door. It dings as you enter.

“You're late”, your boss, Maria, gets on to you.

“Mrs. Rivera needed help again.”

“Uh-huh. Get your butt back there”, she snorts. She's not mad. Thank god.

“Been busy today?”You ask about taking off your backpack and hanging it up. The shop was basically vacant. The only customer you could see was a college kid studying in the corner. You walk around to pick up mugs and empty plates from various tables.

“Not really. The usuals mostly… Oh! A guy was asking about you! He asked if I knew if you got home safe?”, she asked, confused.

“Ah yes, Javier. He offered to take me home last night.”, you say while walking the dirty dishes to the back.

“He’s cute. You should get in there, girl”, she yells to you. “In there?”, you come around the corner and scoff, “I'm not that interested in dating right now.”

“You should. You can't just spend all your free time with your cat and nonexistent characters in your books.”

“Can.” You point out “And will” 

“You're only 24, do you really wanna throw away that opportunity?”

You could only muster up an eye roll.

----

The rest of the shift went off without a problem. Maria went home shortly after her talk with you. The next few hours included a couple of customers but mostly some cleaning. Mrs. Rivera actually came to see you, even getting a hot chocolate for her grandson when she got her latte. You hold a conversation with her for a while, talking about her daughter’s new job at the school. Maria said something about that a couple of weeks ago. The rest of the regulars got their usual drinks, only sticking around long enough for their drinks. The clock soon hits 7 pm.

“Another tea?”, you ask the college student in the corner. He’s been here for your whole shift and has gotten two hot green teas with sugar.

“No ma’am. I'm about to leave but I appreciate it.”

‘Alright. Don't be a stranger”, you say, taking his cup and saucer to the back to clean it off. You place it in the strainer to left it air dry. As you are in the back, the customer packed up and left, leaving the shop empty.

You walk past every table, wiping it down and stacking chairs on top, then grabbing the broom. You quite enjoy the quiet chill night, humming a simple tune. The night offers an array of noises through the open door: Grasshoppers chirping and the soft whistle of the breeze. You finish sweeping and put up the broom. “The tips were pretty good today”, you think, pushing the money into your pocket, removing your apron, locking up, and heading home.

----

You had Thursday off and planned to spend it accordingly. You slept until you couldn't anymore, got up, and fed Avery, offering extra pets to the needy cat. She snuggles up to you on the couch, laying in the space in front of your stomach. Your newest interest? Murder mysteries. So you are relaxing on the couch reading Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile. 

You get pretty far into the book before hearing a knock at your door. Weird. Then walk to unlatch the door, swinging it open.

“Uh... hello?”, you questioned the man in front of you. He’s standing there with his hand to the back of his neck, looking nervous

“Hi. Umm, I'm new to building. I live across the hall. I’m Anthony”, he reaches his hand out. You take his hand and shake it.

“Y/N”, you respond, smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N”

“Would you like to come in for some coffee? I just put on a fresh pot”, you invite.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”, his face sparks up in happiness. He takes your invitation and walks into your apartment, you close the door behind him.

‘Wow. Nice apartment. How long have you been living here?”

“Eh, a while”. Boy, you have NO idea.

He sits down at your dinner table and you bring over two coffee mugs.

“Cream? Sugar?”, you ask.

“Yes. Both please”, he responds and you hand him the containers of cream and sugar.

“Just moved here?”

“Yeah. From Arizona. The owner told me that you're one of the only Americans renting here. Thought I might come by and say hello.”

“Arizona, huh?”

“Yeah. I used to live in Georgia when I was a young girl but I’ve been around the world a lot. Been a while since I’ve been in the United States”, you drift off for a second but reel it in. “ Where in Arizona are you from?”

“Tucson. Wasn’t a bad place to live but I went to college for a major in the Spanish language. I wanted to visit places where I could hear the different dialects and see the different cultures. Thus, I am in Columbia.”

“Ah, you see I just wanted to see the world. I’ve been almost everywhere”

‘What was your favorite place to visit?”, he asks, fully focused on the conversation and not realizing Avery’s furry body rubbing against his shins. She meows. “Oh, well, hello there pretty girl. What’s your name?”. He reaches down to pet her back.

“That’s Avery. But back to your question, I was living in Greece for a while and I just adored the blue waters and sandy beaches.”

He takes a sip of his coffee and asks, “So what brought you here?”

“Need a change of scene. I had a friend who lived here but she passed away a couple of years ago”, you reply back nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Oh, im so sorry to hear that. Not too pry but we’re you close?”

“Yeah, We knew each other for a while.”

“How’d she die?”, he asks further

“Old age”, you let slip.

“Old age? he responds surprised.

“Uh... yeah. A family friend.”, you try to make up a better story to keep suspicion off of you.

That conversation kind of ended before it started, instead opting for a conversation about Anthony’s studies in places like Cuba and Spain. The talk circled around to different places you’ve visited, Rome being a topic that seemed to trail on and on. The sun outside seems to start to set.

“I’ve got to get going but it was nice to meet you, Y’N”

“You too, Anthony. Let me know if you need a cup of sugar or anything”, you say following him towards your door. He steps through and across the hallway to his front door. When he shuts his door, you follow suit. You turn around and you can feel Avery’s judging eyes on you.

“I know, I almost blew my cover”, you tell your feline friend. She meows.

-----

You weren't wrong when you told Anthony you’ve been living in Columbia for a while. The problem is his definition and your definition of “a while” were completely different. The truth is you lived in Columbia for 40 years and in this town for about 20. You didn’t age. The only person who could possibly know is Mrs. Rivera but she is very good at minding her own business. You were one of the only ones who came to her husband’s funeral a year ago. You’re practically family. The town’s oldest residents have passed and the owners of the apartments change every couple of years. The rent is paid in cash and the tenets come and go. Every couple of decades you move to another small town in another country. 

You lived a normal life but you didn’t know your parents. You lived in the orphanage until you were 18. It was then you took up a job, reading in your spare time, and traveling when you could. You didn’t even realize your immortality until you were 40 looking 20. And then 50 looking 20. You did try to date but soon came to realize that you’d outlive them, leaving a trail of broken hearts. You were pretty sure you were incapable of love. 80 years old and not prepared for what happened next.

Javier Pena was about to change your life.

[pandawriterstuff]

Pinehallow Summary & Character List

This is my main WIP, if I'm complaining about characters doing whatever they want, this is them.

Pinehallow Summary-Monty, an eleven year old boy who has spent most of his life traveling from place to place with his in-demand lawyer mother, Irene, is sent to live at his uncle's horse ranch because she thinks he needs roots. Used to nearly everyone but his mother not being around long enough to get to know, Monty is more than a bit uncertain about this. But in scrambling to find his place in a town different to anything he's ever known, he finds friends, both human and animal, makes discoveries, and even manages to foil a plot against Pinehallow Ranch itself.

Character List

Monty (Montgomery) Cade Waller- Main character, 11, white. Monty is curious, bright, and more than a little awkward. He has a tendency to state the obvious, which can be endearing or annoying depending on your perspective. Big vocabulary and grown-up way of speaking because he’s spent more time around grown-ups than other kids. He’s quietly stubborn, particularly when it comes to being told he’s wrong when he knows he’s right. Insecure about socializing and friendships because of constant moving and traveling. Can’t hold a grudge for the life of him, even when he likely should. He likes bugs, birds and turtles, would rather read nonfiction than a story. Fills lonely afternoons with sketching, nature sketching on the ranch.

Irene Waller- Monty’s mother, 36, white. Irene is a powerful corporate lawyer, either full of energy or exhausted, never in between. She loves using words to sway minds and deciphering documents to find exactly what the opposition doesn’t want her to find. Sometimes Irene wishes she was using her skills in more meaningful ways, but also really likes the money, the traveling, and the competition. Has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of show tunes from musicals. She has a hard time letting people get close. Would stab someone for her baby, but knows it’s better to teach him to stab for himself. Only partially joking. Dolly Parton is her hero, and as much as she loves her music, it’s Dolly the business woman and Dolly the philanthropist that she strives to emulate.

Keith Waller- Monty’s uncle, 34, white. Horse Rancher. Keith loves working hard and getting dirty, and if he’s not exhausted at the end of the day he’ll be looking for something else to push him there. Otherwise he gets antsy. Loves animals and absolutely will not tolerate anyone mistreating any of the animals on his ranch-ordinarily he’s very careful of his size and strength, in that situation, all bets are off. Times that by about ten for any of the ‘barn rats’ that help around the ranch for riding lessons/time. Loves romantic comedies and telanovas and doesn’t care who knows it. Keith doesn’t read a lot, it never came easy to him, but if he’s taking a long trip he’ll always check an audio book or two out of the library instead of just relying on the radio.

Juniper - Keith’s goddaughter, 15, white. She has a calm, confident personality with a smile for most everyone she meets. If she doesn’t have a smile for you and it isn’t because her head is in the clouds over a girl, you’ve probably earned her scorn and will be ignored as much as possible. Juniper raises rabbits and it’s taught her patience, and a lot about unfairness when a kit doesn’t make it. She helps out with riding lessons at the ranch in exchange for riding time of her own, and has become a fixture, spending more time there than she does at home, and when she can get away with it, school. Loves sunflowers and her sunflower comforter is probably her most prized possession.

Nell - Caretaker/cook for the ranch house(would cooking lunch for the workers still be a thing on a modern ranch?). 38, white(?). Not about to put up with nonsense. Will make you cookies if she doesn’t have to put up with nonsense. Please. At one point she wanted to be a chef and has a year of culinary school under her belt, but quickly decided the super fast paced and competitive environment wasn’t for her. Anything that was making her hate one of her favorite things that fast could not be good for a person. She intends to live a long, long life and that kind of stress can just walk right out of the door. Loves to go on long walks, often into the hills (BLM land) behind the ranch. (maybe she was taught/took a class on foraging, and teaches Monty to find wild onions and stuff? But this would mean *I* have to learn about foraging in Idaho.) This leads to a contented, if often silent, companionship between her and Monty, who desperately wants to explore/record/sketch everything about the natural world of his new home, particularly the parts that are off limits to him without an adult along.

Ray- Family Friend/Co-Owner of R & M General (designed to feel vintage, but shiny. Bit of a tourist stop now, they decided to lean into it.), 50, Black. He uses his background in chemistry to make amazing looking candies and chocolates, using that to deal with a time he used it in less pleasant ways when he was in the military. He never expected anybody outside of his small town, or maybe the folks at the county fair to make so much fuss over them. This might embarrass him, if he weren’t so delighted. A cheerful man with a dreamer’s heart, a magazine once referred to him as a small town Willy Wonka. He dotes on his wife, often making and gifting her small surprises. An amputee in honor of my Grandpa (missing left leg at the knee, possibly missing one arm as well, but I’m not sure how that would affect candy making.). Has certain parts of his past he just doesn’t talk about.

Mavis- Co-Owner of ____ with Ray, 48, Black. Fierce and kind in equal measures, Mavis believes in protecting what’s hers, and as far as she’s concerned the entire town of (oh my god, it needs a name) is included in that. Mavis is very selective about the battles she fights, but when she chooses one she throws herself in whole-heartedly. On several committees around town, she’d be on more, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to really get into the work of the ones she loves. She knits in her limited free time, often while listening to the news, but sometimes opera. Has started knitting stuffies in the shapes of the more unusual candies Ray makes, it’s silly, but fun, and tourists and the local kids love it. Still head over heels for Ray, even though his often dreaming about things for ages instead of just doing them is also still baffling to her.

Leanna - Juniper’s sort-of girlfriend, 15, Vietnamese. Quiet, a little cynical, but very empathetic. She avoids the news because it’s that or be mad and want to cry all the time-until she hears about something she can’t not research, and goes on a 24 hour google search and learns far more than is probably good for her about a species going extinct due to logging in prohibited areas, or genocide being covered up by claims of violent uprisings. She loves manga and comics. Leanna sometimes tries for a cottagecore* type aesthetic, but mostly thinks it's too much work. She’s starting to worry about what she’s going to do with her future, and people telling her that she’s only 15 and doesn’t have to worry about it yet is NOT HELPING.

*even though cottagecore isn’t a thing in the early-mid 2000s this is maybe/vaguely set in. Shh, let me have this. Anne of Green Gablesesque maybe?

Winnie - Leanna’s mom, 45, Vietnamese. Widow? A little ditzy, but a lot loving. Everyone in town is convinced she’s the stoner type of hippy, but no one minds as she’s someone who truly wants to know how you’re doing when she asks and strangely almost always has very spot on advice. She’s rarely on time anywhere, but that’s because she’ll have stopped to talk, and often to help, whoever she’s run into. Leanna and her bicker over this when she’s late picking her up. Always wears bright colors. Loves Agatha Christie books. Calls everyone, even people 50 years older than her, hon.

Logan - Juniper’s stepdad, 40, white. Kind of a jerk, but most of the jerky things he says are actually jokes that fall flat or have simply gotten old. Tries really hard, like *really* hard, but has a tendency to get annoyed if people don’t appreciate his efforts right away-more in his personal life than professional, possibly because of his profession. A contractor, hard worker, loyal, has worked for the same company since he was twenty even though they don’t often treat him right. Sometimes tries to buy people’s affections. Wants to have better communication with Juniper, but it’s gotten really hard the last few years and he’s never quite sure why.

Candice - Juniper’s Mom, 39, white, works at a nursery that sells seedlings and baby fruit trees, has a cheerful, calm personality, but a lot softer and more lowkey than Juniper’s version. Very house proud, but has a ‘maximalist’ approach to decorating-everything is in its place, but there are places for lots of things. Loves spending time outdoors, but would rather spend it tending her garden than hiking or riding, preferably with a cup of tea by her side. On the weekends, a fruity beer or wine instead. Wants to go on one of those train rides where you get to drink wine, eat canapes and try to solve a mystery, thinks Winnie might be a good candidate for someone to go with her.

Ura - a ‘barn rat’, 12 and a half, white(maybe a Czech immigrant? 2nd generation?) . A cheerful, rough and tumble boy who is always climbing things, and often being told to stop when he gets too high for other people's comfort. Ura is fearless when it comes to physical feats, but has a fear of ‘slimy’ things like worms and frogs. He has a thick layer of pudge and a big appetite, but is athletic and strong enough that anyone bullying him over it would be doing it at their own peril. Not that he’s the type to start fights, or even finish them most of the time. Doesn’t feel he quite fits in with his family, who are all more serious, reserved people. Redwood is his favorite of the horses, and Keith has all but given up on telling him that sitting on the floor of Red’s stall to talk to the horse isn’t exactly safe.

Elliot - Ray and Mavis’s son, Black, 19 and a college student-maybe/probably at U of I. Lives on campus, but comes home at least a couple weekends a month. Has an older car that he and Ray fixed up together, that is his pride and joy. Quiet, with an irreverent sense of humor that he unleashes somewhat at random. Interested in robotics, engines and mechanics and generally has some project he’s working on, a piece of which may or may not be in his pocket. Often has oil, grease, or ink on his hands, either from working on or designing a new project. A bit of an overachiever, he can spread himself thin trying to live up to all his responsibilities at once. He’s best friends with Randy, a friendship his parents want to disapprove of, because the few times Elliot’s gotten into trouble not only was Randy there, but 99% of the time whatever it was is Randy’s idea, but never quite manage too.

Randy - Handyman at the ranch, mixed race Hispanic and white, 21. Technically head handyman, because the old head retired six months ago, and is a little young/inexperienced for the job, but he’s not the type to back away from a challenge and has risen to the occasion beautifully. Loves rock and metal music, and spends a lot of his free weekends at concerts, the ones crammed into little venues and bars where people are practically on top of each other and the beat is so loud and solid it throbs through you, connecting you to everyone even before you hit the mosh pit, are his preference. He’s been working at the ranch since he was 16, and feels like he has a claim on it, not afraid to speak up if he thinks a decision Keith is making isn’t right or that he isn’t taking something important into consideration. Can be a bit wild when he’s not being the responsible one, definitely doesn’t always think before he acts.

Alma - Local artist/worker at R & M’s, Hispanic, 25. Alma is a painter and poet, a confident young woman who’s figured out that half of surviving as an artist is being your own agent/a salesperson as well, and in addition to several shelves at the R & M that hold postcard prints of many of her pieces, both the coffee shop and cafe have some of her larger paintings displayed, and she always has a booth at the Saturday market, though the majority of her sales come from her website. Alma is cheerful, and likes to tease, and growing up the middle child of four brothers, is very able to hold her own in verbal sparring. She’s close with her family, still living with her parents, and while at first her father was dismayed at her choice of career, he now hands out her business card to basically everyone he talks to.

Miriam - Nell’s Mom, white, 71, a little deaf, speaks loudly, partially because of the deafness, partially because she spent too long letting other people push her around and when she hit about 50 decided she was going to be the one talking over people now. She’s earned it. Age has made her more delicate than she likes, bruising and scraping easily, but she’s determined to do most things for herself. Those that are beyond her she has no problem loudly ordering someone else to take care of. Volunteers a lot, often fosters kittens for the local animal shelter. Used to chain smoke, quit when Nell was a teenager because she kept leaving pictures of diseased lungs everywhere. Still uses the candy ones as a substitute.

Places

Unnamed Town- Somewhere in Latah County, Idaho, where there is not already a town in the way. Around 200 years old and has grown and shrunk and grown again, and currently has a population of about 12,000. Having grown out from a traditional mainstreet, _______ no longer has the western style boardwalk seen in old pictures, but it does have a large cluster of local businesses and ‘hot spots’ still along that old main street, a coffee shop, a diner, a combination bookshop and independent library, a hardware store, a bar, a few places I haven’t thought of yet, and of course R & M General. There is a historical barn half a mile or so away from mainstreet that has been converted into a theater/meeting hall/dance hall, and a community center was added onto it in the early 90’s. During the summer there is a farmer’s market on the property every Saturday. The elementary school and junior high are all on one property, several miles out of town, because the majority of families live on farms, ranches or small rural properties rather than in one of the neighborhood clusters in the town itself. The junior high is 7th, 8th and 9th graders, in a newer two story building, and the elementary school is divided into lower and upper elementary with the bracket shaped building basically being cut in half, K-3 on one side and 4-6 on the other. The high school is outside of town on the other side by several miles, and actually serves kids from another town(s) as well. There is also a trailer park with about forty units, not exactly sure where it is yet, but Miriam(Nell’s Mom) lives there. There is also an animal shelter, a vet’s office, a cemetery, and a couple churches, and I’m sure more things to come.

R & M General (working title?)- Ray and Mavis’s store, a general store with a candy focused twist. A vintage Pepsi sign, neon still bright, and a charming green glass juke-box filled with hits from the 1940’s onward grace the front porch of the R & M, along with a long bench that locals are encouraged to use for a spell or to listen to a couple songs, provided they can behave themselves (teenagers arguing over who their favorite member of the rat pack is might be amusing, considering they were already ‘mom and dad’, or at least older brother and sister, music by the time Mavis and Ray were teenagers, but when they get loud it also gets annoying.). The store itself still has the original wooden counter up front and built-in shelves along the walls, but all refinished and polished to a high shine. A mixture of display types going down the middle of the store, barrels and baskets filled with skeins of colorful yarn and cloth or Mavis’s knitted stuffies(and during winter sometimes socks and mittens), other sewing and craft supplies, display racks with local arts, postcards and carvings, sometimes wind up toys made by Elliot, and of course many, many displays of candies and chocolates. They also have a lot of dry goods, and some of the simpler candy types have little instruction booklets and the ingredients it takes to try out making them yourself stocked in the same display, drink coolers, and sometimes have local produce available. Basically, they have a bit of everything, except for building equipment/home repair supplies, and that’s because of the hardware store across the street.

Pinehallow Ranch-A sprawling 100 acre ranch in Latah County, Idaho where the Waller family has been doing something or other with horses for four generations now. Originally it was a horse breeding ranch, but Keith and Irene’s grandfather felt the money was in training horses, and offered boarding as well, and Keith has continued to build that up, offering lessons for a variety of styles, ages, and skill levels. Butting up against BLM land that allows additional grazing and trail riding, the ranch has four pastures, a large corral, a medium sized indoor arena and two horse barns, one for boarded horses and one for the ranch's own stock, and an equipment barn, an old bunkhouse that is mostly used to store feed-though Randy has slept there when in between places, mostly unbeknownst to Keith-and some smaller equipment sheds, placed where they’re needed. The main house is an L-shaped ranch house with a porch that goes around the entire long front of the house with a large herb/kitchen and rock garden arranged around that. There are treed pockets scattered here and there, left alone as the rest of the ranch was developed, but the creek Monty and Juniper sometimes hang out at is on BLM land, as is most of the forested area around the ranch.

Pinehallow Taglist @sleepysera @enchanted-lightning-aes @odysseywritings @thegreatobsesso @writing-is-a-martial-art and @hiitsolivia If anyone else wants to be added just interact with the post :) (My more advanced tumblr knowledge has led me to believe this is better than asking people to reblog/comment to be added, but if I'm wrong just let me know.)

[kitkat1003]

Tower Tales

4: Turns out, they can get sick of each other

AO3 Link

@asilcorner YEET

Time passes and it’s maddening.  Yakko keeps a calendar, but there’s no point in trying to know how long they’ve been trapped in here when they can’t even tell if they’re sleeping at night or day.  They don’t know how long an hour is, a minute, month, a week, a day.  Not by heart.  So, for a while, they have to guess.

Yakko eventually makes a clock, sets a time, makes their day as normal as he can, starting the hour at a random time and suddenly dinnertime is 5:30pm instead of just sometime before bed, even though they can’t tell if it’s even close to 5:30pm outside.  It doesn’t matter if it turns out they aren’t following the sun, the sun has never followed them, so fair’s fair.  Besides, why stick with the world’s set of rules when those rules act like this is fine, that them being trapped is fine?

And hey, what’s a little madness?  Who cares, right?

The tower becomes a lived-in space.  The first two floors become living room areas, bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom.  They never can be certain on the decor, and it changes daily, weekly, hourly, but that’s fine, because the idea of everything repeating, like the days have no difference between them makes Yakko want to curl into a ball and never straighten out.

The third floor is left mostly barren, because that’s where they practice their toon powers.  Wakko has a penchant for bombs and offensive weapons, Yakko finds he can pull a pen out of anywhere and anything, and Dot has an affinity for her mallet, as well as fashion.

She likes to tailor, on occasion, and bribes Wakko to be her model for it by letting him perform songs via burping after dinner—she doesn’t mind the sound, it’s really the smell that makes her hate the whole thing—and Yakko starts being able to pull out random books from his hammerspace.  They’re typically books he likes, thank god, but sometimes they’re just confusing.  He likes Dr. Dolittle, though it is a bit silly, and the idea of talking animals being strange doesn’t make sense to him, being animal-like himself, but at the least it’s an interesting series with many books to go through.  He likes Winnie the Pooh, too, and the Velveteen Rabbit is surprisingly sad, but at least it’s a change of pace in comparison to the happier children’s books he reads.

He ventures to more adult focused books, like The Great Gatsby, which is depressing but also an interesting commentary of the time, and the Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.  He actually reads through that one a couple times, to go back and find the clues Miss Christie left for the reader, and he finds it utterly fascinating.  Who knew that someone could write like that?  Leaving little pieces that only come together to make something when the last piece is found.  It’s like a blank puzzle that turns on when you finish it.

Dot likes to read with him, pulling out a magazine about the daily fashion news or parties.  He doesn’t know what Playboy is, but the moment it appears in her hands he rips it away and throws it in the fire.  She evidently sees enough just from the cover, because she doesn’t argue.

He occasionally reads to Wakko and Dot.  Typically before bed—he regrets ever reading the Velveteen Rabbit to them, because Wakko didn’t sleep for a few days after.   He tries to get Wakko to read with him, but Wakko seems to find learning anything in a standardized way quite difficult, and all it took was one semi pointed comment from Dot about it to keep the boy from even trying, shame painting his cheeks the red of their nose.  Yakko considers talking to Dot about it, but he doesn’t want to further embarrass Wakko by bringing it up, and it’s hard to be secretive in a small space.

So he lets it go, because they have plenty of time—too much, too much to ever fill, and sometimes all they can do is sit and hope for it to move faster because boredom makes them dull and he hears Dot cry into her pillow some nights because she’s not as quiet as she thinks she is and he sleeps so lightly he can barely call it rest—and continues to play and have fun and learn new things.  He gets an atlas, one day, and memorizes the names of all the countries, hums out a melody, learns rhyme schemes.

And when he starts up a tune, they all fall in line.  That’s the thing—while he and Dot learn the normal way, Wakko seems to be able to do just about anything when he stays out of his own head.  Which is odd, because Wakko doesn’t talk too much, so he must be in his head plenty.  Perhaps, then, the line between thinking and doing is so wide that when he tries to both everything gets jumbled.  Because when they burst into song, Wakko dances and prances and creates lyrics like a pro, whether they’re singing about nothing at all to complex philosophical concepts, with a plethora of large words that if Wakko tried to read he would trip and stumble as they were slanted stairs.  Occasionally, Yakko will ask if Wakko even knows what they’re singing about, only ever curious, and Wakko can talk his ear off about it all.  Yet, when Yakko brings him into a classroom setting, Wakko’s face goes blank, and no comprehension of anything Yakko says ever shows.

Clearly he has a grasp on the English language, clearly he’s smart—Yakko could never think his brother stupid, because no stupid person could build a second floor without any plans, could follow jokes and make his own quips on occasion that send him and Dot into laughing fits, could pick the perfect moment for a physical joke in the middle of a conversation; no way that Wakko is anything close to stupid—but the moment it’s a classroom type setting all of that goes out the window.  Is it the motivation?  Is it the material?  Is it him?

Yakko has to figure this out, but at least he doesn’t have to figure it out soon.  He has time.

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They aren’t perfect, despite the look of them, despite how they’re drawn to be.  They can’t be expected, forced together 24/7, to not get into petty squabbles.  And they are petty.  Dot hates sharing the bathroom with ‘gross boys,’ hates it when they play during dinner, Yakko hates it when they’re making too much noise during his reading times, when they complain too much, Wakko grumps about when they eat something he was supposedly saving, or throw something away he thinks he could eat (a.e. a banana peel, a watermelon rind, moldy bread, etc), or when they talk too softly or too fast, as if they don’t want him to be able to listen.  It’s never anything too bad, and they get over it within the next few hours, but sometimes it builds.

For instance, Wakko is going stir crazy.

Dot and Yakko can tell.  They don’t mind sitting still on occasion, given the right persuasion, but Wakko is a mile a minute of movement, everything twitching and tapping, tail swishing back and forth and wagging when he’s excited.

There’s only so many times one can run around a small space before they get bored.  Only so many months one can spend exploring and doing the same things with little variation 

“Ugh, there’s nothing to dooooooo,” Wakko whines, flopping onto the armrest of Dot’s chair.  She and Yakko are reading the same book, they’re going to discuss it when they’re done.  It’s a fun blend of their skills and likes-talking about reading.

“There’s plenty of things to do!  Why don’t you read a book with us?” Dot suggests, and maybe it’s a little mean, but it’s more out of ignorance than cruelty.  It’s been what feels like a few months since she saw Wakko struggle, how could she have known that he’d written off reading entirely.

“You could read to me,” Wakko actually perks up at his own suggestion, like a lightswitch flipping on.  Yakko doesn’t mind it at all, and is about to volunteer when Dot raises a brow.

“Can’t you read yourself?” She shoots back, and Wakko deflates, before he crosses his arms, on the defensive.

“I don’t need to,” He says, and Doll rolls her eyes.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t want someone to read to you,” Like usual, her words are sharper than his, but she makes one mistake.  “You can’t just refuse to learn forever.  What are you going to do when you get into the real world?”

Dot is trying to hope.  She trusts that, someday, they’ll escape.  Doesn’t matter how long it takes, they’ll still escape, because she trusts their family, and she trusts their growing abilities.

But Wakko...well, he isn’t quite so positive, at the moment.

“We’re never going to the real world!” He shouts.  “I know what forever means, I’m not that dumb, and that’s how long they’re keeping us here,” Dot is taken aback, but Wakko is a roll, frustrated and ashamed and angry, and Yakko is cut off by his next spitting sentence.  “And the worst part of it is that I’m stuck here with a stuck-up jerk like you!”

“Wakko Warner!” Yakko stands, and he doesn’t typically raise his voice like this, not angry, but that was uncalled for, and Wakko—

Wakko flinches.

Yakko falters, Dot’s eyes are already teary, and Wakko dashes off, vanishes up to the second floor before anyone can stop him.

Yakko attends to the sibling that is close by, because Dot is upset and angry and hurt, so he soothes her tears.

“Why would he say that?” She asks, confused.  “Did he mean it?”

“Of course not—he’s just not handling this as well as you are.  You picked reading up way faster than he did.  He’s been struggling with it, and with all...this,” he gestures to the tower.  Dot sniffles.  “You do have a habit of saying things that make you sound high and mighty, your majesty,” He adds, with a grin, and Dot giggles a little, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry,” She says, and he shrugs.

“Not me who needs an apology, sis, but I appreciate it anyway.  Let’s give Wakko some time to calm down, kay?” He picks her up and smiles.  “I don’t know what chapter you got to, but I have some thoughts on the 5th one.”

She grins back at him.

One down, one to go.

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They find Wakko curled up in a ball on the couch upstairs, face hidden from the world and back facing the outside.  Dot comes over quietly, soft steps toward the tense coiled spring that is her brother.

“Didn’t mean it,” He sounds very...defeated.  “I’m sorry, Dot,” He sniffles, and she still can’t see his face.

“It’s okay,” she responds, because staying mad never helped anyone anyway.  “I shouldn’t have been so mean about it.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know it was so hard.”

“It is,” Wakko finally turns to face her, and his face is stained with tears.  “I can’t get it to make sense in my head—and you got it easy.  Maybe I am stupid,” He turns to face her, sitting up and curling his knees to his chest, and the last phrase is muffled by his knees.

“You’re not!  You’re better at building things than I could ever be!  Words can be hard, though.  It took me a bit to get it.” 

He looks over at her, shyly, as if searching her face for any sign of a joke.  She remains resolute, and sincere. “Really?” 

“Yeah!  Hey, maybe I could try and teach you.  Yakko’s a real lazy teacher,” She jokes, and Yakko takes that as his cue to walk over.

“I take offense to that,” He responds without heat, before looking over to Wakko, who shrinks under his gaze.  The action makes Yakko want to disappear—how could he make his own brother scared of him?

“Sorry for scaring you, Wakko,” He tells him, hoping Wakko accepts the apology.  

“It wasn’t you-it was just,” Wakko is quick to reassure Yakko that he wasn’t scared of him, because he wasn’t, and knows that Yakko would never act in a way that should make Wakko afraid of him, he just was scared because “You’re tall,” He finally finds the words, and Yakko blinks.  “The execs who didn’t like us, they were tall, and they shouted a lot, and I was thinking about when we were out and I was already upset and it just happened, but you’re not scary,” He gives Yakko a shaky grin.  “How could someone even be scared of you?”

“Hey,” Yakko takes mock offense, but a weight lifts off of his shoulders.

He shuffles over, and takes the hat off of Wakko’s head to ruffle his hair.  Wakko reaches for it with sweater paws, standing on the couch to grab his hat back, and the tense air starts to dissipate.

Wakko yawns.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.  Yakko settles down on the couch, between him and Dot, and lifts Wakko into his lap.

“Guess it’s naptime, then,” He leans back, hands behind his head.  “Dot?”

She’s already curling up against him.

Eventually, Yakko manages to get horizontal, Wakko and Dot curled up together on top of him. Slowly, he lets out a sigh of relief and sleeps.

The next day, he finds Dot and Wakko at a new dining room table, both hunched over a piece of paper.  Wakko looks very confused, and a little frustrated, but Dot goes over the same letter sounds over and over as if it were the first time, and that type of relentless explanation manages to get through the mental blocks Wakko sometimes has.

“So, the ‘c’ makes a cuh sound, ‘a’ makes an aay sound, so what’s that word?” She points.

“Ca-Catch?” Wakko tries, and Dot cheers, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“You did it!” She says, and Wakko brightens like the sun.

“Faboo!” He responds, and the exclamation is so startling that Dot starts laughing.  Wakko joins in, and Yakko is chuckling to himself all the way to the kitchen.

Within two months, Wakko joins their book club.  They make matching t-shirts.

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Yakko loves his sibs, he really does.  They’re basically the only reason he stuck around for so long. They need him.

But sometimes, he doesn’t want them.

Little siblings bicker and it gets real grating.  He just wants one day, one, where he doesn’t have to deal with a stupid argument!  Is that so much to ask

He feels like he never gets this petty over the small stuff.  Aren’t there more pressing things to be upset about?  He doesn’t expect his siblings to be friendly to each other all the time, but would it kill them to resolve their own issues?  Especially when they’re as small as whose mallet is whose(they’re identical) or where a furniture piece should go(when it’s going to be moved within a week anyway, because they’re always changing the format of the tower).  If Wakko’s hat is better than Dot’s flower.  How the kitchen silverware should be organized, even.  Yakko can’t see why it matters

He can’t even get peace now, trying to get through the book they’re in the middle of in their book club.  Wakko and Dot had sped ahead one day when Yakko was making dinner, and now he’s trying to catch up, but he can’t because they’re having another shouting match.  They’re hunched over a fashion magazine, trying to figure out what?  What dress looks cuter?  Wakko, apparently, picked the wrong one, and now Dot is upset, and now he’s upset because she’s upset at him, and it’s just so much.

Eventually he snaps.

“Alright, that’s it!” He shouts, and Wakko and Dot look up from their squabble-about what dress looks cuter, off all things. “I’m going upstairs, and you two deal with each other for a few hours, because I can’t.” He runs a hand down his face and sighs, grabbing his book and disappearing to the second floor, not even bothering to see their reaction.

And you see, you’d think he’d like the peace and quiet, but two hours in and his ears keep twitching, aching for the sound of silly conversation and laughter and pattering feet.  Sure, they’re annoying, and they squabble over silly things, but Yakko is paranoid at heart because the background sounds of them messing around is somehow relaxing, because then at least he knows that they’re there, that they’re safe.  Silence is uncertainty, silence means he’s alone, and he keeps subconsciously searching for their noise, to know that they are, and in turn he is, safe and there.  He thinks he might be a little too used to them, because without the ambient noise he can’t focus.  

Four hours later, and he comes back down, and is greeted to an armful of new books he definitely didn't make, and they don’t look published.  They look more like...picture books?

“We made them for you!” Dot says.

“I did the pictures, and Dot wrote the stories,” Wakko adds.

Yakko’s heart is so full it feels like his ribs are cracking.

“What a couple of authors you are!” he laughs, and they follow him all the way back to his chair.  He sets the books in a stack on his lap, picking up the first one and opening his mouth to read aloud as Dot and Wakko sit on the armrests of the couch, eagerly awaiting his narration and reaction.

Yakko thinks he got pretty lucky with his sibs, even with their petty arguments, smiling down at the pages and reading the books through.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot loves her brothers.  She does.

But they’re gross.

Well, not gross, but certainly not clean.  They make messes and forget to clean them up.  And it’s not that bad, Dot doesn’t mind cleaning.  Wakko builds them things, Yakko takes care of the meals, cleaning is just part of her chores in this whole situation.

It reaches a limit, and she hits it when she watches Yakko spill marinara sauce all over the ground and then do nothing about it.  Wakko slips in it and the two just laugh it off, but the sauce splatters everywhere, and she has to clean that, and—

“Ugh!” She stomps her foot in frustration, and Yakko and Wakko turn to her, confused.  “You two are disgusting!  I have to clean this all up later, and-ugh!” She turns on her heel and heads upstairs.  She slams the hatch door to the second floor shut, and Wakko and Yakko wince at the sound.

“Is the second floor specifically for upset people now, or is it just a really lazy plot device?” Yakko snarks, and Wakko blinks.

“Should we clean this up?”

“Yeah, probably.”

She comes down an hour later, because she skipped dinner and though she doesn’t have a food issue she’s used to eating with her siblings, and she walks into a sparkling clean kitchen.

“This is a once a year affair,” Yakko says, as she stands there shocked.  “Maybe thrice if you pay us.”

“I ate a bar of soap,” Wakko says, and bubbles come out of his mouth.

“You two are ridiculous,” Dot says, and she can’t help the grin on her face.

She hugs them till she hears something crack.  Probably Yakko’s back, with how tense her eldest brother is.

It’s halfway to filthy by the end of the week, but she can tell they’re trying, and that’s enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So yeah, they get sick of each other.  They have petty and not so petty squabbles, but no matter what they end up in the same place.

Curled up near each other, blankets pulled close so that the edges of the bed are barren.  Yakko always talks in sleep, Wakko drools and kicks, Dot will shift from time to time and grab at air, or anything in grasping range, but they won’t wake up, because despite those annoyances, together they feel safe.

And that’s what family is for, isn’t it?

[vintagegoddess12]

Piano. Plum. Please.

Relationship: Agatha Harkness/Cordelia Goode/Reader

Summary: Jealous Cordelia. Playful Agatha. Confused Reader. What could possibly happen?

Requested by: @lilibeth-tate hope you’ll like it

A/N: idk if this will have a chap 2 👀

Cordelia Goode could feel her jaw tense with the view in front of her.

One of her students, [y/n], laughing alongside a 300-year-old witch like they’re the only people in the world. You seem to be enjoying her company all day. Which means you’ve been busying yourself elsewhere all day. This also means that the Supreme hasn’t seen you since the morning. The mere idea of someone else taking your attention sets an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

You sat in front of the piano, feeling the keys and occasionally producing a tune. The older witch, ever the performer, singsongs her words which in turn makes you giggle even more. Cordelia pursed her lips at the scene in front of her. She likes seeing you smile but a part of her wants to be the only one to do that. Immediately hiding her reaction, she tells herself this isn’t jealousy. It’s not. Still, she approached you and the witch in the living room, hoping to break up this two people party.

Agatha Harkness enjoys being the center of attention.

She’s got 300 years' worth of personality and she easily brings to the surface what is needed in the situation. She loves it, even more, when you are a blubbering mess around her. So she of course changes from her witch form to a plum fitted dress with a neckline that leaves nothing to the imagination. Well, it leaves something. If you can’t keep your eyes away from her this morning, let’s just say you’re not staring elsewhere now.

But someone else is staring. More like a glare. Agatha can feel someone watching the events unfold; the piano playing and nonsense singing. The Supreme is delicious to look at, delightful to piss too. It’s really a wonder how come the both of you remain oblivious regarding each other’s feelings. It took her one morning to know! With your endless ramblings of how Cordelia has done nothing but care for you, even when you don’t ask for it. Don’t even get her started with the Supreme’s incessant chores just so she can keep you by her side. Pathetic people with their pining. She runs her tongue on her lips and smirks. That doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy it or you.

[Y/N] can audibly hear her heart thumping from inside her chest.

Or from outside? She’s not sure anymore. It’s been beating wildly since this morning and she’s not sure how she’s still alive. It’s one thing to dream about your Supreme at night; it’s another to daydream about Ms. Harkness when she’s mere inches away from you. So when you got assigned to accompany her the whole day, you resorted to laughing at everything she says the entire time - probably looking like a mad man by sundown.

Sitting on the piano bench, you try to control your breathing but lose it every time she bites her lip or combs her hair or leans forward or exists. You try to drown out her presence only to be replaced by the images of a certain blonde standing behind you with her hand tightly on your hip, mouth so close to your ears, and her other hand holding your arms as she trains you to cast a spell. You reel in from the sudden heat spreading across your chest and realization.

You’re bewitched for them. Two witches who can take your breath away. Two powerful witches who can make you powerless in an instant. The idea of them standing over you, crowding you, and telling you what to do. Making you beg for it - whatever it is. This time it’s you biting your lips, grounding yourself at the sound of piano keys and steps approaching. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t make the heat travel down your core.

[themadauthorshatter]

Time to finish what I started. What a journey, right?

Anyway, here is the last part of my Tagatha Touch up thing. Thanks for being with me during this whole thing, it really means a lot to me.

Anyway, LET'S GET THIS THING WRAPPED UP!

So, we're backtracking a little bit.

We still get that legitimate breakup scene between Tedros and Sophie, both with and without Hester and Anadil next to her, though the only thing that changes is that Sophie glares at Agatha, who gives her a small wave.

Agatha's true beauty realization is getting another Tagatha moment, mainly with Tedros seeing her during lunch and maybe accidentally spitting out some water when she waves at him really awkwardly after the fail with Beatrix and the other Evergirls.

She laughs at his slip up, but tries to ignore it.

AFTER her proud, beautiful, "I've been beautiful all along" moment is when the Tagatha ball REALLY gets rolling.

Tedros sees her at lunch, pretty as a picture, and tries to act cool as he walks over to where she's eating and goes to lean against a tree...

Only to miss and fall down.

Agatha does not miss this.

"Are you okay down there?"

(After a few seconds of, 'Oh, shit! She saw that! Act cool! Act cool!' Tedros looks up at the branches that are mostly leafless and squints and points at them.) "52, 53, 54, 54, 56, 57. FINALLY! I'm really starting to wonder how long those guys will stay up there."

(Raises an eyebrow.) "You don't say." (Her smile drops as Tedros sits up.) "Have you seen Sophie?"

"Not in a while, but she's probably been more active at night."

"You think she's behind the attacks?"

"Told me herself. If I don't take her to the Ball, she'll keep attacking the schools. And I am NOT talking to her again. Nice try."

We get that "look somewhere else" "or look closer moment," but here's one more little change I'll saute in for you:

At Agatha's advice to "look closer," Tedros's exasperated look becomes soft as he holds her hand.

"I already have."

Back on track with the story's original events, up until the attack on the No Ball and the events slightly prior.

Instead of someone knocking Agatha out and locking her in one if the classrooms, Tedros leads her into a classroom and pushes her in before locking the door from the outside.

This would be their conversation:

"Tedros!" (Bangs on the door) "Tedros, let me out!!"

"You're not coming with. It's too dangerous, and we can't let you warn the witch."

(Kicking the door) "Please! You can't kill her! She's my friend!"

"Why do you think villains die in fairytales, Agatha? All they do is hurt people. Just stay there until we get back."

(Kicks the door some more.) "Tedros, don't do this! Stop being stupid and just leave them all alone!"

(Tedros throws himself against the door, finally sropping the confident prince that's about to lead an army to Evil) "I CAN'T LOSE YOU!"

(Cue silence, a broken heart by Beatrix, and Agatha no longer trying to break the door down as Tedros breaks down.)

"All this time... ever since the first challenge... I always thought you were the witch, but...(his fist clenches against the door) but you weren't. You never were. After how you saved me, even helping... helping her just to get home, I saw how good you were. How you were meant to be here, and..."

(Agatha rests her forehead against the door, trying to get as close to her prince as she can, tears streaming down her face.)

"And that... I love you. I can't lose you, Agatha. Not to her. Not to any of them."

"...Teddy."

(Kind of quietly) "I'm sorry."

Tedros leaves as Agatha screams and cries for him to not attack the Nevers, which he ignores, because necessity, I guess.

Agatha crashes the No Ball and Sophie tricks both her and Tedros, makimg Tedros almost shoot Agatha like vefore and the whole reverse thimg happens between Evers and Nevers.

HOWEVER, just as Sophie escapes, Agatha rund into Tedros and says she's going after her.

He tells her to promise him she'll meet him in the hall by the dorms, the one they usually met up in at night to hang out.

She kisses him really quick and runs after Sophie.

We get the ending like before, with Sophie and Agatha's friendship kiss that sends them home, all nice and happy.

"AGATHA!"

Tedros sprints through the trees as the two start to disappear. "WAIT, AGATHA!"

No time for goodbyes in this fairytale.

Agatha and Sophie vanish just as Tedros's and Agatha's hands meet.

Then, the girls are both gone.

Tedros drops to his knees, gripping the ground they were standing on, his true love gone.

"No. Not again," he says as tears fall from his eyes and onto the ground. "Please, not again."

AND THAT WAS MY TAGATHA REWORK!!

Thank you all so much for joining my on this little series, and I'm so glad with how it came out, imo.

The original did feel a little rushed, so I hope this did Tagatha a little more justice.

What a ride this has been, not even joking.

Thanks again for joing me, I hope you enjoyed, and DEFINITELY stay tuned for the AWWP touch up part 2😉!

Again, thank you all so much!!

[witchofrvnswood]

a thorough rant on why i despise awwp // part 1

TRIGGER WARNING: EATING DISORDERS, FATSHAMING, AND BAD BODY IMAGE ARE DISCUSSED IN A LATER SECTION OF THE POST

It’s been a long time coming guys,,,

But here it is.

I don’t know how this is going to end but it won’t be pretty.

So, AWWP is the sequel to SGE, a book in which the author claims he addresses themes such as feminism, girls vs boys, and what not. 

I feel like the book fails on many counts and does not even follow what Soman Chainani has described it as and intended it to be.

The first part of this rant will be centered around the themes of this book. The next part will touch on the plot and some of the characters in this book.

Let’s dissect this, shall we?

Toxic Feminism

God, this one drove me beyond insanity and is probably the worst plot point this book has to offer. I don’t even get what the author achieved by writing this ?? Instead of showing girls being progressive and realizing their true individual power and potential after an entire school year of being told they were objects and being trained to be beautiful and submissive to buys, he decides to show extreme feminism where girls just disown anything, ANYTHING that relates to femininity. 

Of course they don’t have to wear makeup. Of course they don’t need long, luscious locks. But to claim that girls only have these assets to impress boys is sexism in itself. “Third, we debeautified makeup as a pawn of patriarchy designed entirely to attract men,” the teacher went on.” Not to mention, Evelyn Sader, the woman pushing this agenda, isn’t following any of these rules herself and is running this sexist school while trying to trap two teenage girls just to get a man’s favor ??? What ?????

And of course. The whole enslaving boys thing. So many people falsely believe that feminism is about hating boys and that girls are supreme which is why so many people scoff at it. Because if this is the way feminism is being represented in media, in a CHILDRENS’ book, of course people are going to misunderstand it! This puts such a bad name on feminism and is just downright insulting to everything the feminist movement has worked for and now the author is pushing this idea into young children and teens. 

This entire book is set up to tell the readers that girls cannot be independent because they’ll end up enslaving men which cannot happen because they need men and can’t live without them! This idea is even pushed by Hester, HESTER of all people, who is said to hate boys. The way she says it makes absolutely no sense to her character whatsoever. ““Shut up,” Hester boomed, spinning back to Agatha. “No one likes boys! Even girls who like boys can’t stand boys! They smell, they talk too much, they mess up everything, and they always have their hands in their pants, but that doesn’t mean we can go to school without them! It’s like stymphs without bones! It’s like witches without warts! Without boys, LIFE HAS NO POINT!” 

What,,, why,,,, why would you make Hester say something to that effect ? She basically said that girls need boys to function and that “their lives are pointless without boys”. I’m sorry,,, I just,,,, guys, I lost it at that point. Take a shot every time this book makes me lose brain cells, much?? :p

The ending really defines this theme in this book. The last book ended with two girls choosing each other and this book went on and on about how that was WRONG, how only a girl and boy could be together. And then this book ends with a girl and a boy choosing each other and now that is supposedly “the right ending”. We know it’s not from Book 3, but does what’s said and done in Book 3 even matter since they ended up together anyways??

Overall, I just,,, I just don’t know where Soman was going with this. I just don’t. He doesn’t seem like an anti feminist but I feel like what he does is, he takes a controversial issue, puts his own problematic spin on it, tries to write it as overdramatic and satirical and just ends up writing a really close minded take on it which ends up affecting his readers, whose age demographic is usually 8-12.

He means well, he really does, and I know that. But he needs to step up his game. I honestly don’t know why his editor, who is a woman, let him publish awful messages like these,,, maybe he’s really convincing? We know he can’t take criticism though (*cough* instagram live *cough*)

But this leads to my next point: The body image messages in this book.

Body Image

TRIGGER WARNING: I DISCUSS GLORIFIED EATING DISORDERS, FATSHAMING, BAD BODY IMAGE, ETC. IF ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU OR MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, STOP READING. THE RANT ENDS AFTER THIS SECTION.

Whew wee, where do I start. 

Here is another example of how Soman’s self claimed satire goes way too far and ends up being destructive.

The way the Evergirls are looked down upon by Sophie and Agatha for starting to eat more and not care about their weight or beauty is appalling to me. Sophie has always prioritized looks, which makes sense for her character to be disgusted by the Evers (not okay though!) but Agatha’s disgust makes no sense. This girl refused to take showers or brush her hair just a year ago, so I don’t know why she’s so disgusted by the Evergirls carelessness of their appearance.

Reena is even described with clear disgust in the book about how she had acquired a large bottom by eating chocolate and even candy is found repulsive by Sophie and Professor Anemone and the judgement they show towards the Evergirls for eating these is just awful. This message is really destructive and choosing whether or not to consume sweets is every individual’s own decision. Adding in the idea that eating sweets will make you gain lots of weight to your book is so harmful to young minds. And writing about how the protagonists, who the characters the readers look up to, are disgusted by girls putting on weight is horrible.

But the biggest victim of this theme is Dot. Dot, who was bullied endlessly for being overweight in the previous book. Dot, who somehow lost so much weight over the course of nine months that she went from being rotund to skinny with hour glass curves.

Okay, let’s break this down: there is no way, absolutely no way, that a person can lose THAT much weight in less than a year and still be healthy. Dot was not shown to have any health problems. When explaining how she had done this, she claimed she was “hungry all the time” and was solely snacking on vegetables such as carrots or celery. She further claimed that all of this was “worth it” as she is now popular and has a great social life.

I’m not,,,, I can’t even,,,, this. This is what you call glorifying an eating disorder. Are you going to read that above paragraph and tell me that people won’t feel inspired by Dot? That a self conscious girl won’t read about Dot’s “amazing” weight loss story and how “amazing” her life is after becoming skinny is not going to feel jealous and most likely try something to that affect,,,, I,,,, Soman, WHERE is your tact?

This is so disgusting and I am so sorry to anyone who was affected by this. If you don’t know, there was a movement of sorts on Instagram where the sge fans confronted Soman for how his way of writing eating disorders and weight problems seriously affected them and ended up making them self conscious or develop their own eating disorders.

This is all made worse by the fact that he just laughed it off, said he wrote it for humor, and was offended we even accused him of writing bad body image into his stories because he’s been teased for being skinny before.

This book has the worst problems with body image and glorifying eating disorders. This itself is enough to ruin the book for me.

Dot is a kind and humble character who’s only addressed in the story through her weight, it’s made into such a big plot point in her character arc, her weight and how she gets bullied for it, or how skinny she is, and what she did to get there. Her entire character is defined by her body and that is not okay.

This book did her and the other Evergirls so much injustice and it is so upsetting.

I would like to say this is it for the rant, but no, there are a lot more qualms I have with this book, ahaha :/

Stay tuned for Part 2: my issues with the characters in the books :)

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Drawing Daisies, Pushing Daisies || Ariana & Luce

TIMING: January 8th PARTIES: @divineluce & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Luce gives Ariana yet another memorial tattoo and some secrets come to light.  CONTENT: Some mentions of grief and the situation with Lydia (domestic abuse/promise binds), use of needles in relation to tattoos. 

When she had first gotten the tattoo of wildflowers on her arm in honor of Celeste, Ariana hadn’t planned on her arm becoming a memorial. As it stood, she kept losing people she loved and wanted to carry them with her. Wanted to make sure she never forgot them and the lessons they taught her. One of these days, she was just going to get a completely silly tattoo. Today was not that day, but it was nice to dream. She walked into the familiar tattoo shop and waved as she spotted Luce at her station. It looked like she was mostly set up and ready to go even if Ari was running a few minutes early. She always enjoyed glancing at the art on the wall as she was in the shop. There was some new floral work up at Luce’s station that she looked at for a moment before taking her place by Luce. “Hey,” she said, “As always, thanks for drawing up something so great. I promise my next tattoo is going to be silly and not a memorial piece.” Her hand flew over her mouth as she realized her error, “I really need to not use that fucking word.” 

 Ariana wasn’t someone that Luce would claim to know well, but she knew that the girl had been through some shit. Fuck, the wildflowers on her arm were proof enough of that. So, when Luce had gotten the email about drawing up a new design, she’d been happy to do it. Art had the power to help people and so did tattoos, even if boomers liked bitching about how they were destroying common decency. If a back tattoo of Post Malone sparked joy, fuck, she’d do it. Which, thankfully, that wasn’t the case. No, she’d requested something with flowers and an old vinyl record, which had been a simple enough design that Luce could fit to match the girl’s pre-existing tattoos. “Yeah, for sure--” Luce started to say before her eyes widened. Glancing to the open door of her room, Luce walked over and shut the door, giving the two of them some privacy. “Memorial piece, huh?” She said cautiously as she went back to her desk, pulling the stencils she’d printed out for Ariana to look at. “I’m sorry to hear that… you lost someone.” Another someone. 

 With the door closed, it dawned on Ariana that she could talk more freely. Not that she really had any true scope of what human hearing could truly pick up over the music playing in the shop. It wasn’t like she had a point of reference. Maybe she’d ask Luis one of these days when he was a little more in tune with who and what he was now. For now, she focused on Luce and the stencils she was pulling out. “Yeah,” she said as nonchalantly as she could, “As the okay DJ Khalid would say, another one.” Nope, that felt wrong. Was she really getting to a point where she joked about the darker things in life? “That was a bad joke.” She shook her head and instead explained, “Remember the article about that one bitch in the paper? Whole horror house thing. Well, this one and the bat one are courtesy of that bitch.” She wasn’t even sure her name deserved to be spoken. That bitch seemed to sufficiently cover things anyway. She glanced over the stencils and pointed to the one she liked best. Though her sense of color was off, the yellow in the daisy seemed to be the brightest. Just like Todd had been. “Thanks,” she said softly, “It is what is. But I like that one.” She pointed to her favorite. 

 As the girl let out a wry, bitter joke, Luce did her best not to react. Everyone dealt with grief in their own ways. She knew that better than most. Her encounter with the tree dude in the forest was a reminder of that. He’d seen what she’d done in her rage and grief. Pulling out one of her trays, she busied herself pouring out some ink. At the mention of that bitch in the paper, with the horror house-- Luce’s hand slipped, black ink bottle spilling onto the silver tray. “Shit!” She swore, swiftly capping the bottle and grabbing some paper towels to wipe up the ink. Lydia. Lydia. She was talking about Lydia. “How do you know about Lydia?” Luce asked cautiously, still tentative about saying the woman’s name. She’d felt the Fae promise burn in the back of her throat before and, even though she knew it was long gone, there was still a part of her that shied away at the idea of saying the woman’s name aloud. “I, uh… Yeah. It’s a good one. I think it’s my favorite out of the bunch. They symbolize purity, innocence.” She said before biting her cheek. “Was your friend… were they in that house?”

 The sound of ink falling to the tray made Ariana flinch slightly. It only slightly startled her. More than anything, she was perplexed. Her head tilted and she looked at Luce curiously waiting for an explanation only to be met with a question. “Wait, how do you know about Lydia?” It was safe to say she was a pretty big part of Lydia’s crimes coming to light and ultimately Lydia’s death though she didn’t wield the knife herself. “Lydia and I… well, there’s a lot there. Mostly her murdering my friends and binding me into something that would have inevitably killed me and a bunch of other people had Kaden not saved my ass. Then I was the “unidentified teen” in that article.” Her fingers did air quotes as she said the unidentified teen. She was unsure if she should mention the whole getting Lydia killed thing. While she knew Nell would understand, but she had no idea where Luce stood on being a murder accomplice… even if said murdered person was actual trash. “My friend was definitely that.” Both Todd and Sammy had a very genuine way about them that made her wish she could have shielded them from Lydia. “Three of them were, yeah. Managed to save one of them… and another person, too.” 

 Luce didn’t want to say it. She should have kept her mouth shut, because of course this would be how the train of thought would go. How did she know Lydia? She couldn’t just tell Ariana that Lydia had… helped them sacrifice a man in the name of vengeance and retribution. Prepping her machine with steadied hands, Luce swallowed. “She had me locked in a promise too. I didn’t know about what she was doing at her house, but I knew that she was capable of some fucking awful things. So.” She paused, glancing down at the stencil as she pressed it against the girl’s skin, leaving an impression on Ariana’s arm. “When someone told me there was trouble, I went to help.” Help. That was a watered down version of the truth. She hadn’t helped anyone. Clearing her throat, Luce nodded, “Shit. I’m sorry… that you lost them.” She said, glancing back to the tattoos that decorated the girl’s arm. This poor fucking kid. Because that’s what she was, a kid. She didn’t deserve this. 

 Ariana hadn’t thought it was possible to hate Lydia more than she already did, but her having Luce locked into a promise as well seemed to do the trick. Somehow, even in death, she just kept getting worse. Her hands clenched into fists, but as it stood, Lydia couldn’t do this to anyone again. “Bitch,” she mumbled to herself before adding, “Her, not you obviously.” It was the next part that made her have to refrain from tilting her head as Luce placed the stencil on her arm. Help, what did she mean by that? Was she the person Athena had gone to for help while Ariana went with Kaden and Agatha to rescue Chloe, Todd, and Kelly? That had to be what she meant, right? She’d been so caught up in trying to deduce just what she meant by that she barely noticed the cool feel of the stencil on her arm. “Help,” she said slowly, “Did that help happen to be teaming up with a blonde warden?” She didn’t want to totally give Athena’s identity away if that wasn’t the case. She also didn’t want to just assume Luce had been down to help kill Lydia. Not that she judged it. Unless Lydia died, all she was ever going to bring to the world was pain. Then there was yet another apology for all she lost. “Thanks,” she responded instinctively at this point, “It is what it is, but I’m getting by.” And she was. Some days better than others, but it was getting by all the same. 

Ripping open a new pack of needles, Luce fitted them into her machine and pulled on a pair of gloves as she settled next to Ariana. The machine buzzed in her hand, the hum familiar and comfortable as she readied herself to begin the tattoo. But, before she pressed the needles to Ariana’s skin, she blinked in surprise at the girl’s words. If she wasn’t holding her machine, she might have flinched at the mention of a blonde warden. But she was a professional. And she wasn’t going to fuck up a tattoo, not even now. Swallowing, Luce glanced at Ariana. “She convinced me to go with her. Well,” She paused and pressed the tip of the machine to the girl’s skin, ink dancing at her fingertips, “I let her talk me into it.” Luce said, not wanting to say anymore. If Ariana knew who Athena was, then she probably knew what Luce’s brand of help had brought about. “Getting by,” Luce echoed with a small laugh. “As someone who’s been getting by for a while, I’m real fucking sorry that you’re in the same boat.”

 The buzz of the tattoo machine was slowly becoming familiar to Ariana. It was even becoming comforting in a way. It was gentle on her ears and she grew accustomed to the dull pain that came with it. She could tell her question through Luce for a loop though. Given, it meant she helped kill Lydia and Morgan had mentioned it wasn’t so kind, but she wouldn’t shed any tears over a murdered serial killer. One who’d hurt her and too many people she cared for. So kept her arm still and quietly said, “Thank you. I really didn’t want her going on her own and I had to get my friends out of her house.” Even if it wasn’t entirely successful. It didn’t make her feel any comfort to know Luce had been just getting by too. She knew about Bea and she knew how much losing a sister sucked. Even getting her back, she’d never be able to erase that experience. The feeling of the needle on her arm kept her steady and resolved, if only so she didn’t ruin her own tattoo. “I’m sorry, too. It’s a pretty shitty boat. I’d much prefer one of those all inclusive cruises if I have to be on any boat.” Focus still on keeping still, she softened her features, “I know I’m young, but if you wanted to talk about any of it, I’m a pretty good listener. If you’d rather not, that’s chill, too.” 

 Thank you. Those weren’t the words Luce wanted to hear, but how was Ariana to know that? She’d killed again and while Lydia was hardly an innocent… that didn’t change the fact that she was someone who posed no real threat to Luce or her family. She would have plagued some other town, some other people. Perhaps Luce had done the right thing getting rid of her. But even if it was, she hadn’t done it for the right reasons. “Are you and her friends? Athena?” Luce asked, the words careful as she focused on her work, making the lines nice and neat. “Yeah, I could do with a fucking cruise right about now.” She said with a nod. Pulling back, she dipped the tip of her machine in the ink and glanced at Ariana’s arm with a gentle but meaningful look. “You’ve got enough of your own stuff to deal with. I’m not going to add to that. But, thanks for the offer.” She said with a nod. “This town… demands a lot from the people who live here. I’m real fucking sorry that you moved here.”

 It dawned on Ariana that maybe thank you hadn’t been the right thing to say. Especially when she was able to piece together just what Luce had done to help. She wasn’t sure being thanked for murder was something most were comfortable with. She’d always been a bit impulsive with her words so she decided to gloss over it and acknowledge Luce’s question. “Oh, she’s my girlfriend actually,” Ariana answered, still not quite used to using the word. Talking with Luce and the dull pain that came with the tattoo made it easier for her to sit still, something she normally struggled to do. Even the daydream of a cruise would typically make her want to immediately jump into the ocean for a swim which was decidedly not so safe in White Crest. “I’d say I’d keep an eye out for raffles, but I’m pretty sure all the prizes in this town are also cursed. Fuck, it’d probably be a damn mime cruise.” Her face visibly cringed at the idea. It was okay that Luce didn’t want to talk and she would have shrugged if she hadn’t needed to sit still. “Everyone’s got shit to deal with. Offer still stands if you ever need it… or even just need someone to spar with. Not sure if you’re into that. I know Nell is. I think it helps.” While she knew Luce was right about this town being hard on people, she wasn’t sure she’d take back moving here. Even with all she’d lost, her and Celeste had both gained a lot, too. “I’m not,” she said surely. There wasn’t much she was sure of, but this she was. “As much as I miss Celeste, it was always just the two of us. She never had anyone to really talk to about things and she’d spent so much of her life trying to understand others. Make them feel seen and heard without ever really having that for herself and well, I think she may have found that in one of her friends here. I think maybe she finally got to be understood in ways I never really could.” She thought of Kaden fondly and knew he could relate to Celeste in ways she was never able to. In ways Celeste had deserved. She also knew Celeste wouldn’t want her to feel regretful. Though as much was easier said than done, she was trying. She added, “And I have so many people I love here, too. The loss, the pain-- it all sucks and some days it’s really  fucking hard, but there’s still so much good and so many people here I that I love.” 

 “Your girlfriend.” Luce echoed, doing her best to contain her shock. But it was impossible to keep the note of surprise from her voice. What the fuck was Ariana doing, dating someone like that? Not that… she could talk. Remmy had-- well. They’d never dated. Never really been anything. But, Remmy had been with her and they had been like Ariana. Someone good. Someone trying their best. So, what did that make her, then? “Sorry. I didn’t realize.” She said, hoping that the girl would leave it there. “I’m good.” She wasn’t, not by a long shot. But how could she explain to Ariana that she hated what she’d done? If Ariana was dating Athena, that meant something. And the fact she had wanted Lydia dead just as much as the Hunter meant more.”Thanks for the offer though.” She continued to run the machine along Ariana’s arm, the tip steady and constant as she made thin, precise lines. “It’s good. That you have people. It makes a difference in a place like White Crest.” Luce said because it felt like the right thing to say. She didn’t know. Not really. There were people here she loved, but at every turn, she’d run from them. “But yeah. It’s sure fucking hard here.”

 Ariana didn’t think too much of the surprise evident in Luce’s tone. After all, Athena was only just coming out to people and it probably came as a shock to most. She quickly added, “She’s only just starting to like really come out, but yeah, she’s my girlfriend.” Her voice was somewhat proud though the moment of pain that she had to force herself to sit still through got to her for a moment. Man, that soft side of the arm was not fun. Still, the buzzing of the tattoo machine was comforting in its own way. Then Luce said she was good and Ariana frowned slightly. Something in her doubted that, but she didn’t really know Luce well enough to push. “If you’re sure, the offer always stands. You and your sisters have always been good to me so you’re on the list of people I’d eat a mime for,” she cracked a small smile hoping to ease the mood a bit. It was clear Luce didn’t want to talk about things and she respected that, especially as the woman was currently drawing on her with a needle and all. She nodded in agreement, “It does. Makes all the other shit worth it. Not even sure where else I’d go, honestly. Plus, someone has to make sure Blanche eats food that’s not cheese balls.” Luce was right though. It was fucking hard. The last couple of months had given her some room to breathe and process all the grief, but there was still always that underlying fear when someone didn’t text her back right away that they were dead somewhere. “You got that part fucking right. But we’re tough, that’s why we make it here, right?” 

 Well. If they were dating, that had to mean that Ariana knew what Athena was, right? But, Luce swallowed as she wiped the excess ink away, Remmy had never known all of what Luce had done until it was too late. “I see. Well. Good for her.” Luce said, not really knowing how to reconcile this information. Ariana was a good kid, but Athena? Luce had been there, she’d seen how the girl had acted when they’d… taken care of Lydia. No, not taken care of. Who was she killed? Athena had killed Lydia and had convinced her to take part in it too. That unquestionable fact weighted heavily down upon her-- she’d helped get rid of Lydia. She’d burned her body from the face of the earth, wiped her existence clean. And she hadn’t had the right to do that. She could have lived with the promise she’d made to the Fae woman. But another town, other people, they would have been subjugated to the same horrors Lydia had brought here… 

 Clearing her throat, Luce focused back in on the conversation. “Trust me, you don’t need to go eating any mimes for me. Wouldn’t want you to go all stripey on me.” She said with an attempt at a grin. “It’s good to hear that Blanche’s got someone like you in her corner. That girl,” Luce said as she began to add in shading, running the machine over Ariana’s skin with a firm hand. “Gets into more than her fair share of trouble. But, I guess the same could be said for all of us.” Mulling over Ariana’s words, Luce shrugged. Months ago, she might have agreed. Being tough was all you needed, putting up a wall, handling things on your own was how you lived in this town. But now? “Sure is.” She said noncommittally. Changing the topic, Luce looked down at the tattoo. “I think we’re just about done with this. Just a bit more shading and we’ll be wrapped up.”

Ariana laughed a bit and refrained from shrugging, “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone all stripey. I know how to fix it now at least.” Humor was one way to look past the alarming parts of turning silent and stripey like a freaking mime. How they managed to do that was beyond Ariana, but she sure as fuck didn’t like it. There was another small laugh in regards to Blanche. Her knack for trouble could be amusing, but more than anything she was worried for her friend as of late. Even when she was striped, she barely even got a laugh out of Blanche. “Oh yeah, she’s a trouble magnet for sure, but like, same here. Maybe the town is just a trouble magnet.” She watched as Luce continued shading in and said they were just about done. A few more jokes were exchanged before Luce did the finishing touches. She looked down at it for a moment. The yellow almost as lively as Todd had once been, the perfect little tribute to the friend she should have been able to save. Something to carry with her every day to remind her to be better for all the Todds of the world. “It’s perfect,” she said softly before following her up to the counter to finalize payment. And it was, even if it left her with a sort of bittersweet feeling.

[bazzledazzled]

Would You Be So Kind (As To Fall In Love With Me)

Fic for @absolute-nightmare for the @coexchange!! 

Description: Simon Snow doesn’t remember quite when he fell in love with Baz. Maybe it was when he first met him, running gracefully across the football field with his hair tied up. Or maybe it was when they were playing video games at a sleepover and Baz’s leg bumped against his, sending a thumping pulse through his heart. Or maybe it was this year, when Baz came out to him and Simon realized he had a chance.

They’ve been friends since the beginning of High School, but Simon longed for something more.

Tags: High School AU, Normal AU, Friends to Lovers, a bit of Punk/Pastel AU

Trigger Warnings: Minor mention of alcohol abuse and emotional abuse in one of the paragraphs

I hope you enjoy!! I decided to go with a bit of a Highschool AU for this one and it evolved into a friends to lovers fic so yeah! Enjoy :)

Read it on AO3 or read it below -> 

Simon Snow and Baz Pitch were polar opposites, anyone could see that.

Anyone who spared a glance at the odd pair knew this, from Baz’s obnoxious floral shirts and well maintained hair, to Simon’s haggard appearance and leather jacket.They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, complimenting each other, like Persephone and Hades, or yin and yang. Despite everything; who they were, where they came from, and what they looked like, they still were inseparable. They matched.

Simon Snow doesn’t remember quite when he fell in love with Baz. Maybe it was when he first met him, running gracefully across the football field with his hair tied up. Or maybe it was when they were playing video games at a sleepover and Baz’s leg bumped against his, sending a thumping pulse through his heart. Or maybe it was this year, when Baz came out to him and Simon realized he had a chance.

They’ve been friends since the beginning of High School, but Simon longed for something more. He laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, his heart thrumming in his chest. He thought of Baz’s inky black hair and thought about what it might feel like to run his fingers through it. He thought about how he always smelled like something citrusy and crisp, like Earl Grey tea that made Simon wish for a soft, domestic morning with him full of soft kisses and morning tea.

And Simon hated it. No, hate wasn’t the strong enough. He loathed it. He loathed it because here was someone who was completely and utterly perfect, someone he actually had a shot with that wouldn’t care that he’s a guy and knows him inside and out, but for some reason Simon kept holding himself back. He held himself back, not daring to test the waters of their friendship and ruin what they had. He didn’t want to lose Baz as a friend, crush or not. He refused.

So Simon kept his crush bottled away deep down inside him, not daring to let it see the sunshine. He thought that maybe, if he tucked it away, he might be able to shake off these feelings. Maybe they would dissipate and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. Maybe it would work.

————

“We need to find Si a girlfriend,” Agatha says at lunch, her face screwed with determination. Simon sighs, putting down the scone he was eating.

“Ags, please tell me you’re not on this again.”

“Oh she totally is,” Penny says, waving a hand dismissively. “And she has a point. You’ve been moping about like a sad puppy lately saying you’re lonely and want a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t say I wanted a girlfriend,” Simon says, stabbing a strawberry with a fork.

“A boyfriend, then,” Penny says, not a hint of a question in her voice. Simon almost chokes.

“Pen. I don’t need a relationship.”

“Then why do you keep moaning about being single?” Agatha says with a condescending tilt in her brow. Simon huffs, averting his gaze.

“Because I want a boyfriend.”

“Aha! I knew it.” Penny grins victoriously. “Now come on. You have to have a crush on someone. Give us some ideas.”

“I don’t like anyone, Pen.”

“What about that one kid? Rhys I think it was?” Simon scrunches his nose.

“Right. Not him. What about Phillipia?”

“Oh god no.”

“Right. Hmm....” A chair beside Simon moves out and a lunch tray plops down on the table as Baz slides in next to him. He’s wearing a pink shirt with red roses on it and dark jeans that make Simon flush. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, a smile on his lips as he looks at Simon. His gaze lands on Penny and he sighs.

“What are you three up to this time?”

“Who says we’re up to something?” Agatha says, leaning over the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Bunce has that look in her eyes and Snow just looks lost, so obviously you’re hatching an elaborate scheme.”

“We’re trying to find someone for Simon to date,” Penny says, tapping her fingers against the table.

“Ah. Good luck with that. It would take some pretty skilled matchmakers to find someone to date Snow.”

“Hey! I could be a good boyfriend.”

“I have no doubt.” The look in Baz’s eyes is... intense. Simon has no idea how he should read it.

“Hey Baz, you’re gay right?” Agatha pipes in. Baz snorts.

“Does this have a point?”

“I mean, you’re gay and single, Simon’s single and somewhat into dudes.... you know you guys probably could....” Agatha gestured vaguely. Simon’s heart starts to beat out of his chest, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. His stomach twists dangerously and he feels like he might puke. 

Fuck.

Baz rolls his eyes. “Ok, Wellbelove.” They move on to a new topic, Penny rambling about some book she read and Baz seeming completely invested in the conversation. But one thing sticks in Simon’s mind even after lunch.

Baz didn’t say no.

——————

When Simon gets to Baz’s car after school that day, Simon immediately knows what he’s going to say. It’s obvious in the way his brow scrunches in concern as Simon runs his hands through his messy curls.

“Is your lip bleeding?” Baz says, reaching out his hand towards Simon’s cheek, then pulling it back.

“It’s fine,” Simon mumbles, even though it isn’t. It’s the second time this month this has happened.

“Simon...” Baz says in that soft voice, the one he saves for when it’s just the two of them. He picks up Simon’s hand, running his thumb over Simon’s knuckles that are cracked and bleeding, rough from countless fights. They’re all over stupid things, but Simon can’t seem to stop himself. He can’t just turn away when someone corners him, calling him names. He can’t just keep walking when he sees some kid picking on another kid in the halls. And he definitely can’t stop himself when he hears people throwing homophobic comments about Baz behind his back.

“What happened?” Baz says, looking at him with the same sternness he always uses in these situations. Simon huffs.

“Just some kid. It’s not important.” But it is. Because it wasn’t just some kid. It was some kid gossiping about Baz, saying mean, hurtful things. It was some kid who, when Simon told him to stop, taunted him and called Baz his boyfriend, not realizing that that’s all Simon’s ever wanted. It was some kid who threw the first punch, not realizing that Simon has done this before, and he wasn’t scared.

Baz sighs, squeezing Simon’s hand in his. It makes his heart leap, beating so fast that he wondered if maybe this would be the moment. Maybe he’d confess to Baz, announcing his undying love, and Baz would say he felt the same way too, and then they’d kiss in the school parking lot on the hood of Baz’s expensive car, their future set from here on out.

Baz pulls his hands away, grabbing his keys from his pocket. “Get in the car, you nightmare. We’re going to the mall.” Simon groans.

“Again? You were just there yesterday.”

“Yes but the Christmas present I got for Mordelia is something she already has so I have to return it and get a new one. Please? You know you’re better than me at picking presents for her.”

“Alright, fine. But you’re buying me a pretzel.”

“Fine.”

—————

Christmas break was at the end of the week, and Simon didn’t want it to come. Well, he did, because it would mean a break from the mountains of school work he had, but he also didn’t, because it meant it would be a lot less time with his friends and a lot more time with his father, pretending they weren’t a dysfunctional family.

Simon’s father wasn’t terrible. He never hit him, but he also wasn’t the best. He was drunk a lot of the time and was always yelling about how much of a disappointment Simon was. He didn’t like that he didn’t make the football team and he hated that Simon’s grades were just barely passing. None of Simon’s victories seemed like victories to him, and Simon was just done with it. He wanted to find a way to be away from the house as much as possible during break, but he also knew that his friends had families that they needed to be with for the holidays, too.

Nonetheless, when Simon came home on Friday night to his dad drunk in the living room, mumbling incoherently, he turned right around and called Baz.

Baz picked up on the second ring.

“Hey is everything ok?”

“Do you want to go out for dinner,” Simon says in a rush. Baz coughs.

“Um—“

“I mean— not out— I mean, yes, I just-” Simon huffs. “Can we hang out tonight? I know it's the last minute and all that but I just... I don’t want to go home.” Baz doesn’t hesitate.

“I’ll be at your house in five.”

————

This, in Baz’s opinion, was one of the worst parts of being gay. Yes, there were the homophobes and the bullies and his not at all accepting father, but he could deal with that. He could tune them out until all that was left was white noise.

But this, this was something Baz couldn’t ignore. How was he supposed to handle a crush on his best friend? If he asked Simon out directly, it could backfire on him and he’d ruin the friendship they spent four years building up. But if he didn’t say anything, he obsessed over his crush, picking apart every little detail of his interactions with Simon wondering if maybe, maybe Simon might feel the same towards him.

So when Simon called him at 5pm, asking if he wanted to go out to dinner, Baz was left wondering how to interpret it. It was probably just the same old “I’m lonely and I need someone to hang out with.” But if that were the case, why didn’t Simon call Agatha or Penny? He was much closer to them. Or why not suggest a sleepover with everyone? Or invite everyone to dinner? The more and more they hung out alone, the more Baz drove himself crazy wondering.

Maybe he was blowing it out of proportion, but it still didn’t stop his beating heart as he pulled into Simon’s driveway. Simon climbed in, his curls wild and free and his blue eyes piercing through the darkness. He smiled his warm smile at Baz, a smile that was full of dimples and sunshine and made Baz's heart do belly flops.

“Where to?” Baz asks, putting the car in reverse. Simon’s eyes light up.

“iHop.”

————————

Simon drowned his fifth pancake in maple syrup and butter. He asked for more butter a while ago and they brought him a plate full of the stuff. He slathered it on his golden pancakes, laying down a thick layer of white saturated fat.

It was absolutely disgusting.

When Baz became friends with Simon at the beginning of freshman year, he learned to look away when Simon was eating. He was a little messy and lacked more than a few table manners, but it wasn’t terrible. None of Simon’s eating habits were awful, save for the unholy slathering of butter. Baz didn’t understand it, nor did he want to.

“I think there’s more butter and syrup on that pancake than actual pancake.” Simon swallows his bite, grinning toothily at Baz.

“It’s delicious though.”

“Disgusting.” Yet Baz still couldn’t help but think about how beautiful Simon’s dopey grin was and the way his cheeks turned red.

“You wanna try a bit?” Simon asks, holding up a fork with a bit of pancake on it. Syrup slowly dropped from it, golden brown like Simon’s curls. Baz wrinkled his nose.

“I think I’ll skip on that, thanks.” Simon shrugs, continuing to shovel food in his mouth. Baz ordered some eggs, but Simon ended up eating more of them than he did. Baz never had much of an appetite, but Simon’s seemed never-ending.

“You excited for Christmas?” Simon asks, looking up at Baz with his plain blue eyes. Baz snorts.

“Not particularly, but I’ll get by.” Simon frowns.

“Your dad?” Baz runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, but what else is new.” Simon reaches out across the table, taking Baz’s hand in a comforting manner. Baz gulps.

“Guess we both god shitty fathers, huh?” Baz offers a weak smile.

“Guess so.” Simon bites his lip, as if thinking. His eyes spark in the way they do when he gets an idea or is about to make an impulse decision.

“Hey we should try to hang out over break! Get away from family and stuff, you know?” Baz smiles.

“Yeah.” Simon taps his fingers against the wooden table.

“How do you feel about going to see a movie on Monday?”

——————

It’s not a date.

Obviously it’s not a date. There will never be a universe where Simon Snow asks Baz Pitch out on a date other than in Baz’s dreams.

So why was Baz stressing over his outfit for the past hour? He honestly had no idea.

Nothing he tried on seemed to work. Some stuff looked like he was trying too hard, others looked like he wasn’t trying hard enough. It was honestly too much work considering that they were just friends going to see a movie together in the dark where they won’t be able to see each other anyway so theoretically what they wear doesn’t even matter, but Baz was Baz and he had to be extra about everything.

Eventually he settled on a light grey button down and a pair of jeans. It wasn’t one of his best outfits, but it was casual enough for him that it didn’t seem like he was trying too hard. Even though he spent an hour on his hair alone.

The drive over to Simon’s house was shorter than Baz would’ve liked. He didn’t have enough time to organize his thoughts before he was in the driveway, watching as Simon locked the door behind him and bounded down the front steps of his house, his hair bouncing off his forehead. He was wearing a worn grey sweater and  tattered jeans. He looked slightly like a disaster, but that didn’t stop Baz’s heart from pounding. In fact, he found it almost endearing.

That didn’t mean he didn’t make fun of him, though.

“Snow your sweater sleeves have holes in them for god's sake,” Baz says as Simon shuts the car door behind him. Simon smiles back at him.

“It’s comfy though.” Baz rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile on his face. They lapse into a comfortable silence as Baz pulls out of the driveway and onto the street. Simon fiddles with the radio, turning the dial until he finds a song he likes. Some American song starts playing and a guitar solo fills the car. Simon starts to mumble along to the lyrics, bobbing his head and tapping his fingers against his legs. He smiles, getting more and more into it. Baz flashes him a look as he bursts into chorus, singing at the top of his lungs. Baz laughs, shaking his head. The song finishes and Simon grins, his eyes wild and bright.

This goes on for a few more songs, with Simon obviously trying to get Baz to join in on his shenanigans. Baz refuses, but can’t seem to help himself once Bohemian Rhapsody starts playing. Simon’s smile only seems to get more dazzling.

They make it to the movie theater, already buzzing and laughing.  Simon skips ahead of Baz, the sun catching in his bronze curls as he turns to him, almost creating a sort of halo around him.

Their hands brush as they head to the ticket line and Baz wonders if he might be dreaming.

_____________

So Love, Simon may have not been the best movie to go see on Simon’s not-date with Baz. For starters, Baz started crying halfway through.

In retrospect, Simon should’ve expected this outcome, even though he didn’t realize Baz was a crier. The entire plot of the movie is something that resonated with so many people, especially people like Baz and… well, he guesses himself, even though he’s not really sure what he is.

Simon never knows how to deal with someone who’s crying. Back when he used to date Agatha, there would be times where she’d have a breakdown over something and everytime Simon felt like he was making the situation worse instead of helping. He’s not cut out for this.

Tentatively, he reaches out to Baz, taking his hand. They’re rougher and boneier than Simon’s, and a lot longer. He blushes as Baz looks over at him. Baz squeezes his hand and Simon feels his heart stutter in his chest, faltering for a moment as their eyes connect.

They don’t let go for the rest of the movie.

________________

“Pen. I have an issue.”

________________

“Ags….. we have a slight problem.”

_________________

“What is it Si? Is it that math test? I told you you have it down you just need to breathe and remember what we worked on.”

_______________

“Since when do you not have a problem, Baz? You’re literally a bigger Drama Queen than me.”

_______________

“No Pen…. it’s not that it’s just….”

_______________

“This is a real problem, Agatha, listen—“

————————-

“I kind of, maybe, sort of, possibly—“

————————

“I may or may not have—“

______________

“Have a crush on Baz.”

_______________

“Fallen in love with Simon.”

______________

Agatha huffs, hanging up the phone after listening to a 30 minute rant on Baz’s part about how perfect Simon’s hair is and the specific shade of blue his eyes are. Honestly .

Immediately, the phone rings again. Grunting, Agatha picks it up, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Baz I swear to god if I hear one more word about Simon holding your hand I will end you.”

“So he did call you?”

“Penny!”

“Let me guess. You just got off the phone with Baz and his emo bullshit about how Simon will never love him.”

“How did you know?” Penny sighs.

“Because. I just got off of the phone with Simon and his emo bullshit about how Baz will never see him as anything other than a friend.”

“They’re idiots, aren’t they?”

“Yep.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Are we going to intervene?”

“Of course we are.”

________________

All things considered, Baz knew the love letter was a bad idea. He knew the unspoken rule about love letters: if you weren’t planning on sending them, you shouldn’t write them.

But they were a great way to get out frustrations. It was a way for Baz to use his pent up emotion towards something productive and fantasize about telling Simon how he truly felt.

Simon was never meant to read it.

__________________

Was it wrong? Possibly. Was it needed? Most definitely.

Valentine’s day is this Friday, and both Penny and Agatha are sick and tired of Simon and Baz’s complaining, Simon a lot more than Baz. They just didn’t seem to be able to stop with their lovesick moping and at this point it was ridiculous. Neither of them were courageous enough to make the first move, so it was left to Penny and Agatha to make it happen.

When Agatha saw the love letter, she knew exactly what to do.

___________________

Friday was one of the gloomiest days of the week. It was raining, the sky was cloudy, and Simon woke up late and barely had time to run out to Baz’s car to make it to school. Baz threw a fit about it, but Simon couldn’t see why it mattered, considering they still made it there half an hour before school started. Baz complained about how the rain made his hair frizz up as he desperately tried to slick it back again with no avail. Simon liked it better this way, falling loosely around his face in waves, but he didn’t tell Baz that.  

When they arrived, they found that the halls were decorated with bright red and pink hearts and couples stood close together, whispering things in each other’s ears with smiles on their faces as everyone was swept up into the euphoria of Valentines Day. Boyfriends gave their girlfriends roses and cheesy heart shaped boxes filled with chocolate. The hallways were a mess of teenage hormones and whispers of happily ever afters.

Baz seemed to be in a particularly sour mood today, and Simon didn’t blame him. Valentine’s day was just another one of those made up holidays that encouraged consumerism and made single people feel like shit (at least that’s what Baz had said on multiple occasions).

Simon and Baz did all the things they usually did in the morning before school. They dropped off Baz’s violin in the orchestra room, they dropped the books Baz finished off at the library, and met up with Penny and Agatha. Agatha gave them all heart shaped lollipops and little handwritten cards that made Simon tear up a little and give her a big hug. Baz rolled his eyes, but he had a small smile on his face as he whispered a curt, “thank you” to Agatha.

The bell rang. The overhead speakers played some cheesy love songs from the early 2000s, when love songs were in their prime. Baz rolled his eyes and made some sort of snarky remark about the music that made everyone laugh. They walked to class and parted ways, Simon and Penny heading for their math class and Baz and Agatha going towards English. They listened to the monotonous morning announcements and Penny gave Simon a look when he played on his phone instead of paying attention.

Sighing, Simon pulled out his math textbook, grunting at the weight of it. Most teachers didn’t even issue textbooks to the students, let alone used them. At this point, most of them were out of date and teachers found the internet to be a lot more useful. But not Ms. Ortiz. She refused to use the internet and did everything the old fashioned way: textbooks and a white board. A student tried to talk her into using the smart board, claiming that it would be a lot easier to do notes with, but she refused, saying they didn’t have time to fuss with projectors and calibrations.

Simon opened up his textbook to the section they were currently working on. He already had the page marked since he and Baz were working on it last night. It was honestly a miracle Simon passed any of his classes before Baz came along. He was such a calm and patient teacher, not caring how many times Simon messed up. It’s funny, because Simon thought he would be the opposite, but he wasn’t. It’s no wonder he wanted to get a teaching degree when he got out of high school.

Penny taps Simon’s shoulder.

“What now, Pen?” She holds out a white envelope with his name written on it in neat, elegant cursive.

“This fell out of your bag.” Simon frowns, taking it from her hesitantly. He hasn’t seen it before, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was some letter from his teacher addressed to his father that he shoved to the bottom of his bookbag. His bag was always a disaster of crumpled papers that Penny and Baz teased him relentlessly for. They insisted he organize it, but Simon didn’t really see the point. It was just going to become a mess again.

“Thanks.” Curiously, Simon unfolds the letter, wondering what it might be. He doesn’t remember receiving it at all, so he has no idea what he should expect.

Immediately, he recognizes Baz’s handwriting:

Simon,

I hate you. I hate the way you make me feel, the way you make my heart beat out of my chest and the way you smile at me in a way that makes me feel special. I hate how you’re always there when I need you and will do everything you can to help someone in need. I hate how you have this stupid hero’s complex where you feel like you need to protect everyone in this goddamn school. I hate how you try to hide your pain from me, putting on a brave face. I want to reach out to you, to comfort you, to let you know that it’s ok and you have people who love and care for you; that you aren’t alone.

I don’t know what even drove us to befriend each other Freshman year. We were from completely different universes, but somehow you chipped away at my walls until they crumbled into nothing, and I hate you for it. I hate what the sight of you does to me and I know you will never feel the same.

Simon Snow, you beautiful disaster. How could you be so cruel to make me fall in love with you?

Penny’s looking up at Simon with a curious glance, acting like she isn’t interested when she very much is. Simon doesn’t say anything, just grins widely as he folds the note back up and sets it under his textbook. Penny raises her eyebrow. It’s a skill Simon knows she’s picked up from Baz, but she refuses to admit it.

“You look like Christmas came early. You feeling alright, Simon?”

“Wonderful.”

___________________

Simon corners Baz in the hallway at the end of the day as he’s heading to his car. He bounds up to him, looking like a ray of sunshine as he smiles brightly. Something has him in an outrageously good mood and Baz has no idea what that could be.

Baz, on the other hand, isn’t feeling as good. His teachers assigned him an outrageous amount of homework and he got a low mark on one of his quizzes, even though he knew the material and studied before the test. Baz Pitch was not one for failure, and he felt very embarrassed when Agatha pointed it out to him.

On top of all that, his guilty pleasure love letter to Simon was missing. He hasn’t seen it in two days and he has no idea where it could be, or if it’s in someone else’s hands. Thank god he didn’t sign it. It’s better if nobody knows about his silly crush on Simon.

“Baz,” Simon breathes, his cheeks dusting with red as he stands in front of Baz, looking up through his wild curls. Baz can barely stop his own blush that rises into his cheeks.

“Snow. Need a ride?” Simon looks around.

“Yeah um….” He runs a hand through his curls. “Yeah.”

They walk out to Baz’s car in silence. Usually, Baz is fine with silence between them. It’s always a comforting silence that doesn’t really have a need to be filled, but something about this silence was different. It was thicker, full of a sort of tension Baz couldn’t quite place. Simon seemed to be anxious about something, as if he were trying to find a way to put it into words.  

Simon Snow is shit with words. He’s gotten better over the years, sure. English class did wonders on him, but he did seem to have a hard time annunciating his feelings in a way Baz could understand. After four years of friendship, Baz is proud to say he can usually interpret Simon’s mutterings, but it wasn’t always like that. Middle school was awful for the both of them and Baz was always frustrated with Simon’s incapability to string together sentences. He was short tempered, and it took him a while to finally give Simon a chance to get out what he needed to say.

So he did the same now. He didn’t say anything, didn’t pressure him, didn’t force him to say anything. He let the silence stretch on, letting Simon fill it on his own terms when he was ready

They climb into the car and just as Baz is about to put it in reverse, Simon puts his hands over Baz’s, stopping him from leaving. Baz looks up at him, grey eyes meeting blue. There’s a moment of tension, then Simon pulls his hands away.

“Baz, I—“ Simon stops, furrowing his brow.

“Go on, Snow.”

“It’s just…. I guess…. I just… Ugh.” Simon pulls at his curls in frustration, his face getting redder by the minute.

“It’s ok. Calm down. Take your time.” Simon takes a deep breath.

“It’s just…. I saw your letter.” Baz freezes, going stiff all over.

“What letter?”

“The one you wrote to me? And slipped into my bag?”

Oh no.

_____________

“Shit.” Baz knocks his head against the steering wheel, groaning.

“Look, Simon I'm sorry I—“

“I feel the same.”

“What?” Simon gulps.

“I… I like you too.” Baz scoffs.

“No you don’t,” he says, leaning back in his seat and brushing his charcoal locks out of his eyes. Simon lays a gentle hand on his arm.

“Yes I do, Baz.” Silence fills the car. Simon feels like he can’t breathe as each moment stretches on, the only audible sounds being their heartbeats and breaths.

“I—“ Simon says, averting his gaze as he coughs awkwardly, seeming very uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, it must’ve been a mistake I—“ suddenly, so quickly it happens between one blink and the next, Baz grabs his shirt and pulls Simon to him, planting a firm kiss on his lips. Almost as quickly as he leaned in, Baz pulls away.

But Simon doesn’t let him. He puts his hands on either side of Baz’s face, kissing him with years of pining and desperation. He feels Baz sigh against his lips, bringing his hands up to rest on Simon’s broad shoulders, not daring to move them. Simon threads his fingers through Baz’s hair, marveling at how soft it is. He feels like he’s floating, his heart beating as fast as it can, on the verge of exploding. He doesn’t really mind though. Because he’s kissing Baz. I’m kissing Baz.

Simon pulls away, a grin on his face. His face is so open in that moment, so vulnerable. Baz feels a small smile that’s unbearably soft pull at his own lips.

“I like this version of you, Baz.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I like it when we aren’t friends.”

“Wow that’s really nice—“

“I wanna be your boyfriend,” Simon says, a wide grin on his face. Baz sucks in a breath, his grey eyes searching Simon’s.

“Yes,” he says breathily. Simon grins and leans in for another kiss.

----

“Welbelove this was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“What ever could you be talking about, my dearest Basilton?” she asks innocently. Baz huffs.

“You stole my letter! And gave it to Simon!”

“Oh that? It sounds more of a Penny plot to me.”

“Wellbelove.”

“Don’t get mad at me, Basil. You got the boy, didn’t you?” Baz can practically hear her wiggling her eyebrows at him over the phone. He’s sitting in his car in Simon’s driveway as Simon walks up to his doorstep. He turns around at the last moment, grinning brightly and waving back at Baz. Baz waves back.

“I hate you more than you even know, Wellbelove.”

“Thought so,” she says, hanging up on him. Baz can’t help the smile that crosses his lips.

[dearestdaffodils]

Season 1, Episode 1: PILOT

A/N: A lot of quotes and character dialogue is taken from the show! I am not trying to take credit for the amazing work the writers and actors and everyone involved in this show did! I also left out writing scenes that don’t involve the main group (IE: Ward and Sarah talking with Lana Grubbs) and a few other scenes simply because I wasn’t quite sure how to write them. 

Warnings (for the whole series): violence (as it is in the show), swearing, mentions of abuse, underage drinking and smoking, drug use

Word Count: 3579

“The Outer Banks, paradise on earth.” I tune out John B’s voice, ignoring his ‘welcome to the OBX’ speech for the camera. He was determined to make a documentary about our lives this summer, though I really didn’t know why. 

Welcome to the OBX, an island divided in two. You either have two houses or two jobs, that’s what John B always says. That blond boy sitting next to me, that’s JJ. My boyfriend. He’s as local as they come. Latest in a very long line of fishing, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who make their living off the water. Don’t tell him I said this but he’s the best surfer I know. Mild kleptomaniac and probably a future tax cheat. 

The girl across from me is Kiara or Kie. When she’s not saving turtles or listening to Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs with us. None of us really know why she’s a rich kid after all. Next to her is the brains of our little operation. Pope. Finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship and the smartest kid I know. 

The kid in the driver’s seat, the one who is paying more attention to his camera than the road, that’s John Booker Routledge, but everyone calls him John B. He’s kinda like my brother. He and his dad took me in when my family dumped me on their front porch when JB and I were about four. He drives me crazy and he knows it. 

And then there’s me. Y/N Y/L/N. Little Routledge as JB likes to call me even though I’m four months older than him. Big John disappeared nine months ago at sea, which means JB and I have been on our own since Uncle T split for Mississippi. Everyone insists that Big John is dead but John B refuses to sign the papers until he sees a body. 

Social workers have been on our asses nearly every day, trying to force us into foster care. John B and I have managed to avoid them so far. 

So this is how our story starts. Me losing nearly all of my second family and a social worker breathing down my neck. 

JB and I are probably the only two people in history to say this but thank god for hurricane Agatha. 

“Hurricane Agatha continues its steady march towards Kildare Island on the Outer Banks of North Carolina…” JB set the radio on the counter, turning up the volume as we listened for a miracle to keep DCS away. 

“Holy shit.” I look outside, taking in the dark sky and swirling wind. “JB, I think we found our miracle!” I shout over the storm siren, fishing my phone out of the couch cushions and dialing the number for DCS. “Yeah, I think we’re gonna have to reschedule.” I blurt into the phone, barely giving the woman time to answer. 

John B rips the phone out of my hand, hanging up and dragging me outside. “We gotta surf the storm surge!” 

“Are you insane?” I stumble after him, dodging tree branches. “Those aren’t surfable waves!” 

“Says who?” He laughs. “Come on!” He drags me along, pausing to grab our boards. 

I run after him, splashing into the water as the storm rages around us. I paddle after John B, surfing a few waves before the storm starts to pick up its pace. “JB! We gotta get inside!” I shout. John B stares out towards the open water, ignoring me. 

“JB!” I shout. “We have to go!” I turn to look at him, my gaze following his extended arm and index finger. My eyes land on a boat, getting tossed around in the storm. “John B, we don’t have time to worry about what those idiots are doing, let’s go!” 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

The morning after a hurricane always feels like something out of a movie. The silence fills the gaps of life, save for the sound of chickens and the occasional shouts from neighbors.

I peel my eyes open, hearing John B moving around in the kitchen. I swing my legs over the side of my bed (which is really just two mattresses stacked on top of each other) and slowly stand up. I shield my eyes from the sunlight pouring in from my windows, moving the towels that double as my curtains out of the way.

I grab my phone from the stack of books next to my bed, checking the time. “No service,” I mutter, opening my door and stepping onto the cold wood floor of the Chateau. 

“JJ, you been outside?” John B asks the blond boy, shaking his shoulder. 

“I have polio, bro. I can’t walk.” JJ mumbles, burying his face deeper into the pillow. 

I make my way to the front door, lightly swatting at JJ to get him up. “Oh man…” I whisper, looking outside. “That’s no good.” I survey the yard, taking in the damage. “What’re you thinking, JB?” 

“I’m thinkin’ that storm surge pushed all the crabs out on the marsh maze. It’s God tellin’ us to fish since DCS isn’t getting on a ferry anytime soon.” John B grins. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

I stand on the bow of the HMS Pogue with JJ, looking at all the damage. “We’ll be cleaning this all summer.” I murmur, shaking my head. 

“That is my nightmare.” John B pipes up from behind the wheel, pulling up parallel to the dock just outside Heyward’s. “Well, look who we have here.” 

“I can’t.” Pope mimics static, pretending to talk into a radio on his shoulder. “My pop’s got me on lockdown.” 

“Your dad’s a pussy. Over.” JJ does the same, looking directly at Heyward. 

“Oh, I heard that, you little bastard.” Heyward glares at JJ.

“We need your son.” JJ flashes one of his signature smiles.

“Yeah, and island rules.” I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. “Day after hurricane’s a free day.” 

“Who made that up?” Heyward looks between me and Pope. 

“Pentagon, I believe.” I laugh. “We have security clearance. I have a card.” 

“You think I’m stupid?” Heyward frowns as Pope moves towards the edge of the dock. 

“I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise. Tomorrow.” Pope moves to jump into the boat as Heyward moves forward. 

“You think - no, no. Hell no. You doin’ it right now.” 

“Get in the boat, Pope,” I whisper. “Make a run for it.” 

Pope leaps into the boat, holding his hat on his head. “I promise I’ll do it tomorrow, dad!” 

“We’ll bring him back in one piece!” I call to Heyward, waving. 

The boys whoop and cheer, driving up to Kie’s dock. I smile wide, grabbing onto the dock as we wait for her. 

“Good morning!” Kie hurries down the dock, carrying her usual backpack and cooler, her hair neatly tied up on the top of her head. 

“Welcome aboard, fellow Pogue princess.” I laugh, saluting her. “Whatcha got? Juice boxes?”

“You know, just some yogurts and carrot sticks. I made sandwiches too, cut the crusts off how you like ‘em.” She teases, poking my nose. 

I help her onto the boat, grabbing a beer from the cooler as John B drives out into the marsh. He weaves through the channels, leaning back in the captain’s seat, looking as if he’s asleep at the wheel. I wouldn’t be concerned if he was though, he knows these waters better than he knows himself.  

“Can you go a little faster?” JJ asks, stepping up to the bow. “I got a party trick to show you.” He balances on the edge of the boat, tilting the beer bottle, letting the liquid flow freely from the bottle. 

“You’re getting beer in my hair!” Kie and I shout in unison, screaming and falling out of our seats as the boat hits something, stopping immediately. “Jesus, JB!” 

JJ groans, popping up from the water in front of the boat. “I think my heels touched the back of my head.” He chokes out. 

“What did you do?”  I push myself off the deck of the boat, resting a hand on John B’s shoulder. 

“Sandbar.” John B mumbles. “The channel changed.” 

“No shit, genius.” I shake my head. 

“Hey, I saved the beer, though!” JJ cheers. 

“Congrats, J.” I lean over the side, sticking my hand out to him. “Come on.” 

“Guys… I think there’s a boat down there.” Pope calls, looking over the other side of the boat. 

“Shut up, no way.” Kie scoffs. 

“I’m serious. There’s a boat down there.” Pope points. 

I join him on the side, looking down at the shape in the water. “Only one way to find out.” I shrug, quickly discarding my shirt and shorts before diving in. I swim down, peering around in the murky water. My eyes go wide and I swim up, grabbing onto the edge of the boat. “That’s a fucking Grady-White. A new one is like an easy 500 G’s.” 

“That’s the boat we saw when we surfed the surge.” John B looks at me. “Maybe it hit the jetty or something.” 

“Do we know whose boat that is?” Kie frowns. 

“No, but we’re about to find out.” I smile. 

“It’s way too deep.” JJ shakes his head. “You’re not going down there.” 

“Oh, for the weak and feeble, JJ.” John B chuckles. “Little Routledge can handle it.” He turns his attention to me, saluting me. “Diver down.” 

“Diver down.” I flip him off before diving back down, searching around the boat. I pop up after a moment, pushing my hair out of my face. 

“Any dead bodies?” Pope asks nervously. 

“Looting potential?” JJ asks at the same time. 

I shake my head, holding up a bright yellow tag with a key attached. “I found this motel key.” 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

I jump out of the boat as we reach the motel, tying the rope around a stump. “So, what’s the plan?” 

“You’ll see, bubba.” John B grabs my wrist and JJ’s arm, pulling us along. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t inspire confidence, dumbass.” I roll my eyes. “This place is a shitshow, doesn’t look like anywhere someone with a Grady-White stays.” 

“Motel or meth lab?” Kie mutters under her breath. 

“You be the judge,” Pope mutters back before giving me a pointed look. “Don’t let your boyfriend do anything stupid.” 

“I can’t make any promises.” I raise my hands in surrender as we walk off, going up the steps of the motel. 

John B leads us to the door, checking the number on the key as JJ knocks on the door. 

“Housekeeping!” JJ calls in a high pitched voice, waiting for an answer. 

“Should we try it?” John B asks, prompting nods from JJ and me.

We enter the room, closing the door behind us. I look around the room, handing John B a map from the bed. I move towards the bathroom, seeing John B messing with the safe out of the corner of my eye. I scan the walls of the dark and dirty room, shining my flashlight around

“You guys are gonna wanna see this.” He murmurs. 

JJ and I hurry over, looking in the safe. “Damn…” I whisper, looking at the stack of money, a gun laying on top of it.

JJ grins like a maniac, grabbing the gun from the safe. 

“JJ, put that down now!” I whisper-shout. 

“Just take a picture of me! Right here and then I’ll put it back!” 

“You want me to take a picture of you?” I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “Make our own incriminating evidence?” I look up, hearing a tapping on the window. I hurry over, looking out to see Pope and Kie jumping up and down. 

“Cops!” Kie shouts quietly. 

“Shit, boys, time to go,” I whisper. “Cops.”

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

“Thanks for warning us so quickly.” I laugh, playfully shoving at Kie’s shoulder as we push off from the motel. 

“We would have warned you sooner except Pope was on the math team.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Did you guys find anything?” Pope asks. 

“No, I don’t think so.” JJ sighs before pulling out the gun and a stack of cash. “ Oh, yeah, we did.” 

“Are you serious?” Pope shouts in a high pitched voice. “I’m gonna lose my merit scholarship.” 

“At least you have us, right?” JJ grins. 

“I’m living the nightmare,” Pope whispers to himself. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

“It’s Scooter Grubbs. He was out during the storm. Check out this pic I got.”

“Dead body.”

“Insane.”

“Holy shit.” 

“What kind of boat did he have?”

“Somehow, that dirtbag copped a brand-new Grady-White. Everyone’s out looking for it.” 

The words seemed to hover around us as we drove back to the Chateau, following us as we collapsed into chairs on the porch. 

“Okay… so, um… we didn’t see anything.” John B takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair. “We don’t know anything.”

“We need to have total and complete amnesia.” Pope nods. 

“Actually, Pope is right for once.” JJ nods, slinging an arm around me as he slides into the seat next to me. “See, I agree with you sometimes. Deny, deny, deny.” 

“We can’t keep that money.” Kie paces up and down the porch. 

“Not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara.” JJ sighs. 

I lightly push at his chest, giving him a look. “We have to pass it off to Lana Grubbs.”

“Otherwise, it's bad karma.” Kie nods in agreement. 

“I don’t agree.” John B murmurs from the corner. “This is Scooter Grubbs we’re talking about. Same dude that’s buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. Shit, one time I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot because he needed gas. We’re talking about a dirtbag marina rat who’s never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket, and all of a sudden, he’s got a Grady-White? Just sayin’,” 

“We have to see what’s in the cargo hold of that wreck,” I speak up. “For now, we lay low and act normal.” 

“Kegger?” JJ grins. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌

As JB always says; you can’t understand the Outer Banks without understanding the boneyard. It's kinda like a three-layer burrito. There’s us and our friends, the working class derelicts. Then, there are the Kooks, the rich second-homers. They’re mostly from poncey-ass boarding schools, just rich trustafarian posers. Our natural enemies. And then, there are the Tourons. Totally clueless. Here for a week on vacation with their families. Chum for the sharks. 

I smile, making my way across the sand with drinks for me and JJ, passing Pope along the way. 

“It's kinda weird when on TV, we see people die, and they kinda just sit there, but in actuality, they would be shitting and farting up a storm.”

I laugh, shaking my head as I walk past Pope and the fire. I make my way over to JJ’s usual spot; a fallen tree half-buried in the sand. I hand JJ his drink, sipping mine. “Poor Pope.” I snicker, glancing at the other boy over my cup. “He just can’t figure out how to talk to girls.” 

“Sarah! Sarah, be careful, okay?” 

I turn my attention towards the metal buoy stuck in the sand, recognizing Topper’s voice as he tries to coax Sarah down from the buoy. 

That’s Sarah Cameron. Kook princess. Kiara’s best friend in the ninth grade, worst enemy in the tenth grade. JB works on her dad’s boats and I was supposed to be helping her stepmom with gardening but have basically become a glorified babysitter for the princess. And that’s Topper. Her not so pleasant boyfriend. Just saying his name makes me want to vomit. He actually thinks Pogues were bred to mow lawns. 

I watch as Topper lifts Sarah down, starting to walk her up the beach and back towards his car. I barely see JJ move forward, extending a cup in her face. 

“Sarah, can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?” JJ smirks, frowning when she declines. “Is it not fancy enough for you?” 

“I’ll take it.” Topper reaches for the cup, glaring as JJ pulls it away. 

“If you said pretty please, maybe.” JJ teases. 

Topper moves to grab the cup, knocking into JJ’s hand and spilling the drink all over Sarah. “Dirty Pogues!” Topper growls as Sarah pushes him back. 

John B moves in front of JJ as I pull him away. Topper lunges at John B, knocking him into the water. “ Don’t make me drown you like your old man, all right?” Topper shouts, holding John B down in the water. 

JJ rushes forward, pressing the gun to Topper’s head and clicking the safety off. 

“JJ!” I gasp.

“Yeah, you know what that is. Your move, broski.” JJ huffs as Topper raises his hands in surrender, standing up. 

“Check your psycho boyfriend, Y/N!” Sarah whines.

“Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!” JJ fires the gun twice into the air, watching as the crowd scatters.

“So much for laying low!” Pope hisses at JJ, helping Kie pick John B from the water. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

The next morning, JB was up before the roosters started crowing. The rest of the Pogues had returned to their respective homes. Kie had taken Pope home before returning to her house in Figure 8. JJ had left a small kiss on the crown of my head before disappearing into the trees.

I wander out of my room, wiping sleep from my eyes. “You look like you just swallowed a jellyfish.” I bump shoulders with John B. 

“Sheriff Peterkin just left…” He mumbles. “She’s asking questions. She said she can help us with DCS if we help her.”  

“Well… we’ll just give her the most information we can without us getting in trouble.” I sigh. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

“The three of us! We’ve got nothing to lose!” JJ huffs, gesturing between me, John B, and himself. “You’re not calling this off, John B. I have a plan. We borrow some scuba gear from Cameron’s big boat and then we go down to the wreck.” 

We probably should’ve learned a long long time ago to never listen to JJ. He’s filled to the brim of bad ideas, like stealing from JB’s rich boss. 

Big John said the island was America on steroids. The haves and have-nots like anyplace, but magnified and multiplied. The way JB and I see it, the game’s rigged. Maybe it always has been. No parents, money, and no one looking out for us. We got no chance unless we make it on our own. 

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  

“You took empty tanks, JB.” I sigh. 

“This one’s a quarter full.” John B mumbles. 

“So enough for one of us… I just love it when a plan comes together.” I rub my head in annoyance. 

“Does anyone even know how to dive?” John B asks.

“I read about it,” Pope speaks up.

“Great, Pope read about it. So someone’s gonna die.” I roll my eyes.

“Look, you put the thing in your mouth and breathe. How hard could it be?” JJ asks.

“If you come up too fast, nitrogen gets into your blood, and you get the bends.” Pope leans back in the captain’s seat. 

“Bends like, bend over and…” JJ giggles, bending over the wheel.

“The bends kill you.” Pope sighs, making JJ’s eyes go wide.

🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌  🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 

We all circle around John B as he kneels on the dock, holding the bag from the wreck. 

“Can we please just open the bag?” Pope huffs. 

“Damn, Pope. That’s a rare outburst of emotion.” I snicker.

“You guys are literally killing me with anticipation. Open the bag.”

John B opens the bag, pulling out a canister. He twists open the canister, letting a small circular compass fall out. 

“Oh, wow. Yup. That’s about right.” Pope sighs. “Good job, everybody. We found a compass. It's not worth anything.” 

“This was my father’s.” John B mumbles.