sentinelprimeofficial

[jubshead]

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦

Paring: Agatha Harkness x Reader | Platonic Nicholas & Reader

Summary: Nickie’s mom has got it going on.

A/N: I started writing this a long time ago, but procrastination took the best out of me when I realized it was going to be bigger than I expected. This is the biggest thing I’ve written so far and I hope you guys like it!

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

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

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

Warning: Smut, age difference (18+).

Word count: 8.1k

Date: Oct 29, 2024

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!

Masterlist

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know you love it!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, your childhood crush hadn’t passed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom.” Nickie calls by your side. 

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

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

She opens up the biggest smile upon seeing you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

The detergent runs down your hands and into the drain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s fine.” You murmur out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easier said than done. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, right.

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

He doesn't even know you are a lesbian.

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

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

You hum. “Are you excited for college?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” He lets out in a breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

Literally.

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

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

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

Your only response is a groan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you feeling, hun?” 

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

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

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

“Oh.” She lets out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biting your lips, you nod.

“Great.” She lightly claps behind you.

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

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

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

“Enjoying yourself?” She teases you.

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

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

You feel like a bitch in heat. 

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

You faintly register Agatha calling out for you. 

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

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

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

“Let mommy take care of you.”

You moan aloud at the name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom?” 

Fuck. 

[anghraine]

I don't know if it's become more common lately or just grates more after years in academia, but I genuinely dislike the whole "this wildly popular and enormously influential work is fun and it's fine to enjoy it, but there's no need to fool yourself into thinking it's genuinely good and actual Art."

Thanks for the permission, perfect stranger, but I don't get all that invested in things I don't think are good, no matter how conscious I am of their flaws.

I really do think Lord of the Rings is, by and large, a beautifully-written and well-constructed novel. The idea of respecting its trailblazing qualities but insisting that Tolkien is objectively a poor novelist or weak prose stylist is not actually my perspective on it at all. I have criticisms, some more serious than others, but do I still think it's a great work of art? Yes. I think Tolkien is actually incredibly skilled stylistically and shifts between registers and styles in a way that I find really impressive. The obvious point of contrast for me is the Narnia books, which famously he disliked, but which I enjoyed well enough as a kid—Aravis was one of my favorite characters growing up (and she still rules!). But the shifts between registers of style in the Narnia books feel so forced and artificial to me next to Tolkien's far more elegant and controlled handling of shifting registers in The Hobbit and esp LOTR.

I actually feel pretty similarly about the Star Wars original trilogy (blasphemy to some, lol). I think The Empire Strikes Back is, despite occasional misfires, really truly brilliant artistic cinema. I recently watched Flash Gordon, which has similarities of genre and inspiration and came out the exact same year as ESB, and as enjoyable as it is in, uh, realizing its own artistic vision, there's no comparison to ESB. I've seen reviews that can't resist the urge to get in digs at Star Wars even while calling for re-evaluations of Flash Gordon and other 80s schlock (even Starcrash!) and it just seems an absurd degree of snobbery to me, all the more in the context of cheesy movies that owed their existence to Star Wars taking tropes and genres seen as fun but essentially unserious and making beautiful films out of them.

I've even experienced this "it's enjoyable and influential but not great art" snobbery with works that are generally well-regarded. In grad school, other students were genuinely taken aback that I thought Pride and Prejudice is truly one of the greatest novels written in the eighteenth century and one of Austen's best novels. I'd encountered and been annoyed by the whole "oh, a truly discerning, sophisticated taste will prefer Persuasion or Emma" thing, but it didn't even occur to me that it would be at all controversial for me to think P&P is a spectacularly brilliant novel, all the more in the context of its time. But I've encountered quite a bit of discomfort with the idea that P&P is actually great art and not just enjoyable wish-fulfillment in an accessible style. And meanwhile, I'm like ... no, I really do think it is superior in characterization, structure, pacing, style, and cohesion than most English-language novels of its era, including several by Austen herself.

[iknowher]

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀i miss you, i'm sorry ೀ

──ㅤ🤍ㅤ۫ㅤ ͏cheater! gojo who isn't loyal at all 𓉸ㅤ۫ㅤwc.ㅤ:ㅤ1,618 reader's note.ㅤ:ㅤit's quite rushed and short. also it's my first post so requests and constructive criticism is highly appreciated!!

it started with him telling you that he’d be on a mission. you didn’t think he’d be gone for that long. you checked the last time he was here. it’s been approximately 1 week, 4 days and 9 hours. you gave up trying to wait, it was miserable without him home. you decided to text him.. you, 07:24 pm: hey you, 07:24 pm: when are you coming home ??

… no answer. he’d usually respond within minutes— usually seconds. you text him again.. quite desperate now. you, 07:30 pm: gojo you, 07:31 pm: please answer you, 07:36 pm: hellooooo? ! ! ! after a few minutes, a notification sound came from your phone. you got a little dopamine rush, hoping it was gojo. and thank god, it was.. satoru ml ❤️, 07:41 pm: god do you ever shut up satoru ml ❤️, 07:41 pm: you’re so clingy i’m actually sick of you huh? you double-checked the contact name in hopes it wasn’t gojo.. but it really was gojo. you felt confused, why was he acting like this.. like a dick? you felt your eyes swell up. suddenly, yuki texted you. you didn’t feel any more energy to text anyone anymore— but you decided to open it anyway. yuki girlboss duhh, 07:50 pm: um hey girl.. you might wanna see this yuki girlboss duhh, 07:51 pm: (attachment added)

you opened the attachment, feeling your fingers shake. as soon as you open it, you felt a pang of disgust course throughout your body. the picture showcased gojo in a white suit— wait, holy shit.. is that a prada blazer..? you could just tell that his whole outfit probably costed thousands. his hair looked more well-kept than usual.

and there was a girl sitting at the same table as him, she probably also wore an expensive dress.. but you couldn’t really care less. the only thing you cared about was him basically cheating on you. you heard rumors about gojo being a player in highschool, but he was so charismatic— so you decided to ignore it. big mistake. you were so stubborn. literally everyone warned you.. however, you just ignored it. you, 08:02 pm:  oh. ty

shit, you hadn’t realized it but you were on the couch, crying till all your mascara was drooping on your cheeks. you were.. ugly crying.

you were watching your favorite show, 13 reasons why.. you probably rewatched it 4 times by now. and to add onto your already bad mood— you were playing I miss you, I’m sorry in the background.

though your phone was on mute, you couldn’t help but check if anyone texted you. unfortunately gojo did. Satoru Gojo, 01:10 pm: sorry that i said that Satoru Gojo, 01:12 pm: but i have to be real, we should break up … you were torn about insulting him or blocking him— but luckily, you took the more mature route. you, 01:13 pm: kay. why though? within seconds, he responded

Satoru Gojo, 01:13 pm: let’s be honest. this isn’t working. I’m busy and i don't see us continuing as a couple. i’m really sorry you clench your jaw before letting out a scoff, you knew damn well his ass was with another girl, having the time of his life.

you, 01:13 pm: shut the fuck up *you blocked this contact number. tap to unblock* nevermind. you took the immature route you felt the next stage of a breakup, anger and resentment. you opened your instagram, me_and_gojo it was an account where you posted basically all your lively moments with him, gojo. you changed your username to: me_and_myself before taking a good hour or so to delete every post, cleaning everything up. you looked at his account, though there were no posts of him and that girl— you still felt spiteful. you blocked his instagram account too.

…after a couple hours, you woke up at 6 am or so. you rubbed your eyes, seeing that the tv was playing a random movie recommended by netflix. you grabbed the remote, turning it off before grabbing your phone again.. but this time, it was geto, gojo’s best friend. geto, 05:32 am: hey girlieee geto, 05:32 am: i heard you broke up with gojo. I’m rlly sorry for that (i personally think gojo’s in the wrong for that) geto, 05:33 am: but anyway, he wanted his stuff back from your house.. I think he’s moving somewhere else? you let out a sigh, knowing that you’d have to talk or atleast see gojo again you, 06:05 am: oh. alright. you, 06:05 am: when is he coming exactly? geto responds in a few minutes

geto, 06:11 am: he says he can come in an hour or so geto, 06:11 am: just to lyk, i hope you can recover a faint smile appears on your face, but it quickly disappears as you see in the phone reflection how your makeup basically got ruined.. damn, i should invest in some waterproof makeup, you thought to yourself. you quickly head upstairs to your room, grabbing some micellair water and a cotton pad before rubbing it on your face, your makeup disappearing in a couple seconds. as soon as you finish, you hear the doorbell ring. that must be gojo. you felt dread, not wanting to see gojo’s stupid ass face after everything that happened. you hurried downstairs, before opening the door to see gojo, standing casually in front of your house. you felt his six eyes stare at your face. you tried to hide your expression of disgust.. but you could tell he knew you weren’t happy with him being home. he waved awkwardly, ‘’hey, i guess.’’ you ignored him, giving him the silent treatment as he walked in. ‘’oh.. I see, not being very talkative today, eh?’’ he lets out a dumb chuckle. everything that made you love him gave you the ick now. ‘’just.. do your thing.’’ you mumble under your breath. you notice him carrying a couple of big boxes, but even with that— you knew it wouldn’t be enough. ‘’eh alright. it’s gonna take some time, though.’’ he emphasized. as he walked nearby you, you could smell his jean paul gaultier cologne.

the moment you smelled it, you felt dizzy because of how strong it was. highkey, it was suffocating. you made a face of disgust, but you quickly turned around and sat on the couch, looking at him as he walked upstairs with an empty box— and in a few minutes he was downstairs with a full box you were unsure that could even be taped shut. this process continued for more than an hour, until he finally spoke up. ‘’hey, i’m done now. have a good life, alright?’’ he says before walking out the door. you quickly waddled to lock the door and head upstairs, curious how the room you first shared looked like now. you never noticed that most of the stuff in the house was from gojo. everything was and looked so empty— it didn’t feel homey anymore. fast forward to a few months or maybe a year later, you still weren’t really over it yet. honestly, even though gojo was annoying as shit, he fulfilled a spot in your heart nobody could.

he was arrogant, sure, but he could also be an absolute sweetheart at times— and let’s not forget the time when he spoiled you at your birthday. you felt so lucky to be his girlfriend.

maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t find anybody like gojo again. all your friends told you, ‘’girl there are so many fish in the sea’’ and all that bullshit. but, you also knew, if he was really your soulmate— he wouldn’t have cheated in the first place.

after your initial breakup, you couldn’t really care to take care of your looks, usually having messy hair and little to no makeup each day you went to work. maybe being single would be better, cause then you wouldn’t have any heartbreak anymore.

until one day that you walked out the door, deciding to walk to work, it wasn’t that far from your place anyway. you saw geto, but you noticed that he looked kind of.. sad? and he didn’t even care to put his hair up into a bun.

you stopped him in his tracks, wanting to greet him. ‘’hey geto.’’ you smile awkwardly as he glances up at you. ‘’oh. hi.’’ he says, trying to act polite.

‘’eh.. what’s up?’’ you ask him, wanting to know the reason behind his dampened mood. ‘’oh.. you haven’t heard?’’

‘’gojo died.’’ those two words felt like a truck crashing into your heart. ah.. you hated him, sure, but you didn’t exactly want him to die.

‘’huh.. when.. why?’’ you ramble, before geto interrupts you. ‘’well he died, like, a couple days ago. and why? meh.’’ geto shrugs in a nonchalant way. ‘’he died because of a mission. he was being kind of cocky— he thought he’d be able to kill sukuna.’’ you cut him off, wondering how he could’ve died— i mean. he has infinity, six eyes.. he’s basically immortal. right?‘’hold on— how?’’ ‘’hey, i don’t know either.’’

and from that day forward, you had to live with curiosity. who was that girl he was on a date with? how did he even die? but deep down, you knew you would never get an answer on any of your questions. you unblocked him, just to send one, last, message.

you, 06:03 pm: i miss you you, 06:03 pm: i’m sorry. *this contact number has been deleted, your message could not be delivered*

ㅤ🗝ㅤwork belongs to @ iknowher﹐do not plagiarize my work !

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 25 . Rumination

a/n: Fun fact: when I drafted the storyboard for this it was suppose to have 19 chapters but when I wrote it it ended up having 26 chapters... idfk what happened...

tags: feelings in progress

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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“So you actually have the option of just giving out your vitality instead of absorbing someone else’s wound?”

Choi Han asked _____ as the healer examined the scratch on his palm.

“Yeah, that’s what the God of Death told me. But honestly, this is easier to do.”

At that moment the scratch transferred over to _____. Making Choi Han retreat his hand.

“_____-nim give that back. Give it back right now.”

“Why are you asking for it like it’s something you bought? Plus it’s just a scratch, look it’s barely visible on me.”

The healer looked at the swordmaster confusedly. They couldn’t understand why his so adamant about returning the wound.

“At least take some of my vitality.”

“What–? No way! I just healed you!”

“Then give it back _____-nim.”

“Give what back?”

Cale– no. Naru’s voice suddenly interjected in the conversation. He looked at the two, curious as to what they could have been arguing about.

“Human you’re back! _____ was practising their healing abilities on Choi Han but then got impatient and absorbed the wound instead. Now Choi Han is asking them to give his wound back!”

Raon answered Cale’s curiosity instead of the two. The now 12-year-old child could only frown and shake his head.

“_____ remember that we agreed that you’ll practice because I won’t let you absorb anyone else’s wounds.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

_____ waved their hand off at Cale’s scolding.

And it's true. They have been working hard to adjust to the new change in how they use their power. It’s hard to not automatically absorb someone’s wound or sickness but the healer figured they’d master it soon enough.

It’s just that there’s a lot on their mind right now.

The blessing of the gods. White Star’s plans. Cale’s real identity. Their feelings.

It’s just a lot to take in all at once.

Others understand that the healer’s mind is complicated. That’s why they don’t put any pressure. Reassure _____ that they are mostly in the Endable Kingdom for Cale’s peace of mind. That they can relax because they’d only have to move if it’s an emergency.

“You also know about our human _____?”

Raon spoke vaguely one day. Despite that, the healer still understood what he meant and the reason for his vague words.

“I do. It’s a secret among the four of us right?”

_____ put their index finger on their face to emphasize the secrecy.

“Yes! I won't tell anyone!”

The dragon spun excitedly around the room. It makes _____smile, it had been so long since they’d talked with Raon and they were glad his as energetic as before.

However, the mention of Cale’s secret got them thinking about his real identity. _____ didn’t mind it. The current Cale is the one they knew. So they have no qualms about his identity.

But they did fear the chance of those who knew the original Cale finding out. Like his parents or Ron.

What would be the chance that they’d be sad? Upset that all this time it actually wasn’t their Cale but someone else.

_____’s heart ache at the thought of it.

Cale– no, Kim Rok Soo sounds like he already lost so much. It would be unfair if he lost his biological family here too.

Something like that happening would be cruel.

Not just to Cale, but to his family as well.

“You know… This kind of feels like I’m on babysitting duty.”

_____ suddenly said while eating dinner with Naru.

“...What the fuck?”

The disguised man almost choked on his food at the random statement.

“_____… No… Please…”

A sour look painted his face. As if the thought of _____ babysitting him was so vile.

“I understand. Stop looking at me like that, I’ll shut up about it.”

The healer laughed before continuing to eat their food. A few minutes of silence lingered as the two finished their food.

After eating, the two decided to hang out on Naru’s bed. With _____ sitting on it while Naru lay his head on the healer’s lap.

“Are you having a hard time?”

_____ stroked Naru’s white hair as they asked the question.

“Just a bit.”

He answered truthfully. The healer hummed, encouraging him to speak further.

“But it’s manageable. I’m doing it for our friends after all.”

“I’m glad. Once we solve this let’s get you that slacker life.”

Their conversation ended at that. Both decide to silently bask in each other’s presence. Lost in their train of thought.

Friends…

Cale’s response to _____’s question made the healer realise something. It made them realise just how loved they are right now.

How they have been so focused on other things that they didn’t notice it. Too busy chasing the ghost of the past. Getting validation from those who will never give it. When in fact they already have so much.

They have found their real family. They are so loved.

Just now are they realising such facts.

Regret and happiness rush through their body at the reflection.

Satisfaction comes along right behind them.

‘Yeah, things as they are right now are fine. I don’t need anything else, just my friends and their love. There’s no need to pursue romance. I’m sure it’ll go away someday.’

Was what _____ thought to themself.

However, some time later…

“Do you know just how much my heart longed for you while I was away?”

“Cale..? Excuse… me..?”

[bamsara]

I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

[isawjamfirst]

🐺🐺🐺

[whorkn33]

smack komaeda's ass and all of his bones shatter. smack hinata's ass and all of your bones shatter

[amanitacurses]

[star--anon]

please tell me nobody's done this yet

[writer-room]

Obsessed with Lloyd never mentioning his grandfather is the First Spinjitsu Master, apparently to the point even Arin didn't seem to know, because "eh, it never came up". Cause like, yeah, sure, my grandfather is God, what of it? Normal day for me. Shit happens. My dad is also evil, you wanna talk about that? I sure don't.

It's also funny from a character arc perspective. Here's itty bitty baby first season Lloyd, loudly proclaiming he's the son of Garmadon, and probably also making sure everyone knows he's God part 3 electric boogaloo. And then one Tomorrow's Tea and a few more years later and he's doing everything physically possible to NOT care about his heritage. In fact he'd probably rather his parentage was literally anyone else. Dude could care so less he forgets about it most of the time. King behavior.

[boasamishipper]

list of 911 characters who have wanted and/or currently want bobby nash carnally

tommy kinard (looooved it when bobby took his shirt off and showed off his scars)

evan buckley (strutted around that firehouse the first few months on the job wanting bobby to fuck him so bad it made him look stupid)

chimney han (put twenty bucks on the viking)

athena grant (when asked if she was still mad about the rooster her first thought was i can’t Not fuck him)

brad torrance (wants to study bobby tip to tail iykwim)

michael grant (met him at hen’s party and went 👀👀)

[gayferrari]

this is Pierre/Esteban

[secretly-a-trekkie]

all I need in life

[lavaflowe]

Rough Character Animation I did on top of Ashe Jacobson’s storyboard! I was super excited to try my hand at it and I hope I did this amazing storyboard justice🥺

[mist-and-rain]

loop with a suspiciously star-shaped lump in their throat: we outta timeloops

[galadriel-blue]

VENTING

Rant under the cut (people telling me to change things about my blog [like the way I tag things???] and just general Rings of Power hate towards me

Hey just so you know, it's not my job to cater my personal blog (that I made for fun) to your personal preferences. This is a Rings of Power & LOTR blog. I am going to post about both because it's my blog. If you only follow me for my Rings of Power stuff, great! If you only follow me for my LOTR stuff? Also great! follow me for both? Awesome! Spectacular even! but like, If you don't like one of the fandoms I post about, then block the tags or just ignore it instead of going onto MULTIPLE OF MY POSTS and messaging me, telling me what to change about MY BLOG.

This is all because I tagged something Rings of Power related with a LOTR tag and a few people got mad at me (comments and messages) saying that "The Rings of Power isn't LOTR??? Can you not tag it like that I don't want to see Rings of Power stuff. I follow for LOTR" like what???

They exist in the same universe whether you like it or not?? And lots of people tag TROP stuff with LOTR tags too. Plus, sometimes I am talking about both in the same post (like comparing and contrasting things that are the same or different from the show and movies) so I am going to use both tags for that. Besides, why are you telling a complete stranger who posts her stuff for fun to make her blog okay for YOU? I make my blog and posts for me so... Maybe just block me and move on if you don't like how I post things, or tag things.

Also, it's not my problem if you don't like Rings of Power?? Don't interact with it then?? Like, you can control that? My blog is pretty clearly a Rings of Power blog. I literally have Morfydd Clark's Galadriel as my pfp lol

If you don't like it don't interact with it. I could care less if somebody hates the show I genuinely enjoy because it doesn't affect my enjoyment if someone dislikes it. Just don't be a bully and don't tell me how to run my blog because it's upsetting when the only comments I get are "I don't like this show can you stop posting about it," and "Don't use those tags pls I don't like seeing Rings of Power on my feed."

Cater your experience to you and I'll cater my experience to me. If you are going to be entitled and tell me how to run my blog, I am just going to block you <3

If you read this to the end, you deserve a The Rings of Power Galadriel for your troubles.