Platypussary
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Bookmarked by Platypussary
20 Jun 2025
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Summary
“Come on, Dr. Walsh. Let me help you. Give me a clue.”
To distract herself, to give herself a break from the doe eyes earnestly watching her, she ducked her head to read the clue off the page again. “Feelings of anxiety or dismay. Thirteen letters. I think the first letter is a C because the down answer is-”
“Oh! Consternation!”
Emery’s head snapped up to find Mohan beaming at her, face split into an impossibly wider smile. Jesus Christ, did they make her in a lab? She could practically smell the praise kink humming just beneath Mohan’s skin.
Bookmarked by Platypussary
19 May 2025
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waverly doesn't feel like she's being dramatic when she says that being seventeen, poor, and dateless to prom is the single worst thing that has ever happened to anyone in the history of existence across space and time.
nicole doesn't feel like she's being dramatic when she says she wished she had $4 to buy a sandwich. also, love is dead and nothing matters.
[complete].
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“So, if I’m such a lost cause, why the hell are you here?”
“Because I’m good at my job and I love a challenge.”
“A congressional race is not the same as a presidential.”
“I’ve managed races for congressmen, senators, governors.” She listed off breezily. “I’m interested in the big score.”
“You wanna swing your dick around and show off?” Agatha scoffed.
“Like you don’t.”
Agatha leaned in now too, challenging her. “The difference is, I don’t need to wave mine around for everybody to know how big it is.”
“Agatha,” She said, which was disrespectful given they’d only just met. “Let me run this campaign. I can make you someone America will want to vote for.”
She finally pulled away, chuckling and sitting back down. “I don’t need you for that.”
OR
VP Agatha has three months to run for president and begrudgingly makes Rio her campaign manager.
AKA The Veep/Scandal/West Wing AU that twitter told me to write- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 70,536
- Chapters:
- 19/?
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Bookmarked by Platypussary
04 May 2025
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Agatha couldn’t move. It was her, she was sure of it—the dancer from the club, on the night of the last day of school. A stripper was standing in her classroom, addressing her second-graders. A stripper who, until this very moment, had been filed neatly into the category of things Agatha would never think about again. (Except that one time, when she got too drunk on the Fourth of July. And that other time, when she got too drunk on the Seventh of July, which was just a normal Tuesday.) And yet here she was, in practical jeans and a black tee, looking every inch like a competent professional.
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First ten minutes of Afternoon Delight meets...the American public school system? (THEY'RE TEACHERS)